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The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe Republic

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Title: The Republic

Author: Plato

Translator: Benjamin Jowett

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Language: English

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THE REPUBLIC

by Plato

(360 B.C.)

translated by Benjamin Jowett

THE INTRODUCTION

THE Republic of Plato is the longest of his works with the exception ofthe Laws, and is certainly the greatest of them. There are nearerapproaches to modern metaphysics in the Philebus and in the Sophist;the Politicus or Statesman is more ideal; the form and institutions ofthe State are more clearly drawn out in the Laws; as works of art, theSymposium and the Protagoras are of higher excellence. But no otherDialogue of Plato has the same largeness of view and the sameperfection of style; no other shows an equal knowledge of the world, orcontains more of those thoughts which are new as well as old, and notof one age only but of all. Nowhere in Plato is there a deeper ironyor a greater wealth of humor or imagery, or more dramatic power. Norin any other of his writings is the attempt made to interweave life andspeculation, or to connect politics with philosophy. The Republic isthe centre around which the other Dialogues may be grouped; herephilosophy reaches the highest point to which ancient thinkers everattained. Plato among the Greeks, like Bacon among the moderns, wasthe first who conceived a method of knowledge, although neither of themalways distinguished the bare outline or form from the substance oftruth; and both of them had to be content with an abstraction ofscience which was not yet realized. He was the greatest metaphysicalgenius whom the world has seen; and in him, more than in any otherancient thinker, the germs of future knowledge are contained. Thesciences of logic and psychology, which have supplied so manyinstruments of thought to after-ages, are based upon the analyses ofSocrates and Plato. The principles of definition, the law ofcontradiction, the fallacy of arguing in a circle, the distinctionbetween the essence and accidents of a thing or notion, between meansand ends, between causes and conditions; also the division of the mindinto the rational, concupiscent, and irascible elements, or ofpleasures and desires into necessary and unnecessary—these and othergreat forms of thought are all of them to be found in the Republic, andwere probably first invented by Plato. The greatest of all logicaltruths, and the one of which writers on philosophy are most apt to losesight, the difference between words and things, has been moststrenuously insisted on by him, although he has not always avoided theconfusion of them in his own writings. But he does not bind up truthin logical formulae,—logic is still veiled in metaphysics; and thescience which he imagines to "contemplate all truth and all existence"is very unlike the doctrine of the syllogism which Aristotle claims tohave discovered.

Neither must we forget that the Republic is but the third part of astill larger design which was to have included an ideal history ofAthens, as well as a political and physical philosophy. The fragmentof the Critias has given birth to a world-famous fiction, second onlyin importance to the tale of Troy and the legend of Arthur; and is saidas a fact to have inspired some of the early navigators of thesixteenth century. This mythical tale, of which the subject was ahistory of the wars of the Athenians against the Island of Atlantis, issupposed to be founded upon an unfinished poem of Solon, to which itwould have stood in the same relation as the writings of thelogographers to the poems of Homer. It would have told of a strugglefor Liberty, intended to represent the conflict of Persia and Hellas.We may judge from the noble commencement of the Timaeus, from thefragment of the Critias itself, and from the third book of the Laws, inwhat manner Plato would have treated this high argument. We can onlyguess why the great design was abandoned; perhaps because Plato becamesensible of some incongruity in a fictitious history, or because he hadlost his interest in it, or because advancing years forbade thecompletion of it; and we may please ourselves with the fancy that hadthis imaginary narrative ever been finished, we should have found Platohimself sympathizing with the struggle for Hellenic independence,singing a hymn of triumph over Marathon and Salamis, perhaps making thereflection of Herodotus where he contemplates the growth of theAthenian empire—"How brave a thing is freedom of speech, which hasmade the Athenians so far exceed every other state of Hellas ingreatness!" or, more probably, attributing the victory to the ancientgood order of Athens and to the favor of Apollo and Athene.

