Plato, Republic 419a–424e: Book IV: Adeimantus' objection; the happiness of the whole city, wealth and poverty, size and unity

And Adeimantus broke in and said, “What will be your defence, Socrates, if anyone objects that you are not making these men very happy, and that through their own fault? For the city really belongs to them and yet they get no enjoyment out of it as ordinary men do by owning lands and building fine big houses and providing them with suitable furniture and winning the favor of the gods by private sacrifices and entertaining guests and enjoying too those possessions which you just now spoke of, gold and silver and all that is customary for those who are expecting to be happy?”

“But they seem, one might say, to be established in idleness in the city, exactly like hired mercenaries, with nothing to do but keep guard.” “Yes,” said I, “and what is more, they serve for board-wages and do not even receive pay in addition to their food as others do, so that they will not even be able to take a journey on their own account, if they wish to, or make presents to their mistresses, or spend money in other directions according to their desires like the men who are thought to be happy. These and many similar counts of the indictment you are omitting.” “Well,” said he, “assume these counts too.” “What then will be our apology you ask?” “Yes.” “By following the same path I think we shall find what to reply. For we shall say that while it would not surprise us if these men thus living prove to be the most happy, yet the object on which we fixed our eyes in the establishment of our state was not the exceptional happiness of any one class but the greatest possible happiness of the city as a whole. For we thought that in a state so constituted we should be most likely to discover justice as we should injustice in the worst governed state, and that when we had made these out we could pass judgement on the issue of our long inquiry. Our first task then, we take it, is to mold the model of a happy state—we are not isolating a small class in it and postulating their happiness, but that of the city as a whole. But the opposite type of state we will consider presently. It is as if we were coloring a statue and someone approached and censured us, saying that we did not apply the most beautiful pigments to the most beautiful parts of the image, since the eyes, which are the most beautiful part, have not been painted with purple but with black— we should think it a reasonable justification to reply, ‘Don’t expect us, quaint friend, to paint the eyes so fine that they will not be like eyes at all, nor the other parts. But observe whether by assigning what is proper to each we render the whole beautiful.’ And so in the present case you must not require us to attach to the guardians a happiness that will make them anything but guardians. For in like manner we could clothe the farmers in robes of state and deck them with gold and bid them cultivate the soil at their pleasure, and we could make the potters recline on couches from left to right before the fire drinking toasts and feasting with their wheel alongside to potter with when they are so disposed, and we can make all the others happy in the same fashion, so that thus the entire city may be happy.”

“But urge us not to this, since, if we yield, the farmer will not be a farmer nor the potter a potter, nor will any other of the types that constitute state keep its form. However, for the others it matters less. For cobblers who deteriorate and are spoiled and pretend to be the workmen that they are not are no great danger to a state. But guardians of laws and of the city who are not what they pretend to be, but only seem, destroy utterly, I would have you note, the entire state, and on the other hand, they alone are decisive of its good government and happiness. If then we are forming true guardians and keepers of our liberties, men least likely to harm the commonwealth, but the proponent of the other ideal is thinking of farmers and ‘happy’ feasters as it were in a festival and not in a civic community, he would have something else in mind than a state. Consider, then, whether our aim in establishing the guardians is the greatest possible happiness among them or whether that is something we must look to see develop in the city as a whole, but these helpers and guardians are to be constrained and persuaded to do what will make them the best craftsmen in their own work, and similarly all the rest. And so, as the entire city develops and is ordered well, each class is to be left, to the share of happiness that its nature comports.” “Well,” he said, “I think you are right.” “And will you then,” I said, “also think me reasonable in another point akin to this?” “What pray?” “Consider whether these are the causes that corrupt other craftsmen too so as positively to spoil them.” “What causes?” “Wealth and poverty,” said I. “How so?” “Thus! do you think a potter who grew rich would any longer be willing to give his mind to his craft?” “By no means,” said he. “But will he become more idle and negligent than he was?” “Far more.” “Then he becomes a worse potter?” “Far worse too.” “And yet again, if from poverty he is unable to provide himself with tools and other requirements of his art, the work that he turns out will be worse, and he will also make inferior workmen of his sons or any others whom he teaches.” “Of course.” “From both causes, then, poverty and wealth, the products of the arts deteriorate, and so do the artisans?” “So it appears.” “Here, then, is a second group of things it seems that our guardians must guard against and do all in their power to keep from slipping into the city without their knowledge.” “What are they?”

