Observation shows us; first, that every polis (or state) is a species of association, and secondly, that all associations are instituted for the purpose of attaining some good—for all men do all their acts with a view to achieving something which is, in their view, a good. We may therefore hold on the basis of what we actually observe that all associations aim at some good; and we may also hold that the particular association which is the most sovereign of all, and includes all the rest, will pursue this aim most, and will thus be directed to the most sovereign of all goods. This most sovereign and inclusive association is the polis, as it is called, or the political association.

    It is a mistake to believe that the "statesman" is the same as the monarch of a kingdom, or the manager of a household, or the master of a number of slaves. Those who hold this view consider that each of these persons differs from the others not with a difference of kind, but merely with a difference of degree, and according to the number, or the paucity, of the persons with whom he deals. On this view a man who is concerned with few persons is a master: one who is concerned with more is the manager of a household: one who is concerned with still more is a "statesman," or a monarch. This view abolishes any real differences between a large household and a small polis; and it also reduces the difference between the "statesman " and the monarch to the one fact that the latter has an uncontrolled and sole authority, while the former exercises his authority in conformity with the rules imposed by the art of statesmanship and as one who rules and is ruled in turn. But this is a view which cannot be accepted as correct. There is an essential difference between these persons, and between the associations with which they are concerned.

    Our point will be made clear if we proceed to consider the matter according to our normal method of analysis. Just as, in all other fields, a compound should be analyzed until we reach its simple and uncompounded elements (or, in other words, the smallest atoms of the whole which it constitutes), so we must also consider analytically the elements of which a polis is composed. We shall then gain a better insight into the difference from one another of the persons and associations just mentioned; and we shall also be in a position to discover whether it is possible to attain a systematic view of the general issues involved.

    If, accordingly, we begin at the beginning, and consider things in the process of their growth, we shall best be able, in this as in other fields, to attain scientific conclusions by the method we employ. First of all, there must necessarily be a union or pairing of those who cannot exist without one another. Male and female must unite for the reproduction of the species-not from deliberate intention, but from the natural impulse, which exists in animals generally as it also exists in plants, to leave behind them something of the same nature as themselves. Next, there must necessarily be a union of the naturally ruling element with the element which is naturally ruled, for the preservation of both. The element which is able, by virtue of its intelligence, to exercise forethought, is naturally a ruling and master element; the element which is able, by virtue of its bodily power, to do what the other element plans, is a ruled element, which is naturally in a state of slavery; and master and slave have accordingly as they thus complete one another a common interest. The female and the slave, we may pause to note, are naturally distinguished from one another. Nature makes nothing in a spirit of stint, as smiths do when they make the Delphic knife to serve a number of purposes: she makes each separate thing for a separate end; and she does so because each instrument has the finest finish when it serves a single purpose and not a variety of purposes. Among the barbarians, however, contrary to the order of nature the female and the slave occupy the same position—the reason being that no naturally ruling element exists among them, and conjugal union thus come to be a union of a female who is a slave with a male who is a slave. This is why our poets have said,

                        Meet it is that barbarous peoples

                        Should be governed by Greeks

—the assumption being that barbarian and slave are by nature one and the same.

    The first result of these two elementary associations of male and female, and of master and slave is the household or family. Hesiod spoke truly in verse,

                            First house, and wife, and ox to draw

the plough,

for oxen serve the poor in lieu of household slaves. The first form of association naturally instituted for the satisfaction of daily recurrent needs is thus the family; and the members of the family are accordingly termed by Charondas "associates of the breadchest," as they are also termed by Epimenides the Cretan "associates of the manger." The next form of association—which is also the first to be formed from more households than one, and for the satisfaction of something more than daily recurrent needs—is the village. The most natural form of the village appears to be that of a colony or offshoot from a family; and some have thus called the members of the village by the name of "sucklings of the same milk," or, again, of "sons and the sons of sons." This, it may be noted, is the reason why each Greek polis was originally ruled—as the peoples of the barbarian world still are—by kings. They were formed of persons who were already monarchically governed, i.e. they were formed from households and villages, and households are always monarchically governed by the eldest of the kin, just as villages, when they are offshoots from the household, are similarly governed in virtue of the kinship between their members. This primitive kinship is what Homer describes, in speaking of the Cyclopes:

                            Each of them ruleth

                            Over his children and wives,

a passage which shows that they lived in scattered groups, as indeed men generally did in ancient times. The fact that men generally were governed by kings in ancient times, and that some still continue to be governed in that way, is the reason that leads us all to assert that the gods are also governed by a king. We make the lives of the gods in the likeness of our own—as we also make their shapes. When we come to the final and perfect association, formed from a number of villages, we have already reached the polis—an association which may be said to have reached the height of full self-sufficiency; or rather to speak more exactly we may say that while it grows for the sake of mere life and is so far, and at that stage, still short of full self-sufficiency, it exists when once it is fully grown for the sake of a good life and is therefore fully self-sufficient.