Again, Plato may be regarded as the "captain" ('arhchegoz') or leaderof a goodly band of followers; for in the Republic is to be found theoriginal of Cicero's De Republica, of St. Augustine's City of God, ofthe Utopia of Sir Thomas More, and of the numerous other imaginaryStates which are framed upon the same model. The extent to whichAristotle or the Aristotelian school were indebted to him in thePolitics has been little recognized, and the recognition is the morenecessary because it is not made by Aristotle himself. The twophilosophers had more in common than they were conscious of; andprobably some elements of Plato remain still undetected in Aristotle.In English philosophy too, many affinities may be traced, not only inthe works of the Cambridge Platonists, but in great original writerslike Berkeley or Coleridge, to Plato and his ideas. That there is atruth higher than experience, of which the mind bears witness toherself, is a conviction which in our own generation has beenenthusiastically asserted, and is perhaps gaining ground. Of the Greekauthors who at the Renaissance brought a new life into the world Platohas had the greatest influence. The Republic of Plato is also thefirst treatise upon education, of which the writings of Milton andLocke, Rousseau, Jean Paul, and Goethe are the legitimate descendants.Like Dante or Bunyan, he has a revelation of another life; like Bacon,he is profoundly impressed with the unity of knowledge; in the earlyChurch he exercised a real influence on theology, and at the Revival ofLiterature on politics. Even the fragments of his words when "repeatedat second-hand" have in all ages ravished the hearts of men, who haveseen reflected in them their own higher nature. He is the father ofidealism in philosophy, in politics, in literature. And many of thelatest conceptions of modern thinkers and statesmen, such as the unityof knowledge, the reign of law, and the equality of the sexes, havebeen anticipated in a dream by him.

ARGUMENT

The argument of the Republic is the search after Justice, the nature ofwhich is first hinted at by Cephalus, the just and blameless oldman—then discussed on the basis of proverbial morality by Socrates andPolemarchus—then caricatured by Thrasymachus and partially explainedby Socrates—reduced to an abstraction by Glaucon and Adeimantus, andhaving become invisible in the individual reappears at length in theideal State which is constructed by Socrates. The first care of therulers is to be education, of which an outline is drawn after the oldHellenic model, providing only for an improved religion and morality,and more simplicity in music and gymnastic, a manlier strain of poetry,and greater harmony of the individual and the State. We are thus ledon to the conception of a higher State, in which "no man calls anythinghis own," and in which there is neither "marrying nor giving inmarriage," and "kings are philosophers" and "philosophers are kings;"and there is another and higher education, intellectual as well asmoral and religious, of science as well as of art, and not of youthonly but of the whole of life. Such a State is hardly to be realizedin this world and would quickly degenerate. To the perfect idealsucceeds the government of the soldier and the lover of honor, thisagain declining into democracy, and democracy into tyranny, in animaginary but regular order having not much resemblance to the actualfacts. When "the wheel has come full circle" we do not begin againwith a new period of human life; but we have passed from the best tothe worst, and there we end. The subject is then changed and the oldquarrel of poetry and philosophy which had been more lightly treated inthe earlier books of the Republic is now resumed and fought out to aconclusion. Poetry is discovered to be an imitation thrice removedfrom the truth, and Homer, as well as the dramatic poets, having beencondemned as an imitator, is sent into banishment along with them. Andthe idea of the State is supplemented by the revelation of a futurelife.

The division into books, like all similar divisions, is probably laterthan the age of Plato. The natural divisions are five in number;—(1)Book I and the first half of Book II down to the paragraph beginning,"I had always admired the genius of Glaucon and Adeimantus," which isintroductory; the first book containing a refutation of the popular andsophistical notions of justice, and concluding, like some of theearlier Dialogues, without arriving at any definite result. To this isappended a restatement of the nature of justice according to commonopinion, and an answer is demanded to the question—What is justice,stripped of appearances? The second division (2) includes theremainder of the second and the whole of the third and fourth books,which are mainly occupied with the construction of the first State andthe first education. The third division (3) consists of the fifth,sixth, and seventh books, in which philosophy rather than justice isthe subject of inquiry, and the second State is constructed onprinciples of communism and ruled by philosophers, and thecontemplation of the idea of good takes the place of the social andpolitical virtues. In the eighth and ninth books (4) the perversionsof States and of the individuals who correspond to them are reviewed insuccession; and the nature of pleasure and the principle of tyranny arefurther analyzed in the individual man. The tenth book (5) is theconclusion of the whole, in which the relations of philosophy to poetryare finally determined, and the happiness of the citizens in this life,which has now been assured, is crowned by the vision of another.

