The Rivals — Plato
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ΕΡΑΣΤΑΙ
Translation/edition: Floyer Sydenham, ed. Thomas Taylor (1804)
Language: English
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## The Rivals¹

[132a] I WENT into the School of Dionysius³ the grammarian; and I there saw the comeliest and finest of our young gentry, accompanied by such as courted their esteem and friendship⁴. Two of these youths happened at that time to be disputing: but what was the subject of their dispute I did not perfectly apprehend. There was reason however to suppose it related either to Anaxagoras or to Oenopides⁵: for they appeared to be describing circles; and by holding their hands in an inclining and oblique position, seemed to be representing, not in play, but with much seriousness, certain inclinations of the pole. Upon which, as I had seated myself next to an admirer of one of the young disputants, I moved him with my elbow to turn his face to me, and then asked him what point it was which engaged those two youths so earnestly in debate; adding, It must certainly be something of great importance, and a matter of fine speculation, that, on which they bestowed so serious an attention.
[132b] —What call you great and fine⁶? said he. They are⁷ prating⁸ about things up in the sky, and trifle away their time in philosophizing.
[132c] —This answer of his seemed to me a strange one; and I said, Young man, do you then think it mean and dishonourable for a man to philosophize? or for what other reason do you speak so harshly of what they are employed about?
[132c] —On my putting this question to him, another person⁹, who happened to be a rival of his for the esteem of the youths I mentioned, and was therefore seated near us, having heard my questions, with his answers to them, interposed, and said to me, It is unworthy of you, Socrates, to ask the opinion of this man, whether he thinks it mean and dishonourable to philosophize. Know you not him, that he has spent all his time in wrestling¹⁰, cramming himself, and sleeping? What other answer then can you expect from him than this, that the study of philosophy is dishonourable and base.
[132c] —Now the person, who thus spake [132d] to me, ye are to understand, employed his whole time in the improvement of his mind, and in the study of the arts¹¹ and sciences: the other, whom he had vilified, spent his in the care and improvement of his body by the gymnic¹² exercises. I therefore thought it proper to desist from putting my questions to him,¹³this robust body of a man; seeing that he professed not to be well-practised in the arts of reasoning and discoursing, but in feats only of activity and strength: and I chose rather to interrogate and sift the other, who pretended to be the wiser man;¹⁴in hopes that, if it were possible for me, I might receive from him some improvement in knowledge. Addressing myself therefore to him, I told him that I had proposed my question before all who heard me;¹⁵and if you think yourself, said I, capable of giving me a better answer than that man, I repeat the same question to you, Whether you think it honourable, or not, to philosophize?
[132e] —About the time we had proceeded thus far in our conversation, the two youths, overhearing what we said, became silent; [133a] and breaking off the dispute between themselves, gave their attention to us. Now, what were the sentiments of their professed friends and admirers on this occasion I know not; but, for my own part, I was struck with admiration at the scene; as I always am, when I see such a disposition in the young and handsome. One of them, however, the person to whom I had proposed my question last, seemed to me no less charmed with it than myself: not but that he answered with a free and open air, as if ambitious only of having the preference and the praise given to his own studies.—¹⁶Should I ever, Socrates, said he, come to think meanly of philosophy, I should no longer deem myself a human being; as I deem not any person, who entertains such a sentiment worthy of that character;—hinting at his Rival, and raising his voice, that he might be heard by the youths, of whose esteem both of them were emulous.
[133b] —You then, said I, think highly of philosophy. —Most highly, replied he.
[133b] —But what? said I: do you suppose it possible for a man to know the true dignity of any thing, to know whether it be base or honourable, unless he first knows what the nature of that thing is?
[133b] — I do not, answered he.
[133b] —Know you then, said I, what it is to philosophize?
[133c] —Perfectly well, said he.
[133c] —What is it then? said I.
[133c] —What other thing, answered he, than that described by Solon¹⁷ in these verses,
[133c] To various knowledge, I had gain’d before,
I add each year variety of more;
And thus old age increases still my store.
[133c] Agreeably to this is my opinion, said he, that the man, who would philosophize, ought to be always, in his old age as well as in his youth, still adding to his stock of knowledge by some new acquisition; making use of life to learn as many things as possible.
[133c] —Now this account of his¹⁸ seemed to me, at first appearance, to have some weight in it: but after reviewing it a little within myself, I asked him, whether philosophy in his judgment consisted in multiplicity of knowledge.
[133c] —That, replied he, is entirely my opinion. —And is it your opinion too, said I, that philosophy is only a becoming and an honourable study? or do you deem it also good and beneficial?
[133d] — Good and beneficial, replied he, in the highest degree.
[133d] —Does this appear to you the peculiar property of philosophy? or think you that other studies partake of the same advantage? For instance, love of the gymnic exercises, do you deem it not only honourable and becoming a man, but good for him also? or think you otherwise?
[133d] —To this question, he facetiously replied, I have two answers to give. To this man here I would say, It is neither: but to you, Socrates, I acknowledge it to be both, to be good for a man, as well as becoming him.
[133e] —Then I asked him, whether in these exercises he thought the undergoing much toil to be the same thing with love of exercise.
[133e] —By all means, said he; just as in philosophizing, I take¹⁹ the acquisition of much knowledge to be the same thing with philosophy.
[133e] —Do you think then, said I, that the lovers of those exercises have any other view than to acquire a good habit of body?
[133e] —No other, replied he.
[133e] —Is a good habit of body then, said I, acquired by using much exercise, and undergo ing much toil and labour in it?
[133e] —Certainly, said he: for how should a man, who labours little, or uses little exercise, acquire a good habit of body. — Here I thought it most advisable to call in to my assistance our champion for the gymnastic art, on account of his experience. I therefore said to him, How can you sit silent, my friend, and hear this man talk so strangely? Are you of opinion too, that a good habit of body is acquired through great toil, labour, and exercise, and not rather by means of such as are moderate?
[134a] — For my part, Socrates, said he, I was thinking that I had an evident proof before my eyes, at this very time, to confirm the truth of that well-known saying, that moderate labour is best for the body.
[134b] —How so? said I.
[134b] —Do I not see²⁰ him there, said he, in want of sleep and good nourishment,²¹scarce able to turn his head, and worn away to a shadow with much study and hard labour of the brain?
[134b] —At this sarcasm, the youths, who heard him, were pleased, and could not refrain from laughing; a circumstance which put our great student a little out of countenance.
[134b] —I then said to him, Well; do you now agree with us, that a good habit of body is procured neither by much nor by little labour, but by that only which is moderate? or will you dispute the point with us, one against two?
[134c] —Against him, replied he, I would enter the lists with much pleasure, well assured that I should be able to support my side of the argument,²²even though it were worse and weaker than it is: for in such combats, he is a mere nothing. But against you, Socrates, I would not choose to contend for any kind of paradox: and therefore I admit, that²³not violent but moderate exercise procures men a good habit of body.
[134d] —And how is it with respect to food? said I. Is it much or moderate, which contributes to the same end?—²⁴With respect to food also he acknowledged moderation to be best. And thus I led him on through all other things which had relation to the body; urging him to own, that it was best to be moderate in the use of them all, and neither to exceed, nor to be deficient: and all this he granted me.
[134d] —Well; and how is it with respect to the soul? said I. Is this benefited most by a moderate or by an immoderate quantity of those things which it receives?
[134d] —By a moderate quantity, said he.
[134d] —Is not learning one of the things administered to the soul?
[134d] —It was admitted.
[134d] —Most beneficial therefore to the soul is moderate learning, and not an immense heap.
[134d] —He granted it.
[134d] —Who now is the proper person for us to advise with concerning the body; would we know, what kinds and degrees of exercise are moderate, and what is a moderate quantity of food? We must all three of us agree, that it is either a physician or²⁵a master of exercise. And concerning corn, what is a moderate and due quantity for sowing, we must agree, that the husbandman is the fittest person to be consulted. But concerning the soul, and the discipline or learning to be there sown and planted, of whom ought we to inquire, what measure and what share is to be accounted moderate?
[134e] —We were here all of us at a [135a] stand. Upon which, in a jocular way, I said, Since we are at a loss, ourselves, what to answer, will you consent to ask the opinion of these youths here on the point in question? But perhaps we are above that;²⁶like the wooers of Penelope, of whom Homer says, that they disdained to suffer any to draw the bow beside themselves.—²⁷When they now seemed to be giving up the argument, in despair of coming to a conclusion; I bethought myself how to put the inquiry on another footing. And accordingly I proposed this question, What sorts of learning, to the best of our conjecture, does it become a philosopher to acquire principally? since we have already found, that it is not all sorts, nor even many.
[135b] —To this my learned companion answered, That the finest sorts of learning, and the most becoming to the philosophic character, were those which give a man the highest reputation as a philosopher: and this reputation, said he, that man would gain, who should appear conversant²⁸in all the arts and sciences, at least in as many as possible, especially in those which are held in esteem the most, and are the most deserving of it;—the man, who having studied these arts, as far as is requisite to a liberal education, hath acquired so much knowledge in them, as depends on taste and judgment, not on the mechanical exercise of any, or on the labour of the hands.
[135b] —Do you mean in the same way, said I, as it is in building? For in that affair, if you have occasion for artificers and artists, a bricklayer or a carpenter you may hire for five or six minas²⁹, but an architect will cost you above ten thousand drachmas³⁰, so few of these are to be found in all Greece. Do you mean to distinguish in some such way as this?
[135c] —He admitted such to be his meaning.
[135c] —On this, I asked him, if it was not impossible for one man to be a perfect master of any two arts, much more to attain a mastership in any considerable number, especially of such as are great and excellent.
[135c] —Do not imagine, Socrates, said he, that I mean, it is requisite for a philosopher to have so thorough a knowledge of any art, as the man who makes it his profession; but to be able, as becomes a gentleman of a liberal education, to understand what the artist says, when he is speaking of his work, better than any of the bystanders; and to interpose judiciously his own advice about the workmanship: so as always to appear, in every conversation relating to the arts, and in criticising on every performance of the artists, to have a finer taste, and more knowledge, than any other person present.