    Because it is the completion of associations existing by nature, every polis exists by nature, having itself the same quality as the earlier associations from which it grew. It is the end or consummation to which those associations move, and the "nature" of things consists in their end or consummation; for what each thing is when its growth is completed we call the nature of that thing, whether it be a man or a horse or a family. Again, and this is a second reason for regarding the state as natural, the end, or final cause, is the best. Now self-sufficiency which is the object of the state to bring about is the end, and so the best; and on this it follows that the state brings about the best, and is therefore natural, since nature always aims at bringing about the best.

    From these considerations it is evident that the polis belongs to the class of things that exist by nature, and that man is by nature an animal intended to live in a polis. He who is without a polis, by reason of his own nature and not of some accident, is either a poor sort of being, or a being higher than man: he is like the man of whom Homer wrote in denunciation:

"Clanless and lawless and heartless is he."

The man who is such by nature, i.e. unable to join in the society of a polis, at once plunges into a passion for war; he is in the position of a solitary advanced piece in a game of draughts.

    The reason why man is a being meant for political association, in a higher degree than bees or other gregarious animals can ever associate, is evident. Nature, according to our theory, makes nothing in vain; and man alone of the animals is furnished with the faculty of language. The mere making of sounds serves to indicate pleasure and pain, and is thus a faculty that belongs to animals in general: their nature enables them to attain the point at which they have perceptions of pleasure and pain, and can signify those perceptions to one another. But language serves to declare what is advantageous and what is the reverse, and it therefore serves to declare what is just and what is unjust. It is the peculiarity of man, in comparison with the rest of the animal world, that he alone possesses a perception of good and evil, of the just and the unjust, and of other similar qualities; and it is association in a common perception of these things which makes a family and a polis.

    We may now proceed to add that though the individual and the family are prior in the order of time the polis is prior in the order of nature to the family and the individual. The reason for this is that the whole is necessarily prior in nature to the part. If the whole body be destroyed, there will not be a foot or a hand, except in that ambiguous sense in which one uses the same word to indicate a different thing, as when one speaks of a "hand" made of stone; for a hand, when destroyed by the destruction of the whole body, will be no better than a stone "hand. " All things derive their essential character from their function and their capacity; and it follows that if they are no longer fit to discharge their function, we ought not to say that they are still the same things, but only that, by an ambiguity, they still have the same names.

    We thus see that the polis exists by nature and that it is prior to the individual. The proof of both propositions is the fact that the polis is a whole, and that individuals are simply its parts. Not being self-sufficient when they are isolated, all individuals are so many parts all equally depending on the whole which alone can bring about self-sufficiency. The man who is isolated—who is unable to share in the benefits of political association, or has no need to share because he is already self-sufficient—is no part of the polis, and must therefore be either a beast or a god. Man is thus intended by nature to be a part of a political whole, and there is therefore an immanent impulse in all men towards an association of this order. But the man who first constructed such an association was none the less the greatest of benefactors. Man, when perfected, is the best of animals; but if he be isolated from law and justice he is the worst of all. Injustice is all the graver when it is armed injustice; and man is furnished from birth with arms such as, for instance, language which are intended to serve the purposes of moral prudence and virtue, but which may be used in preference for opposite ends. That is why, if he be without virtue, he is a most unholy and savage being, and worse than all others in the indulgence of lust and gluttony. Justice which is his salvation belongs to the polis; for justice, which is the determination of what is just, is an ordering of the political association.

BOOK III

    We have next to consider the subject of constitutions. Is there a single type, or are there a number of types? If there are a number of types, what are these types; how many of them are there; and how do they differ? A constitution (or polity) may be defined as "the organization of a polis, in respect of its offices generally, but especially in respect of that particular office which is sovereign in all issues." The civic body is everywhere the sovereign of the state; in fact the civic body is the polity (or constitution) itself. In democratic states, for example, the people is sovereign: in oligarchies, on the other hand, the few have that position; and this difference of the sovereign bodies is the reason why we say that the two types of constitution differ—as we may equally apply the same reasoning to other types besides these.

    It is thus evident that there are a number of types of constitution, but before we discuss their nature we must first ascertain two things—the nature of the end for which the state exists, and the various kinds of authority to which men and their associations are subject. So far as the first of these things is concerned, it has already been stated, in our first book (where we were concerned with the management of the household and the control of slaves), that "man is an animal impelled by nature to live in a polis." A natural impulse is thus one reason why men desire to live a social life even when they stand in no need of mutual succour; but they are also drawn together by a common interest, in proportion as each attains a share in the good life through the union of all in a form of political association. The good life is the chief end, both for the community as a whole and for each of us individually. But men also come together, and form and maintain political associations, merely for the sake of life, for perhaps there is some element of the good even in the simple act of living, so long as the evils of existence do not preponderate too heavily. It is an evident fact that most men cling hard enough to life to be willing to endure a good deal of suffering, which implies that life has in it a sort of healthy happiness and a natural quality of pleasure.