Or a more general division into two parts may be adopted; the first(Books I-IV) containing the description of a State framed generally inaccordance with Hellenic notions of religion and morality, while in thesecond (Books V-X) the Hellenic State is transformed into an idealkingdom of philosophy, of which all other governments are theperversions. These two points of view are really opposed, and theopposition is only veiled by the genius of Plato. The Republic, likethe Phaedrus, is an imperfect whole; the higher light of philosophybreaks through the regularity of the Hellenic temple, which at lastfades away into the heavens. Whether this imperfection of structurearises from an enlargement of the plan; or from the imperfectreconcilement in the writer's own mind of the struggling elements ofthought which are now first brought together by him; or, perhaps, fromthe composition of the work at different times—are questions, like thesimilar question about the Iliad and the Odyssey, which are worthasking, but which cannot have a distinct answer. In the age of Platothere was no regular mode of publication, and an author would have theless scruple in altering or adding to a work which was known only to afew of his friends. There is no absurdity in supposing that he mayhave laid his labors aside for a time, or turned from one work toanother; and such interruptions would be more likely to occur in thecase of a long than of a short writing. In all attempts to determinethe chronological he order of the Platonic writings on internalevidence, this uncertainty about any single Dialogue being composed atone time is a disturbing element, which must be admitted to affectlonger works, such as the Republic and the Laws, more than shorterones. But, on the other hand, the seeming discrepancies of theRepublic may only arise out of the discordant elements which thephilosopher has attempted to unite in a single whole, perhaps withoutbeing himself able to recognize the inconsistency which is obvious tous. For there is a judgment of after ages which few great writers haveever been able to anticipate for themselves. They do not perceive thewant of connection in their own writings, or the gaps in their systemswhich are visible enough to those who come after them. In thebeginnings of literature and philosophy, amid the first efforts ofthought and language, more inconsistencies occur than now, when thepaths of speculation are well worn and the meaning of words preciselydefined. For consistency, too, is the growth of time; and some of thegreatest creations of the human mind have been wanting in unity. Triedby this test, several of the Platonic Dialogues, according to ourmodern ideas, appear to be defective, but the deficiency is no proofthat they were composed at different times or by different hands. Andthe supposition that the Republic was written uninterruptedly and by acontinuous effort is in some degree confirmed by the numerousreferences from one part of the work to another.

The second title, "Concerning Justice," is not the one by which theRepublic is quoted, either by Aristotle or generally in antiquity, and,like the other second titles of the Platonic Dialogues, may thereforebe assumed to be of later date. Morgenstern and others have askedwhether the definition of justice, which is the professed aim, or theconstruction of the State is the principal argument of the work. Theanswer is, that the two blend in one, and are two faces of the sametruth; for justice is the order of the State, and the State is thevisible embodiment of justice under the conditions of human society.The one is the soul and the other is the body, and the Greek ideal ofthe State, as of the individual, is a fair mind in a fair body. InHegelian phraseology the State is the reality of which justice is theideal. Or, described in Christian language, the kingdom of God iswithin, and yet develops into a Church or external kingdom; "the housenot made with hands, eternal in the heavens," is reduced to theproportions of an earthly building. Or, to use a Platonic image,justice and the State are the warp and the woof which run through thewhole texture. And when the constitution of the State is completed,the conception of justice is not dismissed, but reappears under thesame or different names throughout the work, both as the inner law ofthe individual soul, and finally as the principle of rewards andpunishments in another life. The virtues are based on justice, ofwhich common honesty in buying and selling is the shadow, and justiceis based on the idea of good, which is the harmony of the world, and isreflected both in the institutions of States and in motions of theheavenly bodies. The Timaeus, which takes up the political rather thanthe ethical side of the Republic, and is chiefly occupied withhypotheses concerning the outward world, yet contains many indicationsthat the same law is supposed to reign over the State, over nature, andover man.

Too much, however, has been made of this question both in ancient andin modern times. There is a stage of criticism in which all works,whether of nature or of art, are referred to design. Now in ancientwritings, and indeed in literature generally, there remains often alarge element which was not comprehended in the original design. Forthe plan grows under the author's hand; new thoughts occur to him inthe act of writing; he has not worked out the argument to the endbefore he begins. The reader who seeks to find some one idea underwhich the whole may be conceived, must necessarily seize on the vaguestand most general. Thus Stallbaum, who is dissatisfied with theordinary explanations of the argument of the Republic, imagines himselfto have found the true argument "in the representation of human life ina State perfected by justice and governed according to the idea ofgood." There may be some use in such general descriptions, but they canhardly be said to express the design of the writer. The truth is, thatwe may as well speak of many designs as of one; nor need anything beexcluded from the plan of a great work to which the mind is naturallyled by the association of ideas, and which does not interfere with thegeneral purpose. What kind or degree of unity is to be sought after ina building, in the plastic arts, in poetry, in prose, is a problemwhich has to be determined relatively to the subject-matter. To Platohimself, the inquiry "what was the intention of the writer," or "whatwas the principal argument of the Republic" would have been hardlyintelligible, and therefore had better be at once dismissed.