[135c] —Then I, for I was not yet quite certain what he meant, said to him thus; Do I conceive rightly, what kind of man you call a philosopher? You seem to me to have described such a man, as the³¹general combatants are in the Olympic games, compared with the racers³² or the wrestlers. For in each kind of competition, those universalists fall short of the respective excellencies of the particular professors, and are but the next best men to them in their own way, but at the same time are superior to the professors of the other kind, and easily get the better of these, whose excellence lies only in the other way. Such a degree of skill as this, you may perhaps mean, that the study of philosophy begets in those who are addicted to it; a degree, by which they fail of supreme excellence in knowledge of the arts, but attaining an excellence which is next to the supreme, they excel all men except the artists: so that he, who has studied philosophy, is, in every employment or business of life, a second-rate man, and below the pitch of perfection. Some such man, I think, as this you point out to us for a philosopher.
[136a] —You seem, Socrates, replied he, to have a just conception of what belongs to a philosopher, in likening him to³³a general combatant in the public games. For he is absolutely such a man, as not to be a slave to any thing; nor has he studied any branch of knowledge so accurately and minutely, as, through entire attention to that one, to be deficient in all the rest, like vulgar artists, and the professors of one only science; but he has bestowed a competent measure of application on them all.
[136b] —After he had made me this answer, I, desirous he should explain himself more fully and clearly, asked him, whether he thought the good, in any way of life, to be useful men, or useless.
[136b] —Useful, without doubt, Socrates, said he.
[136b] —If then the good are useful, are not the bad useless?
[136b] —He agreed.
[136b] —Well then, said I; do you take philosophers to be useful men, or not?
[136c] —He acknowledged they were useful: and not only so, said he, but I account them the most useful of all men.
[136c] —Come now, said I; let us examine whether this be true. How can they be even of any use at all, these second-rate men? For it is plain, that your philosopher is inferior in every art or science to the man who is a perfect master of it.
[136c] —This he acknowledged.
[136c] —Well; suppose now, said I, that you yourself, or any friend of yours, for whom you have a great regard, should happen to fall sick, I ask you, whether, with a view to the recovery of health, you would send for that second-rate man, the philosopher; or whether you would send for a physician.
[136d] —For both of them, said he.
[136d] —I ask you not that, said I; but which of the two you would send for in the first place, or in preference to the other.
[136d] —No man, said he, would doubt, in such a case, to give the preference to the physician.
[136d] —And how in the case of a storm at sea, said I? to whom rather would you choose to intrust yourself and your concerns; to a pilot, or to a philosopher?
[136d] —To a pilot, said he, I for my part.
[136d] —And thus it is in every other affair, said I; so long as a man, professing skill in it, is to be found, a philosopher is of no use.
[136d] —Thus it appears, said he.
[136d] —A philosopher therefore, said I, we have discovered to be a man entirely useless; since it is clear, that in every affair of life, men, who profess skill therein, are to be found. And we agreed before, that the good in any way were the useful men, and the bad were the useless.
[136e] —He was forced to own it.
[136e] —But now, said I, that we have carried our reasoning to this length, may I go on with my questions? or would it not be rather unpolite and rude to push the point further?
[136e] —Ask any questions that you please, said he.
[136e] —Nay, said I; I desire nothing else, than to recapitulate what has been already said. The present state of the argument then is this: We acknowledged, that philosophy was an honourable study, and professed to be philosophers ourselves: we acknowledged that philosophers were, in their way, good as well as honourable; that the good, in any way, were useful men, and the bad useless. On the other hand, we acknowledged that philosophers were useless, whenever we could find good workmen and men of skill of every kind; and that good workmen of every kind, professors of the several sciences, and practisers of the several arts, were always to be found. For was not all this granted?
[137a] —It was, said he.
[137a] —We grant therefore, agreeably to those our own concessions, that, if philosophy be, what you say it is, knowledge in the arts and sciences, the spending our time in philosophizing is then a bad and useless way of life, and philosophers are useless men, and good for nothing. [137b] But what, my friend, if their case be otherwise? what, if the philosophic life consist not in studying the arts; nor³⁴ in busying a man’s self about a multitude of experiments, and continually poring over them; nor in acquiring a multiplicity of knowledge; but in something else? For I thought, that such employments were accounted dishonourable and base, and that those who followed them were called, by way of reproach, dirty mechanics and bellows-blowers³⁵. Whether my suspicions are just or not, will evidently appear, if you but answer³⁶ to the following questions—What³⁷ men are those who understand how to give proper chastisement to vicious horses? are they those very men who can give a horse all the improvement he is capable of; or are they a different sort of men?
[137b] —The very same men, he answered.
[137b] —And those, said I, who are able to improve the useful qualities of a dog, do not the same men know how properly to chastise dogs which are vicious?
[137b] —They do, said he.
[137c] —By one and the same art then, said I, are those animals improved and properly chastised.
[137c] —I agree, said he.
[137c] —Well; but, said I, is it also the same art, through which a man distinguishes amongst those animals the good from the vicious? or is this an art different from that, through which they receive improvement and due correction?
[137c] —It is still, said he, the same art.
[137c] —Will you admit then, said I, that this holds true with regard to the human species in like manner; that the art, whatever it be, by which men are made to excel in virtue, is the same art with that through which bad men are properly chastised, and the same also with that though which the good and the bad are known and distinguished one sort from the other?
[137c] —By all means, said he.—³⁸ Now the art, which gives this power and this knowledge with respect to one man, has it the same efficacy with respect to many men? And the art of thus managing and judging of many, has it the same abilities with respect to one?
[137d] —Certainly, said he.
[137d] —Is it so in the case of horses too, said I, and in all other cases after the same manner?
[137d] —Beyond a doubt, said he.
[137d] —Now what science, said I, is that, through which proper chastisement is given to the licentious and the lawless in civil states? Is it not the judicial science, that of judges and other magistrates?
[137d] —It is, said he.
[137d] —Is the science of justice, said I, any other than this science?
[137d] —No other, answered he.
[137d] —And is it not through the same science that the good and the bad are both known?
[137e] —He replied, it was through the same science.
[137e] —And the science, said I, through which one man is known, will give equal skill to know many men.
[137e] —True, said he.
[137e] —And whoever, said I, through want of this science, hath not the skill to know many, will be equally deficient in the knowledge of one.
[137e] —Right, said he.
[137e] —If a horse therefore, said I, as being but a horse, be incapable of knowing and distinguishing between good and bad horses, must he not be ignorant of which sort he himself is?
[137e] —Certainly, said he. —And if an ox, said I, being but an ox, knows not how to distinguish and judge of good and bad oxen, is it possible that he can know of which sort he is himself?
[137e] —Certainly not, said he.
[137e] —And is not the same thing certain, said I, with respect to the ignorance of dogs?
[137e] — It is, said he.
[137e] —And how is it in the case of men? said I. When a man knows not who are the good men and who the bad, is he not at the same time ignorant of himself, and unable to tell whether he is good or bad, in as much as he also is a man?
[138a] —He allowed it to be true.
[138a] —Now to be ignorant of oneself, said I, is it³⁹ to be sound of mind, or to be insane?
[138a] —To be insane, he replied.
[138a] —To know oneself therefore, said I, is to be sound of mind.
[138a] — I agree, said he.
[138a] —This then, said I, should seem to be the precept contained in the⁴⁰ Delphic inscription; it is to exercise wisdom and justice.
[138a] —It should seem so, replied he.
[138a] —And through the same science we know how to correct others duly and rightly.
[138a] — True, said he.
[138a] —Now that, through which we have this knowledge, is the science of justice; and that, through which a man has the knowledge of himself, and of other men, is soundness of mind, or wisdom.
[138b] —It appears so to be, said he.
[138b] —The science therefore of justice, said I, and the science belonging to every sound mind, wisdom, are one and the same science.
[138b] —It appears, said he, to be so proved.—⁴¹ Again, said I, by the same means are civil states well governed; that is, when the doers of injustice are duly punished.
[138b] —Right, said he.
[138b] —The same science therefore, said I, is the science of politics.
[138b] —He assented.
[138b] —And when a civil state is thus well governed by one man, is not that man called⁴² either a tyrant⁴³, or a king?
[138b] —He is, said he.
[138b] —Does he not thus govern, said I, through the kingly art, or the tyrannic? —He does, said he.
[138b] —These arts therefore, said I, the kingly and the tyrannic, are the same with that art and science just before mentioned.
[138b] —So they appear, said he.
[138b] —Well, said I, and when a family⁴⁴ is in like manner well governed by one man, what is this man called? Either the steward⁴⁵ of the household, or else the master⁴⁶ of the family; is he not?
[138c] —He is, said he.
[138c] —Whether is it the science of justice now, said I, which enables this man also to govern well his family? or is it any other art or science?
[138c] —The science of justice only, said he.
[138c] —The same kind of person, it seems then, said I, is a king, a tyrant, a politician⁴⁷ a steward of a household, a lord and master of a family, a man of wisdom, and a just and good man. And one and the same art is the kingly, the tyrannic, the political, the despotic, and the œconomical, the same with the science of justice, and the same with wisdom.
[138c] —So, said he, it appears.
[138d] —Well then, said I: is it a shame for a philosopher not to understand what the physician says, when speaking of his patient’s malady; nor to be able to give a judicious opinion, himself, upon the case? and so with regard to other artists and their arts, is it a shame for him to be ignorant? and yet, when a magistrate, or a king, or any of the others, just now enumerated, is speaking of the affairs or functions of his office, is it not shameful in a philosopher not to understand perfectly what any of these persons say, nor to be able to give good counsel himself in such cases?
[138d] —How, Socrates, said he, can it be otherwise than shameful to him, to have nothing pertinent to say on subjects so important?
