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Plato's Republic

Part 3 out of 9

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then on his back, and then on his face; then starting up and sailing
in a frenzy along the shores of the barren sea; now taking the sooty
ashes in both his hands and pouring them over his head, or weeping
and wailing in the various modes which Homer has delineated.
Nor should he describe Priam the kinsman of the gods as praying
and beseeching,

Rolling in the dirt, calling each man loudly by his name.

Still more earnestly will we beg of him at all events not to introduce
the gods lamenting and saying,

Alas! my misery! Alas! that I bore the harvest to my sorrow.

But if he must introduce the gods, at any rate let him not dare
so completely to misrepresent the greatest of the gods, as to make
him say--

O heavens! with my eyes verily I behold a dear friend of mine chased
round and round the city, and my heart is sorrowful.

Or again:--

Woe is me that I am fated to have Sarpedon, dearest of men to me,
subdued at the hands of Patroclus the son of Menoetius.

For if, my sweet Adeimantus, our youth seriously listen to such unworthy
representations of the gods, instead of laughing at them as they ought,
hardly will any of them deem that he himself, being but a man,
can be dishonoured by similar actions; neither will he rebuke any
inclination which may arise in his mind to say and do the like.
And instead of having any shame or self-control, he will be always
whining and lamenting on slight occasions.

Yes, he said, that is most true.

Yes, I replied; but that surely is what ought not to be,
as the argument has just proved to us; and by that proof
we must abide until it is disproved by a better.

It ought not to be.

Neither ought our guardians to be given to laughter. For a fit
of laughter which has been indulged to excess almost always produces
a violent reaction.

So I believe.

Then persons of worth, even if only mortal men, must not be represented
as overcome by laughter, and still less must such a representation
of the gods be allowed.

Still less of the gods, as you say, he replied.

Then we shall not suffer such an expression to be used about the gods
as that of Homer when he describes how

Inextinguishable laughter arose among the blessed gods, when they
saw Hephaestus bustling about the mansion.

On your views, we must not admit them.

On my views, if you like to father them on me; that we must
not admit them is certain.

Again, truth should be highly valued; if, as we were saying,
a lie is useless to the gods, and useful only as a medicine to men,
then the use of such medicines should be restricted to physicians;
private individuals have no business with them.

Clearly not, he said.

Then if any one at all is to have the privilege of lying,
the rulers of the State should be the persons; and they,
in their dealings either with enemies or with their own citizens,
may be allowed to lie for the public good. But nobody else
should meddle with anything of the kind; and although the rulers
have this privilege, for a private man to lie to them in return is
to be deemed a more heinous fault than for the patient or the pupil
of a gymnasium not to speak the truth about his own bodily illnesses
to the physician or to the trainer, or for a sailor not to tell
the captain what is happening about the ship and the rest of the crew,
and how things are going with himself or his fellow sailors.

Most true, he said.

If, then, the ruler catches anybody beside himself lying in the State,

Any of the craftsmen, whether he priest or physician or carpenter.

he will punish him for introducing a practice which is equally
subversive and destructive of ship or State.

Most certainly, he said, if our idea of the State is ever carried out.

In the next place our youth must be temperate?


Are not the chief elements of temperance, speaking generally,
obedience to commanders and self-control in sensual pleasures?


Then we shall approve such language as that of Diomede in Homer,

Friend, sit still and obey my word,

and the verses which follow,

The Greeks marched breathing prowess,
...in silent awe of their leaders,

and other sentiments of the same kind.

We shall.

What of this line,

O heavy with wine, who hast the eyes of a dog and the heart of a

and of the words which follow? Would you say that these, or any
similar impertinences which private individuals are supposed to address
to their rulers, whether in verse or prose, are well or ill spoken?

They are ill spoken.

They may very possibly afford some amusement, but they do not
conduce to temperance. And therefore they are likely to do harm
to our young men--you would agree with me there?


And then, again, to make the wisest of men say that nothing in his
opinion is more glorious than

When the tables are full of bread and meat, and the cup-bearer
carries round wine which he draws from the bowl and pours into the

is it fit or conducive to temperance for a young man to hear such words?
Or the verse

The saddest of fates is to die and meet destiny from hunger?

What would you say again to the tale of Zeus, who, while other
gods and men were asleep and he the only person awake,
lay devising plans, but forgot them all in a moment through his lust,
and was so completely overcome at the sight of Here that he would
not even go into the hut, but wanted to lie with her on the ground,
declaring that he had never been in such a state of rapture before,
even when they first met one another

Without the knowledge of their parents;

or that other tale of how Hephaestus, because of similar goings on,
cast a chain around Ares and Aphrodite?

Indeed, he said, I am strongly of opinion that they ought not
to hear that sort of thing.

But any deeds of endurance which are done or told by famous men,
these they ought to see and hear; as, for example, what is said
in the verses,

He smote his breast, and thus reproached his heart,
Endure, my heart; far worse hast thou endured!

Certainly, he said.

In the next place, we must not let them be receivers of gifts
or lovers of money.

Certainly not.

Neither must we sing to them of

Gifts persuading gods, and persuading reverend kings.

Neither is Phoenix, the tutor of Achilles, to be approved
or deemed to have given his pupil good counsel when he told him
that he should take the gifts of the Greeks and assist them;
but that without a gift he should not lay aside his anger.
Neither will we believe or acknowledge Achilles himself to have
been such a lover of money that he took Agamemnon's or that when
he had received payment he restored the dead body of Hector,
but that without payment he was unwilling to do so.

Undoubtedly, he said, these are not sentiments which can be approved.

Loving Homer as I do, I hardly like to say that in attributing
these feelings to Achilles, or in believing that they are truly
to him, he is guilty of downright impiety. As little can I believe
the narrative of his insolence to Apollo, where he says,

Thou hast wronged me, O far-darter, most abominable of deities.
Verily I would he even with thee, if I had only the power,

or his insubordination to the river-god, on whose divinity he is ready
to lay hands; or his offering to the dead Patroclus of his own hair,
which had been previously dedicated to the other river-god Spercheius,
and that he actually performed this vow; or that he dragged Hector
round the tomb of Patroclus, and slaughtered the captives at the pyre;
of all this I cannot believe that he was guilty, any more than I can
allow our citizens to believe that he, the wise Cheiron's pupil,
the son of a goddess and of Peleus who was the gentlest of men
and third in descent from Zeus, was so disordered in his wits as to
be at one time the slave of two seemingly inconsistent passions,
meanness, not untainted by avarice, combined with overweening
contempt of gods and men.

You are quite right, he replied.

And let us equally refuse to believe, or allow to be repeated,
the tale of Theseus son of Poseidon, or of Peirithous son
of Zeus, going forth as they did to perpetrate a horrid rape;
or of any other hero or son of a god daring to do such impious
and dreadful things as they falsely ascribe to them in our day:
and let us further compel the poets to declare either that these acts
were not done by them, or that they were not the sons of gods;--
both in the same breath they shall not be permitted to affirm.
We will not have them trying to persuade our youth that the gods
are the authors of evil, and that heroes are no better than
men-sentiments which, as we were saying, are neither pious
nor true, for we have already proved that evil cannot come from
the gods.

Assuredly not.

And further they are likely to have a bad effect on those who hear them;
for everybody will begin to excuse his own vices when he is convinced
that similar wickednesses are always being perpetrated by--

The kindred of the gods, the relatives of Zeus, whose ancestral
altar, the attar of Zeus, is aloft in air on the peak of Ida,

and who have

the blood of deities yet flowing in their veins.

And therefore let us put an end to such tales, lest they engender
laxity of morals among the young.

By all means, he replied.

But now that we are determining what classes of subjects are or are
not to be spoken of, let us see whether any have been omitted by us.
The manner in which gods and demigods and heroes and the world below
should be treated has been already laid down.

Very true.

And what shall we say about men? That is clearly the remaining
portion of our subject.

Clearly so.

But we are not in a condition to answer this question at present,
my friend.

Why not?

Because, if I am not mistaken, we shall have to say that about men
poets and story-tellers are guilty of making the gravest misstatements
when they tell us that wicked men are often happy, and the good miserable;
and that injustice is profitable when undetected, but that justice
is a man's own loss and another's gain--these things we shall
forbid them to utter, and command them to sing and say the opposite.

