Power and the State - Cyril Radcliffe
REITH LECTURES 1951: Power and the State Cyril Radcliffe Lecture 1: Power and the State 1 TRANSMISSION: 4 November 1951 - Home Service
If I speak of the problem of power, at least I do not mean that it is a problem whether power should exist or not. It is most inescapably present in modern society and its crowded civilisations. Such societies cannot be conducted at all without central authority to keep the whole activity from breaking down. And, just as today’s social life requires the existence of power, so today’s developments have furnished the means of that power becoming a strong force; even changes such as the greater ease and quickness of communication have worked to give it a sharp eye and a firm hand.
Moreover, society has become used to the standing armies of power-the permanent civil service, the police force, the tax-gatherers-organised on a scale which was unknown to earlier centuries. So the philosophy of the backwoods is useless, because it is too simple, for the present age: the philosophy that goes to bed with the thought that the less authority men have over each other the better for all concerned, for then each man’s native virtue will see him through.
The problem that I am thinking of is of a different order. It is the question: What really prevents men who have authority from abusing their authority? The other side of that problem is another question: What is it, if it is not force that leads men to give obedience to authority? The people of these islands, who have shown in their history the most singular instances of great responsibilities worthily discharged, who have proved, one might say, most apt for power, have a wry native tradition that all men abuse power and -are the worse for having it, All power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely’. Etcetera. Like much folk lore this legend is enjoyed but not necessarily believed. I do not myself believe it, for I think that most men are the better, not the worse; for having some authority. At any rate, it is too easy a way of eluding the answer to my questions. The problem of power is one that different societies may approach differently. But for this country it has to be seen against the background of European civilisation, for that civilisation and its ideas are part of the very structure of our political thinking. This is not an essay, then, in remaking society out of our own heads, but it does involve trying to see what really lies behind phrases such has ‘ freedom’ ‘liberty’, ‘rule of law’, which are, perhaps, so familiar, so automatic that they have become more incantations than ideas. The ideas of democracy-to use another much-worn word-have suffered from democracy’s own vast success, and as a result there has been d tendency to confuse its forms with its substance. Rousseau once said that States, like human bodies, begin to die from the moment of their birth and carry the causes of their own destruction within themselves. So it is with ideas. They die, unless they can get a new life by reinterpretation. That is what makes it worth while to take one more glance at the familiar features of democratic society.
After all, what kills ideas is disillusion. And this is an age haunted by disillusion and fear, though that is not necessarily to our discredit. The disillusion comes by inheritance and represents the accumulated disappointment of five centuries that the modern world which seemed to offer so much to the individual yet continues to withhold its best fruit from his grasp. Certainly it has brought him great benefits, but peace of spirit is not among them. If one assumes that our age began with the cult of the individual, critical, independent, and self-reliant, it looks as if it may end with the virtual destruction of all that makes for individuality. Indeed, it is not easy to feel sure that the virtues which one was taught to admire-the heroic qualities, the overmastering vision, gallantry, chivalry-are not survivals from a different order of things for which society is coming to have no use. There would be much to fear in that alone. But there is other reason than that for fear. This is a generation that has seen the powers of evil menacingly at large. It is left without excuse for any failure to realise the existence of those powers or the magnitude of the challenge that every civilisation always has to face. The great forces that govern the world have made no covenant that particular ideas or particular forms of society shall always triumph or always endure, and one thing that a backward glance helps to recall is that men have lived their lives nobly, and wielded power nobly, too, under systems of ideas very different from those that rule in our society today.
Back to Plato
That is my main reason for looking backwards in these lectures: to take up here some great book, to take up there some significant episode, and to see what sort of light they throw upon present problems. I am not tracing any history of ideas, because the historical development itself is not my concern-nor do I spend time in trying to discuss the merits of different kinds ‘of societies-monarchies, aristocracies, democracies, mixed constitutions, and what not. Such comparisons are rather sterile, on any view. The society that I think of is a democratic society such as we now have in this country, however far it may be convenient to travel away from it, in hope of seeing its ideas more clearly on return. I daresay that it is fated to pass, is even now passing, into other forms; if you will, into the new managerial society, to use a current phrase. If so, it will have a new type of governors, selected in some new way. Actually, however generous the democratic theory, there is always, I think, something like a governing class, endowed, or privileged, or co-opted, for the great majority of men, demonstrably, do not want to take any active part in political life. But whatever may be the method by which men may come to authority over other men, the same problems will still remain for all but monsters: For what purpose? Under what limitations? With what sanctions? And, for better or for worse, the answers for this country must somehow be related to our own history and to the history of the civilisation of which it forms part. And so I turn to Plato.
