Laws

Ath.This is the special form of nurture to which, as I suppose, our present argument would confine the term education whereas an upbringing which aims only at money-making or physical strength, or even some mental accomplishment devoid of reason and justice, it would term vulgar and illiberal and utterly unworthy of the name education. Let us not, however, quarrel over a name, but let us abide by the statement we agreed upon just now, that those who are rightly educated become, as a rule, good, and that one should in no case disparage education, since it stands first among the finest gifts that are given to the best men; and if ever it errs from the right path, but can be put straight again, to this task every man, so long as he lives, must address himself with all his might.

Clin. You are right, and we agree with what you say.

Ath. Further, we agreed long ago that if men are capable of ruling themselves, they are good, but if incapable, bad.

Clin. Quite true.

Ath. Let us, then, re-state more clearly what we meant by this. With your permission, I will make use of an illustration in the hope of explaining the matter.

Clin. Go ahead.

Ath. May we assume that each of us by himself is a single unit?

Clin. Yes.

Ath. And that each possesses within himself two antagonistic and foolish counsellors, whom we call by the names of pleasure and pain?

Clin. That is so.

Ath. And that, besides these two, each man possesses opinions about the future, which go by the general name of expectations; and of these, that which precedes pain bears the special name of fear, and that which precedes pleasure the special name of confidence; and in addition to all these there is calculation, pronouncing which of them is good, which bad; and calculation, when it has become the public decree of the State, is named law.

Clin. I have some difficulty in keeping pace with you: assume, however, that I do so, and proceed.

Meg. I am in exactly the same predicament.

Ath. Let us conceive of the matter in this way. Let us suppose that each of us living creatures is an ingenious puppet of the gods, whether contrived by way of a toy of theirs or for some serious purpose—for as to that we know nothing; but this we do know, that these inward affections of ours, like sinews or cords, drag us along and, being opposed to each other, pull one against the other to opposite actions; and herein lies the dividing line between goodness and badness.

Ath.For, as our argument declares, there is one of these pulling forces which every man should always follow and nohow leave hold of, counteracting thereby the pull of the other sinews: it is the leading-string, golden and holy, of calculation, entitled the public law of the State; and whereas the other cords are hard and steely and of every possible shape and semblance, this one is flexible and uniform, since it is of gold. With that most excellent leading-string of the law we must needs co-operate always; for since calculation is excellent, but gentle rather than forceful, its leading-string needs helpers to ensure that the golden kind within us may vanquish the other kinds. In this way our story comparing ourselves to puppets will not fall flat, and the meaning of the terms self-superior and self-inferior will become somewhat more clear, and also how necessary it is for the individual man to grasp the true account of these inward pulling forces and to live in accordance therewith, and how necessary for the State (when it has received such an account either from a god or from a man who knows) to make this into a law for itself and be guided thereby in its intercourse both with itself and with all other States. Thus both badness and goodness would be differentiated for us more clearly; and these having become more evident, probably education also and the other institutions will appear less obscure; and about the institution of the wine-party in particular it may very likely be shown that it is by no means, as might be thought, a paltry matter which it is absurd to discuss at great length but rather a matter which folly merits prolonged discussion.

Clin. Quite right: let us go through with every topic that seems important for the present discussion.

Ath. Tell me now: if we give strong drink to this puppet of ours, what effect will it have on its character?

Clin. In reference to what particular do you ask this question?

Ath. To no particular, for the moment: I am putting the question in general terms—when this shares in that, what sort of thing does it become in consequence? I will try to convey my meaning still more clearly: what I ask is this—does the drinking of wine intensify pleasures and pains and passions and lusts?

Clin. Yes, greatly.

Ath. And how about sensations and recollections and opinions and thoughts? Does it make them likewise more intense? Or rather, do not these quit a man entirely if he becomes surfeited with drink?

Clin. Yes, they quit him entirely.

Ath. He then arrives at the same condition of soul as when he was a young child?

Clin. He does.

Ath. So at that moment he will have very little control of himself?

Clin. Very little.

Ath. And such a man is, we say, very bad?

Clin. Very, indeed.

Ath. It appears, then, that not the grey-beard only may be in his second childhood, but the drunkard as well.

Clin. An admirable observation, Stranger.

Ath. Is there any argument which will undertake to persuade us that this is a practice we ought to indulge in, instead of shunning it with all our might so far as we possibly can?

