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Plato's Republic

Part 2 out of 9

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Clearly the musician is wise, and he who is not a musician is foolish.

And he is good in as far as he is wise, and bad in as far as he
is foolish?


And you would say the same sort of thing of the physician?


And do you think, my excellent friend, that a musician when he
adjusts the lyre would desire or claim to exceed or go beyond
a musician in the tightening and loosening the strings?

I do not think that he would.

But he would claim to exceed the non-musician?

Of course.

And what would you say of the physician? In prescribing meats
and drinks would he wish to go beyond another physician or beyond
the practice of medicine?

He would not.

But he would wish to go beyond the non-physician?


And about knowledge and ignorance in general; see whether you think
that any man who has knowledge ever would wish to have the choice
of saying or doing more than another man who has knowledge.
Would he not rather say or do the same as his like in the same case?

That, I suppose, can hardly be denied.

And what of the ignorant? would he not desire to have more than
either the knowing or the ignorant?

I dare say.

And the knowing is wise?


And the wise is good?


Then the wise and good will not desire to gain more than his like,
but more than his unlike and opposite?

I suppose so.

Whereas the bad and ignorant will desire to gain more than both?


But did we not say, Thrasymachus, that the unjust goes beyond
both his like and unlike? Were not these your words? They were.

They were.

And you also said that the lust will not go beyond his like but his unlike?


Then the just is like the wise and good, and the unjust like the evil
and ignorant?

That is the inference.

And each of them is such as his like is?

That was admitted.

Then the just has turned out to be wise and good and the unjust
evil and ignorant.

Thrasymachus made all these admissions, not fluently,
as I repeat them, but with extreme reluctance; it was a hot
summer's day, and the perspiration poured from him in torrents;
and then I saw what I had never seen before, Thrasymachus blushing.
As we were now agreed that justice was virtue and wisdom,
and injustice vice and ignorance, I proceeded to another point:

Well, I said, Thrasymachus, that matter is now settled; but were we
not also saying that injustice had strength; do you remember?

Yes, I remember, he said, but do not suppose that I approve of what
you are saying or have no answer; if however I were to answer,
you would be quite certain to accuse me of haranguing; therefore either
permit me to have my say out, or if you would rather ask, do so,
and I will answer `Very good,' as they say to story-telling old women,
and will nod `Yes' and `No.'

Certainly not, I said, if contrary to your real opinion.

Yes, he said, I will, to please you, since you will not let me speak.
What else would you have?

Nothing in the world, I said; and if you are so disposed I will ask
and you shall answer.


Then I will repeat the question which I asked before,
in order that our examination of the relative nature of justice
and injustice may be carried on regularly. A statement was made
that injustice is stronger and more powerful than justice,
but now justice, having been identified with wisdom and virtue,
is easily shown to be stronger than injustice, if injustice
is ignorance; this can no longer be questioned by any one.
But I want to view the matter, Thrasymachus, in a different way:
You would not deny that a state may be unjust and may be unjustly
attempting to enslave other states, or may have already enslaved them,
and may be holding many of them in subjection?

True, he replied; and I will add the best and perfectly unjust
state will be most likely to do so.

I know, I said, that such was your position; but what I would further
consider is, whether this power which is possessed by the superior
state can exist or be exercised without justice.

If you are right in you view, and justice is wisdom, then only
with justice; but if I am right, then without justice.

I am delighted, Thrasymachus, to see you not only nodding assent
and dissent, but making answers which are quite excellent.

That is out of civility to you, he replied.

You are very kind, I said; and would you have the goodness
also to inform me, whether you think that a state, or an army,
or a band of robbers and thieves, or any other gang of evil-doers
could act at all if they injured one another?

No indeed, he said, they could not.

But if they abstained from injuring one another, then they might
act together better?


And this is because injustice creates divisions and hatreds
and fighting, and justice imparts harmony and friendship;
is not that true, Thrasymachus?

I agree, he said, because I do not wish to quarrel with you.

How good of you, I said; but I should like to know also whether injustice,
having this tendency to arouse hatred, wherever existing,
among slaves or among freemen, will not make them hate one another
and set them at variance and render them incapable of common action?


And even if injustice be found in two only, will they not quarrel
and fight, and become enemies to one another and to the just

They will.

And suppose injustice abiding in a single person, would your wisdom
say that she loses or that she retains her natural power?

Let us assume that she retains her power.

Yet is not the power which injustice exercises of such a nature
that wherever she takes up her abode, whether in a city,
in an army, in a family, or in any other body, that body is,
to begin with, rendered incapable of united action by reason
of sedition and distraction; and does it not become its own enemy
and at variance with all that opposes it, and with the just?
Is not this the case?

Yes, certainly.

And is not injustice equally fatal when existing in a single person;
in the first place rendering him incapable of action because he
is not at unity with himself, and in the second place making him
an enemy to himself and the just? Is not that true, Thrasymachus?


And O my friend, I said, surely the gods are just?

Granted that they are.

But if so, the unjust will be the enemy of the gods, and the just
will be their friend?

Feast away in triumph, and take your fill of the argument;
I will not oppose you, lest I should displease the company.

Well then, proceed with your answers, and let me have the remainder
of my repast. For we have already shown that the just are clearly
wiser and better and abler than the unjust, and that the unjust
are incapable of common action; nay ing at more, that to speak as we
did of men who are evil acting at any time vigorously together,
is not strictly true, for if they had been perfectly evil, they would
have laid hands upon one another; but it is evident that there must
have been some remnant of justice in them, which enabled them to combine;
if there had not been they would have injured one another as well
as their victims; they were but half--villains in their enterprises;
for had they been whole villains, and utterly unjust, they would
have been utterly incapable of action. That, as I believe,
is the truth of the matter, and not what you said at first.
But whether the just have a better and happier life than the unjust
is a further question which we also proposed to consider. I think
that they have, and for the reasons which to have given; but still
I should like to examine further, for no light matter is at stake,
nothing less than the rule of human life.


I will proceed by asking a question: Would you not say that a horse
has some end?

I should.

And the end or use of a horse or of anything would be that which could
not be accomplished, or not so well accomplished, by any other thing?

I do not understand, he said.

Let me explain: Can you see, except with the eye?

Certainly not.

Or hear, except with the ear?


These then may be truly said to be the ends of these organs?

They may.

But you can cut off a vine-branch with a dagger or with a chisel,
and in many other ways?

Of course.

And yet not so well as with a pruning-hook made for the purpose?


May we not say that this is the end of a pruning-hook?

We may.

Then now I think you will have no difficulty in understanding my
meaning when I asked the question whether the end of anything would
be that which could not be accomplished, or not so well accomplished,
by any other thing?

I understand your meaning, he said, and assent.

And that to which an end is appointed has also an excellence?
Need I ask again whether the eye has an end?

It has.

And has not the eye an excellence?


And the ear has an end and an excellence also?


And the same is true of all other things; they have each of them
an end and a special excellence?

That is so.

Well, and can the eyes fulfil their end if they are wanting
in their own proper excellence and have a defect instead?

How can they, he said, if they are blind and cannot see?

You mean to say, if they have lost their proper excellence,
which is sight; but I have not arrived at that point yet.
I would rather ask the question more generally, and only enquire
whether the things which fulfil their ends fulfil them by their own
proper excellence, and fall of fulfilling them by their own defect?

Certainly, he replied.

I might say the same of the ears; when deprived of their own proper
excellence they cannot fulfil their end?


And the same observation will apply to all other things?

I agree.

Well; and has not the soul an end which nothing else can fulfil?
for example, to superintend and command and deliberate and the like.
Are not these functions proper to the soul, and can they rightly be
assigned to any other?

To no other.

And is not life to be reckoned among the ends of the soul?