    So far of the end for which the state exists. As regards the second question, it is easy enough to distinguish the various kinds of rule or authority of which men commonly speak; and indeed we have often had occasion to define them ourselves in works intended for the general public. The rule of a master is one kind; and here, though there is really a common interest which unites the natural master and the natural slave, the fact remains that the rule is primarily exercised with a view to the master's interest, and only incidentally with a view to that of the slave, who must be preserved in existence if the rule itself is to remain. Rule over wife and children, and over the household generally, is a second kind of rule, which we, have called by the name of household management. Here the rule is either exercised in the interest of the ruled or for the attainment of some advantage common to both ruler and ruled. Essentially it is exercised in the interest of the ruled, as is also plainly the case with other arts besides that of ruling, such as medicine and gymnastics-though an art may incidentally be exercised for the benefit of its practitioner, and there is nothing to prevent (say) a trainer from becoming occasionally a member of the class he instructs, in the same sort or way as a steersman is always one of the crew. Thus a trainer or steersman primarily considers the good of those who are subject to his authority; but when he becomes one of them personally, he incidentally shares in the benefit of that good—the steersman thus being also a member of the crew, and the trainer (though still a trainer) becoming also a member of the class which he instructs.

    This principle also applies to a third kind of rule-that exercised by the holders of political office. When the constitution of a state is constructed on the principle that its members are equals and peers, the citizens think it proper that they should hold office by turns which implies that the office of ruler is primarily intended for the benefit of the ruled and is therefore a duty to be undertaken by each in turn, though incidentally the ruler shares in the general benefit by virtue of being himself a member of the citizen body. At any rate this is the natural system, and the system which used to be followed in the days when men believed that they ought to serve by turns, and each assumed that others would take over the duty of considering his benefit, just as he had himself, during his term of office, considered the interest of others. Today the case is altered. Moved by the profits to be derived from office and the handling of public property, men want to hold office continuously. It is as if the holders of office were sick men, who got the benefit of permanent health by being permanently in office: at any rate their ardour for office is just what it would be if that were the case. The conclusion which follows is clear. Those constitutions which consider the common interest are right constitutions, judged by the constitutions, or perversions of the right forms. Such perverted forms are despotic whereas the polis is an association of freemen.

    Now that these matters have been determined, the next subject for consideration is the number and nature of the different constitutions. We may first examine the class of right constitutions and consider its different species; the different perversions will at once be apparent when the right constitutions have been determined. The term "constitution " signifies the same thing as the term "civic body." The civic body in every polis is the sovereign; and the sovereign must necessarily be either One, or Few, or Many. On this basis we may say that when the One, or the Few, or the Many, rule with a view to the common interest, the constitutions under which they do so must necessarily be right constitutions

    On the other hand the constitutions directed to the personal interest of the One, or the Few, or the Masses, must necessarily be perversions. They deviate from the true standard by not regarding the interest of all, and are thus involved in a dilemma: either the name of citizen cannot be given to persons who share in the constitution but whose interests are not regarded, or, if the name is to be given, they must have their share of the benefits. Among forms of government by a single person Kingship, in the general use of language, denotes the species which looks to the common interest. Among forms of government by a few persons (but more than one) Aristocracy denotes the species which similarly looks to that interest—that name being given to this species either because the best are the rulers, or because its object is what is best for the state and its members. Finally, when the masses govern the state with a view to the common interest, the name used for this species is the generic name common to all constitutions (or polities)—the name of "Polity" There is a good reason for the usage which gives to this form the generic name, and not a special name which connotes, as the name "Aristocracy" does, a special excellence. It is possible for one man, or a few, to be of outstanding excellence; but when it comes to a large number, we can hardly expect a fine edge of all the varieties of excellence. What we can expect particularly is the military kind of excellence, which is the kind that shows itself in a mass. This is the reason why the defence forces are the most sovereign body under this constitution, and those who possess arms are the persons who enjoy constitutional rights.

    These are the three subdivisions of the class of right constitutions. Three perversions correspond to them. Tyranny is the perversion of Kingship; Oligarchy of Aristocracy; and Democracy of Polity. Tyranny is a government by a single person directed to the interest of that person; Oligarchy is directed to the interest of the well-to-do; Democracy is directed to the interest of the poorer classes. None of the three is directed to the advantage of the whole body of citizens.