[138e] —Are we of opinion then, said I, that in these cases it becomes a philosopher to be like a general combatant, a second-rate man, to come next behind all who have these offices, and to be useless, so long as any such are to be found? or do we hold quite the contrary, that he ought, in the first place, not to commit the management of his domestic affairs to another man, nor to come next behind some other in his own house; but that he ought himself to be the ruler, corrector, and impartial judge, if he would have right order and good government at home?
[138e] —This he granted me.
[138e] —And besides this, said I, if his friends should submit their differences to his arbitration, or if the state should refer to his judgment the decision of any controverted point, is it not a shame that he should appear in such cases to be but a second or a third rate man, and not to have the lead?
[139a] —I must own myself of that opinion, said he⁴⁸.
[139a] —Philosophizing, therefore, my friend, is a thing quite different, we find, from the acquiring a multiplicity of various knowledge, or the being busied in the circle of arts and sciences.
[139a] —When I had said this, the Man of Learning, ashamed of what he had before asserted, was silent: the man without learning said, I had made it a clear case: and the rest of our audience gave their assent and approbation.

## Notes

[1] Proclus, if that passage, cited from him in note 1, p. 376, be not corrupted, must have supposed this Man of Learning to be Theodorus of Cyrene, the mathematician. It must be confessed, that the character of Theodorus the Cyrenean, given us by Plato in his Theætetus, tallies well enough with that of the Man of Learning, or universal scholar, in this Dialogue. But we presume, the note referred to makes it appear highly probable, at least, that the passage there cited is grossly corrupt; and that Proclus could not entertain any such supposition. We therefore embrace the opinion of Thrasyllus, who, as Diogenes Laertius informs us, pronounced him to be Democritus. To this opinion Laertius himself subscribes, and Dr. Forster seems to agree with them. The reasons, by which it may be supported, together with answers to some objections, to which it may be liable, will be given in our notes to the Dialogue.—S.
[2] The narration is made in the person of Socrates: who is here feigned by Plato to relate to some of his friends a certain conversation, in which he had been engaged; but how long before this narration is left undetermined.—Now we know, it is usual and natural for all men to begin their relation of any thing past, whether it consisted of facts or words, with an account of the time when those facts happened or those words were spoken; unless the relation immediately succeeds the thing related.—Accordingly Plato, in every one of his narrative Dialogues, points out the precise time of the conversation there related, except in this, and in The Lysis: but the words, with which he begins The Lysis, manifestly, we think, imply the time to have been the morning of the same day. The Rivals therefore, remaining a single exception to the general rule, it seems necessary to suppose, that Plato in this Dialogue, agreeably to the usage of all men, dictated to them by nature and common sense, and agreeably to his usual dramatic manner, intended to represent Socrates, immediately on his quitting the school of Dionysius, meeting with some of his friends, who happened not to have attended him thither, and relating to them a conversation, to which they had not been witnesses. For Socrates appears never to have used the didactic manner, in the instructing his disciples: but to have taught them his divine doctrine in the more engaging way of familiar conversation. If then he be supposed to have made them this narration in answer to these questions of theirs,— Where have you been, and what have you been doing since you left us?—the time, Just now, is evidently implied in the very first sentence. Or if he be supposed to have given them the recital from his own motion, as being yet warm from the discourse recited, and having his head still full of the argument,—in this case, the abrupt manner of beginning, without mention of the time, is more animated, and shows the mind pregnant with the matter to be delivered.—Dacier, in his translation of this Dialogue, has here thrust in, without any warrant from the original, the words “l’autre jour;” which give an air of coldness to the whole narration. But it must be observed, that he is every where more attentive to make his translation of Plato agreeable to modern readers, than to preserve those seemingly slight and trivial dramatic circumstances, which would have cost him the trouble of many a note to illustrate and explain.—S.
[3] Γραμματικου. Thus all the editions of Plato, and consequently those manuscript copies, from which the four first were printed. But Dr. Forster, in his late excellent edition of this and other Dialogues of Plato, prefers the reading of Γραμματιστου, that is, teacher of the elements of grammar, which has the authority of only one manuscript to support it. It appears indeed, from the very passage now before us, that teaching the elements of grammar was the profession of this Dionysius; and we learn, from several antient writers, that he had taught Plato. But if it be true, what Olympiodorus supposes, and the supposition seems very natural and just, that Plato introduces the mention of his master in this passage, on purpose to record his memory, and to give his name what place he could in his writings, it is probable that, in pursuance of the same solicitude for his master’s honour, he would mention him in the most respectful manner, and though Dionysius was Γραμματιστης, a grammar-schoolmaster by profession, yet that his grateful scholar would give him here the more honourable title of Γραμματικος——. It is further to be observed, that Olympiodorus, when he calls him Γραμματιστης, speaks of him historically, and not citing the words of Plato in this passage, as Dr. Windet in his notes on Olympiodorus, and Dr. Forster after him, erroneously seem to think.—S.
[4] There was a law or custom in Sparta, instituted by Lycurgus, that young gentlemen, who had gone through the whole course of their studies, and were become perfect in the practice of those virtues they had learnt, should take under their own immediate eye the younger sort, who were then training up in the same discipline. The intention of which law was this; that the continual presence and example of those adepts might animate the learners, and fire them with emulation and an ardour to arrive at the same excellence. To further this end, particular friendships were highly encouraged, and grew into great fashion, between two such persons. They were contracted in this manner: the elder chose out from among the youth one, whose genius he thought similar to his own, and whom he had conceived the best hopes of being able to improve; attached himself to him, and accompanied him in all his studies, his performances in music, and his gymnic exercises, the two principal parts of a Spartan education; encouraging and applauding him, endeavouring to acquire his confidence, and engage him to a reciprocal esteem and friendship. In imitation of this custom amongst the Spartans, Solon either introduced or authorized friendships of this kind amongst the Athenians; laying them under the same restrictions as in Sparta; and prohibiting slaves, though frequently employed as schoolmasters and pedagogues to their youth, from aspiring to be their private tutors, guides, and constant companions, in this way of intimacy and friendship. This was all the caution deemed requisite, in those antient and virtuous times, to preserve their youth from the contagion of base sentiments and bad manners. But when afterwards the riches of Asia flowed into Athens, and thence into the rest of Greece, through the channels of trade and commerce; and when luxury and effeminacy, which always come with the tide of riches, had corrupted the Grecians, and debauched their manners; friendship, which only can subsist amongst the virtuous, no longer flourished in its purity, but degenerated into a commerce of lewdness; entered into and managed, at first, under the mask of friendship, and those laudable motives before mentioned; but at length, especially amongst the rich and great, carried on more openly, and with little or no disguise. Instances in both ways we meet with frequently in Plato; in the way of virtuous friendship, Socrates in particular, every where seeking out the best disposed amongst the youth, attracting their regards and cultivating their esteem, with a view to communicate to them his wisdom, to avert them from the parties of bad men, and to engage them on his own side, the side of virtue. The Man of Learning in this Dialogue is plainly enough, from his whole description, another instance of like kind. Of which sort were the other persons, mentioned in the passage here before us, is uncertain: and examples of the vicious kinds in some other Dialogues need not to be pointed out. The speech of Alcibiades in The Banquet is too flagrant a proof, that the profligacy of that young nobleman was no very astonishing or singular thing at Athens. When any other such passages occur in Plato, it will be sufficient to refer our readers to this note.—S.
[5] Proclus, in giving a short history of the rise and progress of geometry, refers to this place in the following words: Αναξαγορας ὁ Κλαζομενιος πολλων εφηψατο κατα γεωμετριαν, και Οινοπιδης ὁ Χιος, ὁ τον του μηνισκου τετραγωνισμον ευρων, και Θεοδωρος ὁ Κυρηναιος, ολιγῳ νεωτερος ων του Αναξαγόρου· ὧν και ὁ Πλατων εν τοις αντερασταις εμνημονευσεν„ ὡς επι τοις μαθημασι δοξαν λαβοντων. “Anaxagoras the Clazomenian touched on many points in geometry; as also did Oenopides the Chian, he who found out the squaring of the Meniscus; and Theodorus the Cyrenean, somewhat junior to Anaxagoras; who are recorded by Plato in The Rivals, as men of reputation for mathematical science.” Procl. Comment. in Euclid. l. ii. p. 19. But we find no where in this Dialogue any mention made of Theodorus by name. It should seem, therefore, that Proclus imagined, one of the two nameless Rivals, the Man of Learning, to be this very Theodorus. But indeed the sentence, here cited from Proclus, appears to us erroneously copied by some old transcriber. For it is immediately followed by this other sentence; εφ’ οις Ἱπποκρατης ὁ Χιος, ὁ τον του μηνισκου τετραγωνισμον εὑρων, και Θεοδωρος ὁ Κυρηναιος, εγενοντο περι γεωμετριαν επιφανεις. “After whom Hippocrates the Chian, he who found out the squaring of the Meniscus, and Theodorus the Cyrenean, became illustrious for their skill in geometry.” Now these two sentences, taken together, evidently contain two egregious blunders; one is, that the [first] discovery of squaring the Meniscus, is attributed to two different persons; the other is, that one and the same person, Theodorus, is introduced as posterior in point of time to himself. We have therefore no doubt but that the whole passage in Proclus ought to be read as follows: Αναξαγορας ὁ Κλαζομενιος πολλων εφηψατο κατα γεωμετριαν, και Οινοπιδης ὁ Χιος· ὡν και ὁ Πλατων εν τοις αντερασταις εμνημονευσεν, ὡς επι τοις μαθημασι δοξαν λαβοντων. εφ’ οις Ἱπποκρατης ὁ Χιος, ὁ τον του μηνισκου τετραγωνισμον εὑρων, και Θεοδωρος ὁ Κυρηναιος, ολιγῳ νεωτερος ων του Αναξαγορου, εγενοντο περι γεωμετριαν επιφανεις. “Anaxagoras the Clazomenian touched on many points in geometry; as also did Oenopides the Chian; who are [both of them] recorded by Plato in The Rivals, as men of reputation for mathematical science. After whom, Hippocrates the Chian, he who found out the squaring of the Meniscus, and Theodorus the Cyrenean, who was somewhat junior to Anaxagoras, became illustrious for their skill in geometry.” The mistake of the transcriber of this passage is easy to be accounted for by such as are used to antient manuscripts, in the following manner. The transcriber, we presume, had no other person to read to him; as those had, who copied books, for which there was always a great demand, such as Homer, for instance; in which case there was one reader to many scribes. But the writings of Proclus were the purchase only of a few. The transcriber, therefore, being alone, his eye must have been often changing from his own writing to that which he wrote after. We suppose, that the words Ἱπποκρατης ὁ Χιος occured in the next line to, and immediately under, the words Οινοπιδης ὁ Χιος. We suppose that the transcriber having written so far as Οινοπιδης ὁ Χιος, and looking into his original, had his eye caught by ὁ Χιος in the next line; from which words there he went on transcribing, with the omission of a whole line: and that afterwards on a review finding his mistake, transcribed in the margin the words omitted (a large margin being always left for such purposes); and added a few words which followed, to point out where the omission was made. But when this very transcript came afterwards to be copied, we suppose that the latter transcriber inserted the marginal words into the body of his copy, in a wrong place, after the words του Αναξαγορου. But the matter is put out of dispute by Simplicius, who, in his learned Commentary on Aristotle’s Physics, fol. 12. has shown us mathematically how to square the Meniscus; the invention, as he expressly tells us, of Hippocrates the Chian, as a step to the discovery of squaring the Circle.—S.
