The Just City (43 page)

“I can't imagine,” Athene snapped. Everyone laughed.

Sokrates looked into the crowd again. “Maia,” he said. “Do you truly believe that what Plato wrote is the way to reach excellence?”

“Yes,” she said, unhesitatingly.

“And you have dedicated your life to that?”

“I have.”

“And when you learned that the workers were people, did you vote for their emancipation?”

“I did. And now I support their education,” she said, waving at the workers on the edge of the crowd.

“And if you had known earlier?”

“I would have supported their education earlier. From the very beginning,” she said.

“And do you think you have been doing good here?”

“Yes!” she said, passionately.

“And have you never had doubts about what Plato said and following everything he wrote?”

“I—” Maia started to speak, then stopped. “I have had doubts,” she admitted. “There was so much he didn't specify and we had to improvise. And then when we first had the children. And now with the festivals. I do think we need to modify some of what Plato said there. But I still believe we're trying to reach excellence, trying to reach justice and the good life.”

Sokrates leaned back a little, shifting his weight. “Thank you.” He turned back to Athene. “I hate arguments that blame everything on the gods,” he said, conversationally. “But it seems that here I have one. The children and the workers are doing their best to pursue the good life. So are the masters, as best they can in their limited way. For the most part they truly believe all Plato wrote and want to implement it as best they can, but even they have doubts. But you are ignorant, and you have great power, and you don't hesitate to meddle with the lives of others.”

“What is he doing?” I whispered to Simmea.

“He's baiting her,” she said.

“Why?” I really couldn't understand it.

“I expect he's going somewhere with it,” she said. “He's leading up to something.”

Sokrates looked at Athene in a friendly way. “And is it true that you lie and cheat?”

“No!” she raged.

“Mistake,” Simmea whispered.

Sokrates looked taken aback. “I'm sorry. You're not following Plato in that either, then?”

“The Noble Lie isn't a lie, it's a myth of origin,” Athene said.

“For those of you who haven't yet been allowed to read the
Republic
, and won't be until you're fifty years old, and only then the golds among you, I should explain that the Noble Lie is the lie about the metals in your soul and that your life before you came to the city is a dream,” Sokrates explained.

“She's absolutely right, it's a myth of origin,” Simmea said.

“Your children will believe it,” I said.

“Good,” Simmea said, firmly.

“An origin myth,” Athene said again. “Not a lie.”

“By the dog!” Sokrates said. “And the cheating on the lots for the festivals?”

Athene was silent.

“It's in the
Republic
. Or is that somewhere else where you're not following Plato?”

There was an unhappy murmur rising among the children in the crowd.

“Ikaros? Is this somewhere that you are following Plato?”

Ikaros just stared at Sokrates for a moment, clearly horrified. It really was too bad of Sokrates, making poor Ikaros betray Plato and Athene together. He could have asked any of the masters. But I suppose he knew that Ikaros would tell the truth. “Yes, it is,” Ikaros admitted quietly.

There was another louder buzz in the crowd. Athene scowled. Sokrates looked over at where I was standing with Simmea, and then at Kebes. “And didn't you yourself—” he began, and I really thought he was going to accuse her of fixing the results at the last festival to spite me, which might well have let everyone know who I was. Sokrates would never have mentioned it, but Athene in this mood couldn't be trusted to respect my need for secrecy. But if he had been intending that he changed tack, perhaps realising the risk. “—know this was going on?”

Athene nodded angrily.

“Oh, you did? I thought so. But I just use these as examples,” Sokrates said. “Though that one is an example of how the city is giving people a bad life. As we established earlier, the festivals go against human nature and make many people very unhappy indeed. And then there's the way you manipulated the numbers to get precise Neoplatonic fractions of each class, instead of fairly choosing based on the excellence of each child. Also—”

“Stop,” Athene said, and as she spoke her owl flew down to her outstretched arm, wings wide, making everyone jump. “You're just attacking me, you're not making any points.”