    We must treat at somewhat greater length of the nature of each of these last constitutions. There are certain difficulties involved; and when one is pursuing a philosophical method of inquiry in any branch of study, and not merely looking to practical considerations, the proper course is to set out the truth about every particular with no neglect or omission. Tyranny, as has just been said, is single-person government of the political association on the lines of despotism, i.e. treating the citizens as a master treats slaves; oligarchy exists where those who have property are the sovereign authority of the constitution; and conversely democracy exists where the sovereign authority is composed of the poorer classes, and not of the owners of property. The first difficulty which arises concerns the definition just given of democracy and oligarchy. We have defined democracy as the sovereignty of numbers; but we can conceive a case in which the majority who hold the sovereignty in a state are the well-to-do. Similarly oligarchy is generally stated to be the sovereignty of a small number; but it might conceivably happen that the poorer classes were fewer in number than the well-to-do, and yet-in virtue of superior vigour—were the sovereign authority of the constitution. In neither case could the definition previously given of these constitutions be regarded as true. We might attempt to overcome the difficulty by combining both of the factors—wealth with paucity of numbers, and poverty with mass. On this basis oligarchy might be defined as the constitution under which the rich, being also few in number, hold the offices of the state; and similarly democracy might be defined as the constitution under which the poor, being also many in number, are in control. But this involves us in another difficulty. If our new definition is exhaustive, and there are no forms of oligarchy and democracy other than those enumerated in that definition, what names are we to give to the constitutions just suggested as conceivable—those where the wealthy form a majority and the poor a minority, and where the wealthy majority in the one case, and the poor minority in the other, are the sovereign authority of the constitution? The course of the argument thus appears to show that the factor of number—the small number of the sovereign body in oligarchies, or the large number in democracies — is an accidental attribute, due to the simple fact that the wealthy are generally few and the poor are generally numerous. Therefore the causes originally mentioned, i.e. small and large numbers, are not in fact the real causes of the difference between oligarchies and democracies. The real ground of the difference between oligarchy and democracy is poverty and riches. It is inevitable that any constitution should be an oligarchy if the rulers under it are rulers in virtue of riches, whether they are few or many; and it is equally inevitable that a constitution under which the poor rule should be a democracy.

    It happens, however, as we have just remarked, and this is why number becomes an accidental attribute of both of these constitutions, that the rich are few and the poor are numerous. It is only a few who have riches, but all alike share in free status; and these are the real grounds on which the two parties, the oligarchical and the democratic, dispute the control of the constitution.

    We must next ascertain, now that we have discovered the social ground on which they rest, what are the distinctive principles attributed by their advocates to oligarchy and democracy, and what are the oligarchical and the democratic conceptions of justice. Both oligarchs and democrats, have a hold on a sort of conception of justice; but they both fail to carry it far enough, and neither of them expresses the true conception of justice in the whole of its range. In democracies, for example, justice is considered to mean equality in the distribution of office. It does mean equality—but equality for those who are equal, and not for all. In oligarchies, again, inequality in the distribution of office is considered to be just; and indeed it is—but only for those who are unequal, and not for all. The advocates of oligarchy and democracy both refuse to consider this factor—who are the persons to whom their principles properly apply—and they both make erroneous judgments. The reason is that they are judging in their own case; and most men, as a rule, are bad judges where there own interests are involved. Justice is relative to persons; and a just distribution is one in which the relative values of the things given correspond to those of the persons receiving—a point which has already been made in the Ethics. It follows that a just distribution of offices among a number of different persons will involve a consideration of the personal values, or merits, of each of those persons. But the advocates of oligarchy and democracy, while they agree about what constitutes equality in the thing, disagree about what constitutes it in persons. The main reason for this is the reason just stated—they are judging, and judging erroneously, in their own case; but there is also another reason—they are misled by the fact that they are professing a sort of conception of justice, and professing it up to a point, into thinking that they profess one which is absolute and complete. The oligarchs think that superiority on one point—in their case wealth—means superiority on all: the democrats believe that equality in one respect—for instance, that of free birth—means equality all round.

    Both sides, however, fail to mention the really cardinal factor, i.e. the nature of the end for which the state exists. If property were the end for which men came together and formed an association, men's share in the offices and honours of the state would be proportionate to their share of property; and in that case the argument of the oligarchical side—that it is not just for a man who has contributed one pound to share equally in a sum of a hundred pounds (or, for that matter, in the interest accruing upon that sum) with the man who has contributed all the rest—would appear to be a strong argument. But the end of the state is not mere life; it is, rather, a good quality of life. If mere life were the end, there might be a state of slaves, or even a state of animals; but in the world as we know it any such state is impossible, because slaves and animals do not share in true felicity and free choice, i. e. the attributes of a good quality of life. Similarly, it is not the end of the state to provide an alliance for mutual defence against all injury, or to ease exchange and promote economic intercourse. If that had been the end, the Etruscans and the Carthaginians, who are united by such bonds, would be in the position of belonging to a single state; and the same would be true of all peoples who have commercial treaties with one another. It is true that such peoples have agreements about imports and exports; treaties to ensure just conduct in the course of trade; and written terms of alliance for mutual defence. On the other hand they have no common offices of state to deal with these matters; each, on the contrary, has its own offices, confined to itself. Neither of the parties concerns itself to ensure a proper quality of character among the members of the other; neither of them seeks to ensure that all who are included in the scope of the treaties shall be free from injustice and from any form of vice; and neither of them goes beyond the aim of preventing its own members from committing injustice in the course of trade against the members of the other. But it is the cardinal issue of goodness or badness in the life of the polis which always engages the attention of any state that concerns itself to secure a system of good laws well obeyed. The conclusion which clearly follows is that any polis which is truly so called, and is not merely one in name, must devote itself to the end of encouraging goodness. Otherwise, a political association sinks into a mere alliance, which only differs in space, i.e. in the contiguity of its members, from other forms of alliance where the members live at a distance from one another. Otherwise, too, law becomes a mere covenant—or (in the phrase of the Sophist Lycophron) "a guarantor of men's rights against one another"—instead of being, as it should be, a rule of life such as will make the members of a polis good and just.