It is the inevitable transition. Political theory as known to us did not begin with Plato, but once he had written his book, The Republic, in the fourth century before Christ, the political thought of the western world could never afterwards be free from the influence of what he had said. That is one measure of his greatness. Another is that he is always up to date: because, while he was writing about what mattered immensely to him in the politics of fourth-century Greece, what he was trying to find an answer to were the fundamental questions: the purpose and destiny of the individual; and the 3 purpose and justification of the State, that political instrument which is fashioned by individuals but shows often so little of their own image.
The Republic, the book that was to outline the model State, is a sad book. Plato’s philosophical system is responsible, though at some removes, for the word idealism, and those men who can let their minds dwell upon perfect forms without shutting their eyes to very imperfect reality are likely to be more great than gay-such was Plato. And he was writing in a period of disillusion. Within one man’s lifetime Athens, his native State, had reached a height of glory-mistress of the sea, centre of a maritime and trading empire, liberal, wealthy, brilliant, and cultivated-and then descended to a fallen and distracted city. A long war with Sparta, her rival, had exhausted Athenian power and, not for the last time in history, what was liberal and humane was seen to go down before the forces of all that was most narrow and puritan in Greece. Failure abroad had led to failure of spirit at home and a democracy, so recently united, selfconfident, and proud of its leaders, had turned to a rout of little men more anxious to blame others than to take responsibility upon themselves. Every liberal civilisation has to absorb an intake of self criticism: but there seem to be in history certain special periods of disillusion, when everyone has suddenly become too sharp for loyalty, whether to old beliefs or to new truths. Criticism at such times is used not to test but to destroy values, and it wipes out all distinction between things that matter and things that do not. Scepticism of this kind was an outrage to Plato; and he set himself to uproot the crop of doctrines that grow out of it. They are still fairly familiar and so, I suppose, have an immortality of their own. There is no such thing as justice in a State; it is merely a fiction that men, who are conscious of their individual weakness, think up to keep the wild men down. Or it is a word that the people in power use in order to give a moral cover to what is really their own material interest. Or again, as Nietzsche argued, the only thing that deserves to be called justice is the will of the strong man: .all else is ‘slave-morality’.
Plato would have no truck with any of this. To him human life had no meaning unless its purpose was first to understand and then to pursue what was True and Good and Beautiful. I speak those words in capitals and then I leave them, leaving, too, the question unresolved how far they stand for anything that has a definite meaning. He at any rate thought they had meaning enough to describe the true purpose of human life, and for him the question: ‘What do men organise themselves into society for?’ could have only one answer: ‘To give the members of society, all the members, the best chance of realising their best selves ‘. So, in one leap, there is made the big decision: the State is an organisation which exists for a moral purpose, to make its citizens better men, indeed to see that they are better men, and unless it deliberately tries to reach’ this end, it might as well not exist. Whatever else it does, such a conception of the State makes the duty of those who are to hold power in it an elevated one.
How to find people good enough for this task of holding power? To answer ‘Get the best men’ is the answer of every amateur in politics: but it leaves every practical problem connected with it still unsolved. Plato did not ignore the practical problems, which he profoundly understood, but his solution is the outcome of his very individual approach. He was a passionate specialist. He could not stand the idea of a Jack-of-alltrades, the man who can turn his hand to many things without mastery of any. Plato had what is threatening to become rare, a reverence for a craft; and he looked on statesmanship as the supreme craft to which, more than to any other, a man should be 4 apprenticed by long training .and to which his life must be dedicated. Inevitably therefore to him ‘rulers’ must be somehow a class apart, a trained professional body, whom it would be out of the question to choose or to remove by the rough-and-ready methods of popular election. And, perhaps no less inevitably, he thought it an obvious proposition that, making all allowance for education and training, only some men are capable of exercising power. He had seen in Athens the practical application in politics of the famous dogma ‘All men are by nature created equal “and it had seemed to him-well, I think that it had seemed to him like being flippant about serious matters. For, again, he was, to a degree that we can hardly grasp, wholly an intellectualist. He did believe that, human reason was the divine attribute of humanity, and that nothing that reason could not justify as valid could be right. Not for him the saving qualifications of more fuzzy minds - the ‘Well you know, after all’, kind of conclusion. I do not mean by that that Plato thought life explicable by a dry logic: on the contrary, reason to him was the trained exercise of man’s highest qualities in combination, and it included as much man’s natural attraction to hat he feels to be fine as his arguments to prove that it is fine. A man with such an attitude may be something of a Puritan which Plato certainly was - but I do not think that he is likely to be a prig-which Plato most certainly was not.
