by Walter Pater
It was so again with those other youthful demi-gods, the Dioscuri, themselves also, in old heroic time, resident in this venerable place: Amyclaei fratres, fraternal leaders of the Lacedaemonian people. Their statues at this date were numerous in Laconia, or the docana, primitive symbols of them, those two upright beams of wood, carried to battle before the two kings, until it happened that through their secret enmity a certain battle was lost, after which one king only proceeded to the field, and one part only of that token of fraternity, the other remaining at Sparta. Well! they were two stars, you know, at their original birth in men’s minds, Gemini, virginal fresh stars of dawn, rising and setting alternately — those two half-earthly, half-celestial brothers, one of whom, Polydeuces, was immortal. The other, Castor, the younger, subject to old age and death, had fallen in battle, was found breathing his last. Polydeuces thereupon, at his own prayer, was permitted to die: with undying fraternal affection, had forgone one moiety of his privilege, and lay in the grave for a day in his brother’s stead, but shone out again on the morrow; the brothers thus ever coming and going, interchangeably, but both alike gifted now with immortal youth.
In their origin, then, very obviously elemental deities, they were thus become almost wholly humanised, fraternised with the Lacedaemonian people, their closest friends of the whole celestial company, visitors, as fond legend told, at their very hearths, found warming themselves in the half-light at their rude fire-sides. Themselves thus visible on occasion, at all times in devout art, they were the starry patrons of all that youth was proud of, delighted in, horsemanship, games, battle; and always with that profound fraternal sentiment. Brothers, comrades, who could not live without each other, they were the most fitting patrons of a place in which friendship, comradeship, like theirs, came to so much. Lovers of youth they remained, those enstarred types of it, arrested thus at that moment of miraculous good fortune as a consecration of the clean, youthful friendship, “passing even the love of woman,” which, by system, and under the sanction of their founder’s name, elaborated into a kind of art, became an elementary part of education. A part of their duty and discipline, it was also their great solace and encouragement. The beloved and the lover, side by side through their long days of eager labour, and above all on the battlefield, became respectively, aitęs,+ the hearer, and eispnęlas,+ the inspirer; the elder inspiring the younger with his own strength and noble taste in things.
What, it has been asked, what was there to occupy persons of the privileged class in Lacedaemon from morning to night, thus cut off as they were from politics and business, and many of the common interests of men’s lives? Our Platonic visitor would have asked rather, Why this strenuous task-work, day after day; why this loyalty to a system, so costly to you individually, though it may be thought to have survived its original purpose; this laborious, endless, education, which does not propose to give you anything very useful or enjoyable in itself? An intelligent young Spartan might have replied: “To the end that I myself may be a perfect work of art, issuing thus into the eyes of all Greece.” He might have observed — we may safely observe for him — that the institutions of his country, whose he was, had a beauty in themselves, as we may observe also of some at least of our own institutions, educational or religious: that they bring out, for instance, the lights and shadows of human character, and relieve the present by maintaining in it an ideal sense of the past. He might have added that he had his friendships to solace him; and to encourage him, the sense of honour.
Honour, friendship, loyalty to the ideal of the past, himself as a work of art! There was much of course in his answer. Yet still, after all, to understand, to be capable of, such motives, was itself but a result of that exacting discipline of character we are trying to account for; and the question still recurs, To what purpose? Why, with no prospect of Israel’s reward, are you as scrupulous, minute, self- taxing, as he? A tincture of asceticism in the Lacedaemonian rule may remind us again of the monasticism of the Middle Ages. But then, monastic severity was for the purging of a troubled conscience, or for the hope of an immense prize, neither of which conditions is to be supposed here. In fact the surprise of Saint Paul, as a practical man, at the slightness of the reward for which a Greek spent himself, natural as it is about all pagan perfection, is especially applicable about these Lacedaemonians, who indeed had actually invented that so “corruptible” and essentially worthless parsley crown in place of the more tangible prizes of an earlier age. Strange people! Where, precisely, may be the spring of action in you, who are so severe to yourselves; you who, in the words of Plato’s supposed objector that the rulers of the ideal state are not to be envied, have nothing you can really call your own, but are like hired servants in your own houses, — qui manducatis panem doloris?+
Another day-dream, you may say, about those obscure ancient people, it was ever so difficult really to know, who had hidden their actual life with so much success; but certainly a quite natural dream upon the paradoxical things we are told of them, on good authority. It is because they make us ask that question; puzzle us by a paradoxical idealism in life; are thus distinguished from their neighbours; that, like some of our old English places of education, though we might not care to live always at school there, it is good to visit them on occasion; as some philosophic Athenians, as we have now seen, loved to do, at least in thought.