To be sure we shall, he replied.

But if you admit that I am right in this, then I shall maintain that you
have implied the principle for which we have been all along contending.

I grant the truth of your inference.

That such things are or are not to be said about men is a question
which we cannot determine until we have discovered what justice is,
and how naturally advantageous to the possessor, whether he seems
to be just or not.

Most true, he said.

Enough of the subjects of poetry: let us now speak of the style;
and when this has been considered, both matter and manner will have
been completely treated.

I do not understand what you mean, said Adeimantus.

Then I must make you understand; and perhaps I may be more
intelligible if I put the matter in this way. You are aware,
I suppose, that all mythology and poetry is a narration of events,
either past, present, or to come?

Certainly, he replied.

And narration may be either simple narration, or imitation,
or a union of the two?

That again, he said, I do not quite understand.

I fear that I must be a ridiculous teacher when I have so much difficulty
in making myself apprehended. Like a bad speaker, therefore, I will
not take the whole of the subject, but will break a piece off in
illustration of my meaning. You know the first lines of the Iliad,
in which the poet says that Chryses prayed Agamemnon to release
his daughter, and that Agamemnon flew into a passion with him;
whereupon Chryses, failing of his object, invoked the anger
of the God against the Achaeans. Now as far as these lines,

And he prayed all the Greeks, but especially the two sons of Atreus,
the chiefs of the people,

the poet is speaking in his own person; he never leads us to suppose
that he is any one else. But in what follows he takes the person
of Chryses, and then he does all that he can to make us believe
that the speaker is not Homer, but the aged priest himself.
And in this double form he has cast the entire narrative of the events
which occurred at Troy and in Ithaca and throughout the Odyssey.


And a narrative it remains both in the speeches which the poet
recites from time to time and in the intermediate passages?

Quite true.

But when the poet speaks in the person of another, may we not
say that he assimilates his style to that of the person who,
as he informs you, is going to speak?


And this assimilation of himself to another, either by the use
of voice or gesture, is the imitation of the person whose character
he assumes?

Of course.

Then in this case the narrative of the poet may be said to proceed
by way of imitation?

Very true.

Or, if the poet everywhere appears and never conceals himself,
then again the imitation is dropped, and his poetry becomes
simple narration. However, in order that I may make my meaning
quite clear, and that you may no more say, I don't understand,'
I will show how the change might be effected. If Homer had said,
`The priest came, having his daughter's ransom in his hands,
supplicating the Achaeans, and above all the kings;' and then if,
instead of speaking in the person of Chryses, he had continued
in his own person, the words would have been, not imitation,
but simple narration. The passage would have run as follows
(I am no poet, and therefore I drop the metre), `The priest came
and prayed the gods on behalf of the Greeks that they might capture
Troy and return safely home, but begged that they would give him back
his daughter, and take the ransom which he brought, and respect the God.
Thus he spoke, and the other Greeks revered the priest and assented.
But Agamemnon was wroth, and bade him depart and not come again,
lest the staff and chaplets of the God should be of no avail to him--
the daughter of Chryses should not be released, he said--
she should grow old with him in Argos. And then he told him to go
away and not to provoke him, if he intended to get home unscathed.
And the old man went away in fear and silence, and, when he
had left the camp, he called upon Apollo by his many names,
reminding him of everything which he had done pleasing to him,
whether in building his temples, or in offering sacrifice, and praying
that his good deeds might be returned to him, and that the Achaeans
might expiate his tears by the arrows of the god,'--and so on.
In this way the whole becomes simple narrative.

I understand, he said.

Or you may suppose the opposite case--that the intermediate passages
are omitted, and the dialogue only left.

That also, he said, I understand; you mean, for example, as in tragedy.

You have conceived my meaning perfectly; and if I mistake not,
what you failed to apprehend before is now made clear to you,
that poetry and mythology are, in some cases, wholly imitative--
instances of this are supplied by tragedy and comedy; there is
likewise the opposite style, in which the my poet is the only speaker--
of this the dithyramb affords the best example; and the combination
of both is found in epic, and in several other styles of poetry. Do I
take you with me?

Yes, he said; I see now what you meant.

I will ask you to remember also what I began by saying, that we
had done with the subject and might proceed to the style.

Yes, I remember.

In saying this, I intended to imply that we must come to an
understanding about the mimetic art,--whether the poets, in narrating
their stories, are to be allowed by us to imitate, and if so,
whether in whole or in part, and if the latter, in what parts;
or should all imitation be prohibited?

You mean, I suspect, to ask whether tragedy and comedy shall
be admitted into our State?

Yes, I said; but there may be more than this in question:
I really do not know as yet, but whither the argument may blow,
thither we go.

And go we will, he said.

Then, Adeimantus, let me ask you whether our guardians ought to be imitators;
or rather, has not this question been decided by the rule already
laid down that one man can only do one thing well, and not many;
and that if he attempt many, he will altogether fall of gaining
much reputation in any?


And this is equally true of imitation; no one man can imitate
many things as well as he would imitate a single one?

He cannot.

Then the same person will hardly be able to play a serious part in life,
and at the same time to be an imitator and imitate many other parts
as well; for even when two species of imitation are nearly allied,
the same persons cannot succeed in both, as, for example, the writers
of tragedy and comedy--did you not just now call them imitations?

Yes, I did; and you are right in thinking that the same persons
cannot succeed in both.

Any more than they can be rhapsodists and actors at once?


Neither are comic and tragic actors the same; yet all these things
are but imitations.

They are so.

And human nature, Adeimantus, appears to have been coined into yet
smaller pieces, and to be as incapable of imitating many things well,
as of performing well the actions of which the imitations are copies.

Quite true, he replied.

If then we adhere to our original notion and bear in mind that
our guardians, setting aside every other business, are to dedicate
themselves wholly to the maintenance of freedom in the State,
making this their craft, and engaging in no work which does not bear
on this end, they ought not to practise or imitate anything else;
if they imitate at all, they should imitate from youth upward
only those characters which are suitable to their profession--
the courageous, temperate, holy, free, and the like; but they should not
depict or be skilful at imitating any kind of illiberality or baseness,
lest from imitation they should come to be what they imitate.
Did you never observe how imitations, beginning in early youth
and continuing far into life, at length grow into habits and become a
second nature, affecting body, voice, and mind?

Yes, certainly, he said.

Then, I said, we will not allow those for whom we profess a care
and of whom we say that they ought to be good men, to imitate
a woman, whether young or old, quarrelling with her husband,
or striving and vaunting against the gods in conceit of her happiness,
or when she is in affliction, or sorrow, or weeping; and certainly
not one who is in sickness, love, or labour.

Very right, he said.

Neither must they represent slaves, male or female,
performing the offices of slaves?

They must not.

And surely not bad men, whether cowards or any others, who do
the reverse of what we have just been prescribing, who scold or mock
or revile one another in drink or out of in drink or, or who in any
other manner sin against themselves and their neighbours in word
or deed, as the manner of such is. Neither should they be trained
to imitate the action or speech of men or women who are mad or bad;
for madness, like vice, is to be known but not to be practised
or imitated.

Very true, he replied.

Neither may they imitate smiths or other artificers, or oarsmen,
or boatswains, or the like?

How can they, he said, when they are not allowed to apply their
minds to the callings of any of these?

Nor may they imitate the neighing of horses, the bellowing of bulls,
the murmur of rivers and roll of the ocean, thunder, and all that sort
of thing?

Nay, he said, if madness be forbidden, neither may they copy
the behaviour of madmen.

You mean, I said, if I understand you aright, that there is one
sort of narrative style which may be employed by a truly good man
when he has anything to say, and that another sort will be used
by a man of an opposite character and education.

And which are these two sorts? he asked.