Clin. It appears that there is: at any rate you assert this, and you were ready just now to argue it.

Ath. You are right in your reminder, and I am still ready to do so, now that you and Megillus have both expressed your willingness to listen to me.

Clin. Of course we shall listen, if only on account of the surprising paradox that, of his own free will, a man ought to plunge into the depths of depravity.

Ath. Depravity of soul, you mean, do you not?

Clin. Yes.

Ath. And how about plunging into a bad state of body, such as leanness or ugliness or impotence? Should we be surprised if a man of his own free will ever got into such a state?

Clin. Of course we should.

Ath. Well then, do we suppose that persons who go of themselves to dispensaries to drink medicines are not aware that soon afterwards, and for many days to come, they will find themselves in a bodily condition such as would make life intolerable[*](Evidently, drastic purgatives were commonly prescribed.) if it were to last for ever? And we know, do we not, that men who go to the gymnasia for hard training commence by becoming weaker?

Clin. All this we know.

Ath. We know also that they go there voluntarily for the sake of the subsequent benefit ?

Clin. Quite true.

Ath. Should one not take the same view of the other institutions also?

Clin. Certainly.

Ath. Then one must also take the same view of the practice of wine-drinking, if one can rightly class it amongst the others.

Clin. Of course one must.

Ath. If then this practice should be shown to be quite as beneficial for us as bodily training, certainly at the outset it is superior to it, in so far as it is not, like bodily training, accompanied by pain.

Clin. That is true; but I should be surprised if we succeeded in discovering in it any benefit.

Ath. That is precisely the point which we must at once try to make plain. Tell me now: can we discern two kinds of fear, of which the one is nearly the opposite of the other?

Clin. What kinds do you mean?

Ath. These: when we expect evils to occur, we fear them.

Clin. Yes.

Ath. And often we fear reputation, when we think we shall gain a bad repute for doing or saying something base; and this fear we (like everybody else, I imagine) call shame.

Clin. Of course.

Ath. These are the two fears I was meaning; and of these the second is opposed to pains and to all other objects of fear, and opposed also to the greatest and most numerous pleasures.[*](i.e. shame, which is fear of disgrace, induces fortitude under pain and the power of resisting vicious pleasures.)

Clin. Very true.

Ath. Does not, then, the lawgiver, and every man who is worth anything, hold this kind of fear in the highest honor, and name it modesty; and to the confidence which is opposed to it does he not give the name immodesty, and pronounce it to be for all, both publicly and privately, a very great evil?

Clin. Quite right.

Ath. And does not this fear, besides saving us in many other important respects, prove more effective than anything else in ensuring for us victory in war and security? For victory is, in fact, ensured by two things, of which the one is confidence towards enemies, the other, fear of the shame of cowardice in the eyes of friends.

Clin. That is so.

Ath. Thus each one of us ought to become both fearless and fearful; and that for the several reasons we have now explained.

Clin. Certainly.

Ath. Moreover, when we desire to make a person fearless in respect of a number of fears, it is by drawing him, with the help of the law, into fear that we make him such.

Clin. Apparently.

Ath. And how about the opposite case, when we attempt with the aid of justice to make a man fearful? Is it not by pitting him against shamelessness and exercising him against it that we must make him victorious in the fight against his own pleasures? Or shall we say that, whereas in the case of courage it is only by fighting and conquering his innate cowardice that a man can become perfect, and no one unversed and unpracticed in contests of this sort can attain even half the excellence of which he is capable,—in the case of temperance, on the other hand, a man may attain perfection without a stubborn fight against hordes of pleasures and lusts which entice towards shamelessness and wrong-doing, and without conquering them by the aid of speech and act and skill, alike in play and at work,—and, in fact, without undergoing any of these experiences?

Clin. It would not be reasonable to suppose so.

Ath. Well then:

Ath.in the case of fear does there exist any specific, given by God to men, such that, the more a man likes to drink of it, the more, at every draught, he fancies himself plunged in misfortune and finally, though he be the bravest of men, he arrives at a state of abject terror; whereas, when he has once got relieved of the potion and slept it off, he always becomes his normal self again?

Clin. What potion of the kind can we mention, Stranger, as existing anywhere?

Ath. There is none. Supposing, however, that there had been one, would it have been of any service to the lawgiver for promoting courage? For instance, we might quite well have addressed him concerning it in this wise: Come now, O lawgiver,—whether it be Cretans you are legislating for or anyone else, would not your first desire be to have a test of courage and of cowardice which you might apply to your citizens?