NOTES
198. +Transliteration: Gnôthi sauton . . . Męden agan. E-text editor’s translation: “Know thyself . . . nothing too much.” Plato, Protagoras 343b.
200. +Transliteration: mousikę. Liddell and Scott definition: “any art over which the Muses presided, esp. music or lyric poetry set and sung to music….”
205. +Transliteration: hoi gerontes, hę gerousia. Liddell and Scott definitions: “the old . . . a Council of Elders, Senate, esp. at Sparta, where it consisted of 28.”
206. +Transliteration: paraleipomenon. Pater’s translation: “oversights.” The verb paraleipô means, “to leave on one side . . . leave unnoticed.”
207. +Transliteration: koilę Spartę. Pater’s translation: “hollow Sparta.”
207. +Transliteration: polichnia. Pater’s translation: “hamlets.”
214. +Transliteration: ophrya te kai koilainetai. E-text editor’s translation: “craggy and hollowed out.” Strabo cites this proverb about Corinth. Strabo, Geography, Book 8, Chapter 6, Section 23.
216. +Transliteration: scholę. Pater’s translation: “leisure.”
216. +Transliteration: ęthos. Liddell and Scott definition: “an accustomed place . . . custom, usage, habit.”
217. +Transliteration: aretę. Liddell and Scott definition: “goodness, excellence, of any kind.”
218. +Transliteration: ęthos. Liddell and Scott definition: “an accustomed place . . . custom, usage, habit.”
218. +Transliteration: hę diaita Dôrikę. E-text editor’s translation: “the Dorian way of life.”
219. +Transliteration: homoiôs apo te tôn skelôn kai apo cheirôn kai apo trachęlou gymnazontai. E-text editor’s translation: “Their exercises train the legs, arms and neck with the same care.” Xenophon, Minor Works, Constitution of the Lacedaemonians, Chapter 5, Section 9.
221. +Transliteration: homoioi . . . hypomeiones. Pater’s translation: “superiors and inferiors.”
221. +Transliteration: Eiręn, melleiręn, sideunęs. Liddell and Scott definition of the first term: “a Lacedaemonian youth from his 18th. year, when he was entitled to speak in the assembly and to lead an army.” I have not come across the second or third terms, but the root meaning of the words suggests that they would mean, roughly, “one who is of age, or nearly of age” and “a young man who is old enough to bear a sword.”
222. +Transliteration: agelai. Pater’s translation: “in their divisions.”
223. +Transliteration: mousikę. Liddell and Scott definition: “any art over which the Muses presided, esp. music or lyric poetry set and sung to music….”
225. +Transliteration
: paraleipomenon. Pater’s translation: “oversights.” The verb paraleipô means, “to leave on one side . . . leave unnoticed.”
226. +Transliteration: deisidaimones. Liddell and Scott definition: “fearing the gods,” in both a good and bad sense — i.e. either pious or superstitious.
229. +A Chitôn was “a woollen shirt worn next the body.” (Liddell and Scott.)
231. +Transliteration: aitęs. Pater’s translation: “the hearer.”
232. +Transliteration: eispnęlas. Pater’s translation: “the hearer.”
233. +Psalm 127, verse 2. The King James Bible translation is “to eat the bread of sorrows.”
