Complete Works

by Plato, Cooper, John M. , Hutchinson, D. S.

  And it certainly was right.

  Then, let’s sum up the worst type of man: His waking life is like the nightmare we described earlier.

  That’s right.

  And he evolves from someone by nature most tyrannical who achieves sole rule. And the longer he remains tyrant, the more like the nightmare he becomes.

  That’s inevitable, said Glaucon, taking over the argument.

  Well, then, I said, isn’t the man who is clearly most vicious also clearly most wretched? And isn’t the one who for the longest time is most of all [c] a tyrant, most wretched for the longest time? If, that is to say, truth rather than majority opinion is to settle these questions.

  That much is certain, at any rate.

  And isn’t a tyrannical man like a city ruled by a tyrant, a democratic man like a city ruled by a democracy, and similarly with the others?

  Of course.

  And won’t the relations between the cities with respect to virtue and happiness be the same as those between the men?

  [d] Certainly.

  Then how does the city ruled by a tyrant compare to the city ruled by kings that we described first?

  They are total opposites: one is the best, and the other the worst.

  I won’t ask you which is which, since it’s obvious. But is your judgment the same with regard to their happiness and wretchedness? And let’s not be dazzled by looking at one man—a tyrant—or at the few who surround him, but since it is essential to go into the city and study the whole of it, let’s not give our opinion, till we’ve gone down and looked into every corner. [e]

  That’s right, for it’s clear to everyone that there is no city more wretched than one ruled by a tyrant and none more happy than one ruled by kings.

  Would I be right, then, to make the same challenge about the individuals, assuming, first, that the person who is fit to judge them is someone who in [577] thought can go down into a person’s character and examine it thoroughly, someone who doesn’t judge from outside, the way a child does, who is dazzled by the façade that tyrants adopt for the outside world to see, but is able to see right through that sort of thing? And, second, that he’s someone—since we’d all listen to him if he were—who is competent to judge, because he has lived in the same house with a tyrant and witnessed his behavior at home and his treatment of each member of his household when he is stripped of his theatrical façade, and has also seen how he behaves when in danger from the people? Shouldn’t we ask the person [b] who has seen all that to tell us how the tyrant compares to the others in happiness and wretchedness?

  That’s also right.

  Then do you want us to pretend that we are among those who can give such a judgment and that we have already met tyrannical people, so that we’ll have someone to answer our questions?

  I certainly do.

  Come, then, and look at it this way for me: Bearing in mind the resemblance [c] between the city and the man, look at each in turn and describe its condition.

  What kinds of things do you want me to describe?

  First, speaking of the city, would you say that a tyrannical city is free or enslaved?

  It is as enslaved as it is possible to be.

  Yet you see in it people who are masters and free.

  I do see a few like that, but the whole city, so to speak, and the most decent part of it are wretched, dishonored slaves.

  Then, if man and city are alike, mustn’t the same structure be in him [d] too? And mustn’t his soul be full of slavery and unfreedom, with the most decent parts enslaved and with a small part, the maddest and most vicious, as their master?

  It must.

  What will you say about such a soul then? Is it free or slave?

  Slave, of course.

  And isn’t the enslaved and tyrannical city least likely to do what it wants?

  Certainly.

  Then a tyrannical soul—I’m talking about the whole soul—will also be least likely to do what it wants and, forcibly driven by the stings of a dronish gadfly, will be full of disorder and regret. [e]

  How could it be anything else?

  Is a tyrannically ruled city rich or poor?

  Poor.

  [578] Then a tyrannical soul, too, must always be poor and unsatisfiable.

  That’s right.

  What about fear? Aren’t a tyrannical city and man full of it?

  Absolutely.

  And do you think that you’ll find more wailing, groaning, lamenting, and grieving in any other city?

  Certainly not.

  Then, are such things more common in anyone besides a tyrannical man, who is maddened by his desires and erotic loves?

  How could they be?

  It is in view of all these things, I suppose, and others like them, that [b] you judged this to be the most wretched of cities.

  And wasn’t I right?

  Of course you were. But what do you say about a tyrannical man, when you look at these same things?

  He’s by far the most wretched of all of them.

  There you’re no longer right.

  How is that?

  I don’t think that this man has yet reached the extreme of wretchedness.

  Then who has?

  Perhaps you’ll agree that this next case is even more wretched.

  Which one?

  [c] The one who is tyrannical but doesn’t live a private life, because some misfortune provides him with the opportunity to become an actual tyrant.

  On the basis of what was said before, I assume that what you say is true.

  Yes, but in matters of this sort, it isn’t enough just to assume these things; one needs to investigate carefully the two men in question by means of argument, for the investigation concerns the most important thing, namely, the good life and the bad one.

  That’s absolutely right.

  Then consider whether I’m talking sense or not, for I think our investigation [d] will be helped by the following examples.

  What are they?

  We should look at all the wealthy private citizens in our cities who have many slaves, for, like a tyrant, they rule over many, although not over so many as he does.