Assuredly, he said.

And has not the soul an excellence also?


And can she or can she not fulfil her own ends when deprived
of that excellence?

She cannot.

Then an evil soul must necessarily be an evil ruler and superintendent,
and the good soul a good ruler?

Yes, necessarily.

And we have admitted that justice is the excellence of the soul,
and injustice the defect of the soul?

That has been admitted.

Then the just soul and the just man will live well, and the unjust
man will live ill?

That is what your argument proves.

And he who lives well is blessed and happy, and he who lives ill
the reverse of happy?


Then the just is happy, and the unjust miserable?

So be it.

But happiness and not misery is profitable.

Of course.

Then, my blessed Thrasymachus, injustice can never be more profitable
than justice.

Let this, Socrates, he said, be your entertainment at the Bendidea.

For which I am indebted to you, I said, now that you have grown
gentle towards me and have left off scolding. Nevertheless, I have
not been well entertained; but that was my own fault and not yours.
As an epicure snatches a taste of every dish which is successively
brought to table, he not having allowed himself time to enjoy
the one before, so have I gone from one subject to another without
having discovered what I sought at first, the nature of justice.
I left that enquiry and turned away to consider whether justice is
virtue and wisdom or evil and folly; and when there arose a further
question about the comparative advantages of justice and injustice,
I could not refrain from passing on to that. And the result
of the whole discussion has been that I know nothing at all.
For I know not what justice is, and therefore I am not likely to know
whether it is or is not a virtue, nor can I say whether the just man
is happy or unhappy.



WITH these words I was thinking that I had made an end of the discussion;
but the end, in truth, proved to be only a beginning. For Glaucon,
who is always the most pugnacious of men, was dissatisfied
at Thrasymachus' retirement; he wanted to have the battle out.
So he said to me: Socrates, do you wish really to persuade us,
or only to seem to have persuaded us, that to be just is always better
than to be unjust?

I should wish really to persuade you, I replied, if I could.

Then you certainly have not succeeded. Let me ask you now:--How would
you arrange goods--are there not some which we welcome for their
own sakes, and independently of their consequences, as, for example,
harmless pleasures and enjoyments, which delight us at the time,
although nothing follows from them?

I agree in thinking that there is such a class, I replied.

Is there not also a second class of goods, such as knowledge,
sight, health, which are desirable not only in themselves,
but also for their results?

Certainly, I said.

And would you not recognize a third class, such as gymnastic,
and the care of the sick, and the physician's art; also the various ways
of money-making--these do us good but we regard them as disagreeable;
and no one would choose them for their own sakes, but only for the sake
of some reward or result which flows from them?

There is, I said, this third class also. But why do you ask?

Because I want to know in which of the three classes you would
place justice?

In the highest class, I replied,--among those goods which he
who would be happy desires both for their own sake and for the sake
of their results.

Then the many are of another mind; they think that justice
is to be reckoned in the troublesome class, among goods which
are to be pursued for the sake of rewards and of reputation,
but in themselves are disagreeable and rather to be avoided.

I know, I said, that this is their manner of thinking, and that
this was the thesis which Thrasymachus was maintaining just now,
when he censured justice and praised injustice. But I am too stupid
to be convinced by him.

I wish, he said, that you would hear me as well as him, and then I shall
see whether you and I agree. For Thrasymachus seems to me, like a snake,
to have been charmed by your voice sooner than he ought to have been;
but to my mind the nature of justice and injustice have not yet been
made clear. Setting aside their rewards and results, I want to know
what they are in themselves, and how they inwardly work in the soul.
If you, please, then, I will revive the argument of Thrasymachus.
And first I will speak of the nature and origin of justice according
to the common view of them. Secondly, I will show that all men
who practise justice do so against their will, of necessity,
but not as a good. And thirdly, I will argue that there is reason
in this view, for the life of the unjust is after all better far
than the life of the just--if what they say is true, Socrates,
since I myself am not of their opinion. But still I acknowledge
that I am perplexed when I hear the voices of Thrasymachus
and myriads of others dinning in my ears; and, on the other hand,
I have never yet heard the superiority of justice to injustice
maintained by any one in a satisfactory way. I want to hear justice
praised in respect of itself; then I shall be satisfied, and you
are the person from whom I think that I am most likely to hear this;
and therefore I will praise the unjust life to the utmost of my power,
and my manner of speaking will indicate the manner in which I
desire to hear you too praising justice and censuring injustice.
Will you say whether you approve of my proposal?

Indeed I do; nor can I imagine any theme about which a man of sense
would oftener wish to converse.

I am delighted, he replied, to hear you say so, and shall begin
by speaking, as I proposed, of the nature and origin of justice.


They say that to do injustice is, by nature, good; to suffer
injustice, evil; but that the evil is greater than the good.
And so when men have both done and suffered injustice and have had
experience of both, not being able to avoid the one and obtain
the other, they think that they had better agree among themselves
to have neither; hence there arise laws and mutual covenants;
and that which is ordained by law is termed by them lawful and just.
This they affirm to be the origin and nature of justice;--it is a mean
or compromise, between the best of all, which is to do injustice
and not be punished, and the worst of all, which is to suffer injustice
without the power of retaliation; and justice, being at a middle point
between the two, is tolerated not as a good, but as the lesser evil,
and honoured by reason of the inability of men to do injustice.
For no man who is worthy to be called a man would ever submit to such
an agreement if he were able to resist; he would be mad if he did.
Such is the received account, Socrates, of the nature and origin
of justice.

Now that those who practise justice do so involuntarily and because
they have not the power to be unjust will best appear if we
imagine something of this kind: having given both to the just
and the unjust power to do what they will, let us watch and see
whither desire will lead them; then we shall discover in the very
act the just and unjust man to be proceeding along the same road,
following their interest, which all natures deem to be their good,
and are only diverted into the path of justice by the force of law.
The liberty which we are supposing may be most completely
given to them in the form of such a power as is said to have
been possessed by Gyges the ancestor of Croesus the Lydian.
According to the tradition, Gyges was a shepherd in the service
of the king of Lydia; there was a great storm, and an earthquake made
an opening in the earth at the place where he was feeding his flock.
Amazed at the sight, he descended into the opening, where,
among other marvels, he beheld a hollow brazen horse, having doors,
at which he stooping and looking in saw a dead body of stature,
as appeared to him, more than human, and having nothing on but a
gold ring; this he took from the finger of the dead and reascended.
Now the shepherds met together, according to custom, that they
might send their monthly report about the flocks to the king;
into their assembly he came having the ring on his finger, and as he
was sitting among them he chanced to turn the collet of the ring inside
his hand, when instantly he became invisible to the rest of the company
and they began to speak of him as if he were no longer present.
He was astonished at this, and again touching the ring he turned
the collet outwards and reappeared; he made several trials of the ring,
and always with the same result-when he turned the collet inwards he
became invisible, when outwards he reappeared. Whereupon he contrived
to be chosen one of the messengers who were sent to the court;
where as soon as he arrived he seduced the queen, and with her help
conspired against the king and slew him, and took the kingdom.
Suppose now that there were two such magic rings, and the just put
on one of them and the unjust the other;,no man can be imagined
to be of such an iron nature that he would stand fast in justice.
No man would keep his hands off what was not his own when he could
safely take what he liked out of the market, or go into houses
and lie with any one at his pleasure, or kill or release from prison
whom he would, and in all respects be like a God among men.
Then the actions of the just would be as the actions of the unjust;
they would both come at last to the same point. And this we may
truly affirm to be a great proof that a man is just, not willingly
or because he thinks that justice is any good to him individually,
but of necessity, for wherever any one thinks that he can safely
be unjust, there he is unjust. For all men believe in their hearts
that injustice is far more profitable to the individual than justice,
and he who argues as I have been supposing, will say that they are right.
If you could imagine any one obtaining this power of becoming invisible,
and never doing any wrong or touching what was another's, he would
be thought by the lookers-on to be a most wretched idiot, although they
would praise him to one another's faces, and keep up appearances
with one another from a fear that they too might suffer injustice.
Enough of this.

