"For the righteous man does not permit the several elements within him to meddle with one another, but he sets in order his own inner life, and is his own master, and at peace with himself; when he has bound together the three principles within him, and is no longer many, but has become one entirely temperate and perfectly adjusted nature, then he will begin to act, if he has to act, whether in a matter of property, or in the treatment of the body, or in some affairs of politics or of private business; in all which cases he will think and call just and good action, that which preserves and coöperates with this condition, and the knowledge which presides over this wisdom."
Unrighteousness, on the other hand, is the exact opposite of this. "Then assuming the threefold division of the soul, must not unrighteousness be a kind of quarrel between these three—a meddlesomeness and interference, a rising up of a part of the soul against the whole soul, an assertion of unlawful authority, which is made by a rebellious subject against a true prince, of whom he is the natural vassal—this is the sort of thing; the confusion and error of these parts or elements in unrighteousness and intemperance, cowardice, and ignorance, and in general all vice." In other words, righteousness and unrighteousness "are like disease and health; being in the soul just what disease and health are in the body." "Then virtue is the health and beauty and well-being of the soul, vice is the disease and weakness and deformity of the soul." From this point of view our old question of the comparative advantage of righteousness and unrighteousness answers itself. Indeed, the question whether it is more profitable to be righteous and do righteously and practice virtue, whether seen or unseen of gods and men, or to be unrighteous and act unrighteously if only unpunished, becomes, Plato says, ridiculous. "If when the bodily constitution is gone, life is no longer endurable, though pampered with every sort of meats and drinks, and having all wealth and all power, shall we be told that life is worth having when the very essence of the vital principle is undermined and corrupted, even though a man be allowed to do whatever he pleases, if at the same time he is forbidden to escape from vice and unrighteousness, or attain righteousness and virtue, seeing that we now know the true nature of each?"
Righteousness, according to Plato, is the condition of the soul's health and life. To part with righteousness for any external advantage is to commit the supreme folly of selling our own souls. Righteousness is the organising principle of the soul; unrighteousness is the disorganising principle. Health and life rest on organisation. Disorganisation and vice are synonymous with disease and death. Therefore, all seeming gains that one may win in the paths of unrighteousness really involve the greatest possible loss.
We have now seen what righteousness is, whether in a state or in an individual. It is the health, harmony, beauty, excellence of the whole state or the whole man, secured by having each member attend strictly to its own distinctive work, with a view to the good of the whole state or the whole man. Thus defined it is something so obviously desirable and essential, that nothing else is worthy to be compared with it. Whoever parts with it even in exchange for the greatest outward honours, emoluments, comforts, or pleasures, is bound to get the worst of the bargain. Yet men do part with it; states do part with it. And the eighth and ninth books of the Republic are devoted to a description of the four stages of degeneration through which states and individuals pass on the downward road from righteousness and virtue to unrighteousness and vice. The breaking up of a thing often reveals its nature as effectually as the putting it together; and as we have traced the four virtues by which either the state or the soul is constructed, it will throw added light upon the problem to trace in conclusion the four stages through which men and states go down to destruction.
VI
THE STAGES OF DEGENERATION
The first step down is where, instead of the good, men seek personal honour and distinction. At first the deterioration, whether in state or individual, is hardly noticeable. An ambitious statesman, on the whole, will advocate, if he is shrewd and far-sighted, much the same measures as the statesman who is intent on the welfare of the state. For he knows that by promoting the public welfare he will most effectively gain the reputation and distinction he desires. Yet there is a marked difference in the attitude of mind, and in the long run that difference will express itself in action. When it comes to a close and hard decision, where the real interest of the state lies in one direction, and the waves of popular enthusiasm are running in an opposite direction, the man who cares for the real welfare of the state will stand fast, while the man who cares supremely for honour and distinction will be more likely to give way. Besides, contention and strife will arise, since the ambitious man is more anxious to do something himself than he is to have the best thing done by some one else. Hence the state where the statesmen love power, office, and honour will be less well off than the state where they are disinterestedly devoted to the public good.
Just so the man who is supremely covetous of power and honour will be weaker than the man who loves the good and follows the guidance of reason as supreme, in both these respects. He will be prone to follow the clamour of the multitude when he knows it is not the voice of reason; and he will try to have his own way, even when he knows that the way of another man is better than his. As Plato says, "He gives up the kingdom that is within him to the middle principle of contentiousness and passion, and becomes proud and ambitious." Here, then, are the two tests by which each man may judge for himself whether he is a degenerate of the first grade or not. First: Will you do what reason shows you to be right every time, at all costs, no matter if all the honours and emoluments are attached to doing something a shade or two off from this absolutely right and reasonable course? Second: Would you rather have what is best done by somebody else, and let him have the credit of it, rather than get all the credit yourself by doing something not quite so good? The man of pride and ambition can never be quite disinterested in his service of the good, although incidentally most of the things he does will be good things. As Plato puts it, "He is not single-minded toward virtue, having lost his best guardian." He has neglected "the one thing that can preserve a man's goodness through his life—reason blended with music."
It is a short and easy step, in state and individual, from the love of honour down to the love of money as the guiding principle of life. The appetitive side of life is always present, even in the most upright of men. It may be asleep, but it is never dead. And when there is nothing more deep and vital than the love of honour to hold it in restraint, it is sure to wake up and prowl about. Rivalry for honour soon reveals the fact that directly or indirectly honour and office can be bought. Then comes the state of things where only rich men can get office, or can afford to hold it if it comes to them. That in the state is what Plato calls an oligarchy. The deterioration of a state under this condition is very rapid, for, as he says, "When riches and virtue are placed together in the scales of the balance, the one always rises as the other falls. And so at last, instead of loving contention and glory, men become lovers of trade and of money, and they honour and reverence the rich man and make a ruler of him, and dishonour the poor man." The evils of this oligarchical rule, he says, are illustrated by considering the nature of the qualification for office and influence. "Just think what would happen if the pilots were to be chosen according to their property, and a poor man refused permission to steer, even though he were the better pilot?" The other defect is "the inevitable division; such a state is not one but two states, the one of poor men, the other of rich men, who are living on the same spot and ever conspiring against one another."
The avaricious man is like the state which is governed by rich men. "Is not this man likely to seat the concupiscent and covetous elements on the vacant throne? And when he has made the reasoning and passionate faculties sit on the ground obediently on either side, and taught them to know their place, he compels the one to think only of the method by which lesser sums may be converted into larger ones, and schools the other into the worship and admiration of riches and rich men. Of all conversions there is none so speedy or so sure as when the ambitious youth changes into the avaricious one."
Nowhere is Plato more keen or more fair than in his judgment of the money-maker. He says that he will generally do the right thing; he will be eminently respectable; he will not sink to very low or disreputable courses. All his goodness, however, will be of a forced, constrained, artificial, and at bottom unreal character. He will be good because he has to, in order to maintain that standing in the community on which his wealth depends. In Plato's own words: "He coerces his bad passions by an effort of virtue; not that he convinces them of evil, or exerts over them the gentle influence of reason, but he acts upon them by necessity and fear, and because he trembles for his possessions. This sort of man will be at war with himself: he will be two men, not one; but, in general, his better desires will be found to prevail over his inferior ones. For these reasons such an one will be more decent than many are; yet the true virtue of a unanimous and harmonious soul will be far out of his reach."