[6] The Greek is thus printed; Ὁ δ’ ειπε, Ποιον, εφη, μεγα και καλον: “And he replied, What mean you, said he, by great and fine?” If this reading be right, Dr. Forster rightly says, there is a pleonasm here in the words ειπε and εφη. But, perhaps, instead of εφη, we should read φης. Grammarians, in explaining antient authors, love all opportunities of having recourse to figures of speech; and verbal critics take as much delight in all occasions to amend the text. But as this makes only a small part of the office we have undertaken, we hope we are moderate in the execution of it. We therefore contend not in this place, but leave it to the determination of our learned readers.—S.
[7] In the Greek, αδολεσχουσι περι των μετεωρων. Αδολεσχειν is to talk idly and impertinently, and in the Phædo is opposed to περι προσηκοντων λογους ποιεισθαι, “the speaking about what concerns a man.” But by the multitude, by the men of business, and all other the enemies of philosophy, it was specially used to signify those who held much conversation together on philosophical subjects. Thus Strepsiades in Aristophanes at first calls the house, where men addicted to such studies used to assemble, ψυχων σοφων φροντιστηριον, “the considering place of wise souls:” and when afterwards he is made to change his mind, he calls it την οικιαν των αδολεσχων, “the house of the philosophic praters.” The sense of this passage is expressed in The Phædrus by one word, μετεωρολεσχειν.—S.
[8] Περι του μετεωρων. Aristotle restrained the meaning of the word μετεωρα to signify the phænomena in the air or lower sky, with their influences on the water; and those only in the upper sky which seem mutable or transient, such as comets; or indistinct, as the milky way; exclusively of those which appear distinct in their forms, and are constant and invariable in their motions, called the heavenly bodies. But Plato by the word μετεωρα always means principally, if not solely, these last, as the word commonly signified. Thus in The Clouds of Aristophanes, where Socrates is called one of the μετεωροσοφισται, he is made to say, Αεροβατω, και περισκοπω τον ἡλιον; “I walk in air, and contemplate the sun.” And presently after,

——Ου γαρ αν ποτε
Εξευρον ορθως τα μετεωρα πραγματα,
Ει μη, κ. τ. λ.
For the real nature of these things on high
Ne’er had I found out rightly, if, &c.——

And near the end of the comedy, where Strepsiades, in mimicry, repeats the former of these two passages, Αεροβατω, κ. τ. λ. he adds, speaking to Socrates in scoff,

Και της σεληνης εσκοπεισθε την ἑδραι;
The dwellings of the moon too have ye spy’d?

ridiculing in this the doctrine of Anaxagoras and his followers, that the moon was inhabited, like the earth, which the poets called

——ἑδος ασφαλες αιει.
——the firm and ever-fix’d abode
Of gods and mortals.
[9] It will soon appear probable, that Socrates knew who this person was; for he tells us what kind of life he led; which resembled rather that of a philosopher than that of a sophist. It is probable that he was a stranger at Athens, and chose to be concealed. It was polite, therefore, in Socrates to suppress the mention of his name. Had he been an Athenian, it would have been natural for Socrates to speak of him by name, as he was speaking to his fellow-citizens. And had he been a sophist, we could not fail to have been told his name, because Socrates never spared the sophists. He appears then to have been some foreign philosopher, whom Socrates had discovered notwithstanding his affected privacy. Now none of the philosophers of that age lived a life so retired, or so obscure, as did Democritus. He sought not fame: speculative knowledge for its own sake seemed to be his only end. For he despised, not only the multitude, but all men. He concerned not himself with any human affairs; but laughed at all human pursuits, and even at all social engagements. Quite opposite in this respect was the character of Socrates. For he always lived the most social life, in the midst of the most populous city at that time in the known world. He conversed familiarly with all sorts of men, with a simple and constant view to make them better men in private life, and better citizens, whether as governors or as subjects. His peculiar philosophy was wholly of the practic kind. He was indeed the first who investigated the principles of morals and of politics, and thus raised them into sciences: whereas before his time political and even moral precepts lay unconnected, loose, and scattered; and were consequently vague and uncertain. He first discovered them to be founded in the stable and eternal essence of mind, and in the government of mind, by nature, over all things inferior to itself. Thus the philosophy of Socrates is like the ladder in the patriarch Jacob’s dream: his metaphysics ascend gradually up to the first cause of things; from which depend, and from whence come down to earth, the sciences of ethics and of politics, to bless mankind. Such being the sum of the Socratic doctrine; and the drift of this Dialogue in particular being to show, that no other doctrine than this deserves the name of philosophy; none of the philosophers, so called, was so proper to be opposed here to Socrates, as Democritus; not only for the reasons already given, but because also, like most modern philosophers, he was merely a naturalist; making body the sole subject of his philosophical researches; attributing to body a natural and necessary motion; and in the nature of body seeking for the cause of all things. There seems to be another propriety too in introducing Democritus in this Dialogue, as attentive to the astronomical dispute between the two youths. For we have some reason to think, that he favoured the Pythagorean, or at least the Semi-Tychonic, system of the world. His master in natural philosophy we know was Leucippus: and by all writers of philosophic history he is accounted of the same sect, the Eleatic. Now Leucippus, as we are informed by Diogenes Laertius, held την γην οχεισθαι περι το μεσον δινουμενην, “that the earth was carried wheeling round the middle.” If the middle here means a central body at some distance from the earth, (and it is certain, that οχεισθαι every where else signifies to ride, or to be carried aloft,) it follows, that Leucippus held the Pythagorean system of the world. But if it means only the axis of the earth’s motion, then the doctrine of Leucippus is agreeable to that hypothesis, since called the Semi-Tychonic.—S.
[10] In the Greek, τραχηλιζομενος. Most of the interpreters agree in the general meaning of the word in this place, that it relates to wrestling. But as they all differ in the manner how, we beg leave to differ from them all, and to suppose it means, “held by the neck,” as is usual in the action of wrestling. The word, thus understood, presents to the imagination the most ridiculous image, and is therefore the most proper in a description intended to be ridiculous. Agreeably to this, Lucian, in several places of his Anacharsis, represents these wrestlers as throttling and half strangling each other. As to the rest of the description, it agrees with the account, given us by Plutarch, of the life of the athletics, ὑπνῳ τε πολλῳ, και πλησμοναις ενδελεχεσι, και κινησεσι τεταγμεναις και ἡσυχιαις, αυξοντων τε και διαφυλαττοντων την ἑξιν. “By much sleep and continual full feeding, by regulated motions, and stated times of rest, improving and preserving in its improvement the habit of their bodies.” Plutarch, in his Life of Philopœmen.—The main of the description is justly applicable to the life of every man, who makes the exercise of his body in general his sole business, or is addicted to the violent exercise of it in any one way. Galen, with this very description apparently in his mind, has improved and heightened the colouring of it, in a passage cited by Dr. Forster, to which we refer our learned readers.—S.
[11] In the Greek, περι μουσικην. See Dr. Forster’s note on this place, to which nothing needs to be here added.—S.
[12] These exercises were, running, leaping, casting of quoits, throwing of javelins, wrestling, and boxing: but wrestling was the principal. They were called γυμνῖκοι, gymnic, because they were all of them usually, and wrestling was always, performed with the limbs and the upper part of the body quite naked. They were taught according to rules of art: masters were appointed to teach them; and schools were built, and places set apart, proper for the exercise of them. Skill in them, particularly in wrestling, and the exercise according to art, was called γυμναστικη, the word here used by Plato.—S.
[13] In all editions of the Greek we read, τον ερομενον, a word justly suspected by every learned and careful reader not to have been written in this place by Plato. Dr. Forster, in his edition of this Dialogue, proposes an emendation, made by a very ingenious and learned man, Mr. Mudge, formerly of Exeter College in Oxford; it is τον εῤῥωμενον: in favour of which we heartily resign two former conjectures of our own;—one was τοιν εραμενοιν, in the same sense, in which Plato had just before said ουτος τοιν ερασταιν:— the other was τον εραμενον, a word which we imagined might distinguish this man’s regard for the youth from that of the other, the μουσικος. We embrace Mr. Mudge’s emendation the more readily, because the description, given of the Man of Exercise in the word εῤῥωμενον, is well opposed to the description of the Man of Learning, given us by Plato presently afterwards.—S.