Now, if we are to form a real judgment of the life of the just and unjust,
we must isolate them; there is no other way; and how is the isolation
to be effected? I answer: Let the unjust man be entirely unjust,
and the just man entirely just; nothing is to be taken away from
either of them, and both are to be perfectly furnished for the work
of their respective lives. First, let the unjust be like other
distinguished masters of craft; like the skilful pilot or physician,
who knows intuitively his own powers and keeps within their limits,
and who, if he fails at any point, is able to recover himself.
So let the unjust make his unjust attempts in the right way,
and lie hidden if he means to be great in his injustice (he who is
found out is nobody): for the highest reach of injustice is:
to be deemed just when you are not. Therefore I say that in
the perfectly unjust man we must assume the most perfect injustice;
there is to be no deduction, but we must allow him, while doing the most
unjust acts, to have acquired the greatest reputation for justice.
If he have taken a false step he must be able to recover himself;
he must be one who can speak with effect, if any of his deeds
come to light, and who can force his way where force is required
his courage and strength, and command of money and friends.
And at his side let us place the just man in his nobleness
and simplicity, wishing, as Aeschylus says, to be and not to seem good.
There must be no seeming, for if he seem to be just he will be
honoured and rewarded, and then we shall not know whether he is just
for the sake of justice or for the sake of honours and rewards;
therefore, let him be clothed in justice only, and have no other covering;
and he must be imagined in a state of life the opposite of the former.
Let him be the best of men, and let him be thought the worst;
then he will have been put to the proof; and we shall see whether
he will be affected by the fear of infamy and its consequences.
And let him continue thus to the hour of death; being just and
seeming to be unjust. When both have reached the uttermost extreme,
the one of justice and the other of injustice, let judgment be given
which of them is the happier of the two.


Heavens! my dear Glaucon, I said, how energetically you polish
them up for the decision, first one and then the other, as if they
were two statues.

I do my best, he said. And now that we know what they are
like there is no difficulty in tracing out the sort of life
which awaits either of them. This I will proceed to describe;
but as you may think the description a little too coarse, I ask you
to suppose, Socrates, that the words which follow are not mine.--
Let me put them into the mouths of the eulogists of injustice:
They will tell you that the just man who is thought unjust will
be scourged, racked, bound--will have his eyes burnt out; and, at last,
after suffering every kind of evil, he will be impaled: Then he
will understand that he ought to seem only, and not to be, just;
the words of Aeschylus may be more truly spoken of the unjust
than of the just. For the unjust is pursuing a reality; he does
not live with a view to appearances--he wants to be really unjust
and not to seem only:--

His mind has a soil deep and fertile,
Out of which spring his prudent counsels.

In the first place, he is thought just, and therefore bears rule
in the city; he can marry whom he will, and give in marriage
to whom he will; also he can trade and deal where he likes,
and always to his own advantage, because he has no misgivings
about injustice and at every contest, whether in public or private,
he gets the better of his antagonists, and gains at their expense,
and is rich, and out of his gains he can benefit his friends,
and harm his enemies; moreover, he can offer sacrifices, and dedicate
gifts to the gods abundantly and magnificently, and can honour the gods
or any man whom he wants to honour in a far better style than the just,
and therefore he is likely to be dearer than they are to the gods.
And thus, Socrates, gods and men are said to unite in making the life
of the unjust better than the life of the just.


I was going to say something in answer to Glaucon, when Adeimantus,
his brother, interposed: Socrates, he said, you do not suppose
that there is nothing more to be urged?

Why, what else is there? I answered.

The strongest point of all has not been even mentioned, he replied.

Well, then, according to the proverb, `Let brother help brother'--
if he fails in any part do you assist him; although I must confess
that Glaucon has already said quite enough to lay me in the dust,
and take from me the power of helping justice.


Nonsense, he replied. But let me add something more: There is
another side to Glaucon's argument about the praise and censure
of justice and injustice, which is equally required in order to bring
out what I believe to be his meaning. Parents and tutors are always
telling their sons and their wards that they are to be just;
but why? not for the sake of justice, but for the sake of character
and reputation; in the hope of obtaining for him who is reputed
just some of those offices, marriages, and the like which Glaucon
has enumerated among the advantages accruing to the unjust from
the reputation of justice. More, however, is made of appearances
by this class of persons than by the others; for they throw
in the good opinion of the gods, and will tell you of a shower
of benefits which the heavens, as they say, rain upon the pious;
and this accords with the testimony of the noble Hesiod and Homer,
the first of whom says, that the gods make the oaks of the just--

To hear acorns at their summit, and bees I the middle;
And the sheep the bowed down bowed the with the their fleeces.

and many other blessings of a like kind are provided for them.
And Homer has a very similar strain; for he speaks of one whose
fame is--

As the fame of some blameless king who, like a god,
Maintains justice to whom the black earth brings forth
Wheat and barley, whose trees are bowed with fruit,
And his sheep never fail to bear, and the sea gives him fish.

Still grander are the gifts of heaven which Musaeus and his son
vouchsafe to the just; they take them down into the world below,
where they have the saints lying on couches at a feast,
everlastingly drunk, crowned with garlands; their idea seems to be
that an immortality of drunkenness is the highest meed of virtue.
Some extend their rewards yet further; the posterity, as they say,
of the faithful and just shall survive to the third and fourth generation.
This is the style in which they praise justice. But about the wicked
there is another strain; they bury them in a slough in Hades, and make
them carry water in a sieve; also while they are yet living they bring
them to infamy, and inflict upon them the punishments which Glaucon
described as the portion of the just who are reputed to be unjust;
nothing else does their invention supply. Such is their manner of
praising the one and censuring the other.

Once more, Socrates, I will ask you to consider another way of speaking
about justice and injustice, which is not confined to the poets,
but is found in prose writers. The universal voice of mankind
is always declaring that justice and virtue are honourable,
but grievous and toilsome; and that the pleasures of vice and injustice
are easy of attainment, and are only censured by law and opinion.
They say also that honesty is for the most part less profitable
than dishonesty; and they are quite ready to call wicked men happy,
and to honour them both in public and private when they are rich
or in any other way influential, while they despise and overlook
those who may be weak and poor, even though acknowledging
them to be better than the others. But most extraordinary
of all is their mode of speaking about virtue and the gods:
they say that the gods apportion calamity and misery to many good men,
and good and happiness to the wicked. And mendicant prophets go
to rich men's doors and persuade them that they have a power committed
to them by the gods of making an atonement for a man's own or his
ancestor's sins by sacrifices or charms, with rejoicings and feasts;
and they promise to harm an enemy, whether just or unjust,
at a small cost; with magic arts and incantations binding heaven,
as they say, to execute their will. And the poets are the authorities
to whom they appeal, now smoothing the path of vice with the words
of Hesiod;--

Vice may be had in abundance without trouble; the way is smooth
and her dwelling-place is near. But before virtue the gods have
set toil,

and a tedious and uphill road: then citing Homer as a witness
that the gods may be influenced by men; for he also says:

The gods, too, may he turned from their purpose; and men pray to
them and avert their wrath by sacrifices and soothing entreaties,
and by libations and the odour of fat, when they have sinned and

And they produce a host of books written by Musaeus and Orpheus,
who were children of the Moon and the Muses--that is what they say--
according to which they perform their ritual, and persuade not
only individuals, but whole cities, that expiations and atonements for
sin may be made by sacrifices and amusements which fill a vacant hour,
and are equally at the service of the living and the dead; the latter
sort they call mysteries, and they redeem us from the pains of hell,
but if we neglect them no one knows what awaits us.