Is not the Republic the vehicle of three or four great truths which, toPlato's own mind, are most naturally represented in the form of theState? Just as in the Jewish prophets the reign of Messiah, or "theday of the Lord," or the suffering Servant or people of God, or the"Sun of righteousness with healing in his wings" only convey, to us atleast, their great spiritual ideals, so through the Greek State Platoreveals to us his own thoughts about divine perfection, which is theidea of good—like the sun in the visible world;—about humanperfection, which is justice—about education beginning in youth andcontinuing in later years—about poets and sophists and tyrants who arethe false teachers and evil rulers of mankind—about "the world" whichis the embodiment of them—about a kingdom which exists nowhere uponearth but is laid up in heaven to be the pattern and rule of humanlife. No such inspired creation is at unity with itself, any more thanthe clouds of heaven when the sun pierces through them. Every shade oflight and dark, of truth, and of fiction which is the veil of truth, isallowable in a work of philosophical imagination. It is not all on thesame plane; it easily passes from ideas to myths and fancies, fromfacts to figures of speech. It is not prose but poetry, at least agreat part of it, and ought not to be judged by the rules of logic orthe probabilities of history. The writer is not fashioning his ideasinto an artistic whole; they take possession of him and are too muchfor him. We have no need therefore to discuss whether a State such asPlato has conceived is practicable or not, or whether the outward formor the inward life came first into the mind of the writer. For thepracticability of his ideas has nothing to do with their truth; and thehighest thoughts to which he attains may be truly said to bear thegreatest "marks of design"—justice more than the external frame-workof the State, the idea of good more than justice. The great science ofdialectic or the organization of ideas has no real content; but is onlya type of the method or spirit in which the higher knowledge is to bepursued by the spectator of all time and all existence. It is in thefifth, sixth, and seventh books that Plato reaches the "summit ofspeculation," and these, although they fail to satisfy the requirementsof a modern thinker, may therefore be regarded as the most important,as they are also the most original, portions of the work.

It is not necessary to discuss at length a minor question which hasbeen raised by Boeckh, respecting the imaginary date at which theconversation was held (the year 411 B. C. which is proposed by him willdo as well as any other); for a writer of fiction, and especially awriter who, like Plato, is notoriously careless of chronology, onlyaims at general probability. Whether all the persons mentioned in theRepublic could ever have met at any one time is not a difficulty whichwould have occurred to an Athenian reading the work forty years later,or to Plato himself at the time of writing (any more than toShakespeare respecting one of his own dramas); and need not greatlytrouble us now. Yet this may be a question having no answer "which isstill worth asking," because the investigation shows that we can notargue historically from the dates in Plato; it would be uselesstherefore to waste time in inventing far-fetched reconcilements of themin order avoid chronological difficulties, such, for example, as theconjecture of C. F. Hermann, that Glaucon and Adeimantus are not thebrothers but the uncles of Plato, or the fancy of Stallbaum that Platointentionally left anachronisms indicating the dates at which some ofhis Dialogues were written.

CHARACTERS

The principal characters in the Republic are Cephalus, Polemarchus,Thrasymachus, Socrates, Glaucon, and Adeimantus. Cephalus appears inthe introduction only, Polemarchus drops at the end of the firstargument, and Thrasymachus is reduced to silence at the close of thefirst book. The main discussion is carried on by Socrates, Glaucon,and Adeimantus. Among the company are Lysias (the orator) andEuthydemus, the sons of Cephalus and brothers of Polemarchus, anunknown Charmantides—these are mute auditors; also there isCleitophon, who once interrupts, where, as in the Dialogue which bearshis name, he appears as the friend and ally of Thrasymachus.