THE REPUBLIC
“THE Republic,” as we may realise it mentally within the limited proportions of some quite imaginable Greek city, is the protest of Plato, in enduring stone, in law and custom more imperishable still, against the principle of flamboyancy or fluidity in things, and in men’s thoughts about them. Political “ideals” may provide not only types for new states, but also, in humbler function, a due corrective of the errors, thus renewing the life, of old ones. But like other medicines the corrective or critical ideal may come too late, too near the natural end of things. The theoretic attempt made by Plato to arrest the process of disintegration in the life of Athens, of Greece, by forcing it back upon a simpler and more strictly Hellenic type, ended, so far as they were concerned, in theory.
It comes of Plato’s literary skill, his really dramatic handling of a conversation, that one subject rises naturally out of another in the course of it, that in the lengthy span of The Republic, though they are linked together after all with a true logical coherency, now justice, now the ideal state, now the analysis of the individual soul, or the nature of a true philosopher, or his right education, or the law of political change, may seem to emerge as the proper subject of the whole book. It is thus incidentally, and by way of setting forth the definition of Justice or Rightness, as if in big letters, that the constitution of the typically Right State is introduced into what, according to one of its traditional titles — Peri Dikaiosynęs + — might actually have figured as a dialogue on the nature of Justice. But tod’ ęn hôs eoike prooimion+ — the discussion of the theory of the abstract and invisible rightness was but to introduce the practical architect, the creator of the right state. Plato then assumes rather than demonstrates that so facile parallel between the individual consciousness and the social aggregate, passes lightly backwards and forwards from the rightness or wrongness, the normal or abnormal conditions, of the one to those of the other, from you and me to the “colossal man,” whose good or bad qualities, being written up there on a larger scale, are easier to read, and if one may say so, “once in bricks and mortar,” though but on paper, is lavish of a world as it should be. A strange world in some ways! Let us look from the small type of the individual to the monumental inscription on those high walls, as he proposes; while his fancy wandering further and further, over tower and temple, its streets and the people in them, as if forgetful of his original purpose he tells us all he sees in thought of the City of the Perfect.
To the view of Plato, as of all other Greek citizens, the state, in its local habitation here or there, had been in all cases the gift or ordinance of one or another real though half-divine founder, some Solon or Lycurgus, thereafter a proper object of piety, of filial piety, for ever, among those to whom he had bequeathed the blessings of civilised life. Himself actually of Solon’s lineage, Plato certainly is less aware than those who study these matters in the “historic spirit” of the modern world that for the most part, like other more purely physical things, states “are not made, but grow.” Yet his own work as a designer or architect of what shall be new is developed quite naturally out of the question how an already existing state, such as the actual Athens of the day, might secure its pre-eminence, or its very existence. Close always, by the concrete turn of his genius, to the facts of the place and the hour, his first thought is to suggest a remedy for the peculiar evils of the Athenians at that moment; and in his delineation of the ideal state he does but elevate what Athens in particular, a ship so early going to pieces, might well be forced to become for her salvation, were it still possible, into the eternal type of veritable statecraft, of a city as such, “a city at unity in itself,” defiant of time. He seems to be seeking in the first instance a remedy for the sick, a desperate political remedy; and thereupon, as happens with really philosophic enquirers, the view enlarges on all sides around him.