He proceeded: And now when the young hear all this said about
virtue and vice, and the way in which gods and men regard them,
how are their minds likely to be affected, my dear Socrates,--
those of them, I mean, who are quickwitted, and, like bees on the wing,
light on every flower, and from all that they hear are prone to draw
conclusions as to what manner of persons they should be and in
what way they should walk if they would make the best of life?
Probably the youth will say to himself in the words of Pindar--

Can I by justice or by crooked ways of deceit ascend a loftier
tower which may he a fortress to me all my days?

For what men say is that, if I am really just and am not also thought
just profit there is none, but the pain and loss on the other hand
are unmistakable. But if, though unjust, I acquire the reputation
of justice, a heavenly life is promised to me. Since then,
as philosophers prove, appearance tyrannizes over truth and is lord
of happiness, to appearance I must devote myself. I will describe
around me a picture and shadow of virtue to be the vestibule and
exterior of my house; behind I will trail the subtle and crafty fox,
as Archilochus, greatest of sages, recommends. But I hear some one
exclaiming that the concealment of wickedness is often difficult;
to which I answer, Nothing great is easy. Nevertheless, the argument
indicates this, if we would be happy, to be the path along which we
should proceed. With a view to concealment we will establish
secret brotherhoods and political clubs. And there are professors
of rhetoric who teach the art of persuading courts and assemblies;
and so, partly by persuasion and partly by force, I shall make
unlawful gains and not be punished. Still I hear a voice saying
that the gods cannot be deceived, neither can they be compelled.
But what if there are no gods? or, suppose them to have no care
of human things--why in either case should we mind about concealment?
And even if there are gods, and they do care about us, yet we know
of them only from tradition and the genealogies of the poets;
and these are the very persons who say that they may be influenced
and turned by `sacrifices and soothing entreaties and by offerings.'
Let us be consistent then, and believe both or neither.
If the poets speak truly, why then we had better be unjust,
and offer of the fruits of injustice; for if we are just,
although we may escape the vengeance of heaven, we shall lose
the gains of injustice; but, if we are unjust, we shall keep
the gains, and by our sinning and praying, and praying and sinning,
the gods will be propitiated, and we shall not be punished.
`But there is a world below in which either we or our posterity
will suffer for our unjust deeds.' Yes, my friend, will be
the reflection, but there are mysteries and atoning deities,
and these have great power. That is what mighty cities declare;
and the children of the gods, who were their poets and prophets, bear a
like testimony.

On what principle, then, shall we any longer choose justice
rather than the worst injustice? when, if we only unite
the latter with a deceitful regard to appearances, we shall fare
to our mind both with gods and men, in life and after death,
as the most numerous and the highest authorities tell us.
Knowing all this, Socrates, how can a man who has any superiority
of mind or person or rank or wealth, be willing to honour justice;
or indeed to refrain from laughing when he hears justice praised?
And even if there should be some one who is able to disprove
the truth of my words, and who is satisfied that justice is best,
still he is not angry with the unjust, but is very ready
to forgive them, because he also knows that men are not just of
their own free will; unless, peradventure, there be some one whom
the divinity within him may have inspired with a hatred of injustice,
or who has attained knowledge of the truth--but no other man.
He only blames injustice who, owing to cowardice or age or some weakness,
has not the power of being unjust. And this is proved by the fact
that when he obtains the power, he immediately becomes unjust as far
as he can be.

The cause of all this, Socrates, was indicated by us at the beginning
of the argument, when my brother and I told you how astonished we
were to find that of all the professing panegyrists of justice--
beginning with the ancient heroes of whom any memorial has
been preserved to us, and ending with the men of our own time--
no one has ever blamed injustice or praised justice except with a
view to the glories, honours, and benefits which flow from them.
No one has ever adequately described either in verse or prose
the true essential nature of either of them abiding in the soul,
and invisible to any human or divine eye; or shown that of
all the things of a man's soul which he has within him,
justice is the greatest good, and injustice the greatest evil.
Had this been the universal strain, had you sought to persuade us
of this from our youth upwards, we should not have been on the watch
to keep one another from doing wrong, but every one would have been
his own watchman, because afraid, if he did wrong, of harbouring
in himself the greatest of evils. I dare say that Thrasymachus
and others would seriously hold the language which I have been
merely repeating, and words even stronger than these about justice
and injustice, grossly, as I conceive, perverting their true nature.
But I speak in this vehement manner, as I must frankly confess to you,
because I want to hear from you the opposite side; and I would ask you
to show not only the superiority which justice has over injustice,
but what effect they have on the possessor of them which makes
the one to be a good and the other an evil to him. And please,
as Glaucon requested of you, to exclude reputations; for unless you
take away from each of them his true reputation and add on the false,
we shall say that you do not praise justice, but the appearance of it;
we shall think that you are only exhorting us to keep injustice dark,
and that you really agree with Thrasymachus in thinking that justice
is another's good and the interest of the stronger, and that injustice
is a man's own profit and interest, though injurious to the weaker.
Now as you have admitted that justice is one of that highest class
of goods which are desired indeed for their results, but in a far greater
degree for their own sakes--like sight or hearing or knowledge or health,
or any other real and natural and not merely conventional good--
I would ask you in your praise of justice to regard one point only:
I mean the essential good and evil which justice and injustice work in
the possessors of them. Let others praise justice and censure injustice,
magnifying the rewards and honours of the one and abusing the other;
that is a manner of arguing which, coming from them, I am ready to tolerate,
but from you who have spent your whole life in the consideration
of this question, unless I hear the contrary from your own lips,
I expect something better. And therefore, I say, not only prove
to us that justice is better than injustice, but show what they
either of them do to the possessor of them, which makes the one
to be a good and the other an evil, whether seen or unseen by gods
and men.


I had always admired the genius of Glaucon and Adeimantus,
but on hearing these words I was quite delighted, and said:
Sons of an illustrious father, that was not a bad beginning of
the Elegiac verses which the admirer of Glaucon made in honour of you
after you had distinguished yourselves at the battle of Megara:--

`Sons of Ariston,' he sang, `divine offspring of an
illustrious hero.'

The epithet is very appropriate, for there is something truly
divine in being able to argue as you have done for the superiority
of injustice, and remaining unconvinced by your own arguments.
And I do believe that you are not convinced--this I infer from your
general character, for had I judged only from your speeches I should
have mistrusted you. But now, the greater my confidence in you,
the greater is my difficulty in knowing what to say. For I am in a strait
between two; on the one hand I feel that I am unequal to the task;
and my inability is brought home to me by the fact that you were not
satisfied with the answer which I made to Thrasymachus, proving,
as I thought, the superiority which justice has over injustice.
And yet I cannot refuse to help, while breath and speech remain to me;
I am afraid that there would be an impiety in being present when
justice is evil spoken of and not lifting up a hand in her defence.
And therefore I had best give such help as I can.

Glaucon and the rest entreated me by all means not to let the question drop,
but to proceed in the investigation. They wanted to arrive
at the truth, first, about the nature of justice and injustice,
and secondly, about their relative advantages. I told them, what I--
really thought, that the enquiry would be of a serious nature,
and would require very good eyes. Seeing then, I said, that we
are no great wits, I think that we had better adopt a method
which I may illustrate thus; suppose that a short-sighted person
had been asked by some one to read small letters from a distance;
and it occurred to some one else that they might be found in another
place which was larger and in which the letters were larger--
if they were the same and he could read the larger letters first,
and then proceed to the lesser--this would have been thought a rare piece
of good fortune.