Suppose, I answered, that a just and good man in the course of a
narration comes on some saying or action of another good man,--
I should imagine that he will like to personate him, and will not be
ashamed of this sort of imitation: he will be most ready to play
the part of the good man when he is acting firmly and wisely;
in a less degree when he is overtaken by illness or love or drink,
or has met with any other disaster. But when he comes to a character
which is unworthy of him, he will not make a study of that;
he will disdain such a person, and will assume his likeness,
if at all, for a moment only when he is performing some good action;
at other times he will be ashamed to play a part which he has
never practised, nor will he like to fashion and frame himself
after the baser models; he feels the employment of such an art,
unless in jest, to be beneath him, and his mind revolts
at it.

So I should expect, he replied.

Then he will adopt a mode of narration such as we have illustrated
out of Homer, that is to say, his style will be both imitative
and narrative; but there will be very little of the former,
and a great deal of the latter. Do you agree?

Certainly, he said; that is the model which such a speaker must
necessarily take.

But there is another sort of character who will narrate anything,
and, the worse lie is, the more unscrupulous he will be; nothing will
be too bad for him: and he will be ready to imitate anything,
not as a joke, but in right good earnest, and before a large company.
As I was just now saying, he will attempt to represent the roll
of thunder, the noise of wind and hall, or the creaking of wheels,
and pulleys, and the various sounds of flutes; pipes, trumpets, and all
sorts of instruments: he will bark like a dog, bleat like a sheep,
or crow like a cock; his entire art will consist in imitation of voice
and gesture, and there will be very little narration.

That, he said, will be his mode of speaking.

These, then, are the two kinds of style?


And you would agree with me in saying that one of them is simple
and has but slight changes; and if the harmony and rhythm are
also chosen for their simplicity, the result is that the speaker,
if hc speaks correctly, is always pretty much the same in style,
and he will keep within the limits of a single harmony (for the changes
are not great), and in like manner he will make use of nearly
the same rhythm?

That is quite true, he said.

Whereas the other requires all sorts of harmonies and all sorts
of rhythms, if the music and the style are to correspond,
because the style has all sorts of changes.

That is also perfectly true, he replied.

And do not the two styles, or the mixture of the two,
comprehend all poetry, and every form of expression in words?
No one can say anything except in one or other of them or in both together.

They include all, he said.

And shall we receive into our State all the three styles, or one
only of the two unmixed styles? or would you include the mixed?

I should prefer only to admit the pure imitator of virtue.

Yes, I said, Adeimantus, but the mixed style is also very charming:
and indeed the pantomimic, which is the opposite of the one chosen
by you, is the most popular style with children and their attendants,
and with the world in general.

I do not deny it.

But I suppose you would argue that such a style is unsuitable
to our State, in which human nature is not twofold or manifold,
for one man plays one part only?

Yes; quite unsuitable.

And this is the reason why in our State, and in our State only,
we shall find a shoemaker to be a shoemaker and not a pilot also,
and a husbandman to be a husbandman and not a dicast also, and a soldier
a soldier and not a trader also, and the same throughout?

True, he said.

And therefore when any one of these pantomimic gentlemen,
who are so clever that they can imitate anything, comes to us,
and makes a proposal to exhibit himself and his poetry, we will
fall down and worship him as a sweet and holy and wonderful being;
but we must also inform him that in our State such as he
are not permitted to exist; the law will not allow them.
And so when we have anointed him with myrrh, and set a garland
of wool upon his head, we shall send him away to another city.
For we mean to employ for our souls' health the rougher and severer
poet or story-teller, who will imitate the style of the virtuous only,
and will follow those models which we prescribed at first when we
began the education of our soldiers.

We certainly will, he said, if we have the power.

Then now, my friend, I said, that part of music or literary education
which relates to the story or myth may be considered to be finished;
for the matter and manner have both been discussed.

I think so too, he said.

Next in order will follow melody and song.

That is obvious.

Every one can see already what we ought to say about them, if we
are to be consistent with ourselves.


I fear, said Glaucon, laughing, that the words `every one'
hardly includes me, for I cannot at the moment say what they should be;
though I may guess.

At any rate you can tell that a song or ode has three parts--
the words, the melody, and the rhythm; that degree of knowledge I
may presuppose?

Yes, he said; so much as that you may.

And as for the words, there surely be no difference words between
words which are and which are not set to music; both will conform
to the same laws, and these have been already determined by us?


And the melody and rhythm will depend upon the words?


We were saying, when we spoke of the subject-matter, that we
had no need of lamentations and strains of sorrow?


And which are the harmonies expressive of sorrow? You are musical,
and can tell me.

The harmonies which you mean are the mixed or tenor Lydian,
and the full-toned or bass Lydian, and such like.

These then, I said, must be banished; even to women who have a character
to maintain they are of no use, and much less to men. Certainly.

In the next place, drunkenness and softness and indolence are
utterly unbecoming the character of our guardians.

Utterly unbecoming.

And which are the soft or drinking harmonies?

The Ionian, he replied, and the Lydian; they are termed `relaxed.'

Well, and are these of any military use?

Quite the reverse, he replied; and if so the Dorian and the Phrygian
are the only ones which you have left.

I answered: Of the harmonies I know nothing, but I want to have
one warlike, to sound the note or accent which a brave man utters
in the hour of danger and stern resolve, or when his cause is failing,
and he is going to wounds or death or is overtaken by some other evil,
and at every such crisis meets the blows of fortune with firm step
and a determination to endure; and another to be used by him in times
of peace and freedom of action, when there is no pressure of necessity,
and he is seeking to persuade God by prayer, or man by instruction
and admonition, or on the other hand, when he is expressing his
willingness to yield to persuasion or entreaty or admonition,
and which represents him when by prudent conduct he has attained
his end, not carried away by his success, but acting moderately
and wisely under the circumstances, and acquiescing in the event.
These two harmonies I ask you to leave; the strain of necessity and
the strain of freedom, the strain of the unfortunate and the strain
of the fortunate, the strain of courage, and the strain of temperance;
these, I say, leave.

And these, he replied, are the Dorian and Phrygian harmonies
of which I was just now speaking.

Then, I said, if these and these only are to be used in our songs
and melodies, we shall not want multiplicity of notes or a panharmonic scale?

I suppose not.

Then we shall not maintain the artificers of lyres with three corners
and complex scales, or the makers of any other many-stringed
curiously-harmonised instruments?

Certainly not.

But what do you say to flute-makers and flute-players? Would you admit
them into our State when you reflect that in this composite use of harmony
the flute is worse than all the stringed instruments put together;
even the panharmonic music is only an imitation of the flute?

Clearly not.

There remain then only the lyre and the harp for use in the city,
and the shepherds may have a pipe in the country.

That is surely the conclusion to be drawn from the argument.

The preferring of Apollo and his instruments to Marsyas and his
instruments is not at all strange, I said.

Not at all, he replied.

And so, by the dog of Egypt, we have been unconsciously purging
the State, which not long ago we termed luxurious.

And we have done wisely, he replied.

Then let us now finish the purgation, I said. Next in order
to harmonies, rhythms will naturally follow, and they should be
subject to the same rules, for we ought not to seek out complex
systems of metre, or metres of every kind, but rather to discover
what rhythms are the expressions of a courageous and harmonious life;
and when we have found them, we shall adapt the foot and the melody
to words having a like spirit, not the words to the foot and melody.
To say what these rhythms are will be your duty--you must teach me them,
as you have already taught me the harmonies.

But, indeed, he replied, I cannot tell you. I only know that there
are some three principles of rhythm out of which metrical systems
are framed, just as in sounds there are four notes out of which all
the harmonies are composed; that is an observation which I have made.
But of what sort of lives they are severally the imitations I am
unable to say.

Then, I said, we must take Damon into our counsels; and he will tell
us what rhythms are expressive of meanness, or insolence, or fury,
or other unworthiness, and what are to be reserved for the expression
of opposite feelings. And I think that I have an indistinct recollection
of his mentioning a complex Cretic rhythm; also a dactylic or heroic,
and he arranged them in some manner which I do not quite understand,
making the rhythms equal in the rise and fall of the foot,
long and short alternating; and, unless I am mistaken, he spoke
of an iambic as well as of a trochaic rhythm, and assigned to them
short and long quantities. Also in some cases he appeared to praise
or censure the movement of the foot quite as much as the rhythm;
or perhaps a combination of the two; for I am not certain what he meant.
These matters, however, as I was saying, had better be referred
to Damon himself, for the analysis of the subject would be difficult,
you know.