Cephalus, the patriarch of house, has been appropriately engaged inoffering a sacrifice. He is the pattern of an old man who has almostdone with life, and is at peace with himself and with all mankind. Hefeels that he is drawing nearer to the world below, and seems to lingeraround the memory of the past. He is eager that Socrates should cometo visit him, fond of the poetry of the last generation, happy in theconsciousness of a well-spent life, glad at having escaped from thetyranny of youthful lusts. His love of conversation, his affection,his indifference to riches, even his garrulity, are interesting traitsof character. He is not one of those who have nothing to say, becausetheir whole mind has been absorbed in making money. Yet heacknowledges that riches have the advantage of placing men above thetemptation to dishonesty or falsehood. The respectful attention shownto him by Socrates, whose love of conversation, no less than themission imposed upon him by the Oracle, leads him to ask questions ofall men, young and old alike, should also be noted. Who better suitedto raise the question of justice than Cephalus, whose life might seemto be the expression of it? The moderation with which old age ispictured by Cephalus as a very tolerable portion of existence ischaracteristic, not only of him, but of Greek feeling generally, andcontrasts with the exaggeration of Cicero in the De Senectute. Theevening of life is described by Plato in the most expressive manner,yet with the fewest possible touches. As Cicero remarks (Ep. ad Attic.iv. 16), the aged Cephalus would have been out of place in thediscussion which follows, and which he could neither have understoodnor taken part in without a violation of dramatic propriety.

His "son and heir" Polemarchus has the frankness and impetuousness ofyouth; he is for detaining Socrates by force in the opening scene, andwill not "let him off" on the subject of women and children. LikeCephalus, he is limited in his point of view, and represents theproverbial stage of morality which has rules of life rather thanprinciples; and he quotes Simonides as his father had quoted Pindar.But after this he has no more to say; the answers which he makes areonly elicited from him by the dialectic of Socrates. He has not yetexperienced the influence of the Sophists like Glaucon and Adeimantus,nor is he sensible of the necessity of refuting them; he belongs to thepre-Socratic or pre-dialectical age. He is incapable of arguing, andis bewildered by Socrates to such a degree that he does not know whathe is saying. He is made to admit that justice is a thief, and thatthe virtues follow the analogy of the arts. From his brother Lysias welearn that he fell a victim to the Thirty Tyrants, but no allusion ishere made to his fate, nor to the circumstance that Cephalus and hisfamily were of Syracusan origin, and had migrated from Thurii to Athens.

The "Chalcedonian giant," Thrasymachus, of whom we have already heardin the Phaedrus, is the personification of the Sophists, according toPlato's conception of them, in some of their worst characteristics. Heis vain and blustering, refusing to discourse unless he is paid, fondof making an oration, and hoping thereby to escape the inevitableSocrates; but a mere child in argument, and unable to foresee that thenext "move" (to use a Platonic expression) will "shut him up." He hasreached the stage of framing general notions, and in this respect is inadvance of Cephalus and Polemarchus. But he is incapable of defendingthem in a discussion, and vainly tries to cover his confusion in banterand insolence. Whether such doctrines as are attributed to him byPlato were really held either by him or by any other Sophist isuncertain; in the infancy of philosophy serious errors about moralitymight easily grow up—they are certainly put into the mouths ofspeakers in Thucydides; but we are concerned at present with Plato'sdescription of him, and not with the historical reality. Theinequality of the contest adds greatly to the humor of the scene. Thepompous and empty Sophist is utterly helpless in the hands of the greatmaster of dialectic, who knows how to touch all the springs of vanityand weakness in him. He is greatly irritated by the irony of Socrates,but his noisy and imbecile rage only lays him more and more open to thethrusts of his assailant. His determination to cram down theirthroats, or put "bodily into their souls" his own words, elicits a cryof horror from Socrates. The state of his temper is quite as worthy ofremark as the process of the argument. Nothing is more amusing thanhis complete submission when he has been once thoroughly beaten. Atfirst he seems to continue the discussion with reluctance, but soonwith apparent good-will, and he even testifies his interest at a laterstage by one or two occasional remarks. When attacked by Glaucon he ishumorously protected by Socrates "as one who has never been his enemyand is now his friend." From Cicero and Quintilian and from Aristotle'sRhetoric we learn that the Sophist whom Plato has made so ridiculouswas a man of note whose writings were preserved in later ages. Theplay on his name which was made by his contemporary Herodicus, "thouwast ever bold in battle," seems to show that the description of him isnot devoid of verisimilitude.