    That this is the case, i.e. that a polis is truly a polis only when it makes the encouragement of goodness its end, may be readily proved. If two different sites could be united in one, so that the polis of Megara and that of Corinth were embraced by a single wall, that would not make a single polis. If the citizens of two cities intermarried with one another, that would not make a single polis—even though intermarriage is one of the forms of social life which are characteristic of a polis. Nor would it make a polis if a number of persons—living at a distance from one another, but not at so great a distance but that they could still associate—had a common system of laws to prevent their injuring one another in the course of exchange. We can imagine, for instance, one being a carpenter, another a farmer, a third a shoemaker, and others producing other goods; and we can imagine a total number of as many as 10,000. But if these people were associated in nothing further than matters such as exchange and alliance, they would still have failed to reach the stage of a polis. Why should this be the case? It cannot be ascribed to any lack of contiguity in such an association. The members of a group so constituted might come together on a single site; but if that were all—if each still treated his private house as if it were a state, and all of them still confined their mutual assistance to action against aggressors (as if it were only a question of a defensive alliance)—if, in a word, the spirit of their intercourse were still the same after their coming together as it had been when they were living apart—their association, even on its new basis, could not be deemed by any accurate thinker to be a polis. It is clear, therefore, that a polis is not an association for residence on a common site, or for the sake of preventing mutual injustice and easing exchange. These are indeed conditions which must be present before a polis can exist; but the presence of all these conditions is not enough, in itself, to constitute a polis. What constitutes a polis is an association of households and clans in a good life, for the sake of attaining a perfect and self-sufficing existence. This consummation, however, will not be reached unless the members inhabit one and the selfsame place and practise intermarriage. It was for this reason, i.e. to provide these necessary conditions, that the various institutions of a common social life—marriage-connexions, kin-groups, religious gatherings, and social pastimes generally—arose in cities. But these institutions are the business of friendship and not the purpose of the polis. It is friendship and: not a polis which consists in the pursuit of a common social life. The end and purpose of a polis is the good life, and the institutions of social life are means to that end. A polis is constituted by the association of families and villages in a perfect and self-sufficing existence; and such an existence, on our definition, consists in a life of true felicity and goodness.

    It is therefore for the sake of good actions, and not for the sake of social life, that political associations must be considered to exist. This conclusion enables us to attain a proper conception of justice. Those who contribute most to an association of this character, i.e. who contribute most to good action, have a greater share in the polis and should therefore, in justice, receive a larger recognition from it than those who are equal to them (or even greater) in free birth and descent, but unequal in civic excellence, or than those who surpass them in wealth but are, surpassed by them in excellence. From what has been said it is plain that both sides to the dispute about constitutions, i. e. both the democratic and the oligarchical side, profess only a partial conception of justice.

    A difficulty arises when we turn to consider what body of persons should be sovereign in the polis. We can imagine five alternatives: the people at large; the wealthy; the better sort of men; the one man who is best of all; the tyrant. But all these alternatives appear to involve unpleasant results: indeed, how can it be otherwise? Take, for example, the first alternative. What if the poor, on the ground of their being a majority, proceed to divide among themselves the possessions of the wealthy—will not this be unjust? "No, by heaven " (a democrat may reply); "it has been justly decreed so by the sovereign." "But if this is not the extreme of injustice" (we may reply in turn), "what is?" Whenever a majority of any sort, irrespective of wealth or poverty, divides among its members the possessions of a minority, that majority is obviously ruining the state. But goodness can never ruin anything that has goodness, nor can justice, in its nature, be ruinous to a state. It is therefore clear that a law of this kind, i.e. a law of spoliation passed by a majority of any sort, cannot possibly be just. To treat such a law as just is really to justify tyranny. The tyrant's acts too, on the principle alleged by the democrats that any decree of the sovereign is just, must necessarily be just; for he too uses coercion by virtue of superior power in just the same sort of way as the people coerce the wealthy. We may now take the alternative that the wealthy are sovereign. Is it just that a minority composed of the wealthy should rule? If they too behave like the others—if they plunder and confiscate the property of the people—can their action be called just? If it can, the action of the people, in the converse case, must equally be termed just. It is clear that all these acts of oppression, whether by the people, the tyrant, or the wealthy are mean and unjust. But what of the next alternative? Should the better sort of men have authority and be sovereign in all matters? In that case, the rest of the citizens will necessarily be debarred from honours, since they will not enjoy the honour of holding civic office. We speak of offices as honours; and when a single set of persons hold office permanently, the rest of the community must necessarily be debarred from all honours. We come to a last alternative. Is it better than any of the other alternatives that the one best man should rule? This is still more oligarchical than the rule of the wealthy few or the few of the better sort because the number of those debarred from honours is even greater. It may perhaps be urged that there is still another alternative; that it is a poor sort of policy to vest sovereignty in any person or body of persons, subject as persons are to the passions that beset men's souls; and that it is better to vest it in law. But this does not solve the difficulty. The law itself may incline either towards oligarchy or towards democracy; and what difference will the sovereignty of law then make in the problems which have just been raised? The consequences already stated will follow just the same.