Rather so, I should say.

But there is no difficulty in seeing that grace or the absence
of grace is an effect of good or bad rhythm.

None at all.

And also that good and bad rhythm naturally assimilate to a good and
bad style; and that harmony and discord in like manner follow style;
for our principle is that rhythm and harmony are regulated by the words,
and not the words by them.

Just so, he said, they should follow the words.

And will not the words and the character of the style depend
on the temper of the soul?


And everything else on the style?


Then beauty of style and harmony and grace and good rhythm depend
on simplicity,--I mean the true simplicity of a rightly and nobly
ordered mind and character, not that other simplicity which is
only an euphemism for folly?

Very true, he replied.

And if our youth are to do their work in life, must they not make
these graces and harmonies their perpetual aim?

They must.

And surely the art of the painter and every other creative and
constructive art are full of them,--weaving, embroidery, architecture,
and every kind of manufacture; also nature, animal and vegetable,--
in all of them there is grace or the absence of grace.
And ugliness and discord and inharmonious motion are nearly allied
to ill words and ill nature, as grace and harmony are the twin
sisters of goodness and virtue and bear their likeness.

That is quite true, he said.

But shall our superintendence go no further, and are the poets only
to be required by us to express the image of the good in their works,
on pain, if they do anything else, of expulsion from our State?
Or is the same control to be extended to other artists, and are
they also to be prohibited from exhibiting the opposite forms
of vice and intemperance and meanness and indecency in sculpture
and building and the other creative arts; and is he who cannot
conform to this rule of ours to be prevented from practising his art
in our State, lest the taste of our citizens be corrupted by him?
We would not have our guardians grow up amid images of moral deformity,
as in some noxious pasture, and there browse and feed upon many
a baneful herb and flower day by day, little by little, until they
silently gather a festering mass of corruption in their own soul.
Let our artists rather be those who are gifted to discern the true
nature of the beautiful and graceful; then will our youth dwell
in a land of health, amid fair sights and sounds, and receive the good
in everything; and beauty, the effluence of fair works, shall flow
into the eye and ear, like a health-giving breeze from a purer region,
and insensibly draw the soul from earliest years into likeness and
sympathy with the beauty of reason.

There can be no nobler training than that, he replied.

And therefore, I said, Glaucon, musical training is a more potent
instrument than any other, because rhythm and harmony find their way
into the inward places of the soul, on which they mightily fasten,
imparting grace, and making the soul of him who is rightly
educated graceful, or of him who is ill-educated ungraceful;
and also because he who has received this true education of the inner
being will most shrewdly perceive omissions or faults in art
and nature, and with a true taste, while he praises and rejoices
over and receives into his soul the good, and becomes noble and good,
he will justly blame and hate the bad, now in the days of his youth,
even before he is able to know the reason why; and when reason comes
he will recognise and salute the friend with whom his education has
made him long familiar.

Yes, he said, I quite agree with you in thinking that our youth
should be trained in music and on the grounds which you mention.

Just as in learning to read, I said, we were satisfied when we knew
the letters of the alphabet, which are very few, in all their recurring
sizes and combinations; not slighting them as unimportant whether they
occupy a space large or small, but everywhere eager to make them out;
and not thinking ourselves perfect in the art of reading until we
recognise them wherever they are found:


Or, as we recognise the reflection of letters in the water,
or in a mirror, only when we know the letters themselves;
the same art and study giving us the knowledge of both:


Even so, as I maintain, neither we nor our guardians, whom we have to educate,
can ever become musical until we and they know the essential forms,
in all their combinations, and can recognise them and their images
wherever they are found, not slighting them either in small things
or great, but believing them all to be within the sphere of one art and study.

Most assuredly.

And when a beautiful soul harmonises with a beautiful form,
and the two are cast in one mould, that will be the fairest of sights
to him who has an eye to see it?

The fairest indeed.

And the fairest is also the loveliest?

That may be assumed.

And the man who has the spirit of harmony will be most in love with
the loveliest; but he will not love him who is of an inharmonious soul?

That is true, he replied, if the deficiency be in his soul;
but if there be any merely bodily defect in another he will be patient
of it, and will love all the same.

I perceive, I said, that you have or have had experiences of
this sort, and I agree. But let me ask you another question:
Has excess of pleasure any affinity to temperance?

How can that be? he replied; pleasure deprives a man of the use
of his faculties quite as much as pain.

Or any affinity to virtue in general?

None whatever.

Any affinity to wantonness and intemperance?

Yes, the greatest.

And is there any greater or keener pleasure than that of sensual love?

No, nor a madder.

Whereas true love is a love of beauty and order--temperate and harmonious?

Quite true, he said.

Then no intemperance or madness should be allowed to approach
true love?

Certainly not.

Then mad or intemperate pleasure must never be allowed to come
near the lover and his beloved; neither of them can have any part
in it if their love is of the right sort?

No, indeed, Socrates, it must never come near them.

Then I suppose that in the city which we are founding you would make
a law to the effect that a friend should use no other familiarity
to his love than a father would use to his son, and then only
for a noble purpose, and he must first have the other's consent;
and this rule is to limit him in all his intercourse, and he is never
to be seen going further, or, if he exceeds, he is to be deemed
guilty of coarseness and bad taste.

I quite agree, he said.

Thus much of music, which makes a fair ending; for what should
be the end of music if not the love of beauty?

I agree, he said.

After music comes gymnastic, in which our youth are next to be trained.


Gymnastic as well as music should begin in early years; the training
in it should be careful and should continue through life.
Now my belief is,--and this is a matter upon which I should like to
have your opinion in confirmation of my own, but my own belief is,--
not that the good body by any bodily excellence improves the soul,
but, on the contrary, that the good soul, by her own excellence,
improves the body as far as this may be possible. What do you say?

Yes, I agree.

Then, to the mind when adequately trained, we shall be right in handing
over the more particular care of the body; and in order to avoid
prolixity we will now only give the general outlines of the subject.

Very good.

That they must abstain from intoxication has been already remarked by us;
for of all persons a guardian should be the last to get drunk
and not know where in the world he is.

Yes, he said; that a guardian should require another guardian
to take care of him is ridiculous indeed.

But next, what shall we say of their food; for the men
are in training for the great contest of all--are they not?

Yes, he said.

And will the habit of body of our ordinary athletes be suited
to them?

Why not?

I am afraid, I said, that a habit of body such as they have is
but a sleepy sort of thing, and rather perilous to health.
Do you not observe that these athletes sleep away their lives,
and are liable to most dangerous illnesses if they depart, in ever
so slight a degree, from their customary regimen?

Yes, I do.

Then, I said, a finer sort of training will be required for our
warrior athletes, who are to be like wakeful dogs, and to see and hear
with the utmost keenness; amid the many changes of water and also of food,
of summer heat and winter cold, which they will have to endure
when on a campaign, they must not be liable to break down in health.

That is my view.

The really excellent gymnastic is twin sister of that simple music
which we were just now describing.

How so?

Why, I conceive that there is a gymnastic which, like our music,
is simple and good; and especially the military gymnastic.

What do you mean?

My meaning may be learned from Homer; he, you know, feeds his heroes
at their feasts, when they are campaigning, on soldiers' fare; they have
no fish, although they are on the shores of the Hellespont, and they
are not allowed boiled meats but only roast, which is the food
most convenient for soldiers, requiring only that they should light
a fire, and not involving the trouble of carrying about pots and pans.


And I can hardly be mistaken in saying that sweet sauces are nowhere
mentioned in Homer. In proscribing them, however, he is not singular;
all professional athletes are well aware that a man who is to be
in good condition should take nothing of the kind.

Yes, he said; and knowing this, they are quite right in not taking them.

Then you would not approve of Syracusan dinners, and the refinements
of Sicilian cookery?

I think not.

Nor, if a man is to be in condition, would you allow him to have
a Corinthian girl as his fair friend?

Certainly not.

Neither would you approve of the delicacies, as they are thought,
of Athenian confectionery?