Rule by Caste
So in his model State the republic, its members are to be divided into three classes: not according to social position, or difference of wealth, but according to the kind of person that each is supposed to be. There is the ruling class with absolute power, unfettered by law: they are to consist of persons capable of the highest range of reason and self control. Next to them, acting as a sort of Praetorian Guard, is the class of warriors, conspicuous in the qualities of courage and devotion, but a little below the best, we must assume, in the field of intellect. And below them come the rest, the great body of citizens, pursuing the ordinary callings of daily life and characterised by Plato, rather unfairly, as those whose lives are dominated by the third main element in the make-up of the human being: the desire for gain. These classes, once formed, are to be virtually static, a system of caste, from which there might be promotion or demotion only in a few exceptional cases. For Plato was one of the earliest believers in eugenics, and, since he also believed that women ought to be admitted to the highest class in common with men, he counted on maintaining its quality by a combination of selective breeding and rigorous education.
That was to be the constitution of the republic and it was to be nearly all the constitution that it was to have. It is a scheme which at first sight seems to challenge most accepted ideas of a healthy society, yet it is the scheme produced by the most elevated mind of the ancient world. The truth is that Plato cared so very much more about the result than any ordinary man will allow himself to do. He was ready to sacrifice so much to achieve the result. He had come to the conclusion -and I dare not call him old fashioned or out of date-that it was useless to hope for a perfect society in which everyone should be treated honestly and fairly but according to his capacity, unless that society could be ruled by men who had been specially bred, trained, and exercised for the task and then given uncontrolled authority to fulfil it. To him the problem never even presented itself as one of finding the proper limits to State power: his whole concern was to discover how to prevent even the best men abusing the absolute power that they must have. Everything was to be required of them in 5 exchange for this privilege of power. They were to have neither private property nor family of their own. Supported in the mere essentials by contributions from the other classes, living in common and eating at a common table, they resemble some strange college-half professors, half warrior knights. One pauses a little horrified at this plan of a communism that was to extend to wives as well as property. In the book of his old age, The Laws, Plato himself receded from this as from some of his other plans. But in putting it forward he had found a provocative way of saying a true thing. Men do not abuse power, in general, out of caprice or mad vanity or from a tyrant’s whim: they abuse it to hold on to or gain material things, for themselves or their class, or to provide advantage for their families. It is in that sense that power corrupts; and since, thought Plato, no man is good enough to resist this subtle, half-benevolent corruption, then away for good with the causes of it. Those who would hold power must abjure the temptations of human affection or material things.
Philosophers as Kings
It is philosophers, then, who will rule in his State. No real hope for the world until the day when philosophers become kings or kings turn philosophers. For this almost a lifelong education must be undertaken by those who are to be fit for power. The purpose of the education is not to make them masters of practical affairs but to give them what Plato calls the ‘idea of good ‘-the ability to reason constructively about general ideas and to arrive at a personal vision of the unalterable values of truth and beauty-not merely, like lesser men, to have opinions about them. But would such men be willing to take the burden of power, to spend their lives in looking after the welfare of other men? Most people, I think, would answer’ No’. They would expect men trained by such elevated studies-listed by Plato as arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, harmonics, and dialectic-to shun the political arena in which men compete’ not without dust and heat’. All the moral dignity of Plato’s Republic is shown in its answer to this question. No man of developed mind, it is taken for granted, would want power: why should he? The philosopher in politics is ‘a man among wild beasts ‘Even if things so come about that he is found possessing power, there is no likelihood that its possession will bring him happiness. But that, says Plato, is not the point. It is just because this man does not want power, just because he does not look to it to bring any happiness or practical advantage to himself, that he, and only he, is fit to exercise it, and he will accept the burden that he has not sought as something which his duty bids him to - since he owes both his duty and his will to do it to the society that made him.