    The other alternatives may be reserved for a later inquiry; but the first of the alternatives suggested—that the people at large should be sovereign rather than the few best—would appear to be defensible, and while it presents some difficulty it perhaps also contains some truth. There is this to be said for the Many. Each of them by himself may not be of a good quality; but when they all come together it is possible that they may surpass—collectively and as a body. although not individually—the quality of the few best. Feasts to which many contribute may excel those provided at one man’s expense. In the same way, when there are many who contribute to the process of deliberation each can bring his share of goodness and moral prudence; and when all meet together the people may thus become something in the nature of a single person who—as he has many feet, many hands, and many senses—may also have many qualities of character and intelligence. This is the reason why the Many are also better judges than the few of music and the writing of poets: some appreciate one part, some another, and all together appreciate all. We may note that this combination of qualities, which gives the Many their merit, can also be traced in cases of individual merit. The thing which makes a good man differ from a unit in the crowd—as it is also the thing which is generally said to make a beautiful person differ from one who is not beautiful, or an artistic representation differ from ordinary reality—is that elements which are elsewhere scattered and separate are here combined in a unity. It is this unity which counts; for if you take the elements separately, you may say of an artistic representation that it is surpassed by the eye of this person or by some other feature of that.

    It is not clear, however, that this combination of qualities, which we have made the ground of distinction between the many and the few best, is true of all popular bodies and all large masses of men. Perhaps it may be said, "By heaven, it is clear that there are some bodies of which it cannot possibly be true; for if you included them, you would, by the same token, be found to include a herd of beasts. That would be absurd; and yet what diffe rence is there between these bodies and a herd of beasts?" All the same, and in spite of this objection, there is nothing to prevent the view we have stated from being true of some popular bodies.

    It would thus seem possible to solve, by the considerations we have advanced, both the problem raised in the previous chapter "What body of persons should be sovereign?" and the further problem which follows upon it, "What are the matters over which freemen, or the general body of citizens—men of the sort who neither have wealth nor can make any claim on the ground of goodness—should properly exercise sovereignty?" It may be argued, from one point of view, that it is dangerous for men of this sort to share in the highest offices, as injustice may lead them into wrong doing, and thoughtlessness into error. But it may also be argued, from another point of view, that there is serious risk in not letting them have some share in the enjoyment of power; for a state with a body of disfranchised citizens who are numerous and poor must necessarily be a state which is full of enemies. The alternative left is to let them share in the deliberative and judicial functions; and we thus find Solon, and some of the other legislators, giving the people the two general functions of electing the magistrates to office and of calling them to account at the end of their tenure of office, but not the right of holding office themselves in their individual capacity. There is wisdom in such a policy. When they all meet together, the people display a good enough gift of perception, and combined with the better class they are of service to the state (just as impure food, when it is mixed with pure, makes the whole concoction more nutritious than a small amount of the pure would be); but each of them is imperfect in the judgments he forms by himself. ...

    In all arts and sciences the end in view is some good. In the most sovereign of all the arts and sciences—and this is the art and science of politics—the end in view is the greatest good and the good which is most pursued. The good in the sphere of politics is justice; and justice consists in what tends to promote the common interest. General opinion makes it consist in some sort of equality. Up to a point this general opinion agrees with the philosophical inquiries which contain our conclusions on ethics. In other words, it holds that justice involves two factors—things, and the persons to whom things are assigned—and it considers that persons who are equal should have assigned to them equal things. But here there arises a question which must not be overlooked. Equals and unequals— yes; but equals and unequals in what? This is a question which raises difficulties, and involves us in philosophical speculation on politics. It is possible to argue that offices and honours ought to be distributed unequally, i. e. that superior amounts should be assigned to superior persons, on the basis of superiority in any respect whatsoever—even though there were similarity, and no shadow of any difference, in every other respect; and it may be urged, in favour of this argument, that where people differ from one another there must be a difference in what is just and proportionate to their merits. If this argument were accepted, the mere fact of a better complexion, or greater height, or any other such advantage, would establish a claim for a greater share of political rights to be given to its possessor. But is not the argument obviously wrong? To be clear that it is, we have only to study the analogy of the other arts and sciences. If you were dealing with a number of flute-players who were equal in their art, you would not assign them flutes on the principle that the better born should have a greater amount. Nobody will play the better for being better born; and it is to those who are better at the job that the better supply of tools should be given. If our point is not yet plain, it can be made so if we push it still further. Let us suppose a man who is superior to others in flute-playing, but far inferior in birth and beauty. Birth and beauty may be greater goods than the ability to play the flute, and those who possess them may, upon balance, surpass the flute-player more in these qualities than he surpasses them in his flute-playing; but the fact remains that he is the man who ought to get the better supply of flutes. If it is to be recognized in connexion with a given function, superiority in quality such as birth—or for that matter wealth—ought to contribute something to the performance of that function; and here these qualities contribute nothing to such performance.