Certainly not.

All such feeding and living may be rightly compared by us to melody
and song composed in the panharmonic style, and in all the rhythms. Exactly.

There complexity engendered license, and here disease;
whereas simplicity in music was the parent of temperance in the soul;
and simplicity in gymnastic of health in the body.

Most true, he said.

But when intemperance and disease multiply in a State, halls of justice
and medicine are always being opened; and the arts of the doctor
and the lawyer give themselves airs, finding how keen is the interest
which not only the slaves but the freemen of a city take about them.

Of course.

And yet what greater proof can there be of a bad and disgraceful
state of education than this, that not only artisans and the meaner
sort of people need the skill of first-rate physicians and judges,
but also those who would profess to have had a liberal education?
Is it not disgraceful, and a great sign of want of good-breeding,
that a man should have to go abroad for his law and physic because
he has none of his own at home, and must therefore surrender
himself into the hands of other men whom he makes lords and judges
over him?

Of all things, he said, the most disgraceful.

Would you say `most,' I replied, when you consider that there is a further
stage of the evil in which a man is not only a life-long litigant,
passing all his days in the courts, either as plaintiff or defendant,
but is actually led by his bad taste to pride himself on
his litigiousness; he imagines that he is a master in dishonesty;
able to take every crooked turn, and wriggle into and out of every hole,
bending like a withy and getting out of the way of justice:
and all for what?--in order to gain small points not worth mentioning,
he not knowing that so to order his life as to be able to do
without a napping judge is a far higher and nobler sort of thing.
Is not that still more disgraceful?

Yes, he said, that is still more disgraceful.

Well, I said, and to require the help of medicine, not when a wound
has to be cured, or on occasion of an epidemic, but just because,
by indolence and a habit of life such as we have been describing,
men fill themselves with waters and winds, as if their bodies
were a marsh, compelling the ingenious sons of Asclepius to find
more names for diseases, such as flatulence and catarrh;
is not this, too, a disgrace?

Yes, he said, they do certainly give very strange and newfangled
names to diseases.

Yes, I said, and I do not believe that there were any such diseases
in the days of Asclepius; and this I infer from the circumstance
that the hero Eurypylus, after he has been wounded in Homer,
drinks a posset of Pramnian wine well besprinkled with barley-meal
and grated cheese, which are certainly inflammatory, and yet the sons
of Asclepius who were at the Trojan war do not blame the damsel
who gives him the drink, or rebuke Patroclus, who is treating
his case.

Well, he said, that was surely an extraordinary drink to be given
to a person in his condition.

Not so extraordinary, I replied, if you bear in mind that in
former days, as is commonly said, before the time of Herodicus,
the guild of Asclepius did not practise our present system of medicine,
which may be said to educate diseases. But Herodicus, being a trainer,
and himself of a sickly constitution, by a combination of training
and doctoring found out a way of torturing first and chiefly himself,
and secondly the rest of the world.

How was that? he said.

By the invention of lingering death; for he had a mortal disease
which he perpetually tended, and as recovery was out of the question,
he passed his entire life as a valetudinarian; he could do nothing
but attend upon himself, and he was in constant torment whenever
he departed in anything from his usual regimen, and so dying hard,
by the help of science he struggled on to old age.

A rare reward of his skill!

Yes, I said; a reward which a man might fairly expect who never
understood that, if Asclepius did not instruct his descendants in
valetudinarian arts, the omission arose, not from ignorance or inexperience
of such a branch of medicine, but because he knew that in all well-ordered
states every individual has an occupation to which he must attend,
and has therefore no leisure to spend in continually being ill.
This we remark in the case of the artisan, but, ludicrously enough,
do not apply the same rule to people of the richer sort.

How do you mean? he said.

I mean this: When a carpenter is ill he asks the physician for a rough
and ready cure; an emetic or a purge or a cautery or the knife,--
these are his remedies. And if some one prescribes for him a course
of dietetics, and tells him that he must swathe and swaddle his head,
and all that sort of thing, he replies at once that he has no time
to be ill, and that he sees no good in a life which is spent
in nursing his disease to the neglect of his customary employment;
and therefore bidding good-bye to this sort of physician, he resumes
his ordinary habits, and either gets well and lives and does
his business, or, if his constitution falls, he dies and has no
more trouble.

Yes, he said, and a man in his condition of life ought to use
the art of medicine thus far only.

Has he not, I said, an occupation; and what profit would there
be in his life if he were deprived of his occupation?

Quite true, he said.

But with the rich man this is otherwise; of him we do not say
that he has any specially appointed work which he must perform,
if he would live.

He is generally supposed to have nothing to do.

Then you never heard of the saying of Phocylides, that as soon
as a man has a livelihood he should practise virtue?

Nay, he said, I think that he had better begin somewhat sooner.

Let us not have a dispute with him about this, I said; but rather
ask ourselves: Is the practice of virtue obligatory on the rich man,
or can he live without it? And if obligatory on him, then let us raise
a further question, whether this dieting of disorders which is an impediment
to the application of the mind t in carpentering and the mechanical
arts, does not equally stand in the way of the sentiment of Phocylides?

Of that, he replied, there can be no doubt; such excessive
care of the body, when carried beyond the rules of gymnastic,
is most inimical to the practice of virtue.

Yes, indeed, I replied, and equally incompatible with the management
of a house, an army, or an office of state; and, what is
most important of all, irreconcilable with any kind of study
or thought or self-reflection--there is a constant suspicion
that headache and giddiness are to be ascribed to philosophy,
and hence all practising or making trial of virtue in the higher
sense is absolutely stopped; for a man is always fancying that
he is being made ill, and is in constant anxiety about the state of his body.

Yes, likely enough.

And therefore our politic Asclepius may be supposed to have
exhibited the power of his art only to persons who, being generally
of healthy constitution and habits of life, had a definite ailment;
such as these he cured by purges and operations, and bade them
live as usual, herein consulting the interests of the State;
but bodies which disease had penetrated through and through he
would not have attempted to cure by gradual processes of evacuation
and infusion: he did not want to lengthen out good-for-nothing lives,
or to have weak fathers begetting weaker sons;--if a man was not
able to live in the ordinary way he had no business to cure him;
for such a cure would have been of no use either to himself, or to
the State.

Then, he said, you regard Asclepius as a statesman.

Clearly; and his character is further illustrated by his sons.
Note that they were heroes in the days of old and practised the medicines
of which I am speaking at the siege of Troy: You will remember how,
when Pandarus wounded Menelaus, they

Sucked the blood out of the wound, and sprinkled soothing remedies,

but they never prescribed what the patient was afterwards to eat or
drink in the case of Menelaus, any more than in the case of Eurypylus;
the remedies, as they conceived, were enough to heal any man
who before he was wounded was healthy and regular in habits;
and even though he did happen to drink a posset of Pramnian wine,
he might get well all the same. But they would have nothing to do
with unhealthy and intemperate subjects, whose lives were of no use
either to themselves or others; the art of medicine was not designed
for their good, and though they were as rich as Midas, the sons
of Asclepius would have declined to attend them.

They were very acute persons, those sons of Asclepius.

Naturally so, I replied. Nevertheless, the tragedians and Pindar
disobeying our behests, although they acknowledge that Asclepius
was the son of Apollo, say also that he was bribed into healing
a rich man who was at the point of death, and for this reason he
was struck by lightning. But we, in accordance with the principle
already affirmed by us, will not believe them when they tell us both;--
if he was the son of a god, we maintain that hd was not avaricious;
or, if he was avaricious he was not the son of a god.

All that, Socrates, is excellent; but I should like to put a
question to you: Ought there not to be good physicians in a State,
and are not the best those who have treated the greatest number
of constitutions good and bad? and are not the best judges
in like manner those who are acquainted with all sorts of moral natures?

Yes, I said, I too would have good judges and good physicians.
But do you know whom I think good?

Will you tell me?

I will, if I can. Let me however note that in the same question
you join two things which are not the same.

How so? he asked.