Very true, said Adeimantus; but how does the illustration apply
to our enquiry?

I will tell you, I replied; justice, which is the subject of
our enquiry, is, as you know, sometimes spoken of as the virtue
of an individual, and sometimes as the virtue of a State.

True, he replied.

And is not a State larger than an individual?

It is.

Then in the larger the quantity of justice is likely to be larger
and more easily discernible. I propose therefore that we enquire
into the nature of justice and injustice, first as they appear
in the State, and secondly in the individual, proceeding from
the greater to the lesser and comparing them.

That, he said, is an excellent proposal.

And if we imagine the State in process of creation, we shall see
the justice and injustice of the State in process of creation also.

I dare say.

When the State is completed there may be a hope that the object
of our search will be more easily discovered.

Yes, far more easily.

But ought we to attempt to construct one? I said; for to do so,
as I am inclined to think, will be a very serious task.
Reflect therefore.

I have reflected, said Adeimantus, and am anxious that you
should proceed.

A State, I said, arises, as I conceive, out of the needs of mankind;
no one is self-sufficing, but all of us have many wants. Can any
other origin of a State be imagined?

There can I be no other.

Then, as we have many wants, and many persons are needed to supply them,
one takes a helper for one purpose and another for another;
and when these partners and helpers are gathered together in one
habitation the body of inhabitants is termed a State.

True, he said.

And they exchange with one another, and one gives, and another receives,
under the idea that the exchange will be for their good.

Very true.

Then, I said, let us begin and create in idea a State; and yet
the true creator is necessity, who is the mother of our invention.

Of course, he replied.

Now the first and greatest of necessities is food, which is
the condition of life and existence.


The second is a dwelling, and the third clothing and the like.


And now let us see how our city will be able to supply this great demand:
We may suppose that one man is a husbandman, another a builder,
some one else a weaver--shall we add to them a shoemaker, or perhaps
some other purveyor to our bodily wants?

Quite right.

The barest notion of a State must include four or five men.


And how will they proceed? Will each bring the result of his labours
into a common stock?--the individual husbandman, for example,
producing for four, and labouring four times as long and as much
as he need in the provision of food with which he supplies others
as well as himself; or will he have nothing to do with others
and not be at the trouble of producing for them, but provide
for himself alone a fourth of the food in a fourth of the time,
and in the remaining three-fourths of his time be employed in making
a house or a coat or a pair of shoes, having no partnership with others,
but supplying himself all his own wants?

Adeimantus thought that he should aim at producing food only
and not at producing everything.

Probably, I replied, that would be the better way; and when I hear
you say this, I am myself reminded that we are not all alike;
there are diversities of natures among us which are adapted to
different occupations.

Very true.

And will you have a work better done when the workman has
many occupations, or when he has only one?

When he has only one.

Further, there can be no doubt that a work is spoilt when not done
at the right time?

No doubt.

For business is not disposed to wait until the doer of the business
is at leisure; but the doer must follow up what he is doing,
and make the business his first object.

He must.

And if so, we must infer that all things are produced more
plentifully and easily and of a better quality when one man does
one thing which is natural to him and does it at the right time,
and leaves other things.


Then more than four citizens will be required; for the husbandman
will not make his own plough or mattock, or other implements
of agriculture, if they are to be good for anything.
Neither will the builder make his tools--and he too needs many;
and in like manner the weaver and shoemaker.


Then carpenters, and smiths, and many other artisans, will be
sharers in our little State, which is already beginning to grow?


Yet even if we add neatherds, shepherds, and other herdsmen,
in order that our husbandmen may have oxen to plough with,
and builders as well as husbandmen may have draught cattle,
and curriers and weavers fleeces and hides,--still our State will
not be very large.

That is true; yet neither will it be a very small State which
contains all these.

Then, again, there is the situation of the city--to find a place
where nothing need be imported is well-nigh impossible.


Then there must be another class of citizens who will bring
the required supply from another city?

There must.

But if the trader goes empty-handed, having nothing which they
require who would supply his need, he will come back empty-handed.

That is certain.

And therefore what they produce at home must be not only
enough for themselves, but such both in quantity and quality
as to accommodate those from whom their wants are supplied.

Very true.

Then more husbandmen and more artisans will be required?

They will.

Not to mention the importers and exporters, who are called merchants?


Then we shall want merchants?

We shall.

And if merchandise is to be carried over the sea, skilful sailors
will also be needed, and in considerable numbers?

Yes, in considerable numbers.

Then, again, within the city, how will they exchange their productions?
To secure such an exchange was, as you will remember, one of our
principal objects when we formed them into a society and constituted
a State.

Clearly they will buy and sell.

Then they will need a market-place, and a money-token for purposes
of exchange.


Suppose now that a husbandman, or an artisan, brings some production
to market, and he comes at a time when there is no one to exchange
with him,--is he to leave his calling and sit idle in the market-place?

Not at all; he will find people there who, seeing the want,
undertake the office of salesmen. In well-ordered States they are
commonly those who are the weakest in bodily strength, and therefore
of little use for any other purpose; their duty is to be in the market,
and to give money in exchange for goods to those who desire to sell
and to take money from those who desire to buy.

This want, then, creates a class of retail-traders in our State.
Is not `retailer' the term which is applied to those who sit in
the market-place engaged in buying and selling, while those who wander
from one city to another are called merchants?

Yes, he said.

And there is another class of servants, who are intellectually hardly
on the level of companionship; still they have plenty of bodily
strength for labour, which accordingly they sell, and are called,
if I do not mistake, hirelings, hire being the name which is given
to the price of their labour.


Then hirelings will help to make up our population?


And now, Adeimantus, is our State matured and perfected?

I think so.

Where, then, is justice, and where is injustice, and in what part
of the State did they spring up?

Probably in the dealings of these citizens with one another.
cannot imagine that they are more likely to be found anywhere else.

I dare say that you are right in your suggestion, I said;
we had better think the matter out, and not shrink from the enquiry.

Let us then consider, first of all, what will be their way of life,
now that we have thus established them. Will they not produce corn,
and wine, and clothes, and shoes, and build houses for themselves?
And when they are housed, they will work, in summer, commonly,
stripped and barefoot, but in winter substantially clothed
and shod. They will feed on barley-meal and flour of wheat,
baking and kneading them, making noble cakes and loaves;
these they will serve up on a mat of reeds or on clean leaves,
themselves reclining the while upon beds strewn with yew or myrtle.
And they and their children will feast, drinking of the wine
which they have made, wearing garlands on their heads, and hymning
the praises of the gods, in happy converse with one another.
And they will take care that their families do not exceed their means;
having an eye to poverty or war.


But, said Glaucon, interposing, you have not given them a relish
to their meal.

True, I replied, I had forgotten; of course they must have a relish-salt,
and olives, and cheese, and they will boil roots and herbs such
as country people prepare; for a dessert we shall give them figs,
and peas, and beans; and they will roast myrtle-berries and acorns
at the fire, drinking in moderation. And with such a diet they
may be expected to live in peace and health to a good old age,
and bequeath a similar life to their children after them.

Yes, Socrates, he said, and if you were providing for a city of pigs,
how else would you feed the beasts?

But what would you have, Glaucon? I replied.

Why, he said, you should give them the ordinary conveniences of life.
People who are to be comfortable are accustomed to lie on sofas,
and dine off tables, and they should have sauces and sweets in the
modern style.