“You are a god, you should be better than mortals, but instead you are worse. We act within our limitations and you within yours, and you choose to take our lives and meddle to amuse yourself, doing what you please with them, against our will and in ignorance of whether the outcome is good or evil. You didn't know about the workers. You didn't give the children a conscious choice. You brought me here against my directly expressed wish. You say that this city is the good life, but how can it be the good life if it takes constant divine intervention to keep it going! It can't be the good life unless people can choose to stay or leave, and can choose for themselves how to make it better. Instead you imprison them on this island, with no legacy and no posterity, and you make them have children here whose souls are bound to this time and who will die when the volcano erupts.”

Athene took a breath, as if she was about to speak. I don't know what I expected her to say. But she snapped her fingers in Sokrates's face. He shrank and shifted and transformed, until where he had been there was only a gadfly. He had always metaphorically called himself a gadfly, stinging people out of complacency, and now he was no longer a man but an actual literal gadfly, buzzing around the rostrum. Everyone gasped, myself included.

Athene stood still staring for a moment, and I still thought she was going to speak, explain herself, perhaps restore Sokrates. But she just looked in silence, shaking her head, with the castle crown still sitting on her unruffled curls. She gave no last speech, no farewell, no explanations. She looked at Ikaros, but she did not look towards me, or even meet the eyes of Manlius or any of the rest of her favourites. She simply vanished, and with her at the same instant vanished the workers—not just the ones gathered to listen to the debate but, we later learned, every worker in the city except for Crocus and Sixty-One.

In that moment of shock, Kebes jumped up to the rostrum, though Ficino tried to hold him back. “We've heard enough!” he shouted. “These pagan gods are unjust!”

“I have been trying to become more just,” I murmured to Simmea.

“Yes, you really have,” she agreed.

“This city is unjust!” Kebes shouted on. “I'm leaving to start my own city, better than this one, in a place that isn't doomed and where we can make a difference! Who's with me? To the
Goodness
!” There was a ragged cheer. He reached out for the gadfly, which buzzed away from him and flew over the heads of the crowd to where Simmea and I were standing. Kebes looked after it and locked eyes with Simmea. After a second she deliberately turned away from him, cupping her hand over the gadfly where it had settled against my chest. I put my hand gently over hers and met Kebes's furious gaze. He bared his teeth as if he wanted to kill me, but just for a second. Then he tossed his head and turned to the crowd.

“Come on!” he roared. He set off down the street of Poseidon towards the harbor, with a cluster of people around him. Other people began shouting their own manifestos. Everyone seemed to want to found their own cities, except those who wanted to stay here and take over this city and amend it on their own lines. Everyone was talking at once. I saw Maia weeping. Ikaros was shouting something about angels.

Now you may well say that at that moment I should have resumed my powers and come out of the machine and sorted everything out. Perhaps I should, even though I would have had to have died to do it. But it never occurred to me. Things did happen after that, lots of complicated things, and I'll tell you about them some other time, but this is where this story ends, the story that began with the question of why Daphne turned into a tree. I just stood still in the middle of the crowd with my hand on top of Simmea's, providing fleeting shelter for the gadfly Sokrates, as factions formed around us, and the Just City came apart in chaos.

On my temple in Delphi there are two words written: Know Thyself. It's good advice. Know yourself. You are worth knowing. Examine your life. The unexamined life is not worth living. Be aware that other people have equal significance. Give them the space to make their own choices, and let their choices count as you want them to let your choices count. Remember that excellence has no stopping point and keep on pursuing it. Make art that can last and that says something nobody else can say. Live the best life you can, and become the best self you can. You cannot know which of your actions is the lever that will move worlds. Not even Necessity knows all ends. Know yourself.

 

THANKS AND NOTES

I read Plato way too young, for which I'd like to thank Mary Renault.

Although I first had the idea for writing about time travellers attempting to set up Plato's Republic when I was fifteen, I would never have been able to write this book as it stands without the existence, writing, conversation, and active practical help of Ada Palmer. There's not enough thanks in the world; I have to send out to the moon and Mars for more. Buy her books and music. You'll be really glad you did.

Evelyn Walling was an appreciative listener as I worked through plot issues. She made some very helpful suggestions. Gillian Spragg helped immeasurably with references. My husband, Emmet O'Brien, as always, was loving and supportive while I was writing.