  That’s right.

  And you know that they’re secure and do not fear their slaves.

  What have they got to be afraid of?

  Nothing. And do you know why?

  Yes. It’s because the whole city is ready to defend each of its individual citizens.

  [e] You’re right. But what if some god were to lift one of these men, his fifty or more slaves, and his wife and children out of the city and deposit him with his slaves and other property in a deserted place, where no free person could come to his assistance? How frightened would he be that he himself and his wife and children would be killed by the slaves?

  Very frightened indeed.

  And wouldn’t he be compelled to fawn on some of his own slaves, promise them lots of things, and free them, even though he didn’t want [579] to? And wouldn’t he himself have become a panderer to slaves?

  He’d have to or else be killed.

  What if the god were to settle many other neighbors around him, who wouldn’t tolerate anyone to claim that he was the master of another and who would inflict the worst punishments on anyone they caught doing it?

  I suppose that he’d have even worse troubles, since he’d be surrounded [b] by nothing but vigilant enemies.

  And isn’t this the kind of prison in which the tyrant is held—the one whose nature is such as we have described it, filled with fears and erotic loves of all kinds? Even though his soul is really greedy for it, he’s the only one in the whole city who can’t travel abroad or see the sights that other free people want to see. Instead, he lives like a woman, mostly confined to his own house, and envying any other citizen who happens to travel abroad and see something worthwhile. [c]

  That’s entirely so.

  Then, isn’t this harvest of evils a measure of the difference between a tyrannical man who is
badly governed on the inside—whom you judged to be most wretched just now—and one who doesn’t live a private life but is compelled by some chance to be a tyrant, who tries to rule others when he can’t even control himself. He’s just like an exhausted body without any self-control, which, instead of living privately, is compelled to compete and fight with other bodies all its life. [d]

  That’s exactly what he’s like, Socrates, and what you say is absolutely true.

  And so, Glaucon, isn’t this a completely wretched condition to be in, and doesn’t the reigning tyrant have an even harder life than the one you judged to be hardest?

  He certainly does.

  In truth, then, and whatever some people may think, a real tyrant is really a slave, compelled to engage in the worst kind of fawning, slavery, and pandering to the worst kind of people. He’s so far from satisfying his desires in any way that it is clear—if one happens to know that one must [e] study his whole soul—that he’s in the greatest need of most things and truly poor. And, if indeed his state is like that of the city he rules, then he’s full of fear, convulsions, and pains throughout his life. And it is like it, isn’t it?

  Of course it is.

  And we’ll also attribute to the man what we mentioned before, namely, [580] that he is inevitably envious, untrustworthy, unjust, friendless, impious, host and nurse to every kind of vice, and that his ruling makes him even more so. And because of all these, he is extremely unfortunate and goes on to make those near him like himself.

  No one with any understanding could possibly contradict you.

  Come, then, and like the judge who makes the final decision, tell me who among the five—the king, the timocrat, the oligarch, the democrat, [b] and the tyrant—is first in happiness, who second, and so on in order.

  That’s easy. I rank them in virtue and vice, in happiness and its opposite, in the order of their appearance, as I might judge choruses.

  Shall we, then, hire a herald, or shall I myself announce that the son of Ariston has given as his verdict that the best, the most just, and the most [c] happy is the most kingly, who rules like a king over himself, and that the worst, the most unjust, and the most wretched is the most tyrannical, who most tyrannizes himself and the city he rules?

  Let it be so announced.

  And shall I add to the announcement that it holds, whether these things remain hidden from every god and human being or not?

  Add it.

  Good. Then that is one of our proofs. And there’d be a second, if you [d] happen to think that there is anything in this.

  In what?

  In the fact that the soul of each individual is divided into three parts, in just the way that a city is, for that’s the reason I think that there is another proof.

  What is it?

  This: it seems to me that there are three pleasures corresponding to the three parts of the soul, one peculiar to each part, and similarly with desires and kinds of rule.

  What do you mean?

  The first, we say, is the part with which a person learns, and the second the part with which he gets angry. As for the third, we had no one special name for it, since it’s multiform, so we named it after the biggest and [e] strongest thing in it. Hence we called it the appetitive part, because of the intensity of its appetites for food, drink, sex, and all the things associated with them, but we also called it the money-loving part, because such [581] appetites are most easily satisfied by means of money.

  And rightly so.

  Then, if we said that its pleasure and love are for profit, wouldn’t that best determine its central feature for the purposes of our argument and insure that we are clear about what we mean when we speak of this part of the soul, and wouldn’t we be right to call it money-loving and profit-loving?

  That’s how it seems to me, at least.

  What about the spirited part? Don’t we say that it is wholly dedicated to the pursuit of control, victory, and high repute?

  [b] Certainly.

  Then wouldn’t it be appropriate for us to call it victory-loving and honor-loving?

  It would be most appropriate.