And so we have his unforgettable picture of the philosopher-ruler going down into the cave, leaving the clarity and serene light that is natural to his own mind for the dark half-world of those’ that he must serve. The cave is the home of those who do not have the vision to see things in the unsparing light, who see, as in a glass darkly, only the shadows and reflections of things as they really are. It is, in fact, the world of ordinary people: of confusion, and muddle, and half truth. But it is also the place in which the affairs of ordinary people must be conducted, and so the place in which the statesman, however elevated his thought or clear his vision, must do his work: or theirs. There, in the half-darkness, as the shadows flicker and the very light deceives, the philosopher’s pure vision is at first a disadvantage. He will peer and stumble, and the cave-dwellers will laugh at him and his tales of a sunlit world outside. But not for ever, Plato says-‘Down you must go then, each in his turn, to the habitation of the 6 others and accustom yourselves to the observation of the obscure things there. For once habituated you will discern them infinitely better than the dwellers there, and you will know what each of the images is and of what it is a semblance, because you have seen the reality of the beautiful, the just, and the good’.
What are we to make of this extraordinary book, this intellectual, ascetic dream of an ideal State? It is not enough to put it away as the work of an ancient professor that has nothing to do with us, for it has caught the minds of men from the time that it was written until today. Nor, again, in spite of the strangeness of much of the doctrine, can one put its theories away as impossible or absurd. Absolute power being held by a single group of men devoted to a particular theory of government and refilling their ranks by rigorous selection: that is not unknown to the world’s experience. Nor can we say, in the face of history, that men are incapable of exercising absolute power without abusing it. Or even that there are not men who would surrender everything that makes for the fullness of private life in exchange for the ruler’s burden. One useful exercise is to ask oneself, in the light of The Republic, what Plato would have made of the liberal, democratic state. Chiefly, I think, he would have thought us reckless in the risks we take. He held that education is far the most important single activity in society. In The Laws he insists that his Prime Minister must be Minister of Education. But to him education meant a strict, deliberate process of adapting young people to the customs and ways of life established in the community they were to belong to. They were to be carefully shielded from critical or sceptical influences until they had become fairly immunised by; age and experience. A modern, liberal education would have seemed to him wild in intention and blind to fact. He would have thought our hopeless liberalism of taste and culture no better, because equally anarchic. Books, pictures, papers, films, buildings, plays-every medium that bears most powerfully upon the mind and imagination of members of society let loose upon them without, or virtually without, any authoritative standard of quality or purpose! And finally, to pick the governors of your country through universal suffrage and on party lines! All this would have seemed to Plato the negation of the serious conduct of society. These things are worth attention, not because his ‘theories come to confound us but because, presented with his power and vision, they do serve as a warning that the experiment of a liberal democracy is not only not the inevitable thing, not the obviously right thing, but is, on the contrary, a demanding and risky experiment in political organisation. That is the measure of the venture upon which this Country has been long embarked.
The Republic is too great a book to part from without something by way of assessment. Obviously, it leaves no political function to be discharged by the governed. It has been much criticised for this, as if it imposed upon them a sort of slavery. But I think that there is a vast difference between the condition of slavery and the condition of having no control of or part in the political destiny of one’s country. No large modern State can be conducted in a way that gives an effective hand in such matters to the ordinary citizen, and yet he feels a free man even without the possession of that influence. But there is something in the argument that fails to convince. It is, as I have said, in the highest degree intellectualist. One is left, even at the end, without any impression as to what its people were going to do in the perfect State. It seems to be assumed that it will be enough if they can win through to a contemplation of what is true and good and beautiful. Plato, no doubt, would have said that virtuous conduct follows naturally from intellectual truth and involves no 7 separate problem of conduct or divided will. But I doubt if we can recapture the intellectual certainty of ancient Greece, and we shall remain vexed by questions of what to do apart from questions of what to think.
Sacrifices for an Ideal
Plato, again, was prepared to sacrifice so much to achieve his ideal State, to make his rulers ascetics and their rule a puritan order. He would turn poets out of his city, for fear that their enchanting songs should beguile men from the truth. But is it within the terms of life in this imperfect world to look for perfection upon such narrowed conditions? A perfect State for a being whom we can think of in terms of perfection, yes. But it seems to defeat its own purpose as it folds coldly round the human being known to us. ‘Your chilly stars I can forgo: This warm kind world is all I know’. In fact, The Republic ends in a contradiction that it hardly seeks to resolve: no habitation would be too good for man, if only he were something other than a man.