    There is a further objection. If we accept this argument that offices and honours should be assigned on the basis of excellence in any respect, every quality will have to be commensurable with every other. You will begin by reckoning a given degree of (say) height as superior to a given degree of some other quality, and you will thus be driven to pit height in general against (say) wealth and birth in general. But on this basis—i.e. that, in a given case, A is counted as excelling in height to a greater degree than B does in goodness, and that, in general, height is counted as excelling to a greater degree than goodness does—qualities are made commensurable. We are involved in mere arithmetic; for if amount X of some quality is "better" than amount Y of some other, some amount which is other than X must clearly be equal to it, i.e. must be equally good. This is impossible because things that differ in quality cannot be treated in terms of quantity, or regarded as commensurable. It is therefore clear that in matters political just as in matters belonging to other arts and sciences there is no good reason for basing a claim to the exercise of authority on any and every kind of superiority. Some may be swift and others slow; but this is no reason why one should have more political rights, and the others less. It is in at athletic contests that the superiority of the swift receives its reward. Claims to political rights must be based on the ground of contribution to the elements which constitute the being of the state. There is thus good ground for the claims to honour and office which are made by persons of good descent, free birth, or wealth. Those who hold office must necessarily be free men and taxpayers: a state could not be composed entirely of men without means, any more than it could be composed entirely of slaves. But we must add that if wealth and free birth are necessary elements, the temper of justice and a martial habit are also necessary. These too are elements which must be present if men are to live together in a state. The one difference is that the first two elements are necessary to the simple existence of a state, and the last two for its good life.

    If we are thinking in terms of contribution to the state's existence, all of the elements mentioned, or at any rate several of them, may properly claim to be recognized in the award of honours and office; but if we are thinking in terms of contribution to its good life; then culture and goodness, as we have noted already, may be regarded as having the justest claim. On the other hand—and following our principle that it is not right for men who are equal in one respect, and only in one, to have an equal share of all things as the democrats claim, or for men who are superior in one respect to have a superior share of everything as the oligarchs claim—we are bound to consider all constitutions which recognize such claims as perverted forms. We have noted already that there is a certain sense in which all the contributors of the different elements are justified in the claims they advance, though none of them is absolutely justified. (a) The rich are so far justified that they have a larger share of the land, which is a matter of public interest: they are also, as a rule, more reliable in matters of contract. (b) The free and the nobly born who both contribute the element of birth may claim recognition together as being closely connected. The better-born are citizens to a greater extent than the low-born; and good birth has always honour in its own country. In addition and apart from any honour paid them the descendants of better men are likely to be intrinsically better; good birth means goodness of the whole stock. (c) Similarly we may also allow that goodness of character has a just claim; for in our view the virtue of justice, which is necessarily accompanied by all the other virtues and which may thus be identified with general virtue or goodness is a virtue which acts in social relations and is therefore one of the elements essential to the existence of a political society. (d) But there is a further claim that may also be urged. Besides the claim of individuals, based on their having the particular attribute of wealth or birth or goodness, there is the claim of the people at large, based on its having, collectively, still more of all these attributes. The many may urge their claims against the few: taken together and compared with the few they are stronger, richer, and better.

    Let us suppose three rival claimants—for example, the good, the wealthy and well-born, and some sort of general body of citizens-all living together in a single state. Will they fall to disputing which of them is to govern, or will they agree? This issue is not a matter of dispute in any of the constitutions mentioned in our previous classification. These constitutions differ in virtue of different groups being sovereign: one of them is distinguished by sovereignty being vested in the wealthy; another by its being vested in the good; and so with each of the rest. But the question we are discussing is different. It is a question of determining who is to govern when the claims of different groups are simultaneously present. Suppose, for example, that the good are exceedingly few in number: how are we to settle their claim? Must we only have regard to the fact that they are few for the function they have to discharge; and must we therefore inquire whether they will be able to manage a state, or numerous enough to compose one? Here there arises a difficulty which applies not only to the good, but to all the different claimants for political office and honour. It may equally be held that there is no justice in the claim of a few to rule on the ground of their greater wealth, or on that of their better birth; and there is an obvious reason for holding this view. If there is any one man who in turn is richer than all the rest, this one man must rule over all on the very same ground of justice which the few rich plead for their right to rule; and similarly anyone man who is preeminent in point of good birth must carry the say over those who claim on the ground of birth. In aristocracies, too, the same logic may be applied in the matter of merit or goodness. If some one man be a better man than all the other good men who belong to the civic body, this one man should be sovereign on the very same ground of justice which the other men plead in defence of their right to govern. Even the claims of the Many may be challenged by this line of argument. If the reason why they should be sovereign is their being stronger than the Few, we are logically driven to conclude that where one man is stronger than all the rest—or a group of more than one, but fewer than the Many, is stronger—that one man or group must be sovereign instead of the Many.