Yes, I said, now I understand: the question which you would have me
consider is, not only how a State, but how a luxurious State is created;
and possibly there is no harm in this, for in such a State we
shall be more likely to see how justice and injustice originate.
In my opinion the true and healthy constitution of the State is
the one which I have described. But if you wish also to see a State
at fever heat, I have no objection. For I suspect that many will not
be satisfied with the simpler way of way They will be for adding sofas,
and tables, and other furniture; also dainties, and perfumes,
and incense, and courtesans, and cakes, all these not of one sort only,
but in every variety; we must go beyond the necessaries of which I
was at first speaking, such as houses, and clothes, and shoes:
the arts of the painter and the embroiderer will have to be set
in motion, and gold and ivory and all sorts of materials must
be procured.

True, he said.

Then we must enlarge our borders; for the original healthy
State is no longer sufficient. Now will the city have to fill
and swell with a multitude of callings which are not required
by any natural want; such as the whole tribe of hunters and actors,
of whom one large class have to do with forms and colours;
another will be the votaries of music--poets and their attendant train
of rhapsodists, players, dancers, contractors; also makers of divers
kinds of articles, including women's dresses. And we shall want
more servants. Will not tutors be also in request, and nurses wet
and dry, tirewomen and barbers, as well as confectioners and cooks;
and swineherds, too, who were not needed and therefore had no place
in the former edition of our State, but are needed now? They must
not be forgotten: and there will be animals of many other kinds,
if people eat them.


And living in this way we shall have much greater need of physicians
than before?

Much greater.

And the country which was enough to support the original inhabitants
will be too small now, and not enough?

Quite true.

Then a slice of our neighbours' land will be wanted by us for pasture
and tillage, and they will want a slice of ours, if, like ourselves,
they exceed the limit of necessity, and give themselves up
to the unlimited accumulation of wealth?

That, Socrates, will be inevitable.

And so we shall go to war, Glaucon. Shall we not?

Most certainly, he replied.

Then without determining as yet whether war does good or harm,
thus much we may affirm, that now we have discovered war to be derived
from causes which are also the causes of almost all the evils in States,
private as well as public.


And our State must once more enlarge; and this time the will be
nothing short of a whole army, which will have to go out and fight
with the invaders for all that we have, as well as for the things
and persons whom we were describing above.

Why? he said; are they not capable of defending themselves?

No, I said; not if we were right in the principle which was
acknowledged by all of us when we were framing the State:
the principle, as you will remember, was that one man cannot
practise many arts with success.

Very true, he said.

But is not war an art?


And an art requiring as much attention as shoemaking?

Quite true.

And the shoemaker was not allowed by us to be husbandman, or a weaver,
a builder--in order that we might have our shoes well made;
but to him and to every other worker was assigned one work
for which he was by nature fitted, and at that he was to continue
working all his life long and at no other; he was not to let
opportunities slip, and then he would become a good workman.
Now nothing can be more important than that the work of a soldier
should be well done. But is war an art so easily acquired that
a man may be a warrior who is also a husbandman, or shoemaker,
or other artisan; although no one in the world would be a good dice
or draught player who merely took up the game as a recreation,
and had not from his earliest years devoted himself to this and
nothing else?

No tools will make a man a skilled workman, or master of defence,
nor be of any use to him who has not learned how to handle them,
and has never bestowed any attention upon them. How then will he
who takes up a shield or other implement of war become a good
fighter all in a day, whether with heavy-armed or any other kind
of troops?

Yes, he said, the tools which would teach men their own use would
be beyond price.

And the higher the duties of the guardian, I said, the more time,
and skill, and art, and application will be needed by him?

No doubt, he replied.

Will he not also require natural aptitude for his calling?


Then it will be our duty to select, if we can, natures which are
fitted for the task of guarding the city?

It will.

And the selection will be no easy matter, I said; but we must
be brave and do our best.

We must.

Is not the noble youth very like a well-bred dog in respect
of guarding and watching?

What do you mean?

I mean that both of them ought to be quick to see, and swift
to overtake the enemy when they see him; and strong too if,
when they have caught him, they have to fight with him.

All these qualities, he replied, will certainly be required by them.

Well, and your guardian must be brave if he is to fight well?


And is he likely to be brave who has no spirit, whether horse
or dog or any other animal? Have you never observed how invincible
and unconquerable is spirit and how the presence of it makes
the soul of any creature to be absolutely fearless and indomitable?

I have.

Then now we have a clear notion of the bodily qualities which are
required in the guardian.


And also of the mental ones; his soul is to be full of spirit?


But are not these spirited natures apt to be savage with one another,
and with everybody else?

A difficulty by no means easy to overcome, he replied.

Whereas, I said, they ought to be dangerous to their enemies,
and gentle to their friends; if not, they will destroy themselves
without waiting for their enemies to destroy them.

True, he said.

What is to be done then? I said; how shall we find a gentle nature
which has also a great spirit, for the one is the contradiction
of the other?


He will not be a good guardian who is wanting in either of these
two qualities; and yet the combination of them appears to be impossible;
and hence we must infer that to be a good guardian is impossible.

I am afraid that what you say is true, he replied.

Here feeling perplexed I began to think over what had preceded.
My friend, I said, no wonder that we are in a perplexity; for we have
lost sight of the image which we had before us.

What do you mean? he said.

I mean to say that there do exist natures gifted with those
opposite qualities.

And where do you find them?

Many animals, I replied, furnish examples of them; our friend the dog
is a very good one: you know that well-bred dogs are perfectly gentle
to their familiars and acquaintances, and the reverse to strangers.

Yes, I know.

Then there is nothing impossible or out of the order of nature
in our finding a guardian who has a similar combination of qualities?

Certainly not.

Would not he who is fitted to be a guardian, besides the spirited nature,
need to have the qualities of a philosopher?

I do not apprehend your meaning.

The trait of which I am speaking, I replied, may be also seen
in the dog, and is remarkable in the animal.

What trait?

Why, a dog, whenever he sees a stranger, is angry; when an acquaintance,
he welcomes him, although the one has never done him any harm,
nor the other any good. Did this never strike you as curious?

The matter never struck me before; but I quite recognise the truth
of your remark.

And surely this instinct of the dog is very charming;--your dog
is a true philosopher.


Why, because he distinguishes the face of a friend and of
an enemy only by the criterion of knowing and not knowing.
And must not an animal be a lover of learning who determines
what he likes and dislikes by the test of knowledge and ignorance?

Most assuredly.

And is not the love of learning the love of wisdom, which is philosophy?

They are the same, he replied.

And may we not say confidently of man also, that he who is likely
to be gentle to his friends and acquaintances, must by nature
be a lover of wisdom and knowledge?

That we may safely affirm.

Then he who is to be a really good and noble guardian of the State
will require to unite in himself philosophy and spirit and swiftness
and strength?


Then we have found the desired natures; and now that we
have found them, how are they to be reared and educated?
Is not this enquiry which may be expected to throw light
on the greater enquiry which is our final end--How do justice
and injustice grow up in States? for we do not want either to omit
what is to the point or to draw out the argument to an inconvenient length.


Adeimantus thought that the enquiry would be of great service to us.

Then, I said, my dear friend, the task must not be given up,
even if somewhat long.

Certainly not.

Come then, and let us pass a leisure hour in story-telling,
and our story shall be the education of our heroes.

By all means.

And what shall be their education? Can we find a better than
the traditional sort?--and this has two divisions, gymnastic for
the body, and music for the soul.


Shall we begin education with music, and go on to gymnastic afterwards?

By all means.

And when you speak of music, do you include literature or not?

I do.

And literature may be either true or false?


And the young should be trained in both kinds, and we begin
with the false?

I do not understand your meaning, he said.

You know, I said, that we begin by telling children stories which,
though not wholly destitute of truth, are in the main fictitious;
and these stories are told them when they are not of an age to
learn gymnastics.

Very true.

That was my meaning when I said that we must teach music before gymnastics.