If I speak of the problem of power, at least I do not mean that it is a problem whether power should exist or not. It is most inescapably present in modern society and its crowded civilisations. Such societies cannot be conducted at all without central authority to keep the whole activity from breaking down. And, just as today’s social life requires the existence of power, so today’s developments have furnished the means of that power becoming a strong force; even changes such as the greater ease and quickness of communication have worked to give it a sharp eye and a firm hand.
Moreover, society has become used to the standing armies of power-the permanent civil service, the police force, the tax-gatherers-organised on a scale which was unknown to earlier centuries. So the philosophy of the backwoods is useless, because it is too simple, for the present age: the philosophy that goes to bed with the thought that the less authority men have over each other the better for all concerned, for then each man’s native virtue will see him through.
The problem that I am thinking of is of a different order. It is the question: What really prevents men who have authority from abusing their authority? The other side of that problem is another question: What is it, if it is not force that leads men to give obedience to authority? The people of these islands, who have shown in their history the most singular instances of great responsibilities worthily discharged, who have proved, one might say, most apt for power, have a wry native tradition that all men abuse power and -are the worse for having it, All power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely’. Etcetera. Like much folk lore this legend is enjoyed but not necessarily believed. I do not myself believe it, for I think that most men are the better, not the worse; for having some authority. At any rate, it is too easy a way of eluding the answer to my questions. The problem of power is one that different societies may approach differently. But for this country it has to be seen against the background of European civilisation, for that civilisation and its ideas are part of the very structure of our political thinking. This is not an essay, then, in remaking society out of our own heads, but it does involve trying to see what really lies behind phrases such has ‘ freedom’ ‘liberty’, ‘rule of law’, which are, perhaps, so familiar, so automatic that they have become more incantations than ideas. The ideas of democracy-to use another much-worn word-have suffered from democracy’s own vast success, and as a result there has been d tendency to confuse its forms with its substance. Rousseau once said that States, like human bodies, begin to die from the moment of their birth and carry the causes of their own destruction within themselves. So it is with ideas. They die, unless they can get a new life by reinterpretation. That is what makes it worth while to take one more glance at the familiar features of democratic society.
After all, what kills ideas is disillusion. And this is an age haunted by disillusion and fear, though that is not necessarily to our discredit. The disillusion comes by inheritance and represents the accumulated disappointment of five centuries that the modern world which seemed to offer so much to the individual yet continues to withhold its best fruit from his grasp. Certainly it has brought him great benefits, but peace of spirit is not among them. If one assumes that our age began with the cult of the individual, critical, independent, and self-reliant, it looks as if it may end with the virtual destruction of all that makes for individuality. Indeed, it is not easy to feel sure that the virtues which one was taught to admire-the heroic qualities, the overmastering vision, gallantry, chivalry-are not survivals from a different order of things for which society is coming to have no use. There would be much to fear in that alone. But there is other reason than that for fear. This is a generation that has seen the powers of evil menacingly at large. It is left without excuse for any failure to realise the existence of those powers or the magnitude of the challenge that every civilisation always has to face. The great forces that govern the world have made no covenant that particular ideas or particular forms of society shall always triumph or always endure, and one thing that a backward glance helps to recall is that men have lived their lives nobly, and wielded power nobly, too, under systems of ideas very different from those that rule in our society today.
Back to Plato
That is my main reason for looking backwards in these lectures: to take up here some great book, to take up there some significant episode, and to see what sort of light they throw upon present problems. I am not tracing any history of ideas, because the historical development itself is not my concern-nor do I spend time in trying to discuss the merits of different kinds ‘of societies-monarchies, aristocracies, democracies, mixed constitutions, and what not. Such comparisons are rather sterile, on any view. The society that I think of is a democratic society such as we now have in this country, however far it may be convenient to travel away from it, in hope of seeing its ideas more clearly on return. I daresay that it is fated to pass, is even now passing, into other forms; if you will, into the new managerial society, to use a current phrase. If so, it will have a new type of governors, selected in some new way. Actually, however generous the democratic theory, there is always, I think, something like a governing class, endowed, or privileged, or co-opted, for the great majority of men, demonstrably, do not want to take any active part in political life. But whatever may be the method by which men may come to authority over other men, the same problems will still remain for all but monsters: For what purpose? Under what limitations? With what sanctions? And, for better or for worse, the answers for this country must somehow be related to our own history and to the history of the civilisation of which it forms part. And so I turn to Plato.