[14] One of the most striking features in the character of Socrates was the ironical manner which he used in conversing with the sophists, complimenting them on their pretended wisdom, and dissembling his own real knowledge. For before them he affected ignorance even in those subjects, which he had studied the most and knew the best of any man; and was always asking them questions on those very points, seemingly for the sake of information. By this conduct he engaged them to expose their own ignorance, and by that means undeceived their followers and admirers, who by them were misled and had their minds corrupted. But the sentence now before us, where Socrates is speaking, not to the Man of Learning himself, but of him to his own friends and disciples, we presume, cannot be ironical: it is one of those many passages in Plato, where appears another, equally strong, but more amiable feature, in the character of that wise and good man; his unassuming modesty, and truly polite regard to others, according to their rank or merit.—S.
[15] In the original here is a transition from the narrative or historical style to the dramatic or that of dialogue. But as we use no such figure or mode of speech in our language, the translator has inserted the words, “said I,” to make his sentence good English.—S.
[16] Those, called sophists, were not only proud of this very title, which signifies men who knew things wise, that is, things above the knowledge of the vulgar, but they also affected to be thought and called σοφοι, wise men. The Pythagoreans, after their master, only assumed the title of philosophers, lovers of wisdom, or students in it. Thus, in the beginning of this Dialogue, philosophizing means, applying the mind to the study of wisdom. We are told by Laertius, that Democritus admired Pythagoras, and emulated the Pythagoreans. Now it is certain, that he was no follower of their doctrines, or way of teaching; it must be meant therefore of their manners, their modesty, and their other virtues. We find our Man of Learning here professing nothing more than a high esteem for philosophy. The sentiment, here attributed to him, is the very same with that of Democritus, in Stobæus, Serm. 1. Ἀνθρωποις ἁρμοδιον, ψυχης μαλλον η σωματος ποιεισθαι λογον. “It is a thing befitting human beings, to make more account of the soul, than of the body. For the soul, improved in the highest degree, rectifies what is amiss in its tabernacle,” meaning the body; “whereas strength of this, without the exercise of reason, betters not a whit the condition of the soul.” Ψυχη μεν γαρ τελεωτατη σκηνεος μοχθηριαν ορθοι· σκηνεος γαρ ισχυς ανευ λογισμου ψυχην ουδεν τι αμεινω τιθησι.—S.
[17] Γηρασκω δ’, αιει πολλα διδάσκομενος. In these words is this celebrated verse of Solon’s cited here by Plato. And we have given a paraphrase of it according to this reading, and answering the purpose for which it is introduced. A more literal translation would be this: “Old as I grow, I still learn many things.” But the verse, as cited by other antient writers, is this,

Αιει γηρασκω, πολλα μαθησομενος.

to be translated thus:

Older and older every day I grow,
Yet have to learn much more than yet I know.

Or, if the word μαθησομενος, in the future tense, has here the force of a verb desiderative or meditative, and signifies resolved, or ready, or about to learn, it may then be thus translated:

I still grow older; yet I still aspire
In many things more knowledge to acquire.

The verse, we see, whichever be the true reading, and whichever the precise sense of it, is evidently in praise of polymathy; and consequently is agreeable to the mind and taste of our Man of Learning: but the meaning of it, last given, seems to be so the most; the second has indeed a greater appearance of modesty; and the first perhaps favours too much of vanity and ostentation.—S.
[18] For indeed at first sight it looks very like to that, which Socrates in Xenophon gives of himself and his own studies, where he says; εξ οτου περ ξυνιεναι τα λεγομενα ηρξαμην, ου πωποτε διελιπον και ζητων και μανθανων ὁ τι εδυναμην αγαθον. Xen. in Soc. Apolog. “Ever since I began to understand the subjects of discourse, I have never ceased inquiring into and learning every GOOD thing I was able.” But on nearer inspection, the same difference will be found between them, that appears in this Dialogue between philosophy, as described at first by the Man of Learning, and that which at the conclusion proves to be genuine philosophy, that knowledge which is eminently good and useful to man, that which our elegant philosophic poet terms, the only science of mankind.— One cannot but wonder, that Wower, in his treatise de Polymathiâ, c. ii. § 7. could so much mistake Plato’s meaning, as to cite him asserting in this very Dialogue that philosophy is polymathy. We cannot suppose Wower to have meant, that such an account of philosophy was given us somewhere in this Dialogue, that is, by the Man of Learning: for to confirm what he tell us as the opinion of Plato himself, he immediately adds the following quotation, as out of Plato’s Republic, τογε πολυμαθες και φιλοσοφον ταυτον. Unhappily for his argument, the word in this last passage is not πολυμαθες, but φιλομαθες, and means a love of that knowledge which by nature is familiar to the mind of man; which is indeed the same thing with the love of wisdom, or philosophy. It is not at all surprising, that Wower should elevate above measure the charms of his own mistress; for such sentiments inseparably attend the passion of love: but to imagine that every other man must see her in the same light, can proceed only from being in love to a degree of madness. Besides; men, who aspire to the fame of vast erudition, are apt to read in too hasty and cursory a manner.—S.
[19] Την πολυμαθειαν.—Agreeably to this, Clemens of Alexandria, citing a passage out of Democritus, where this philosopher boasts of his much travelling through various countries, of the accurate researches which he made in them all, of his long abode in Egypt, and of his skill superior to that of all men every where in geometrical demonstrations, observes, that the philosopher wrote thus, επι τῃ πολυμαθιᾳ σεμνυνομενος, “glorying in his polymathy.” Stromat. l. i.—S.
[20] This description of our Man of Learning, in his person and appearance, agrees exactly with the description given of Democritus by Hippocrates, in that epistle of his cited before;—that he was ωκριακως πανυ και λειποσαρκος, “extremely pale in his visage and wasted in his flesh;”—that he found him with a book,” βιβλιον επι τοιν γονατοιν, “which lay [open] on his knees;” ετερα δε τινα εξ αμφοιν τοιν μεροιν αυτῳ παρεβεβλητο, “and that other books lay by him, some on each side;”—οτε μεν συντονως εγραφεν εγκειμενος, that “by turns he wrote, poring over his writing with earnest attention;” οτε δε ηρεμει, παμπολυ—εν εαυτῳ μερμηριζων, “and by turns rested, pondering very much within himself.”—S.
[21] This must ever be the case of such a man as Democritus, who was always poring on his books, his experiments, and his dissections. From hence it was, and from extreme attention to his studies, that he did not at first, as Laertius relates, know his own father, when he came to visit him.—S.
[22] These athletic gentlemen were remarkable for their slowness, heaviness, and want of adroitness, in all exercises of the mind. See the third book of the Republic.—S.
[23] We understand the following passage of Xenophon, as having a view to the vehement lovers of bodily exercise, a character common amongst the young men of that age: το μεν ουν ὑπερεσθιοντα ὑπερπονειν απεδοκιμαζε (sc. Σωκρατης,) το δε οσα ἡδεως ἡ ψυχη δεχεται, ταυτα ἱκανως εκπονειν εδοκιμαζε. Memorab. l i. c. ii. § 4.—S.
[24] In the Greek, Και τα σιτια ὡμολογει. In this sentence the word ομοιως, or ὡσαυτως, or other word of like import, seems wanting, and must be understood. But we suspect that, instead of τα σιτια, we should read τα μετρια. This concession of the Man of Learning thus agrees exactly, and in the same terms, with his two subsequent concessions on the same point. We have, however, given such a turn to our translation of this sentence, as to adapt it to either way of reading it.—See a passage, parallel to this, in Aristotle’s Nicomach. Ethics. l. ii. c. ii.—S.
[25] Παιδοτριβην. This properly signifies the master, appointed to teach the youth their exercises, and direct every motion to be used in them. But Plato here, and in other places, uses the word to signify a person whose knowledge was of the same kind with that of the γυμναστης, or gymnastic physician; to know the power of each particular exercise in the cure of each particular disease; and how much of it was to be used in each particular case; a science, which has for many ages been too much neglected. Perhaps, from the time of Herodicus, (who as Plato tells us in his 3d book de Republicâ, παιδοτριβης ων εμιξε γυμναστικην ιατρικη,) for a few ages, the offices of παιδοτριβης and γυμναστης belonged to men versed in the same kinds of knowledge; though in process of time they came to be very different, and were assigned to men of very different abilities. It is certain, that in the time of Galen, the παιδοτριβης, “the master of the exercises,” was subordinate to the γυμναστης, “the physician” who prescribed the proper exercise; and that he was under his direction. Such an alteration in the practice was very natural: for when any art is considerably improved, and the principles of it come to be established on science, the inferior branches of it, those which require manual operations, or any labour of the body, of course devolve to inferior persons.—What confirms our supposition is, that Æschines the Socratic, Plato’s fellow-disciple, in his Dialogue περι αρετης, ει διδακτον, attributes to the παιδοτριβαι knowledge and judgment in the constitution and habit of men’s bodies. The same writer, in his Dialogue named Axiochus, mentions the παιδοτριβαι and γυμνασται together, as persons equal in authority over the youth committed to their care and teaching. Neither Mercurialis nor Peter Faber cite these last-mentioned Dialogues: they seem indeed to have overlooked them, as being in their days numbered amongst the supposititious Dialogues of Plato; for otherwise they would not so hastily have concluded, nor so rashly have asserted, that by παιδοτριβης Plato means γυμναστης. See the former of these writers in his treatise de Arte Gymnasticâ, lib. i. c. xii. and the latter, in Agonisticôn, lib. ii. c. vi.—In the next age after that of Plato, very little alteration seems to have been made. For Aristotle, in the beginning of the 4th book of his Politics, having mentioned this kind of general knowledge, the knowing what sort of exercise is agreeable to each particular habit of body, attributes this knowledge to the παιδοτριβης, as well as to the γυμναστης, which last word we beg leave to read in that passage, instead of γυμναστικος; for we know of no master or teacher of the exercises, or any subordinate officer or minister in the teaching them, who was ever called by the name of γυμναστικος. The corruption of the text of Aristotle in this passage arose perhaps from comparing it with another passage in the same work, at the end of the 3d chapter of the 8th book, where the arts γυμναστικη κάι παιδοτριβικη are mentioned together; and where (by the way) the exact distinction is made between them, as they were practised at that time; and the latter, the art of the παιδοτριβης, is shown to be instrumental to the former, the art of the γυμναστης, though knowledge of the same kind still belonged to both.—S.