Why, I said, you join physicians and judges. Now the most skilful
physicians are those who, from their youth upwards, have combined
with the knowledge of their art the greatest experience of disease;
they had better not be robust in health, and should have had
all manner of diseases in their own persons. For the body,
as I conceive, is not the instrument with which they cure the body;
in that case we could not allow them ever to be or to have been sickly;
but they cure the body with the mind, and the mind which has become and
is sick can cure nothing.

That is very true, he said.

But with the judge it is otherwise; since he governs mind by mind;
he ought not therefore to have been trained among vicious minds,
and to have associated with them from youth upwards, and to have
gone through the whole calendar of crime, only in order that he
may quickly infer the crimes of others as he might their bodily
diseases from his own self-consciousness; the honourable mind
which is to form a healthy judgment should have had no experience
or contamination of evil habits when young. And this is the reason
why in youth good men often appear to be simple, and are easily
practised upon by the dishonest, because they have no examples
of what evil is in their own souls.

Yes, he said, they are far too apt to be deceived.

Therefore, I said, the judge should not be young; he should
have learned to know evil, not from his own soul, but from
late and long observation of the nature of evil in others:
knowledge should be his guide, not personal experience.

Yes, he said, that is the ideal of a judge.

Yes, I replied, and he will be a good man (which is my answer to
your question); for he is good who has a good soul. But the cunning
and suspicious nature of which we spoke,--he who has committed
many crimes, and fancies himself to be a master in wickedness,
when he is amongst his fellows, is wonderful in the precautions
which he takes, because he judges of them by himself: but when he gets
into the company of men of virtue, who have the experience of age,
he appears to be a fool again, owing to his unseasonable suspicions;
he cannot recognise an honest man, because he has no pattern of
honesty in himself; at the same time, as the bad are more numerous
than the good, and he meets with them oftener, he thinks himself,
and is by others thought to be, rather wise than foolish.

Most true, he said.

Then the good and wise judge whom we are seeking is not this man,
but the other; for vice cannot know virtue too, but a virtuous nature,
educated by time, will acquire a knowledge both of virtue and vice:
the virtuous, and not the vicious, man has wisdom--in my opinion.

And in mine also.

This is the sort of medicine, and this is the sort of law, which you
sanction in your State. They will minister to better natures,
giving health both of soul and of body; but those who are diseased
in their bodies they will leave to die, and the corrupt and incurable
souls they will put an end to themselves.

That is clearly the best thing both for the patients and for the State.

And thus our youth, having been educated only in that simple music which,
as we said, inspires temperance, will be reluctant to go to law.


And the musician, who, keeping to the same track,
is content to practise the simple gymnastic,
will have nothing to do with medicine unless in some extreme case.

That I quite believe.

The very exercises and tolls which he undergoes are intended to
stimulate the spirited element of his nature, and not to increase
his strength; he will not, like common athletes, use exercise
and regimen to develop his muscles.

Very right, he said.

Neither are the two arts of music and gymnastic really designed,
as is often supposed, the one for the training of the soul,
the other fir the training of the body.

What then is the real object of them?

I believe, I said, that the teachers of both have in view chiefly
the improvement of the soul.

How can that be? he asked.

Did you never observe, I said, the effect on the mind itself
of exclusive devotion to gymnastic, or the opposite effect
of an exclusive devotion to music?

In what way shown? he said.

The one producing a temper of hardness and ferocity, the other
of softness and effeminacy, I replied.

Yes, he said, I am quite aware that the mere athlete becomes too
much of a savage, and that the mere musician is melted and softened
beyond what is good for him.

Yet surely, I said, this ferocity only comes from spirit, which,
if rightly educated, would give courage, but, if too much intensified,
is liable to become hard and brutal.

That I quite think.

On the other hand the philosopher will have the quality of gentleness.
And this also, when too much indulged, will turn to softness, but,
if educated rightly, will be gentle and moderate.


And in our opinion the guardians ought to have both these qualities?


And both should be in harmony?

Beyond question.

And the harmonious soul is both temperate and courageous?


And the inharmonious is cowardly and boorish?

Very true.

And, when a man allows music to play upon him and to pour
into his soul through the funnel of his ears those sweet and
soft and melancholy airs of which we were just now speaking,
and his whole life is passed in warbling and the delights of song;
in the first stage of the process the passion or spirit which is
in him is tempered like iron, and made useful, instead of brittle
and useless. But, if he carries on the softening and soothing process,
in the next stage he begins to melt and waste, until he has
wasted away his spirit and cut out the sinews of his soul;
and he becomes a feeble warrior.

Very true.

If the element of spirit is naturally weak in him the change is
speedily accomplished, but if he have a good deal, then the power
of music weakening the spirit renders him excitable;--on the least
provocation he flames up at once, and is speedily extinguished;
instead of having spirit he grows irritable and passionate and is
quite impracticable.


And so in gymnastics, if a man takes violent exercise and is
a great feeder, and the reverse of a great student of music
and philosophy, at first the high condition of his body fills
him with pride and spirit, and lie becomes twice the man that he was.


And what happens? if he do nothing else, and holds no con-a verse
with the Muses, does not even that intelligence which there may be
in him, having no taste of any sort of learning or enquiry or thought
or culture, grow feeble and dull and blind, his mind never waking up
or receiving nourishment, and his senses not being purged of their mists?

True, he said.

And he ends by becoming a hater of philosophy, uncivilized,
never using the weapon of persuasion,--he is like a wild beast,
all violence and fierceness, and knows no other way of dealing;
and he lives in all ignorance and evil conditions, and has no sense
of propriety and grace.

That is quite true, he said.

And as there are two principles of human nature, one the spirited
and the other the philosophical, some God, as I should say,
has given mankind two arts answering to them (and only indirectly
to the soul and body), in order that these two principles
(like the strings of an instrument) may be relaxed or drawn tighter
until they are duly harmonised.

That appears to be the intention.

And he who mingles music with gymnastic in the fairest proportions,
and best attempers them to the soul, may be rightly called the true
musician and harmonist in a far higher sense than the tuner
of the strings.

You are quite right, Socrates.

And such a presiding genius will be always required in our State
if the government is to last.

Yes, he will be absolutely necessary.

Such, then, are our principles of nurture and education:
Where would be the use of going into further details about the dances
of our citizens, or about their hunting and coursing, their gymnastic
and equestrian contests? For these all follow the general principle,
and having found that, we shall have no difficulty in discovering them.

I dare say that there will be no difficulty.

Very good, I said; then what is the next question? Must we not ask
who are to be rulers and who subjects?


There can be no doubt that the elder must rule the younger.


And that the best of these must rule.

That is also clear.

Now, are not the best husbandmen those who are most devoted
to husbandry?


And as we are to have the best of guardians for our city, must they
not be those who have most the character of guardians?


And to this end they ought to be wise and efficient, and to have
a special care of the State?


And a man will be most likely to care about that which he loves?

To be sure.

And he will be most likely to love that which he regards as having
the same interests with himself, and that of which the good or evil
fortune is supposed by him at any time most to affect his own?

Very true, he replied.

Then there must be a selection. Let us note among the guardians
those who in their whole life show the greatest eagerness to do
what is for the good of their country, and the greatest repugnance
to do what is against her interests.

Those are the right men.

And they will have to be watched at every age, in order that we
may see whether they preserve their resolution, and never,
under the influence either of force or enchantment, forget or cast
off their sense of duty to the State.

How cast off? he said.

I will explain to you, I replied. A resolution may go out
of a man's mind either with his will or against his will;
with his will when he gets rid of a falsehood and learns better,
against his will whenever he is deprived of a truth.

I understand, he said, the willing loss of a resolution;
the meaning of the unwilling I have yet to learn.

Why, I said, do you not see that men are unwillingly deprived of good,
and willingly of evil? Is not to have lost the truth an evil,
and to possess the truth a good? and you would agree that to conceive
things as they are is to possess the truth?

Yes, he replied; I agree with you in thinking that mankind are
deprived of truth against their will.

And is not this involuntary deprivation caused either by theft,
or force, or enchantment?

Still, he replied, I do not understand you.

I fear that I must have been talking darkly, like the tragedians.
I only mean that some men are changed by persuasion and that others forget;
argument steals away the hearts of one class, and time of the other;
and this I call theft. Now you understand me?