It is the inevitable transition. Political theory as known to us did not begin with Plato, but once he had written his book, The Republic, in the fourth century before Christ, the political thought of the western world could never afterwards be free from the influence of what he had said. That is one measure of his greatness. Another is that he is always up to date: because, while he was writing about what mattered immensely to him in the politics of fourth-century Greece, what he was trying to find an answer to were the fundamental questions: the purpose and destiny of the individual; and the 3 purpose and justification of the State, that political instrument which is fashioned by individuals but shows often so little of their own image.
The Republic, the book that was to outline the model State, is a sad book. Plato’s philosophical system is responsible, though at some removes, for the word idealism, and those men who can let their minds dwell upon perfect forms without shutting their eyes to very imperfect reality are likely to be more great than gay-such was Plato. And he was writing in a period of disillusion. Within one man’s lifetime Athens, his native State, had reached a height of glory-mistress of the sea, centre of a maritime and trading empire, liberal, wealthy, brilliant, and cultivated-and then descended to a fallen and distracted city. A long war with Sparta, her rival, had exhausted Athenian power and, not for the last time in history, what was liberal and humane was seen to go down before the forces of all that was most narrow and puritan in Greece. Failure abroad had led to failure of spirit at home and a democracy, so recently united, selfconfident, and proud of its leaders, had turned to a rout of little men more anxious to blame others than to take responsibility upon themselves. Every liberal civilisation has to absorb an intake of self criticism: but there seem to be in history certain special periods of disillusion, when everyone has suddenly become too sharp for loyalty, whether to old beliefs or to new truths. Criticism at such times is used not to test but to destroy values, and it wipes out all distinction between things that matter and things that do not. Scepticism of this kind was an outrage to Plato; and he set himself to uproot the crop of doctrines that grow out of it. They are still fairly familiar and so, I suppose, have an immortality of their own. There is no such thing as justice in a State; it is merely a fiction that men, who are conscious of their individual weakness, think up to keep the wild men down. Or it is a word that the people in power use in order to give a moral cover to what is really their own material interest. Or again, as Nietzsche argued, the only thing that deserves to be called justice is the will of the strong man: .all else is ‘slave-morality’.
Plato would have no truck with any of this. To him human life had no meaning unless its purpose was first to understand and then to pursue what was True and Good and Beautiful. I speak those words in capitals and then I leave them, leaving, too, the question unresolved how far they stand for anything that has a definite meaning. He at any rate thought they had meaning enough to describe the true purpose of human life, and for him the question: ‘What do men organise themselves into society for?’ could have only one answer: ‘To give the members of society, all the members, the best chance of realising their best selves ‘. So, in one leap, there is made the big decision: the State is an organisation which exists for a moral purpose, to make its citizens better men, indeed to see that they are better men, and unless it deliberately tries to reach’ this end, it might as well not exist. Whatever else it does, such a conception of the State makes the duty of those who are to hold power in it an elevated one.
How to find people good enough for this task of holding power? To answer ‘Get the best men’ is the answer of every amateur in politics: but it leaves every practical problem connected with it still unsolved. Plato did not ignore the practical problems, which he profoundly understood, but his solution is the outcome of his very individual approach. He was a passionate specialist. He could not stand the idea of a Jack-of-alltrades, the man who can turn his hand to many things without mastery of any. Plato had what is threatening to become rare, a reverence for a craft; and he looked on statesmanship as the supreme craft to which, more than to any other, a man should be 4 apprenticed by long training .and to which his life must be dedicated. Inevitably therefore to him ‘rulers’ must be somehow a class apart, a trained professional body, whom it would be out of the question to choose or to remove by the rough-and-ready methods of popular election. And, perhaps no less inevitably, he thought it an obvious proposition that, making all allowance for education and training, only some men are capable of exercising power. He had seen in Athens the practical application in politics of the famous dogma ‘All men are by nature created equal “and it had seemed to him-well, I think that it had seemed to him like being flippant about serious matters. For, again, he was, to a degree that we can hardly grasp, wholly an intellectualist. He did believe that, human reason was the divine attribute of humanity, and that nothing that reason could not justify as valid could be right. Not for him the saving qualifications of more fuzzy minds - the ‘Well you know, after all’, kind of conclusion. I do not mean by that that Plato thought life explicable by a dry logic: on the contrary, reason to him was the trained exercise of man’s highest qualities in combination, and it included as much man’s natural attraction to hat he feels to be fine as his arguments to prove that it is fine. A man with such an attitude may be something of a Puritan which Plato certainly was - but I do not think that he is likely to be a prig-which Plato most certainly was not.