When Thrasymachus has been silenced, the two principal respondents,Glaucon and Adeimantus, appear on the scene: here, as in Greektragedy, three actors are introduced. At first sight the two sons ofAriston may seem to wear a family likeness, like the two friendsSimmias and Cebes in the Phaedo. But on a nearer examination of themthe similarity vanishes, and they are seen to be distinct characters.Glaucon is the impetuous youth who can "just never have enough offechting" (cf. the character of him in Xen. Mem. iii. 6); the man ofpleasure who is acquainted with the mysteries of love; the "juvenis quigaudet canibus," and who improves the breed of animals; the lover ofart and music who has all the experiences of youthful life. He is fullof quickness and penetration, piercing easily below the clumsyplatitudes of Thrasymachus to the real difficulty; he turns out to thelight the seamy side of human life, and yet does not lose faith in thejust and true. It is Glaucon who seizes what may be termed theludicrous relation of the philosopher to the world, to whom a state ofsimplicity is "a city of pigs," who is always prepared with a jest whenthe argument offers him an opportunity, and who is ever ready to secondthe humor of Socrates and to appreciate the ridiculous, whether in theconnoisseurs of music, or in the lovers of theatricals, or in thefantastic behavior of the citizens of democracy. His weaknesses areseveral times alluded to by Socrates, who, however, will not allow himto be attacked by his brother Adeimantus. He is a soldier, and, likeAdeimantus, has been distinguished at the battle of Megara.

The character of Adeimantus is deeper and graver, and the profounderobjections are commonly put into his mouth. Glaucon is moredemonstrative, and generally opens the game. Adeimantus pursues theargument further. Glaucon has more of the liveliness and quicksympathy of youth; Adeimantus has the maturer judgment of a grown-upman of the world. In the second book, when Glaucon insists thatjustice and injustice shall be considered without regard to theirconsequences, Adeimantus remarks that they are regarded by mankind ingeneral only for the sake of their consequences; and in a similar veinof reflection he urges at the beginning of the fourth book thatSocrates falls in making his citizens happy, and is answered thathappiness is not the first but the second thing, not the direct aim butthe indirect consequence of the good government of a State. In thediscussion about religion and mythology, Adeimantus is the respondent,but Glaucon breaks in with a slight jest, and carries on theconversation in a lighter tone about music and gymnastic to the end ofthe book. It is Adeimantus again who volunteers the criticism ofcommon sense on the Socratic method of argument, and who refuses to letSocrates pass lightly over the question of women and children. It isAdeimantus who is the respondent in the more argumentative, as Glauconin the lighter and more imaginative portions of the Dialogue. Forexample, throughout the greater part of the sixth book, the causes ofthe corruption of philosophy and the conception of the idea of good arediscussed with Adeimantus. Then Glaucon resumes his place of principalrespondent; but he has a difficulty in apprehending the highereducation of Socrates, and makes some false hits in the course of thediscussion. Once more Adeimantus returns with the allusion to hisbrother Glaucon whom he compares to the contentious State; in the nextbook he is again superseded, and Glaucon continues to the end.

Thus in a succession of characters Plato represents the successivestages of morality, beginning with the Athenian gentleman of the oldentime, who is followed by the practical man of that day regulating hislife by proverbs and saws; to him succeeds the wild generalization ofthe Sophists, and lastly come the young disciples of the great teacher,who know the sophistical arguments but will not be convinced by them,and desire to go deeper into the nature of things. These too, likeCephalus, Polemarchus, Thrasymachus, are clearly distinguished from oneanother. Neither in the Republic, nor in any other Dialogue of Plato,is a single character repeated.

The delineation of Socrates in the Republic is not wholly consistent.In the first book we have more of the real Socrates, such as he isdepicted in the Memorabilia of Xenophon, in the earliest Dialogues ofPlato, and in the Apology. He is ironical, provoking, questioning, theold enemy of the Sophists, ready to put on the mask of Silenus as wellas to argue seriously. But in the sixth book his enmity towards theSophists abates; he acknowledges that they are the representativesrather than the corrupters of the world. He also becomes more dogmaticand constructive, passing beyond the range either of the political orthe speculative ideas of the real Socrates. In one passage Platohimself seems to intimate that the time had now come for Socrates, whohad passed his whole life in philosophy, to give his own opinion andnot to be always repeating the notions of other men. There is noevidence that either the idea of good or the conception of a perfectState were comprehended in the Socratic teaching, though he certainlydwelt on the nature of the universal and of final causes (cp. Xen.Mem. i. 4; Phaedo 97); and a deep thinker like him in his thirty orforty years of public teaching, could hardly have falled to touch onthe nature of family relations, for which there is also some positiveevidence in the Memorabilia (Mem. i. 2, 51 foll.) The Socratic methodis nominally retained; and every inference is either put into the mouthof the respondent or represented as the common discovery of him andSocrates. But any one can see that this is a mere form, of which theaffectation grows wearisome as the work advances. The method ofinquiry has passed into a method of teaching in which by the help ofinterlocutors the same thesis is looked at from various points of view.