Those again who are forced are those whom the violence of some pain
or grief compels to change their opinion.

I understand, he said, and you are quite right.

And you would also acknowledge that the enchanted are those who
change their minds either under the softer influence of pleasure,
or the sterner influence of fear?

Yes, he said; everything that deceives may be said to enchant.

Therefore, as I was just now saying, we must enquire who are
the best guardians of their own conviction that what they think
the interest of the State is to be the rule of their lives.
We must watch them from their youth upwards, and make them perform
actions in which they are most likely to forget or to be deceived,
and he who remembers and is not deceived is to be selected,
and he who falls in the trial is to be rejected. That will be
the way?


And there should also be toils and pains and conflicts prescribed
for them, in which they will be made to give further proof
of the same qualities.

Very right, he replied.

And then, I said, we must try them with enchantments that is
the third sort of test--and see what will be their behaviour:
like those who take colts amid noise and tumult to see if they are
of a timid nature, so must we take our youth amid terrors of some kind,
and again pass them into pleasures, and prove them more thoroughly
than gold is proved in the furnace, that we may discover whether they
are armed against all enchantments, and of a noble bearing always,
good guardians of themselves and of the music which they have learned,
and retaining under all circumstances a rhythmical and harmonious nature,
such as will be most serviceable to the individual and to the State.
And he who at every age, as boy and youth and in mature life,
has come out of the trial victorious and pure, shall be appointed
a ruler and guardian of the State; he shall be honoured in life
and death, and shall receive sepulture and other memorials of honour,
the greatest that we have to give. But him who fails, we must reject.
I am inclined to think that this is the sort of way in which our rulers
and guardians should be chosen and appointed. I speak generally,
and not with any pretension to exactness.

And, speaking generally, I agree with you, he said.

And perhaps the word `guardian' in the fullest sense ought to be
applied to this higher class only who preserve us against foreign
enemies and maintain peace among our citizens at home, that the one
may not have the will, or the others the power, to harm us.
The young men whom we before called guardians may be more properly
designated auxiliaries and supporters of the principles of the rulers.

I agree with you, he said.

How then may we devise one of those needful falsehoods of which we
lately spoke--just one royal lie which may deceive the rulers,
if that be possible, and at any rate the rest of the city?

What sort of lie? he said.

Nothing new, I replied; only an old Phoenician tale of what has
often occurred before now in other places, (as the poets say,
and have made the world believe,) though not in our time,
and I do not know whether such an event could ever happen again,
or could now even be made probable, if it did.

How your words seem to hesitate on your lips!

You will not wonder, I replied, at my hesitation when you have heard.

Speak, he said, and fear not.

Well then, I will speak, although I really know not how to look
you in the face, or in what words to utter the audacious fiction,
which I propose to communicate gradually, first to the rulers,
then to the soldiers, and lastly to the people. They are to be
told that their youth was a dream, and the education and training
which they received from us, an appearance only; in reality during
all that time they were being formed and fed in the womb of the earth,
where they themselves and their arms and appurtenances were manufactured;
when they were completed, the earth, their mother, sent them up;
and so, their country being their mother and also their nurse,
they are bound to advise for her good, and to defend her against attacks,
and her citizens they are to regard as children of the earth and their
own brothers.

You had good reason, he said, to be ashamed of the lie which you
were going to tell.

True, I replied, but there is more coming; I have only told you half.
Citizens, we shall say to them in our tale, you are brothers,
yet God has framed you differently. Some of you have the power
of command, and in the composition of these he has mingled gold,
wherefore also they have the greatest honour; others he has
made of silver, to be auxillaries; others again who are to be
husbandmen and craftsmen he has composed of brass and iron;
and the species will generally be preserved in the children.
But as all are of the same original stock, a golden parent will
sometimes have a silver son, or a silver parent a golden son.
And God proclaims as a first principle to the rulers, and above all else,
that there is nothing which should so anxiously guard, or of which
they are to be such good guardians, as of the purity of the race.
They should observe what elements mingle in their off spring;
for if the son of a golden or silver parent has an admixture
of brass and iron, then nature orders a transposition of ranks,
and the eye of the ruler must not be pitiful towards the child
because he has to descend in the scale and become a husbandman
or artisan, just as there may be sons of artisans who having
an admixture of gold or silver in them are raised to honour,
and become guardians or auxiliaries. For an oracle says that when
a man of brass or iron guards the State, it will be destroyed.
Such is the tale; is there any possibility of making our citizens believe
in it?

Not in the present generation, he replied; there is no way of
accomplishing this; but their sons may be made to believe in the tale,
and their sons' sons, and posterity after them.

I see the difficulty, I replied; yet the fostering of such a belief
will make them care more for the city and for one another.
Enough, however, of the fiction, which may now fly abroad upon
the wings of rumour, while we arm our earth-born heroes, and lead
them forth under the command of their rulers. Let them look round
and select a spot whence they can best suppress insurrection,
if any prove refractory within, and also defend themselves
against enemies, who like wolves may come down on the fold
from without; there let them encamp, and when they have encamped,
let them sacrifice to the proper Gods and prepare their dwellings.

Just so, he said.

And their dwellings must be such as will shield them against the cold
of winter and the heat of summer.

I suppose that you mean houses, he replied.

Yes, I said; but they must be the houses of soldiers, and not
of shop-keepers.

What is the difference? he said.

That I will endeavour to explain, I replied. To keep watchdogs,
who, from want of discipline or hunger, or some evil habit,
or evil habit or other, would turn upon the sheep and worry them,
and behave not like dogs but wolves, would be a foul and monstrous
thing in a shepherd?

Truly monstrous, he said.

And therefore every care must be taken that our auxiliaries,
being stronger than our citizens, may not grow to be too much
for them and become savage tyrants instead of friends and allies?

Yes, great care should be taken.

And would not a really good education furnish the best safeguard?

But they are well-educated already, he replied.

I cannot be so confident, my dear Glaucon, I said; I am much certain
that they ought to be, and that true education, whatever that may be,
will have the greatest tendency to civilize and humanize them
in their relations to one another, and to those who are under
their protection.

Very true, he replied.

And not only their education, but their habitations, and all that
belongs to them, should be such as will neither impair their virtue
as guardians, nor tempt them to prey upon the other citizens.
Any man of sense must acknowledge that.

He must.

Then let us consider what will be their way of life, if they are
to realize our idea of them. In the first place, none of them should
have any property of his own beyond what is absolutely necessary;
neither should they have a private house or store closed against any one
who has a mind to enter; their provisions should be only such as are
required by trained warriors, who are men of temperance and courage;
they should agree to receive from the citizens a fixed rate of pay,
enough to meet the expenses of the year and no more; and they will go
and live together like soldiers in a camp. Gold and silver we will
tell them that they have from God; the diviner metal is within them,
and they have therefore no need of the dross which is current among men,
and ought not to pollute the divine by any such earthly admixture;
for that commoner metal has been the source of many unholy deeds,
but their own is undefiled. And they alone of all the citizens
may not touch or handle silver or gold, or be under the same roof
with them, or wear them, or drink from them. And this will be
their salvation, and they will be the saviours of the State.
But should they ever acquire homes or lands or moneys of their own,
they will become housekeepers and husbandmen instead of guardians,
enemies and tyrants instead of allies of the other citizens;
hating and being hated, plotting and being plotted against,
they will pass their whole life in much greater terror
of internal than of external enemies, and the hour of ruin,
both to themselves and to the rest of the State, will be at hand.
For all which reasons may we not say that thus shall our State
be ordered, and that these shall be the regulations appointed
by us for guardians concerning their houses and all other matters?

Yes, said Glaucon.



HERE Adeimantus interposed a question: How would you answer,
Socrates, said he, if a person were to say that you are making these
people miserable, and that they are the cause of their own unhappiness;
the city in fact belongs to them, but they are none the better for it;
whereas other men acquire lands, and build large and handsome houses,
and have everything handsome about them, offering sacrifices
to the gods on their own account, and practising hospitality;
moreover, as you were saying just now, they have gold and silver,
and all that is usual among the favourites of fortune; but our poor
citizens are no better than mercenaries who are quartered in the city
and are always mounting guard?