Rule by Caste
So in his model State the republic, its members are to be divided into three classes: not according to social position, or difference of wealth, but according to the kind of person that each is supposed to be. There is the ruling class with absolute power, unfettered by law: they are to consist of persons capable of the highest range of reason and self control. Next to them, acting as a sort of Praetorian Guard, is the class of warriors, conspicuous in the qualities of courage and devotion, but a little below the best, we must assume, in the field of intellect. And below them come the rest, the great body of citizens, pursuing the ordinary callings of daily life and characterised by Plato, rather unfairly, as those whose lives are dominated by the third main element in the make-up of the human being: the desire for gain. These classes, once formed, are to be virtually static, a system of caste, from which there might be promotion or demotion only in a few exceptional cases. For Plato was one of the earliest believers in eugenics, and, since he also believed that women ought to be admitted to the highest class in common with men, he counted on maintaining its quality by a combination of selective breeding and rigorous education.
That was to be the constitution of the republic and it was to be nearly all the constitution that it was to have. It is a scheme which at first sight seems to challenge most accepted ideas of a healthy society, yet it is the scheme produced by the most elevated mind of the ancient world. The truth is that Plato cared so very much more about the result than any ordinary man will allow himself to do. He was ready to sacrifice so much to achieve the result. He had come to the conclusion -and I dare not call him old fashioned or out of date-that it was useless to hope for a perfect society in which everyone should be treated honestly and fairly but according to his capacity, unless that society could be ruled by men who had been specially bred, trained, and exercised for the task and then given uncontrolled authority to fulfil it. To him the problem never even presented itself as one of finding the proper limits to State power: his whole concern was to discover how to prevent even the best men abusing the absolute power that they must have. Everything was to be required of them in 5 exchange for this privilege of power. They were to have neither private property nor family of their own. Supported in the mere essentials by contributions from the other classes, living in common and eating at a common table, they resemble some strange college-half professors, half warrior knights. One pauses a little horrified at this plan of a communism that was to extend to wives as well as property. In the book of his old age, The Laws, Plato himself receded from this as from some of his other plans. But in putting it forward he had found a provocative way of saying a true thing. Men do not abuse power, in general, out of caprice or mad vanity or from a tyrant’s whim: they abuse it to hold on to or gain material things, for themselves or their class, or to provide advantage for their families. It is in that sense that power corrupts; and since, thought Plato, no man is good enough to resist this subtle, half-benevolent corruption, then away for good with the causes of it. Those who would hold power must abjure the temptations of human affection or material things.
Philosophers as Kings
It is philosophers, then, who will rule in his State. No real hope for the world until the day when philosophers become kings or kings turn philosophers. For this almost a lifelong education must be undertaken by those who are to be fit for power. The purpose of the education is not to make them masters of practical affairs but to give them what Plato calls the ‘idea of good ‘-the ability to reason constructively about general ideas and to arrive at a personal vision of the unalterable values of truth and beauty-not merely, like lesser men, to have opinions about them. But would such men be willing to take the burden of power, to spend their lives in looking after the welfare of other men? Most people, I think, would answer’ No’. They would expect men trained by such elevated studies-listed by Plato as arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, harmonics, and dialectic-to shun the political arena in which men compete’ not without dust and heat’. All the moral dignity of Plato’s Republic is shown in its answer to this question. No man of developed mind, it is taken for granted, would want power: why should he? The philosopher in politics is ‘a man among wild beasts ‘Even if things so come about that he is found possessing power, there is no likelihood that its possession will bring him happiness. But that, says Plato, is not the point. It is just because this man does not want power, just because he does not look to it to bring any happiness or practical advantage to himself, that he, and only he, is fit to exercise it, and he will accept the burden that he has not sought as something which his duty bids him to - since he owes both his duty and his will to do it to the society that made him.