Those evils of Athens then, which were found in very deed somewhat later to be the infirmity of Greece as a whole, when, though its versatile gifts of intellect might constitute it the teacher of its eventual masters, it was found too incoherent politically to hold its own against Rome: — those evils of Athens, of Greece, came from an exaggerated assertion of the fluxional, flamboyant, centrifugal Ionian element in the Hellenic character. They could be cured only by a counter-assertion of the centripetal Dorian ideal, as actually seen best at Lacedaemon; by the way of simplification, of a rigorous limitation of all things, of art and life, of the souls, aye, and of the very bodies of men, as being the integral factors of all beside. It is in those simpler, corrected outlines of a reformed Athens that Plato finds the “eternal form” of the State, of a city as such, like a well-knit athlete, or one of those perfectly disciplined Spartan dancers. His actual purpose therefore is at once reforming and conservative. The drift of his charge is, in his own words, that no political constitution then existing is suitable to the philosophic, that is to say, as he conceives it, to the aristocratic or kingly nature. How much that means we shall see by and bye, when he maintains that in the City of the Perfect the kings will be philosophers. It means that those called, like the gifted, lost Alcibiades, to be the saviours of the state, as a matter of fact become instead its destroyers. The proper soil in which alone that precious exotic seed, the kingly or aristocratic seed, will attain its proper qualities, in which alone it will not yield wine inferior to its best, or rather, instead of bearing any wine at all, become a deadly poison, is still to be laid down according to rules of art, the ethic or political art; but once provided must be jealously kept from innovation. Organic unity with one’s self, body and soul, is the well-being, the rightness, or righteousness, or justice of the individual, of the microcosm; but is the ideal also, it supplies the true definition, of the well-being of the macrocosm, of the social organism, the state. On this Plato has to insist, to the disadvantage of what we actually see in Greece, in Athens, with all its intricacies of disunion, faction against faction, as displayed in the later books of Thucydides. Remember! the question Plato is asking throughout The Republic, with a touch perhaps of the narrowness, the fanaticism, or “fixed idea,” of Machiavel himself, is, not how shall the state, the place we must live in, be gay or rich or populous, but strong — strong enough to remain itself, to resist solvent influences within or from without, such as would deprive it not merely of the accidental notes of prosperity but of its own very being.
Now what hinders this strengthening macrocosmic unity, the oneness of the political organism with itself, is that the unit, the individual, the microcosm, fancies itself, or would fain be, a rival macrocosm, independent, many-sided, all-sufficient. To make him that, as you know, had been the conscious aim of the Athenian system in the education of its youth, as also in its later indirect education of the citizen by the way of political life. It was the ideal of one side of the Greek character in general, of much that was brilliant in it and seductive to others. In this sense, Pericles himself interprets the educational function of the city towards the citizen: — to take him as he is, and develope him to the utmost on all his various sides, with a variety in those parts however, as Plato thinks, by no means likely to promote the unity of the whole, of the state as such, which must move all together if it is to move at all, at least against its foes. With this at first sight quite limited purpose then, paradoxical as it might seem to those whose very ideal lay preci
sely in such manifold development, to Plato himself perhaps, manifold as his own genius and culture conspicuously were — paradoxical as it might seem, Plato’s demand is for the limitation, the simplifying, of those constituent parts or units; that the unit should be indeed no more than a part, it might be a very small part, in a community, which needs, if it is still to subsist, the wholeness of an army in motion, of the stars in their courses, of well-concerted music, if you prefer that figure, or, as the modern reader might perhaps object, of a machine. The design of Plato is to bring back the Athenian people, the Greeks, to thoughts of order, to disinterestedness in their functions, to that self-concentration of soul on one’s own part, that loyal concession of their proper parts to others, on which such order depends, to a love of it, a sense of its extreme aesthetic beauty and fitness, according to that indefectible definition of Justice, of what is right, to hen prattein, to ta hautou prattein+, in opposition, as he thinks, to those so fascinating conditions of Injustice, poikilia, pleonexia, polypragmosynę,+ figuring away, as they do sometimes, so brilliantly.
For Plato would have us understand that men are in truth after all naturally much simpler, much more limited in character and capacity, than they seem. Such diversity of parts and function as is presupposed in his definition of Justice has been fixed by nature itself on human life. The individual, as such, humble as his proper function may be, is unique in fitness for, in a consequent “call” to, that function. We know how much has been done to educate the world, under the supposition that man is a creature of very malleable substance, indifferent in himself, pretty much what influences may make of him. Plato, on the other hand, assures us that no one of us “is like another all in all.” — Prôton men phyetai hekastos ou pany homoios hekastô, alla diapherôn tęn physin, allos ep allou ergou praxin +. — But for this, social Justice, according to its eternal form or definition, would in fact be nowhere applicable. Once for all he formulates clearly that important notion of the function, (ergon)+ of a thing, or of a person. It is that which he alone can do, or he better than any one else.