[26] Socrates speaks here jocosely, as if he thought the Man of Learning might possibly be affronted, and piqued in point of honour, if the question were referred to the two youths, persons who seemed so much less able to answer it: in like manner as the wooers of Penelope pretended, that the offer of the seeming beggar to try his strength with them was an affront to their superior rank. Mons. Dacier, in his note on this passage, seems to insinuate, that Plato has given a turn to the passage in Homer here alluded to, different from the intention of the poet. For he says that Penelope’s wooers openly avowed their fear of the superior strength of the concealed Ulysses, and their apprehensions of his doing that to which they found themselves unequal. But this criticism of his shows that he entered not thoroughly into the sense either of Plato or of Homer in this place: for, in the lines to which he refers us, Homer says, that when Ulysses had offered to try his strength in drawing the bow, they (his rivals) were beyond measure offended, and overflowed with indignation and resentment; being afraid lest Ulysses should succeed in the attempt, if they permitted it; that is, they were at the same time secretly afraid of his success: for we are to observe, that Homer writes this as inspired by the Muse, who was supposed not only cognisant of all the past actions and speeches of those who were the subjects of his poem, but also privy to the secret motives of the actors, and to the minds of the speakers. But the avowed motives of Antinous and Eurymachus, in rejecting the offer made by Ulysses, were indignation at his presumption, and a sense of honour, not suffering them to enter the lists with an antagonist deemed so much their inferior. In refusing therefore to admit of his proposal, they pleaded, not the danger they were in of his prevailing, but the shame that would arise to them in case he should happen to prevail. Thus, under the pretence of the superiority of their rank to his, they concealed the sense they had of their own deficience, and their opinion of his real superior excellence. Affected haughtiness and contemptuousness is the usual mask of conscious meanness. In this light Plato saw the behaviour of Antinous and his assuming companions, described in the twenty-first book of the Odyssey; and in that slily jocose manner, which he every where attributes to Socrates, he insinuates that his Man of Learning on the present occasion might naturally have his mind possessed with the same sentiments. When Socrates proposed a reference to the two youths, it should seem, from what he immediately adds, that a smile of disdain appeared in the countenance of the professed philosopher. But the likening his case to that of Penelope’s suitors contains a hint that he was under secret apprehensions of having his ignorance exposed. The proper answer to the question of Socrates he knew was obvious; but his very profession of philosophy would not admit him to speak it openly himself: he was conscious of not possessing any such science as that of mind, and of not having studied any such art as that of medicine for the soul. Therefore, though Socrates at the end of their conversation drives him to shame, and exposes his ignorance in the nature and ends of philosophy, he endeavoured to conceal this ignorance as long as he could, and was unwilling to have the answer given by any. At the same time it is suggested to our thoughts by Plato, that nothing more than common sense and a candid mind, chiefly to be found in youths of good dispositions, was requisite to make that answer; and that fair reasoning, joined to these, was sufficient to lead a man to true philosophy.—S.
[27] This knot, or rather break, in the thread of the argument, forewarns us of new matter to be now brought upon the carpet. But there is, besides, a peculiar reason for the pause in this place; and therefore it has here a peculiar beauty. It seems to be contrived on purpose to give every reader an opportunity of consulting his own mind, and of finding there the proper answer to the last question put by Socrates: it prepares him, therefore, for what is to follow, where he will see his inward conjecture explicitly confirmed, and the conceptions of his own mind from the precedent part of the argument produced to light, in a plain and full description of what is justly to be called the study of wisdom or philosophy.—S.
[28] Dr. Forster very justly observes that the character which the Man of Learning here gives of a philosopher exactly agrees with the character of Democritus himself, as given us by Diogenes Laertius; that, besides his being a great naturalist and moralist, besides his being versed in mathematical learning, and in all the popular erudition, he had a thorough experience in the arts, περι τεχνων πᾶσαν ειχεν εμπειριαν. If the right reading of this sentence in Laertius be, as we suspect, πασᾶν or πασῶν, instead of πᾶσαν, the agreement with the words of Plato in this place is still more exact. However, though Laertius in this passage plainly uses the word τεχνων in the philosophical and proper sense, to signify arts as distinct from sciences; yet Plato, in the passage to which this annotation belongs, seems to include in the word τεχνων all the particular sciences: and if it be so, then the whole account which Laertius gives of the knowledge of Democritus, answers in every part to the philosophic character, as here drawn by our Man of Learning. It is certain, that every particular science has some art immediately derived from it, and particularly dependent on it. In mathematics, the art of numbering and computing depends on the science of arithmetic; the art of measuring on the science of geometry; the art of music on the science of the same name; and the art of calculating eclipses, &c. on the science of astronomy. In the arts and sciences of higher order it is the same: the art of government thus immediately depends on the science of mankind; the art of leading a good and happy life, on the knowledge of ourselves; and the art of reasoning, on the science of mind. We the rather produce these latter instances, for that they have a near relation to, and serve to illustrate, the last part of this Dialogue.—S.
[29] Less than twenty pounds of our money. For the attic μνα was equal to 3l. 4s. 7d, English.—S.
[30] Equal to 322l. 18s. 4d. The μνα was worth 100 δραχμαι. Plato therefore, in this place, might have said one hundred minas instead of ten thousand drachmas: but he chose to express the sum according to its value in the smaller coin, to give it at first sight the greater appearance: as the French choose to compute by livres rather than by pounds sterling.—Architect seems here to mean no other artist than the master-builder.—S.
[31] The particular combatants in these games were such as had devoted themselves wholly to one particular sort of exercise, and therefore had attained to excel in it beyond all other men. The general combatants were such as had divided their studies, and had been exercised in them all, and consequently could not be supposed equal in any one to those who had made it their peculiar study. They engaged in all the combats at these games, but contended only with such as themselves. They were called πενταθλοι, the term here used by Plato, Combatants in the five Exercises, because the sixth, that is, boxing, or fighting with fists, was not introduced till the 23d Olympic, having been thought till then too mean and ignoble. And after it was introduced, the general combatants still retained the name of πενταθλοι. All the learning on this subject has been collected by Peter Faber in his Agonistica. But an English reader, curious to be further informed, may find full satisfaction in an excellent dissertation, written by Mr. West.
[32] By an unaccountable error, all the editions of Plato read here πελταστας. But according to a most certain emendation of Mr. Le Clerc’s, with which Dr. Forster is highly pleased, we ought to read παλαιστας. Which reading we have not scrupled to follow in our translation; as Dacier has had the judgment to do in his.—S.
[33] The whole passage of Laertius, referred to in note 1 to p. 319, and also in note to persons of the Dialogue, is this, as amended;—ειπερ οι Αντερασται Πλατωνος εισι, φησι Θρασυλλος, ουτος αν ειη ὁ παραγενομενος ανωνυμος, των περι Οινοπιδην και Αναξαγοραν ἑταιρος, ὃς [instead of ἑτερος, as it is printed] εν τῃ πρὸς Σωκρατην ὁμιλιᾳ διαλεγομενος περι φιλοσοφιας [here we omit the ῳ] φησιν, ὡς πενταθλῳ εοικεν ὁ φιλοσοφος· και ην ὡς αληθως εν φιλοσοφια πενταθλος Τα γαρ φυσικα ησκητο [as Is. Casaubon rightly reads from Suidas] και τα ηθικα, αλλα και τα μαθηματικα, και τους εγκυκλιους λογους, και περι τεχνων πασῶν [instead of πᾶσαν] ἐιχεν εμπειριαν. D. Laert. l. ix. §. 37. “If the Rivals be a dialogue of Plato’s, says Thrasyllus, the anonymous person there introduced, as the friend of those who were disputing about Oenopides and Anaxagoras, must be this Democritus; who in the conversation he had with Socrates concerning philosophy, there related, says, that a philosopher is like a general combatant in the games. And he himself was in fact a general combatant in philosophy. For he had cultivated physics, and ethics; moreover, mathematics, and all the common learning of those times: and in all the arts he was experienced.”—S.
[34] Πολυπρᾶγμονουντα. Concerning this kind of πολυπραγμοσυνη, our learned readers may consult Wower de Polymathiâ, cap. ii. §. 3. or Suidas in voce Ασκληπιοδοτος. Democritus not only took the pains to dissect the bodies of animals, in order to investigate the animal œconomy, but also expressed the juices of every plant and herb he met with, to make experiments of their several virtues. Omnium herbarum succos Democritus expres- sit, says Petronius; et ne lapidum virgultorumque vis lateret, ætatem inter experimenta consumpsit. We have some instances of his knowledge of this kind recorded in Pliny’s Natural History.—S.