And so we have his unforgettable picture of the philosopher-ruler going down into the cave, leaving the clarity and serene light that is natural to his own mind for the dark half-world of those’ that he must serve. The cave is the home of those who do not have the vision to see things in the unsparing light, who see, as in a glass darkly, only the shadows and reflections of things as they really are. It is, in fact, the world of ordinary people: of confusion, and muddle, and half truth. But it is also the place in which the affairs of ordinary people must be conducted, and so the place in which the statesman, however elevated his thought or clear his vision, must do his work: or theirs. There, in the half-darkness, as the shadows flicker and the very light deceives, the philosopher’s pure vision is at first a disadvantage. He will peer and stumble, and the cave-dwellers will laugh at him and his tales of a sunlit world outside. But not for ever, Plato says-‘Down you must go then, each in his turn, to the habitation of the 6 others and accustom yourselves to the observation of the obscure things there. For once habituated you will discern them infinitely better than the dwellers there, and you will know what each of the images is and of what it is a semblance, because you have seen the reality of the beautiful, the just, and the good’.
What are we to make of this extraordinary book, this intellectual, ascetic dream of an ideal State? It is not enough to put it away as the work of an ancient professor that has nothing to do with us, for it has caught the minds of men from the time that it was written until today. Nor, again, in spite of the strangeness of much of the doctrine, can one put its theories away as impossible or absurd. Absolute power being held by a single group of men devoted to a particular theory of government and refilling their ranks by rigorous selection: that is not unknown to the world’s experience. Nor can we say, in the face of history, that men are incapable of exercising absolute power without abusing it. Or even that there are not men who would surrender everything that makes for the fullness of private life in exchange for the ruler’s burden. One useful exercise is to ask oneself, in the light of The Republic, what Plato would have made of the liberal, democratic state. Chiefly, I think, he would have thought us reckless in the risks we take. He held that education is far the most important single activity in society. In The Laws he insists that his Prime Minister must be Minister of Education. But to him education meant a strict, deliberate process of adapting young people to the customs and ways of life established in the community they were to belong to. They were to be carefully shielded from critical or sceptical influences until they had become fairly immunised by; age and experience. A modern, liberal education would have seemed to him wild in intention and blind to fact. He would have thought our hopeless liberalism of taste and culture no better, because equally anarchic. Books, pictures, papers, films, buildings, plays-every medium that bears most powerfully upon the mind and imagination of members of society let loose upon them without, or virtually without, any authoritative standard of quality or purpose! And finally, to pick the governors of your country through universal suffrage and on party lines! All this would have seemed to Plato the negation of the serious conduct of society. These things are worth attention, not because his ‘theories come to confound us but because, presented with his power and vision, they do serve as a warning that the experiment of a liberal democracy is not only not the inevitable thing, not the obviously right thing, but is, on the contrary, a demanding and risky experiment in political organisation. That is the measure of the venture upon which this Country has been long embarked.
The Republic is too great a book to part from without something by way of assessment. Obviously, it leaves no political function to be discharged by the governed. It has been much criticised for this, as if it imposed upon them a sort of slavery. But I think that there is a vast difference between the condition of slavery and the condition of having no control of or part in the political destiny of one’s country. No large modern State can be conducted in a way that gives an effective hand in such matters to the ordinary citizen, and yet he feels a free man even without the possession of that influence. But there is something in the argument that fails to convince. It is, as I have said, in the highest degree intellectualist. One is left, even at the end, without any impression as to what its people were going to do in the perfect State. It seems to be assumed that it will be enough if they can win through to a contemplation of what is true and good and beautiful. Plato, no doubt, would have said that virtuous conduct follows naturally from intellectual truth and involves no 7 separate problem of conduct or divided will. But I doubt if we can recapture the intellectual certainty of ancient Greece, and we shall remain vexed by questions of what to do apart from questions of what to think.
Sacrifices for an Ideal
Plato, again, was prepared to sacrifice so much to achieve his ideal State, to make his rulers ascetics and their rule a puritan order. He would turn poets out of his city, for fear that their enchanting songs should beguile men from the truth. But is it within the terms of life in this imperfect world to look for perfection upon such narrowed conditions? A perfect State for a being whom we can think of in terms of perfection, yes. But it seems to defeat its own purpose as it folds coldly round the human being known to us. ‘Your chilly stars I can forgo: This warm kind world is all I know’. In fact, The Republic ends in a contradiction that it hardly seeks to resolve: no habitation would be too good for man, if only he were something other than a man.
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