Yes, I said; and you may add that they are only fed, and not paid
in addition to their food, like other men; and therefore they cannot,
if they would, take a journey of pleasure; they have no money to spend
on a mistress or any other luxurious fancy, which, as the world goes,
is thought to be happiness; and many other accusations of the same
nature might be added.

But, said he, let us suppose all this to be included in the charge.

You mean to ask, I said, what will be our answer?


If we proceed along the old path, my belief, I said, is that we
shall find the answer. And our answer will be that, even as
they are, our guardians may very likely be the happiest of men;
but that our aim in founding the State was not the disproportionate
happiness of any one class, but the greatest happiness of the whole;
we thought that in a State which is ordered with a view to
the good of the whole we should be most likely to find Justice,
and in the ill-ordered State injustice: and, having found them,
we might then decide which of the two is the happier. At present,
I take it, we are fashioning the happy State, not piecemeal,
or with a view of making a few happy citizens, but as a whole;
and by-and-by we will proceed to view the opposite kind of State.
Suppose that we were painting a statue, and some one came up to us
and said, Why do you not put the most beautiful colours on the most
beautiful parts of the body--the eyes ought to be purple, but you
have made them black--to him we might fairly answer, Sir, you would
not surely have us beautify the eyes to such a degree that they
are no longer eyes; consider rather whether, by giving this and
the other features their due proportion, we make the whole beautiful.
And so I say to you, do not compel us to assign to the guardians
a sort of happiness which will make them anything but guardians;
for we too can clothe our husbandmen in royal apparel, and set
crowns of gold on their heads, and bid them till the ground as much
as they like, and no more. Our potters also might be allowed to repose
on couches, and feast by the fireside, passing round the winecup,
while their wheel is conveniently at hand, and working at pottery
only as much as they like; in this way we might make every class
happy-and then, as you imagine, the whole State would be happy.
But do not put this idea into our heads; for, if we listen to you,
the husbandman will be no longer a husbandman, the potter will cease
to be a potter, and no one will have the character of any distinct
class in the State. Now this is not of much consequence where
the corruption of society, and pretension to be what you are not,
is confined to cobblers; but when the guardians of the laws
and of the government are only seemingly and not real guardians,
then see how they turn the State upside down; and on the other hand
they alone have the power of giving order and happiness to the State.
We mean our guardians to be true saviours and not the destroyers of
the State, whereas our opponent is thinking of peasants at a festival,
who are enjoying a life of revelry, not of citizens who are doing
their duty to the State. But, if so, we mean different things,
and he is speaking of something which is not a State. And therefore
we must consider whether in appointing our guardians we would look
to their greatest happiness individually, or whether this principle
of happiness does not rather reside in the State as a whole.
But the latter be the truth, then the guardians and auxillaries,
and all others equally with them, must be compelled or induced
to do their own work in the best way. And thus the whole
State will grow up in a noble order, and the several classes
will receive the proportion of happiness which nature assigns to

I think that you are quite right.

I wonder whether you will agree with another remark which occurs
to me.

What may that be?

There seem to be two causes of the deterioration of the arts.

What are they?

Wealth, I said, and poverty.

How do they act?

The process is as follows: When a potter becomes rich, will he,
think you, any longer take the same pains with his art?

Certainly not.

He will grow more and more indolent and careless?

Very true.

And the result will be that he becomes a worse potter?

Yes; he greatly deteriorates.

But, on the other hand, if he has no money, and cannot provide
himself tools or instruments, he will not work equally well himself,
nor will he teach his sons or apprentices to work equally well.

Certainly not.

Then, under the influence either of poverty or of wealth,
workmen and their work are equally liable to degenerate?

That is evident.

Here, then, is a discovery of new evils, I said, against which the
guardians will have to watch, or they will creep into the city unobserved.

What evils?

Wealth, I said, and poverty; the one is the parent of luxury and indolence,
and the other of meanness and viciousness, and both of discontent.

That is very true, he replied; but still I should like to know,
Socrates, how our city will be able to go to war, especially against
an enemy who is rich and powerful, if deprived of the sinews of war.

There would certainly be a difficulty, I replied, in going to war
with one such enemy; but there is no difficulty where there
are two of them.

How so? he asked.

In the first place, I said, if we have to fight, our side will
be trained warriors fighting against an army of rich men.

That is true, he said.

And do you not suppose, Adeimantus, that a
single boxer who was perfect in his art would
easily be a match for two stout and well-to-do gentlemen who were not boxers?

Hardly, if they came upon him at once.

What, not, I said, if he were able to run away and then turn and strike
at the one who first came up? And supposing he were to do this
several times under the heat of a scorching sun, might he not,
being an expert, overturn more than one stout personage?

Certainly, he said, there would be nothing wonderful in that.

And yet rich men probably have a greater superiority in the science
and practice of boxing than they have in military qualities.

Likely enough.

Then we may assume that our athletes will be able to fight
with two or three times their own number?

I agree with you, for I think you right.

And suppose that, before engaging, our citizens send an embassy
to one of the two cities, telling them what is the truth:
Silver and gold we neither have nor are permitted to have, but you may;
do you therefore come and help us in war, of and take the spoils
of the other city: Who, on hearing these words, would choose to fight
against lean wiry dogs, rather th than, with the dogs on their side,
against fat and tender sheep?

That is not likely; and yet there might be a danger to the poor
State if the wealth of many States were to be gathered into one.

But how simple of you to use the term State at all of any but our own!

Why so?

You ought to speak of other States in the plural number;
not one of them is a city, but many cities, as they say in the game.
For indeed any city, however small, is in fact divided into two,
one the city of the poor, the other of the rich; these are at war
with one another; and in either there are many smaller divisions,
and you would be altogether beside the mark if you treated them
all as a single State. But if you deal with them as many,
and give the wealth or power or persons of the one to the others,
you will always have a great many friends and not many enemies.
And your State, while the wise order which has now been prescribed
continues to prevail in her, will be the greatest of States,
I do not mean to say in reputation or appearance, but in deed
and truth, though she number not more than a thousand defenders.
A single State which is her equal you will hardly find, either among
Hellenes or barbarians, though many that appear to be as great and many
times greater.

That is most true, he said.

And what, I said, will be the best limit for our rulers to fix
when they are considering the size of the State and the amount
of territory which they are to include, and beyond which they will not go?

What limit would you propose?

I would allow the State to increase so far as is consistent
with unity; that, I think, is the proper limit.

Very good, he said.

Here then, I said, is another order which will have to be conveyed
to our guardians: Let our city be accounted neither large nor small,
but one and self-sufficing.

And surely, said he, this is not a very severe order which we
impose upon them.

And the other, said I, of which we were speaking before is lighter still,
-I mean the duty of degrading the offspring of the guardians
when inferior, and of elevating into the rank of guardians
the offspring of the lower classes, when naturally superior.
The intention was, that, in the case of the citizens generally,
each individual should be put to the use for which nature which
nature intended him, one to one work, and then every man would
do his own business, and be one and not many; and so the whole
city would be one and not many.

Yes, he said; that is not so difficult.

The regulations which we are prescribing, my good Adeimantus, are not,
as might be supposed, a number of great principles, but trifles all,
if care be taken, as the saying is, of the one great thing,--
a thing, however, which I would rather call, not great, but sufficient
for our purpose.

What may that be? he asked.

Education, I said, and nurture: If our citizens are well educated,
and grow into sensible men, they will easily see their way through
all these, as well as other matters which I omit; such, for example,
as marriage, the possession of women and the procreation of children,
which will all follow the general principle that friends have all things
in common, as the proverb says.

That will be the best way of settling them.

Also, I said, the State, if once started well, moves with accumulating
force like a wheel. For good nurture and education implant
good constitutions, and these good constitutions taking root
in a good education improve more and more, and this improvement
affects the breed in man as in other animals.

Very possibly, he said.

Then to sum up: This is the point to which, above all, the attention
of our rulers should be directed,--that music and gymnastic
be preserved in their original form, and no innovation made.
They must do their utmost to maintain them intact. And when any
one says that mankind most regard

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