“Wealth and poverty,” said I, “since the one brings luxury, idleness and innovation, and the other illiberality and the evil of bad workmanship in addition to innovation.” “Assuredly,” he said; “yet here is a point for your consideration, Socrates, how our city, possessing no wealth, will be able to wage war, especially if compelled to fight a large and wealthy state.” “Obviously,” said I, “it would be rather difficult to fight one such, but easier to fight two.” “What did you mean by that?” he said. “Tell me first,” I said, “whether, if they have to fight, they will not be fighting as athletes of war against men of wealth?” “Yes, that is true,” he said. “Answer me then, Adeimantus. Do you not think that one boxer perfectly trained in the art could easily fight two fat rich men who knew nothing of it?” “Not at the same time perhaps,” said he. “Not even,” said I, “if he were allowed to retreat and then turn and strike the one who came up first, and if he repeated the procedure many times under a burning and stifling sun? Would not such a fighter down even a number of such opponents?” “Doubtless,” he said; “it wouldn’t be surprising if he did.” “Well, don’t you think that the rich have more of the skill and practice of boxing than of the art of war?” “I do,” he said. “It will be easy, then, for our athletes in all probability to fight with double and triple their number.” “I shall have to concede the point,” he said, “for I believe you are right.” “Well then, if they send an embassy to the other city and say what is in fact true: ‘We make no use of gold and silver nor is it lawful for us but it is for you: do you then join us in the war and keep the spoils of the enemy,’—do you suppose any who heard such a proposal would choose to fight against hard and wiry hounds rather than with the aid of the hounds against fat and tender sheep?” “I think not.” “Yet consider whether the accumulation of all the wealth of other cities in one does not involve danger for the state that has no wealth.” “What happy innocence,” said I, “to suppose that you can properly use the name city of any other than the one we are constructing.” “Why, what should we say?” he said. “A greater predication,” said I, “must be applied to the others. For they are each one of them many cities, not a city, as it goes in the game.”

“There are two at the least at enmity with one another, the city of the rich and the city of the poor, and in each of these there are many. If you deal with them as one you will altogether miss the mark, but if you treat them as a multiplicity by offering to the one faction the property, the power, the very persons of the other, you will continue always to have few enemies and many allies. And so long as your city is governed soberly in the order just laid down, it will be the greatest of cities. I do not mean greatest in repute, but in reality, even though it have only a thousand defenders. For a city of this size that is really one you will not easily discover either among Greeks or barbarians—but of those that seem so you will find many and many times the size of this. Or do you think otherwise?” “No, indeed I don’t,” said he. “Would not this, then, be the best rule and measure for our governors of the proper size of the city and of the territory that they should mark off for a city of that size and seek no more?” “What is the measure?” “I think,” said I, “that they should let it grow so long as in its growth it consents to remain a unity, but no further.” “Excellent,” he said. “Then is not this still another injunction that we should lay upon our guardians, to keep guard in every way that the city shall not be too small, nor great only in seeming, but that it shall be a sufficient city and one?” “That behest will perhaps be an easy one for them,” he said. “And still easier, haply,” I said, “is this that we mentioned before when we said that if a degenerate offspring was born to the guardians he must be sent away to the other classes, and likewise if a superior to the others he must be enrolled among the guardians; and the purport of all this was that the other citizens too must be sent to the task for which their natures were fitted, one man to one work, in order that each of them fulfilling his own function may be not many men, but one, and so the entire city may come to be not a multiplicity but a unity.” “Why yes,” he said, “this is even more trifling than that.” “These are not, my good Adeimantus, as one might suppose, numerous and difficult injunctions that we are imposing upon them, but they are all easy, provided they guard, as the saying is, the one great thing—or instead of great let us call it sufficient.” “What is that?” he said.

“Their education and nurture,” I replied. “For if a right education makes of them reasonable men they will easily discover everything of this kind—and other principles that we now pass over, as that the possession of wives and marriage, and the procreation of children and all that sort of thing should be made as far as possible the proverbial goods of friends that are common.” “Yes, that would be the best way,” he said. “And, moreover,” said I, “the state, if it once starts well, proceeds as it were in a cycle of growth. I mean that a sound nurture and education if kept up creates good natures in the state, and sound natures in turn receiving an education of this sort develop into better men than their predecessors both for other purposes and for the production of offspring as among animals also.” “It is probable,” he said. “To put it briefly, then,” said I, “it is to this that the overseers of our state must cleave and be watchful against its insensible corruption. They must throughout be watchful against innovations in music and gymnastics counter to the established order, and to the best of their power guard against them, fearing when anyone says that That song is most regarded among men / Which hovers newest on the singer’s lips, / lest haply it be supposed that the poet means not new songs but a new way of song and is commending this. But we must not praise that sort of thing nor conceive it to be the poet’s meaning. For a change to a new type of music is something to beware of as a hazard of all our fortunes. For the modes of music are never disturbed without unsettling of the most fundamental political and social conventions, as Damon affirms and as I am convinced.” “Set me too down in the number of the convinced,” said Adeimantus. “It is here, then,” I said, “in music, as it seems, that our guardians must build their guard-house and post of watch.” “It is certain,” he said, “that this is the kind of lawlessness that easily insinuates itself unobserved.” “Yes,” said I, “because it is supposed to be only a form of play and to work no harm.” “Nor does it work any,” he said, “except that by gradual infiltration it softly overflows upon the characters and pursuits of men and from these issues forth grown greater to attack their business dealings, and from these relations it proceeds against the laws and the constitution with wanton licence, Socrates, till finally it overthrows all things public and private.” “Well,” said I, “are these things so?” “I think so,” he said.