    All these considerations would seem to prove that none of the principles, wealth, birth, goodness, and the strength of numbers, in virtue of which men claim to rule and to have all others subject to their rule, is a proper principle. Take, for example, those who claim to be sovereign over the citizen body on the ground of goodness; or take, again, those who base their claim on the ground of wealth. The claims of both may be justly challenged by the masses; for there is nothing whatever to prevent the Many—collectively if not individually—from being better, or richer, than the Few. This last reflection enables us to take another step, and to meet a difficulty which is sometimes raised and discussed. The difficulty is this. Suppose that the Many are actually better, taken as a whole, than the Few: what, in that case, is the proper policy for a lawgiver who wishes to enact right laws to the best of his power? Should he direct his legislation to the benefit of the better sort, or should he direct it to that of the majority? We may reply that the benefit of neither ought to be considered exclusively; that what is "right" should be understood as what is "equally right"; and what is "equally right" is what is for the benefit of the whole state and for the common good of its citizens. Citizens, in the common sense of that term, are all who share in the civic life of ruling and being ruled in turn. In the particular sense of the term, they vary from constitution to constitution; and under an ideal constitution they must be those who are able and willing to rule and be ruled with a view to attaining a way of life according to goodness.

BOOK IV

    We have now to consider what is the best constitution and the best way of life for the majority of states and men. In doing so we shall not employ, for the purpose of measuring "the best, " a standard of excellence above the reach of ordinary men, or a standard of education requiring exceptional endowments and equipment, or the standard of a constitution which attains an ideal height. We shall only be concerned with the sort of life which most men are able to share and the sort of constitution which it is possible for most states to enjoy. The "aristocracies," so called, of which we have just been treating, will not serve us for this purpose: they either lie, at one extreme, beyond the reach of most states, or they approach, at the other, so closely to the constitution called "polity" that they need not be considered separately and must be treated as identical with it. The issues we have just raised can all be decided in the light of one body of fundamental principles. If we adopt as true the statements made in the Ethics—(1) that a truly happy life is a life of goodness lived in freedom from impediments, and (2) that goodness consists in a mean it follows that the best way of life for the majority of men is one which consists in a mean, and a mean of the kind attainable by every individual. Further, the same criteria which determine whether the citizen—body, i.e. all its members, considered as individuals, have a good or bad way of life must also apply to the constitution; for a constitution is the way of life of a citizen-body. In all states there may be distinguished three parts, or classes, of the citizen-body—the very rich; the very poor; and the middle class which forms the mean. Now it is admitted, as a general principle, that moderation and the mean are always best. We may therefore conclude that in the ownership of all gifts of fortune a middle condition will be the best. Men who are in this condition are the most ready to listen to reason. Those who belong to either extreme—the over-handsome, the over-strong, the over-noble, the over-wealthy; or at the opposite end the over-poor, the over-weak, the utterly ignoble—find it hard to follow the lead of reason. Men in the first class tend more to violence and serious crime: men in the second tend too much to roguery and petty offences; and most wrong-doing arises either from violence or roguery. It is a further merit of the middle class that its members suffer least from ambition, which both in the military and the civil sphere is dangerous to states. It must also be added that those who enjoy too many advantages—strength, wealth, connexions, and so forth—are both unwilling to obey and ignorant how to obey. This is a defect which appears in them from the first, during childhood and in home-life: nurtured in luxury, they never acquire a habit of discipline, even in the matter of lessons. But there are also defects in those who suffer from the opposite extreme of a lack of advantages: they are far too mean and poor-spirited. We have thus, on the one hand, people who are ignorant how to rule and only know how to obey, as if they were so many slaves, and, on the other hand, people who are ignorant how to obey any sort of authority and only know how to rule as if they were masters of slaves. The result is a state, not freemen, but only of slaves and of masters: a state of envy on the one side and on the other contempt. Nothing could be further removed from the spirit of friendship or the temper of a political community. Community depends on friendship; and when there is enmity instead of friendship, men will not even share the same path. A state aims at being, as far as can be, a society composed of equals and peers who, as such, can be friends and associates; and the middle lass, more than any other, has this sort of composition. It follows that a state which is based on the middle class is bound to be the best constituted in respect of the elements, i.e. equals and peers, of which, in our view, a state is naturally composed. The middle classes besides contributing, in this way, to the security of the state enjoy a greater security themselves than any other class. They do not, like the poor, covet the goods of others; nor do others covet their possessions, as the poor covet those of the rich. Neither plotting against others, nor plotted against themselves, they live in freedom from danger; and we may well approve the prayer of Phocylides,

Many things are best for the middling:

Fain would I be of the state's middle class.

    It is clear from our argument, first, that the best form of political society is one where power is vested in the middle class, and, secondly, that good government is attainable in those states where there is a large middle class—large enough, if possible, to be stronger than both of the other classes, but at any rate large enough to be stronger than either of them singly; for in that case its addition to either will suffice to turn the scale, and will prevent either of the opposing extremes from becoming dominant. It is therefore the greatest of blessings for a state that its members should possess a moderate and adequate property. Where some have great possessions, and others have nothing at all, the result is either an extreme democracy or an unmixed oligarchy; or it may even be—indirectly, and as a reaction against both of these extremes—a tyranny. Tyranny is a form of government which may grow out of the headiest type of democracy, or out of oligarchy; but it: is much less likely to grow out of constitutions of the middle order, or those which approximate to them, e.g. moderate oligarchies. We shall explain the reason later when we come, to treat of revolutions and constitutional change.