Quite right, he said.

You know also that the beginning is the most important part
of any work, especially in the case of a young and tender thing;
for that is the time at which the character is being formed and
the desired impression is more readily taken.

Quite true.

And shall we just carelessly allow children to hear any casual tales
which may be devised by casual persons, and to receive into their
minds ideas for the most part the very opposite of those which we
should wish them to have when they are grown up?

We cannot.

Then the first thing will be to establish a censorship of the writers
of fiction, and let the censors receive any tale of fiction which
is good, and reject the bad; and we will desire mothers and nurses
to tell their children the authorised ones only. Let them fashion
the mind with such tales, even more fondly than they mould the body
with their hands; but most of those which are now in use must be discarded.

Of what tales are you speaking? he said.

You may find a model of the lesser in the greater, I said;
for they are necessarily of the same type, and there is the same
spirit in both of them.

Very likely, he replied; but I do not as yet know what you would
term the greater.

Those, I said, which are narrated by Homer and Hesiod, and the rest
of the poets, who have ever been the great story-tellers of mankind.

But which stories do you mean, he said; and what fault do you find
with them?

A fault which is most serious, I said; the fault of telling
a lie, and, what is more, a bad lie.

But when is this fault committed?

Whenever an erroneous representation is made of the nature of gods
and heroes,--as when a painter paints a portrait not having
the shadow of a likeness to the original.

Yes, he said, that sort of thing is certainly very blamable;
but what are the stories which you mean?

First of all, I said, there was that greatest of all lies, in high places,
which the poet told about Uranus, and which was a bad lie too,--
I mean what Hesiod says that Uranus did, and how Cronus retaliated
on him. The doings of Cronus, and the sufferings which in turn
his son inflicted upon him, even if they were true, ought certainly
not to be lightly told to young and thoughtless persons; if possible,
they had better be buried in silence. But if there is an absolute
necessity for their mention, a chosen few might hear them in a mystery,
and they should sacrifice not a common [Eleusinian] pig, but some
huge and unprocurable victim; and then the number of the hearers
will be very few indeed.

Why, yes, said he, those stories are extremely objectionable.

Yes, Adeimantus, they are stories not to be repeated in our State;
the young man should not be told that in committing the worst
of crimes he is far from doing anything outrageous; and that even
if he chastises his father when does wrong, in whatever manner,
he will only be following the example of the first and greatest among
the gods.

I entirely agree with you, he said; in my opinion those stories
are quite unfit to be repeated.

Neither, if we mean our future guardians to regard the habit
of quarrelling among themselves as of all things the basest,
should any word be said to them of the wars in heaven,
and of the plots and fightings of the gods against one another,
for they are not true. No, we shall never mention the battles
of the giants, or let them be embroidered on garments; and we shall
be silent about the innumerable other quarrels of gods and heroes
with their friends and relatives. If they would only believe us
we would tell them that quarrelling is unholy, and that never
up to this time has there been any, quarrel between citizens;
this is what old men and old women should begin by telling children;
and when they grow up, the poets also should be told to compose
for them in a similar spirit. But the narrative of Hephaestus binding
Here his mother, or how on another occasion Zeus sent him flying
for taking her part when she was being beaten, and all the battles
of the gods in Homer--these tales must not be admitted into our State,
whether they are supposed to have an allegorical meaning or not.
For a young person cannot judge what is allegorical and what is literal;
anything that he receives into his mind at that age is likely to
become indelible and unalterable; and therefore it is most important
that the tales which the young first hear should be models of
virtuous thoughts.

There you are right, he replied; but if any one asks where are
such models to be found and of what tales are you speaking--
how shall we answer him?

I said to him, You and I, Adeimantus, at this moment are not poets,
but founders of a State: now the founders of a State ought
to know the general forms in which poets should cast their tales,
and the limits which must be observed by them, but to make the tales
is not their business.

Very true, he said; but what are these forms of theology which you mean?

Something of this kind, I replied:--God is always to be represented
as he truly is, whatever be the sort of poetry, epic, lyric or tragic,
in which the representation is given.


And is he not truly good? and must he not be represented as such?


And no good thing is hurtful?

No, indeed.

And that which is not hurtful hurts not?

Certainly not.

And that which hurts not does no evil?


And can that which does no evil be a cause of evil?


And the good is advantageous?


And therefore the cause of well-being?


It follows therefore that the good is not the cause of all things,
but of the good only?


Then God, if he be good, is not the author of all things,
as the many assert, but he is the cause of a few things only,
and not of most things that occur to men. For few are the goods
of human life, and many are the evils, and the good is to be attributed
to God alone; of the evils the causes are to be sought elsewhere,
and not in him.

That appears to me to be most true, he said.

Then we must not listen to Homer or to any other poet who is guilty
of the folly of saying that two casks

Lie at the threshold of Zeus, full of lots, one of good,
the other of evil lots,

and that he to whom Zeus gives a mixture of the two

Sometimes meets with evil fortune, at other times with good;

but that he to whom is given the cup of unmingled ill,

Him wild hunger drives o'er the beauteous earth.

And again

Zeus, who is the dispenser of good and evil to us.

And if any one asserts that the violation of oaths and treaties,
which was really the work of Pandarus, was brought about by Athene
and Zeus, or that the strife and contention of the gods was
instigated by Themis and Zeus, he shall not have our approval;
neither will we allow our young men to hear the words of Aeschylus,

God plants guilt among men when he desires utterly to
destroy a house.

And if a poet writes of the sufferings of Niobe--the subject
of the tragedy in which these iambic verses occur--or of the house
of Pelops, or of the Trojan war or on any similar theme, either we
must not permit him to say that these are the works of God,
or if they are of God, he must devise some explanation of them such
as we are seeking; he must say that God did what was just and right,
and they were the better for being punished; but that those who are
punished are miserable, and that God is the author of their misery--
the poet is not to be permitted to say; though he may say that
the wicked are miserable because they require to be punished,
and are benefited by receiving punishment from God; but that God being
good is the author of evil to any one is to be strenuously denied,
and not to be said or sung or heard in verse or prose by any
one whether old or young in any well-ordered commonwealth.
Such a fiction is suicidal, ruinous, impious.

I agree with you, he replied, and am ready to give my assent
to the law.

Let this then be one of our rules and principles concerning the gods,
to which our poets and reciters will be expected to conform--
that God is not the author of all things, but of good only.

That will do, he said.

And what do you think of a second principle? Shall I ask you whether God
is a magician, and of a nature to appear insidiously now in one shape,
and now in another--sometimes himself changing and passing into many forms,
sometimes deceiving us with the semblance of such transformations;
or is he one and the same immutably fixed in his own proper image?

I cannot answer you, he said, without more thought.

Well, I said; but if we suppose a change in anything, that change
must be effected either by the thing itself, or by some other thing?

Most certainly.

And things which are at their best are also least liable to be
altered or discomposed; for example, when healthiest and strongest,
the human frame is least liable to be affected by meats and drinks,
and the plant which is in the fullest vigour also suffers least from
winds or the heat of the sun or any similar causes.

Of course.

And will not the bravest and wisest soul be least confused
or deranged by any external influence?


And the same principle, as I should suppose, applies to all
composite things--furniture, houses, garments; when good and well made,
they are least altered by time and circumstances.

Very true.

Then everything which is good, whether made by art or nature, or both,
is least liable to suffer change from without?


But surely God and the things of God are in every way perfect?

Of course they are.

Then he can hardly be compelled by external influence to take
many shapes?

He cannot.

But may he not change and transform himself?

Clearly, he said, that must be the case if he is changed at all.

And will he then change himself for the better and fairer,
or for the worse and more unsightly?

If he change at all he can only change for the worse, for we cannot
suppose him to be deficient either in virtue or beauty.

