Not Merely a King: The One Who Heals, Orders, and Guides the Soul
In this passage from The Statesman, Plato begins to unveil the true nature of the king—not as one among many skilled caretakers, but as a singular, divine herdsman who alone possesses the art of tending the soul. While countless others claim to guide humanity—physicians, trainers, politicians—it is only this figure who heals the inner life, matches natures rightly, and knows the sacred midwife’s science of helping the soul give birth to truth. Such a science is not gain by consulting other mortals, but the divine within. To perceive this ruler clearly, we must strip away all imitators and let him stand alone: uncontaminated, revealed through dialectic—an inner dialogue with the divine spirit—and a childlike openness to true philosophical inquiry.
STR. Perhaps. We will examine that matter; but this we know, that no one will ever raise such a contention against any neatherd, but the herdsman himself tends the herd, he is their physician, he is their matchmaker, and he alone knows the midwife’s science of aiding at the birth of their offspring. Moreover, so far as the nature of the creatures allows them to enjoy sport or music, no one can enliven or soothe them better than he; whether with instruments or merely with his voice he performs the music best suited to his own herd: and the same applies to the other herdsmen. Is not that the case?
[Note: This passage reveals that the true herdsman—the genuine ruler or guide of humanity—is not a mere mortal but a divine being or principle. He alone tends the soul, not just the body, and serves as physician, matchmaker, and midwife. Each role signifies a deeper spiritual function: healing the soul’s wounds, discerning and uniting appropriate natures, and aiding in the birth of wisdom within. The “midwife’s science” is no ordinary human skill—it is the divine art of awakening and ordering souls, separating them into their rightful classes and guiding them toward their purpose. Mortal imitators may claim this role, but only the divine herdsman possesses the knowledge to truly tend the inner life of humanity.]
Y. SOC. You are quite right.
STR. Then how can our discourse about the king be right and free from error, when we pick him out alone as herdsman and tender of the human herd, while countless others dispute his claim?
[Note: Here, the Stranger raises a crucial challenge: how can we confidently identify the true king—the divine herdsman—when so many others claim to fulfill that role? Human physicians, educators, politicians, and caretakers all contend that they too guide and tend humanity. This moment highlights the difficulty of discernment in a world filled with appearances and competing claims. It suggests that the true statesman cannot be known through titles or outward function alone, but must be distinguished by his unique, divine art—an inner dialectic with the higher Good, guiding the soul toward wiser, more virtuous choices. The question urges us toward a deeper philosophical method, one that separates seeming from being through careful inquiry and divine illumination.]
Y. SOC. It cannot possibly be right.
[Note: When the Young Socrates says, “It cannot possibly be right,” he’s responding to the Stranger’s concern that their account of the king (or true statesman) might be flawed—specifically, that they’ve prematurely identified the king as the lone herdsman of humanity while countless others also claim that role. Why can’t it be right? Because they have not yet properly defined who the true statesman is, nor have they separated him from the crowd of pretenders who perform similar but superficial roles.
But there’s something deeper going on here. The statesman is not just a political figure—it’s a symbol of the part of the soul that engages with the divine order, the rational faculty that works in harmony with a higher principle, the king within. To simply declare who the king is without understanding the dynamic of pairings, the cooperative weaving between the divine and the human—the active and the passive, the knower and the learner, the lover and the beloved—would be to oversimplify a sacred process. Plato is pointing to a divine-human collaboration: a process that is not merely about rule over others, but about rule within oneself.
The Young Socrates instinctively senses this shortcoming. His protest is not just about logical accuracy—it reflects a philosophical instinct: you cannot define the true ruler without also understanding the soul’s active participation in aligning with that divine rulership. And that alignment, as later elaborated in the dialogue, involves the weaving of opposites—reason and passion, action and receptivity, mortal and immortal—into a harmonious golden fleece. Until this is made clear, any portrait of the king will remain incomplete.]
STR. We suspected a little while ago that although we might be outlining a sort of kingly shape we had not yet perfected an accurate portrait of the statesman, and could not do so until, by removing those who crowd about him and contend with him for a share in his herdsmanship, we separated him from them and made him stand forth alone and uncontaminated. Was our fear justified?
Y. SOC. It certainly was.
STR. Then we must attend to that, Socrates, if we are not to end our argument in disgrace.
Y. SOC. But we certainly must not do that.
Footnotes
On Choosing Safety Instead of the Beloved reflects on Lorrie Moore’s Wings and the spiritual dilemma of choosing comfort and material security over the inner call of the divine beloved. It explores the tension between worldly safety and the soul’s longing for something higher. Read it here: https://www.amphitheus.com/notes/on-choosing-safety-instead-of-the-beloved