[35] In the greek, βαναυσους. By this name were called all artists, who operated by means of fire; but properly speaking, they were such only as used furnaces in their operations. For so Hesychius,—Βαναυσια, πασα τεχνη δια πυρος, κυριως δε ἣ περι τας καμινους. In using this word, Plato seems to allude to the metallurgic and the chymical experiments of Democritus. Concerning this very fact indeed, whether Democritus made any such experiments, or not, much controversy has arisen, particularly between Olaus Borrichius and Conringius, in contending, the first of them for the high antiquity of chymistry, the other for the novel invention of that useful art. Each of them perhaps has pushed his point further than the truth will bear him out. The treatise which Democritus wrote περι της λιθου, was certainly not concerning the philosopher’s stone, as Borrichius and the alchymists pretend; but concerning the magnet, or loadstone, which, perhaps, for its peculiar and celebrated virtues, was by the antients eminently styled the stone. Yet we do not see how it can with reason be denied, that the great man in question was philosophus per ignem; because he could not, but through fusion by fire, have done what antient writers agree he did, coverted common stones into precious; nor could he well have found out the virtues of herbs and plants without the help of chymical experiments. However, we would not lay too much stress on the interpretation of the word βαναυσια, given by Hesychius, though it agrees with the etymology. It seems too confined. The word, as used by many of the antients, particularly by Aristotle in the 8th book of his Politics, and by Plutarch in many places, seems to comprise all those arts we call mechanical: Plato’s argumentation requires that we should understand it to be used here with the same latitude; and this larger meaning best confirms the supposition, that our Man of Learning and Knowledge in this Dialogue was Democritus. To express therefore the whole meaning of Plato in this place, we have used in our translation both those terms of contempt, which may answer to the full sense of the word βαναυσος.—S.
[36] We are now come to the third and last part of the Dialogue. In the two former we have seen what philosophy, truly so called, is not; in this latter, Plato will show us what it is; for which he here briefly prepares his readers, by informing them, that Socrates will now open a new scene, and begin a new series of questions.—S.
[37] Plato lays the foundation of true philosophy in the knowledge of ourselves, that is, of our own souls. He begins with the inferior part of the soul; the seat of the passions and animal affections. These he characterizes, as is usual with him, under the allegorical names of brute animals, horse and dog; to which soon afterwards he adds that of ox. The horse is a proper emblem of the love of glory; because of all brute animals the horse is the only one which appears to be delighted with fine trappings, to be ostentatious, to be emulous of glory, and fond of proving his superiority over his rivals. No less properly does the dog represent the passion of anger; because of all animals he is the most subject to it, has it roused in him on the slightest occasions, entertains it the longest, and is the most vindictive. And the ox is the fittest representative of sensuality, because that animal, when not employed by man in laborious offices, is always either eating or chewing the cud, that is, eating over again what he had eat before: as sensual men, after they have feasted, are apt to feast it over again in reflection; as well as before they feast, to feast in imagination. Plato makes a distinction at the same time between the good, and the bad or vicious, amongst these animals. Of the latter sort are the perverse and refractory; horses, that are almost unmanageable by their riders; dogs, that hardly can be broken, or made to obey their master’s will; oxen, that are stubborn, that refuse to quit the stall, and to labour. These are the emblems of bad men; whose passions, such as correspond to the tempers of those several animals, are immoderate or inordinate, and not to be governed, or restrained within their due bounds, without much difficulty. Good horses, dogs, and oxen, he calls those, whose natural temper is gentle, and pliant, and easily made obedient. And by such he signifies to us men naturally good, that is, men, whose brutal passions of each kind are by nature moderate, and easily obey the government of reason, that superior part of the soul, whose whole office and government he delineates or sketches out in the following manner.—If any of our passions are wild and irregular, if our horse, for instance, would throw off and trample on his rider, if our dog barks at his master or his master’s friends, or if our ox knows not his owner and his feeder, they are to be chastised and reduced to order. If our passions are all tame and gentle, it is the business of reason to employ them in her own service, to apply them each to its proper use, and thus to make them highly beneficial to the whole man. But neither of these offices can be well performed, unless it be known what is moderate and regular in the passions, and what the contrary; that is, unless the boundaries between good and evil be well settled, so that the one may be distinguished from the other. The making this distinction, therefore, is the inward operation of knowledge in the mind; as the application of it to practice, in the discharge of those offices, is an exertion of the mind’s power over the inferior man. The former is the theory of morals; the latter is practic virtue. This properly is art; that, science. But Plato in this place uses the term art to express both; as he frequently does elsewhere, when he means any art which is founded on science, and without science cannot be exercised. For this note thus much suffices.—S.
[38] Plato proceeds in the next place to the knowledge of mankind; that is, to the knowledge of the same passions and affections in the souls of other men that we feel in our own. He shows it to be consequently one and the same kind of knowledge with the knowledge of ourselves. differing only in the objects of it; as it is applied either to many men, or to a single one; for of men every one is a man. He therefore, who thoroughly knows himself, who knows what is right and good in his own soul, and what is there wrong and evil, must know at the same time all men in general, must know what is good and what is evil in the whole human nature: and he who thus knows others, must also thus know himself. The subject of all this knowledge is the superior part of the soul of man, mind and reason: the object is itself, and also that part which is inferior, with the passions and animal affections there seated. The knowledge of itself implies the knowledge of its power over the inferior part. Now as no man can help following known good, nor can help avoiding known evil; the true knowledge of good and evil must be attended with an exercise of that power over the inferior part, improving what is there found right and good, and rectifying what is wrong and evil. And since all men partake of the same nature, the same knowledge, through which a man manages himself rightly, betters what in himself is good, and corrects what in himself is evil, must qualify him as well to dispense justice to other men, to encourage the good and to correct the bad. Now this is the office of the judge and of the magistrate; and the science, which enables him to execute his office well is the judicial science, which is no other than the science of justice. It follows, therefore, that the wise and good man, he who is master of this science, and employs it in the proper management of himself, is qualified for the office of a judge and of a magistrate.—S.
[39] Σωφρονειν, ἢ ου σωφρονειν. No words have more puzzled us, in the translating of Plato than the words σωφρονειν, σωφρων, and σωφροσυνη. The difficulty arises from this,— that in different places they are used in different senses; and we could find no words in the English language answering to them every where. At length, therefore, we found ourselves obliged, if we would every where express their precise meaning, to use different words in different places. Our labours, however, on this point have enabled us to give a kind of history of those words, and of the several alterations they have undergone in their meaning. Homer, the most antient Greek writer extant, by the word σωφροσυνη evidently means prudence, or discretion. See his Odyssey, book xxiii. ver. 30. from which we conclude, that the true etymology of the word is from σωα φρην, a sound mind. To which agrees this of Porphyry,—και γαρ σωφροσυνη σαοφροσυνη τις. Apud Stobæum, Serm. 19.—In the time of Homer, and for a long time after, the doctrine of morals was far from being improved to such a degree of perfection as to become a science. It was delivered in loose and unconnected precepts, agreeing to the experience of wise men, without any known principles for their foundation. The first, who attempted to raise it into a science, and to treat of it with order and method, were the Pythagoreans. These philosophers, having considered that the soul of man was the subject of virtue and of vice, considered next the constitution and œconomy of this soul: they saw it distinguishable into two parts, the rational and the irrational, and the irrational part again into irascible and concupiscible. Now as every thing in nature has a peculiar virtue of its own belonging to it, the defect of which is its imperfection, and the contrary quality its vice, the Pythagoreans made their primary distinction of the virtues of man, according to their distinction of the parts of his soul. The virtue of the rational part they termed φρονησις, prudence; the virtue of the irascible part, ανδρεια, fortitude; that of the concupiscible, σωφροσυνη, temperance; and the virtue of the whole soul, or the habit produced therein by the harmony of all its parts, they called δικαιοσυνη, jus- tice.—Thus far did these philosophers advance in the science of morals; deducing all the other, the particular virtues, which are exercised but occasionally, from these four, which in every good man are in constant practice: but they ascended no higher. It was left for a Socrates and a Plato to put a head to this beautiful body of moral philosophy, to trace all the virtues up to one principle, and thus represent them to our view united. Yet thus only can the doctrine of morals be properly termed a science. This principle is mind; for mind, being measure itsself, and being also the governor of all things, contains the measures of rectitude in all things, and governs all things aright and for the best. The principle of virtue therefore being mind, on the soundness of mind is all sincere and uncorrupt virtue established; for the soundness of every thing depends on the soundness of its principle. And thus also, as morals are founded on mind, and as no true science of any thing, according to Plato, can be without the science of its principle, the science of morals either is the same thing with the science of mind, or is immediately thereon dependent. Accordingly, Plato, in the Charmides, uses the word σωφροσυνη in its original signification, as it means soundness of mind. In the same sense is the word σωφροσυνη used by Xenophon, in Απομνημ. l. i. c. i. § 16 where it is opposed to μανια. See Dr. Simpson’s annotation to that passage. So it is again used by Plato, and opposed to μανια, in his first book de Republicâ, p. 16. ed. Cantab. Most commonly, however, Plato used this word in the Pythagorean sense, to signify one of the four cardinal virtues: in which sense it is used by Aristotle in all his moral treatises. Yet even in this particular sense, the peculiar relation which it has to prudence, the proper virtue of the rational part of the soul, is well observed by the very learned author of Hermes, in his notes (for his they are) to Aristotle’s treatise, περι Αρετων και Κακιων, lately pnblished by Mr. Fawconer, p. 116. Zeno likewise, who followed the same distinction of the cardinal virtues, defined every one of them by science of one kind or other; as appears from Stobæus, Eclog. l. ii. p. 167. And one science, the science of mind, includes them all.—S.
[40] The inscription here meant, is that most antient one, in the temple of Apollo at Delphi, ΓΝΩΘΙ ΣΕΑΥΤΟΝ, KNOW THYSELF. This was generally supposed to be the dictate or response of the Pythian oracle to the question asked of it;—What was man’s greatest good. See Menag. Annotat. in Laertium, p. 22 and 23, and Dr. Simpson’s note on Xenophon’s Memorab. l. iv. c. ii. §. 24. In what sense Plato understood this truly divine precept, is evident from his brief definition of it in this sentence, as explained by the preceding argumentation. From which it appears, that by the knowledge of one’s self he means the knowledge of the whole soul, or the knowledge of what is good and what is evil. For the superior part of the soul contains in itself the seeds of all moral good; the inferior, the seeds of all moral evil. But the subject of all this knowledge, of both kinds, is only the superior part of the soul, the rational. For, as the Stoics well express themselves on this point, no other faculty in man contemplates and knows itself, besides the faculty of reason. This alone also knows and judges of all other things, whether without or within the soul: for in itself it hath the rule and standard of right, according to which it judges, and distinguishes between right and wrong; approving the one, which is agreeable to its own nature, and disapproving the other, which is disagreeable and contrary to it. Truly and properly speaking, mind itself is rule and measure, being the measure and the rule of all things. The science of mind, therefore, which is wisdom, is the science of right and wrong, gives the discernment of good and evil in ourselves, and enables us at the same time to distinguish rightly between good and bad men; and thus is it the science of justice, and the judicial science, belonging to the magistrate and to the judge. After what has been said, we presume it needless to make any apology, or to give any further reason for translating σωφροσυνη in this place wisdom.—But concerning this wisdom, or knowledge of self, see more at large in Plato’s First Alcibiades, where it makes the principal subject.—S.