  Now, it is clear to everyone that the part with which we learn is always wholly straining to know where the truth lies and that, of the three parts, it cares least for money and reputation.

  By far the least.

  Then wouldn’t it be appropriate for us to call it learning-loving and philosophical?

  Of course.

  And doesn’t this part rule in some people’s souls, while one of the other parts—whichever it happens to be—rules in other people’s? [c]

  That’s right.

  And isn’t that the reason we say that there are three primary kinds of people: philosophic, victory-loving, and profit-loving?

  That’s it precisely.

  And also three forms of pleasure, one assigned to each of them?

  Certainly.

  And do you realize that, if you chose to ask three such people in turn to tell you which of their lives is most pleasant, each would give the highest praise to his own? Won’t a money-maker say that the pleasure of being honored and that of learning are worthless compared to that of making a [d] profit, if he gets no money from them?

  He will.

  What about an honor-lover? Doesn’t he think that the pleasure of making money is vulgar and that the pleasure of learning—except insofar as it brings him honor—is smoke and nonsense?

  He does.

  And as for a philosopher, what do you suppose he thinks the other pleasures are worth compared to that of knowing where the truth lies and always being in some such pleasant condition while learning? Won’t he [e] think that they are far behind? And won’t he call them really necessary, since he’d have no need for them if they weren’t necessary for life?

  He will: we can be sure of that.

  Then, since there’s a dispute between the different forms of pleasure and between the lives themselves, not about which way of living is finer or more shameful or better or worse, but about which is more pleasant and less painful, how are we to know which of them is speaking most truly? [582]

  Don’t ask me.

  Look at it this way: How are we to judge things if we want to judge them well? Isn’t it by experience, reason, and argument? Or could anyone have better criteria than these?

  How could he?

  Consider, then: Which of the three men has most experience of the pleasures we mentioned? Does a profit-lover learn what the truth itself is like or acquire more experience of the pleasure of knowing it than a [b] philosopher does of making a profit?

  There’s a big difference between them. A philosopher has of necessity tasted the other pleasures since childhood, but it isn’t necessary for a profit-lover to taste or experience the pleasure of learning the nature of the things that are and how sweet it is. Indeed, even if he were eager to taste it, he couldn’t easily do so.

  Then a philosopher is far superior to a profit-lover in his experience of both their pleasures.

  [c] He certainly is.

  What about an honor-lover? Has he more experience of the pleasure of knowing than a philosopher has of the pleasure of being honored?

  No, for honor comes to each of them, provided that he accomplishes his aim. A rich man is honored by many people, so is a courageous one and a wise one, but the pleasure of studying the things that are cannot be tasted by anyone except a philosopher.

  [d] Then, as far as experience goes, he is the finest judge of the three.

  By far.

  And he alone has gained his experience in the company of reason.

  Of course.

  Moreover, the instrument one must use to judge isn’t the instrument of a profit-lover or an honor-lover but a philosopher.

  What instrument is that?

  Arguments, for didn’t we say that we must judge by means of them?

  Yes.

  And argument is a philosopher’s instrument most of all.

  Of course.
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  Now, if wealth and profit were the best means of judging things, the [e] praise and blame of a profit-lover would necessarily be truest.

  That’s right.

  And if honor, victory, and courage were the best means, wouldn’t it be the praise and blame of an honor-lover?

  Clearly.

  But since the best means are experience, reason, and argument …

  The praise of a wisdom-lover and argument-lover is necessarily truest.

  Then, of the three pleasures, the most pleasant is that of the part of the [583] soul with which we learn, and the one in whom that part rules has the most pleasant life.

  How could it be otherwise? A person with knowledge at least speaks with authority when he praises his own life.

  To what life and to what pleasure does the judge give second place?

  Clearly, he gives it to those of a warrior and honor-lover, since they’re closer to his own than those of a money-maker.

  Then the life and pleasure of a profit-lover come last, it seems.

  Of course they do.

  These, then, are two proofs in a row, and the just person has defeated the [b] unjust one in both. The third is dedicated in Olympic fashion to Olympian Zeus the Savior. Observe then that, apart from those of a knowledgeable person, the other pleasures are neither entirely true nor pure but are like a shadow-painting, as I think I’ve heard some wise person say. And yet, if this were true, it would be the greatest and most decisive of the overthrows.

  It certainly would. But what exactly do you mean?

  I’ll find out, if I ask the questions, and you answer. [c]

  Ask, then.

  Tell me, don’t we say that pain is the opposite of pleasure?

  Certainly.

  And is there such a thing as feeling neither pleasure nor pain?

  There is.

  Isn’t it intermediate between these two, a sort of calm of the soul by comparison to them? Or don’t you think of it that way?

  I do.

  And do you recall what sick people say when they’re ill?

  Which saying of theirs do you have in mind?

  That nothing gives more pleasure than being healthy, but that they hadn’t realized that it was most pleasant until they fell ill. [d]

  I do recall that.