Clin. Obviously everyone of them would say Yes.

Ath.And would you desire a test that was safe and free from serious risks, or the reverse?

Clin. All will agree, also, that the test must be safe.

Ath.And would you utilize the test by bringing men into these fears and proving them while thus affected, so as to compel them to become fearless; employing exhortations admonitions and rewards,— but degradation for all those that refused to conform wholly to the character you prescribed? And would you acquit without penalty everyone who had trained himself manfully and well, but impose a penalty on everyone who had done so badly? Or would you totally refuse to employ the potion as a test, although you have no objection to it on other grounds?

Clin. Of course he would employ it, Stranger.

Ath. At any rate, my friend, the training involved would be wonderfully simple, as compared with our present methods, whether it were applied to individuals singly, or to small groups, or to groups ever so large. Suppose, then, that a man, actuated by a feeling of shame and loth to show himself in public before he was in the best of condition, should remain alone by himself while undergoing this training against fears and relying on the potion alone for his solitary equipment, instead of endless exercises,—he would be acting quite rightly: so too would he who, trusting in himself that by nature and practice he is already well equipped, should have no hesitation in training in company with a number of drinking companions and showing off how for speed and strength he is superior to the potency of the draughts he is obliged to drink, with the result that because of his excellence he neither commits any grave impropriety nor loses his head, and who, before they came to the last round, should quit the company, through fear of the defeat inflicted on all men by the wine-cup.

Clin. Yes, Stranger, this man too would be acting temperately.

Ath. Once more let us address the lawgiver and say: Be it so, O lawgiver, that for producing fear no such drug apparently has been given to men by God, nor have we devised such ourselves (for quacks I count not of our company); but does there exist a potion for inducing fearlessness and excessive and untimely confidence,—of what shall we say about this?

Clin. Presumably, he will assert that there is one,—naming wine.

Ath. And is not this exactly the opposite of the potion described just now? For, first, it makes the person who drinks it more jovial than he was before, and the more he imbibes it, the more he becomes filled with high hopes and a sense of power, till finally, puffed up with conceit, he abounds in every kind of licence of speech and action and every kind of audacity, without a scruple as to what he says or what he does. Everyone, I imagine, would agree that this is so.

Clin. Undoubtedly.

Ath. Let us recall our previous statement that we must cultivate in our souls two things—namely, the greatest possible confidence, and its opposite, the greatest possible fear.

Clin. Which you called, I think, the marks of modesty.

Ath. Your memory serves you well. Since courage and fearlessness ought to be practised amidst fears, we have to consider whether the opposite quality ought to be cultivated amidst conditions of the opposite kind.

Clin. It certainly seems probable.

Ath. It appears then that we ought to be placed amongst those conditions which naturally tend to make us exceptionally confident and audacious when we are practising how to be as free as possible from shamelessness and excessive audacity, and fearful of ever daring to say or suffer or do anything shameful.

Clin. So it appears.

Ath. And are not these the conditions in which we are of the character described,—anger, lust, insolence, ignorance, covetousness, and extravagance; and these also,—wealth, beauty, strength, and everything which intoxicates a man with pleasure and turns his head? And for the purpose, first, of providing a cheap and comparatively harmless test of these conditions, and, secondly, of affording practice in them, what more suitable pleasure can we mention than wine, with its playful testing—provided that it is employed at all carefully?

Ath. For consider: in the case of a man whose disposition is morose and savage (whence spring numberless iniquities), is it not more dangerous to test him by entering into money transactions with him, at one’s own personal risk, than by associating with him with the help of Dionysus and his festive insight? And when a man is a slave to the pleasures of sex, is it not a more dangerous test to entrust to him one’s own daughters and sons and wife, and thus imperil one’s own nearest and dearest, in order to discover the disposition of his soul? In fact, one might quote innumerable instances in a vain endeavor to show the full superiority of this playful method of inspection which is without either serious consequence or costly damage. Indeed, so far as that is concerned, neither the Cretans, I imagine, nor any other people would dispute the fact that herein we have a fair test of man by man, and that for cheapness, security and speed it is superior to all other tests.

Clin. That certainly is true.

Ath. This then—the discovery of the natures and conditions of men’s souls—will prove one of the things most useful to that art whose task it is to treat them; and that art is (as I presume we say) the art of politics: is it not so?

Clin. Undoubtedly.