[41] From the science of ethics, and that of law, truly so called, (for, in a philosophical sense, right only is law, law eternal and divine,) Plato makes a short and easy step to the science of politics and the art of government. The art of government is founded on knowledge of the different tempers and humours, minds and characters of men. For none can have the skill to manage them, but those who know them, and who know by what methods to lead the good and gentle to obedience, and to prevent the disobedience of the perverse and evil. This knowledge of mankind supposes the knowledge of who are the good and who the evil; which supposes also the knowledge of what is good and what is evil; the same, which is the knowledge of ourselves.—S.
[42] In the Greek, τυραννος τε και βασιλευς, translated literally, “both a tyrant and a king.” But Plato does not mean, that tyrant and king are synonimous terms: so far from that is his meaning, that in his Dialogue called Πολιτικος, “The Politician,” he says, that “a tyrant and a king are ανομοιοτατοι, most unlike one to the other:” and in his 9th book de Republicâ, that “the best of all governments is the kingly, and that the worst of all is the tyrannic.” What he means by a king, and what by a tyrant, will be explained in the very next note. But in this they agree, that government by a king and government by a tyrant are both of them governments by one man: which is the whole of his meaning in the place now before us. However, to prevent his meaning from being misunderstood, we have taken the liberty of using the conjunctions disjunctive in translating this sentence. Mons. Dacier, as well here as in what follows, has entirely omitted the words tyrant and tyrannic, through excessive caution we imagine: but for such caution in England we have no occasion. A king of England, while the English constitution lasts, and the fundamental laws of English government subsist, can never be suspected of being, what it is impossible for him to be, a tyrant.—S.
[43] The word in the original here is τυραννος. The meaning of which word, as it is always used by Plato, and fully explained by Aristotle in Politic. l. iii. answers to our idea of an arbitrary monarch, governing his people, not according to established laws, but according to his own will and pleasure; whether such his will and pleasure be agreeable to natural law, to justice and equity, or not. On the other hand, by the word βασιλευς, or king, was understood a person who made the laws established in his country, whether written or customary, the rules of his government. The regal office was to put these laws into execution, and to administer the government; which, properly speaking, was a government of the laws. Such were the most antient kings in Greece, where kingly government at first universally prevailed, long before any laws were written for the rule of conduct both to prince and people. And, whatever some men pretend concerning the high antiquity of arbitrary or despotic governments; or others fancy concerning governments originally vested in the people; the most antient records of history in all nations prove, that kingly government took place the first every where upon earth. It is natural to suppose that general customs in all countries were founded originally on reason, one universal reason adapting itself to the genius of each country, that is, to the peculiar situation and other relative circumstances of each, and to the peculiar temper of the inhabitants naturally thence arising: so that, although in some instances, what was reasonable and right to practise in one country was unreasonable and wrong in another, yet one universal reason, the natural law of all men, was the dictator and legislator to them all. And, whereas all true authority is founded in the opinion of superior wisdom, it is natural also to suppose, that in the infancy of every state, the little multitude should look up to a person deemed the wisest amongst them; that they should hear, attend to, and obey him, as the best conservator and guardian of their unwritten laws or general customs, acknowledged by them all to be right. It is further, as natural to suppose that these petty princes, having established their authority with the people by wisdom and good government, should derive a particular regard in that people towards their families; and that their sons, trained up in obedience to the laws, and being presumed to have learnt, from the examples and private instructions of their fathers, the art of government, should easily, by the tacit consent of all the people, succeed to their fathers in their authority and dignity; unless they were apparently unfit, through nonage, known want of understanding or of prudence, or other incapacity for government. The first regal families, being thus for many generations well settled in the throne or seat of royalty, claimed a kind of legal right, the right of custom, to their kingly thrones: and in that claim the people acquiesced for the sake of peace and order. And thus arose hereditary kingdoms. In process of time, as the people increased in number, and many private persons increased in riches, and in power thence arising, neither the rich nor the poor were any longer to be governed by the mere authority of one man: the multitude grew seditious, and the powerful grew factious. It became necessary to rule by force and compulsion, if the regal establishment was still to be preserved. The person of the king was to be defended by a guard, and the people were to be kept in awe and obedience by a standing army. Then was the king possessed of power to change the laws and customs of his country at his own pleasure, and to make all his people submissive to his will. Such was the origin and rise of tyranny, the natural degeneracy of kingly government in a great and powerful kingdom. Now it is well known that unlimited power in man is every moment liable to be abused. To wise men indeed right reason is law; and in the government of themselves and of others they follow the dictates of wisdom. But men unwise are in the principal part of their conduct, in that which is the most important to themselves and others, governed by their passions: and the evil consequences of human passions under no restraint, either from within the soul or from without, are infinite. Few men, therefore, being wise, what evil is not to be expected from tyrants, that is, arbitrary monarchs? In fact, the tyrants of old were, most of them, guilty of numberless and flagrant acts of injustice, in open violation of the antient unwritten laws. But things could not remain long in this situation, wherever common sense remained in men, a sense of their natural and just rights. Among such people then were found patriots, men of true fortitude, despising all danger in the public cause; and these undertook to free their country from so insupportable a yoke. Their undertakings were successful. The tyrants and their families were either expelled or murdered. New civil establishments were formed; but not on the antient plan: that was the work of nature; and began naturally in the infant state of civil societies. Government was now to be the work of art and reason. And what proved very favourable to this work, was the cultivation of true philosophy about the same time, and the great advances consequently made in moral and political science. Accordingly it is to be observed, to the honour of philosophy, that wherever this favourable conjuncture happened not, in all countries whither philosophy never travelled, when the people could no longer bear their tyrants, they only changed them for others; the tyranny still continued. For wisdom was wanting to frame good constitutions of government: so that, if ever they had the spirit to emerge from slavery, and rise to freedom, immediately they sunk again. But wherever true philosophers were found, they undertook on such occasions the office of legislators. New laws were made, written and promulged, obligatory alike to all. By these laws was the power of princes and of magistrates limited and ascertained; and by their known sanctions the general obedience of the people was secured. And thus were legal governments first established, of different forms in different countries, monarchies, aristocracies, democracies, or mixed governments, as best suited the numbers and the genius of each people. The antient kingly governments, however, still remained in some places in the time of Plato; and the few tyrants, subsisting amongst a people enlightened by philosophy, now ruled with some degree of equity and mildness, through fear of their intelligent subjects, ready to be succoured and protected, on occasion, by their free and therefore brave neighbours. This short history of civil governments, from their beginning down to the age when Plato lived, we thought necessary to show the distinction then made between the kingly and the tyrannic; giving an account of the rise of each; of the former built upon authority and esteem, and by them alone supported; of the latter, acquired often by false pretences, and intriguing practices at home, and sometimes by conquests from abroad made in war; but always maintained by military force. A tyrant, therefore, according to the foregoing explanation of the word, may, as well as a king, be a wise and good governor, if he has wisdom and the science of justice; though the ways and means, by which he governs, must be very different from those of a king.—S.
[44] We are now arrived at the science of œconomics. This indeed in the order of things precedes the science of politics. For a civil state is composed of many families; and arises from the agreement of their minds, in perceiving the necessity of civil or kingly government for their common good. But Plato here speaks of it the last, probably for this reason, that the government of a family is βασιλικη τε και τυραννικη, partly authoritative and kingly, partly compulsive and tyrannical: the paternal part of it is kingly; and thus a king is as the father of all his people, and governs them as through paternal authority and filial awe: the despotic part is tyrannical; and thus a tyrant is the lord and master of the whole people, ruling them by compulsion, as a master rules his slaves, and such were all domestic servants in the age and country of Plato.—S.
[45] Οικονομος. It was usual in antient times, as well as it is in modern, for princes, and other rich and great men, who kept a multitude of domestics, to depute the care and management of them all, and the dispensation of justice among them, to one man, whom they called οικονομος, and we call major-domo, maitre d’hôtel, or, in the English term we choose to make use of in an English translation, steward of the household.—S.
[46] Δεσποτης, that is, the lord and master himself, governing in his own right, with authority and power underived.—S.
[47] Πολιτικος. This word, as used by Plato, and the other antient writers on politics, is of a very large and extensive import, including all those statesmen or politicians in aristocracies and democracies, who were, either for life, or for a certain time, invested with the whole or a part of kingly authority, and the power thereto belonging: and such are here particularly meant by Plato. Agreeably to this passage, he tells us in his Politicus, that the science of a politician differs only in name from the kingly science. For the proof of which position we refer our readers to that Dialogue, where the nature of the kingly office is so admirably well elucidated and explained.—S.
[48] It equally follows from the foregoing reasoning, that a king ought himself, in the first place, truly to philosophize: in the next place, that he ought to choose a true philosopher, if such a man can be found, to be of his council: and lastly, it follows that a true philosopher, when duty to his prince or to his country, or other good occasion, sent to him from above, calls him forth to light, and places him in his proper sphere of action, must always be found adequate to any part of the kingly office. These conclusions may seem to favour a little of what is called philosophic arrogance; and for this very reason perhaps it is, that Plato has declined the making them, especially as from the mouth of his great master, a man so remarkable for his rare modesty.—S. = THE END OF THE RIVALS.