Mary Lace and Patrick Nielsen Hayden read the book as it was being written. After it was finished it was read by Jennifer Arnott, Caroline-Isabelle Carron, Brother Guy Consolmagno, Pamela Dean, Jeffrey M. Della Rocco, Jr., Ruthanna and Sarah Emrys, Liza Furr, David Goldfarb, Steven Halter, Sumana Harihareswara, Bill Higgins, Madeline Kelly, Katrina Knight, Elise Matthesen, Clark E. Myers, Kate Nepveu, Emmet O'Brien, Ada Palmer, Doug Palmer, Susan Palwick, Alison Sinclair, Sherwood Smith, Jonathan Sneed and Nicholas Whyte. I want to thank Patrick Nielsen Hayden, Tom Doherty and everyone at Tor for their unfailing support as I continue to write books very different from each other.

I used a vast number of different versions of Plato when I was writing this. Alison Sinclair brought me the Loeb 2013 (Emlyn-Jones and Preddy) facing page edition of the
Republic
, which is a thorough piece of work. Having it at hand saved me hours of effort. She also discovered the existence of Ellen Francis Mason, nineteenth-century translator of Plato, whose life is like a type-example of how difficult it was for women to lead a life of the mind. If you haven't read Plato and you now feel the urge, I suggest beginning with the
Apology
and the
Symposium
, rather than diving straight into the
Republic
. There are decent English translations of pretty much all of Plato and Xenophon free on Project Gutenberg.

Love and Excellence

Plato uses the Greek word “arete” which has in the past often been translated as “virtue” but for which I am following modern usage in translating as “excellence.” It doesn't really translate well into our worldview—the idea of arete is also discussed here in terms of becoming your best self.

The one term I have used in Greek throughout this novel is “agape” which of course doesn't exactly mean love. Plato's shades of meaning of this term are discussed in detail by the characters, and the word is kept in the original in order to retain one term and not a whole paragraph every time it's mentioned. Greek culture valorized one kind of love, our own valorizes a very different model. Human nature is always the problem when it comes to living with ideals.

Historical Figures

The masters come from times throughout history, and some of them are historical figures, while others are invented, or amalgams of various people. I expect to put more identifications of minor characters and links to information about all of their lives on my website at
www.jowaltonbooks.com
.

Adeimantus: Benjamin Jowett, Victorian scholar and translator of Plato, 1817–1893. Aristomache: Ellen Francis Mason, American scholar and translator of Plato, 1846–1888. Atticus: Titus Pomponius Atticus, Roman man of letters, 112–32 BCE. Ficino: Marsilio Ficino, Renaissance philosopher and translator of Plato, 1433–1499. Ikaros: Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, Renaissance philosopher and synthesist, 1462–1494. Krito: Crito, fourth century BCE, friend of Socrates. Lukretia: Lucrezia Borgia, Renaissance statesman and scholar, 1480–1519. Manlius: Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius, Late Antique statesman and philosopher, 480–524. Plotinus: Neoplatonist philosopher, 204–270. Sokrates: Socrates, Athenian philosopher and gadfly, 469–399 BCE. Tullius: Marcus Tullius Cicero, Roman statesman and philosopher 106–49 BCE.

Maia is made up. She was inspired by contemplating Ethel May in Charlotte M. Yonge's
The Daisy Chain
. Kreusa and Axiothea are also made up. Klio and Lysias, who come from our future, are obviously invented.

Apollo and Athene come straight out of Homer.

Pronunciation

I am always happy for people to pronounce names however they want, but some people always want to know how you “really” say them. With Classical Greek names there are standard ways. Often they're easy once you know where the syllable breaks are. The most important thing to know is that a terminal “e” is never silent but always pronounced “ee” or “ay.” Laodike is Lay-od-ik-ee. Simmea is Sim-ay-ah. (Sim like the computer game, ay like “hay,” and “ah” like “Ah, why do people worry about how to pronounce things?”) Pytheas is Pie-thi-us, with a theta as in “thin.”