Very true, Adeimantus; but then, would any one, whether God or man,
desire to make himself worse?


Then it is impossible that God should ever be willing to change;
being, as is supposed, the fairest and best that is conceivable,
every god remains absolutely and for ever in his own form.

That necessarily follows, he said, in my judgment.

Then, I said, my dear friend, let none of the poets tell us that

The gods, taking the disguise of strangers from other lands,
walk up and down cities in all sorts of forms;

and let no one slander Proteus and Thetis, neither let any one,
either in tragedy or in any other kind of poetry, introduce Here
disguised in the likeness of a priestess asking an alms

For the life-giving daughters of Inachus the river of Argos;

--let us have no more lies of that sort. Neither must we have mothers
under the influence of the poets scaring their children with a bad
version of these myths--telling how certain gods, as they say, `Go about
by night in the likeness of so many strangers and in divers forms';
but let them take heed lest they make cowards of their children,
and at the same time speak blasphemy against the gods.

Heaven forbid, he said.

But although the gods are themselves unchangeable, still by witchcraft
and deception they may make us think that they appear in various forms?

Perhaps, he replied.

Well, but can you imagine that God will be willing to lie,
whether in word or deed, or to put forth a phantom of himself?

I cannot say, he replied.

Do you not know, I said, that the true lie, if such an expression
may be allowed, is hated of gods and men?

What do you mean? he said.

I mean that no one is willingly deceived in that which is the truest
and highest part of himself, or about the truest and highest matters;
there, above all, he is most afraid of a lie having possession of him.

Still, he said, I do not comprehend you.

The reason is, I replied, that you attribute some profound meaning
to my words; but I am only saying that deception, or being deceived
or uninformed about the highest realities in the highest part
of themselves, which is the soul, and in that part of them to have
and to hold the lie, is what mankind least like;--that, I say,
is what they utterly detest.

There is nothing more hateful to them.

And, as I was just now remarking, this ignorance in the soul of him
who is deceived may be called the true lie; for the lie in words
is only a kind of imitation and shadowy image of a previous affection
of the soul, not pure unadulterated falsehood. Am I not right?

Perfectly right.

The true lie is hated not only by the gods, but also by men?


Whereas the lie in words is in certain cases useful and not hateful;
in dealing with enemies--that would be an instance; or again,
when those whom we call our friends in a fit of madness or illusion
are going to do some harm, then it is useful and is a sort of medicine
or preventive; also in the tales of mythology, of which we were just
now speaking--because we do not know the truth about ancient times,
we make falsehood as much like truth as we can, and so turn it
to account.

Very true, he said.

But can any of these reasons apply to God? Can we suppose that he
is ignorant of antiquity, and therefore has recourse to invention?

That would be ridiculous, he said.

Then the lying poet has no place in our idea of God?

I should say not.

Or perhaps he may tell a lie because he is afraid of enemies?

That is inconceivable.

But he may have friends who are senseless or mad?

But no mad or senseless person can be a friend of God.

Then no motive can be imagined why God should lie?

None whatever.

Then the superhuman and divine is absolutely incapable of falsehood?


Then is God perfectly simple and true both in word and deed;
he changes not; he deceives not, either by sign or word, by dream
or waking vision.

Your thoughts, he said, are the reflection of my own.

You agree with me then, I said, that this is the second type
or form in which we should write and speak about divine things.
The gods are not magicians who transform themselves, neither do they
deceive mankind in any way.

I grant that.

Then, although we are admirers of Homer, we do not admire the lying
dream which Zeus sends to Agamemnon; neither will we praise the verses
of Aeschylus in which Thetis says that Apollo at her nuptials

Was celebrating in song her fair progeny whose days were
to he long, and to know no sickness. And when he had
spoken of my lot as in all things blessed of heaven he
raised a note of triumph and cheered my soul. And I
thought that the word of Phoebus being divine and full
of prophecy, would not fail. And now he himself who
uttered the strain, he who was present at the banquet,
and who said this--he it is who has slain my son.

These are the kind of sentiments about the gods which will arouse
our anger; and he who utters them shall be refused a chorus;
neither shall we allow teachers to make use of them in the instruction
of the young, meaning, as we do, that our guardians, as far as men
can be, should be true worshippers of the gods and like them.

I entirely agree, be said, in these principles, and promise to make
them my laws.



SUCH then, I said, are our principles of theology--some tales are
to be told, and others are not to be told to our disciples from their
youth upwards, if we mean them to honour the gods and their parents,
and to value friendship with one another.

Yes; and I think that our principles are right, he said.

But if they are to be courageous, must they not learn other lessons
besides these, and lessons of such a kind as will take away the fear
of death? Can any man be courageous who has the fear of death
in him?

Certainly not, he said.

And can he be fearless of death, or will he choose death in battle
rather than defeat and slavery, who believes the world below
to be real and terrible?


Then we must assume a control over the narrators of this class
of tales as well as over the others, and beg them not simply
to but rather to commend the world below, intimating to them that
their descriptions are untrue, and will do harm to our future warriors.

That will be our duty, he said.

Then, I said, we shall have to obliterate many obnoxious passages,
beginning with the verses,

I would rather he a serf on the land of a poor and portionless man
than rule over all the dead who have come to nought.

We must also expunge the verse, which tells us how Pluto feared,

Lest the mansions grim and squalid which the gods abhor should he
seen both of mortals and immortals.

And again:

O heavens! verily in the house of Hades there is soul and ghostly
form but no mind at all!

Again of Tiresias:--

[To him even after death did Persephone grant mind,] that he alone
should be wise; but the other souls are flitting shades.


The soul flying from the limbs had gone to Hades, lamentng her fate,
leaving manhood and youth.


And the soul, with shrilling cry, passed like smoke beneath the


As bats in hollow of mystic cavern, whenever any of the has
dropped out of the string and falls from the rock, fly shrilling and
cling to one another, so did they with shrilling cry hold together
as they moved.

And we must beg Homer and the other poets not to be angry if we strike
out these and similar passages, not because they are unpoetical,
or unattractive to the popular ear, but because the greater the poetical
charm of them, the less are they meet for the ears of boys and men
who are meant to be free, and who should fear slavery more than death.


Also we shall have to reject all the terrible and appalling names
describe the world below--Cocytus and Styx, ghosts under the earth,
and sapless shades, and any similar words of which the very mention
causes a shudder to pass through the inmost soul of him who hears them.
I do not say that these horrible stories may not have a use of some kind;
but there is a danger that the nerves of our guardians may be rendered
too excitable and effeminate by them.

There is a real danger, he said.

Then we must have no more of them.


Another and a nobler strain must be composed and sung by us.


And shall we proceed to get rid of the weepings and wailings
of famous men?

They will go with the rest.

But shall we be right in getting rid of them? Reflect: our principle
is that the good man will not consider death terrible to any
other good man who is his comrade.

Yes; that is our principle.

And therefore he will not sorrow for his departed friend as though
he had suffered anything terrible?

He will not.

Such an one, as we further maintain, is sufficient for himself
and his own happiness, and therefore is least in need of other men.

True, he said.

And for this reason the loss of a son or brother, or the deprivation
of fortune, is to him of all men least terrible.


And therefore he will be least likely to lament, and will bear with
the greatest equanimity any misfortune of this sort which may befall him.

Yes, he will feel such a misfortune far less than another.

Then we shall be right in getting rid of the lamentations of famous men,
and making them over to women (and not even to women who are good
for anything), or to men of a baser sort, that those who are being
educated by us to be the defenders of their country may scorn
to do the like.

That will be very right.

Then we will once more entreat Homer and the other poets not to
depict Achilles, who is the son of a goddess, first lying on his side,

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