The nature of the process is truly characterized by Glaucon, when hedescribes himself as a companion who is not good for much in aninvestigation, but can see what he is shown, and may, perhaps, give theanswer to a question more fluently than another.

Neither can we be absolutely certain that, Socrates himself taught theimmortality of the soul, which is unknown to his disciple Glaucon inthe Republic; nor is there any reason to suppose that he used myths orrevelations of another world as a vehicle of instruction, or that hewould have banished poetry or have denounced the Greek mythology. Hisfavorite oath is retained, and a slight mention is made of thedaemonium, or internal sign, which is alluded to by Socrates as aphenomenon peculiar to himself. A real element of Socratic teaching,which is more prominent in the Republic than in any of the otherDialogues of Plato, is the use of example and illustration('taphorhtika auto prhospherhontez'): "Let us apply the test of commoninstances." "You," says Adeimantus, ironically, in the sixth book, "areso unaccustomed to speak in images." And this use of examples orimages, though truly Socratic in origin, is enlarged by the genius ofPlato into the form of an allegory or parable, which embodies in theconcrete what has been already described, or is about to be described,in the abstract. Thus the figure of the cave in Book VII is arecapitulation of the divisions of knowledge in Book VI. The compositeanimal in Book IX is an allegory of the parts of the soul. The noblecaptain and the ship and the true pilot in Book VI are a figure of therelation of the people to the philosophers in the State which has beendescribed. Other figures, such as the dog in the second, third, andfourth books, or the marriage of the portionless maiden in the sixthbook, or the drones and wasps in the eighth and ninth books, also formlinks of connection in long passages, or are used to recall previousdiscussions.

Plato is most true to the character of his master when he describes himas "not of this world." And with this representation of him the idealState and the other paradoxes of the Republic are quite in accordance,though they can not be shown to have been speculations of Socrates. Tohim, as to other great teachers both philosophical and religious, whenthey looked upward, the world seemed to be the embodiment of error andevil. The common sense of mankind has revolted against this view, orhas only partially admitted it. And even in Socrates himself thesterner judgment of the multitude at times passes into a sort ofironical pity or love. Men in general are incapable of philosophy, andare therefore at enmity with the philosopher; but theirmisunderstanding of him is unavoidable: for they have never seen him ashe truly is in his own image; they are only acquainted with artificialsystems possessing no native force of truth—words which admit of manyapplications. Their leaders have nothing to measure with, and aretherefore ignorant of their own stature. But they are to be pitied orlaughed at, not to be quarrelled with; they mean well with theirnostrums, if they could only learn that they are cutting off a Hydra'shead. This moderation towards those who are in error is one of themost characteristic features of Socrates in the Republic. In all thedifferent representations of Socrates, whether of Xenophon or Plato,and the differences of the earlier or later Dialogues, he alwaysretains the character of the unwearied and disinterested seeker aftertruth, without which he would have ceased to be Socrates.

Leaving the characters we may now analyze the contents of the Republic,and then proceed to consider (1) The general aspects of this Hellenicideal of the State, (2) The modern lights in which the thoughts ofPlato may be read.

BOOK I

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

I WENT down yesterday to the Piraeus with Glaucon the son of Ariston,that I might offer up my prayers to the goddess; and also because Iwanted to see in what manner they would celebrate the festival, whichwas a new thing. I was delighted with the procession of theinhabitants; but that of the Thracians was equally, if not more,beautiful. When we had finished our prayers and viewed the spectacle,we turned in the direction of the city; and at that instant Polemarchusthe son of Cephalus chanced to catch sight of us from a distance as wewere starting on our way home, and told his servant to run and bid uswait for him. The servant took hold of me by the cloak behind, andsaid: Polemarchus desires you to wait.

I turned round, and asked him where his master was.

There he is, said the youth, coming after you, if you will only wait.

Certainly we will, said Glaucon; and in a few minutes Polemarchusappeared, and with him Adeimantus, Glaucon's brother, Niceratus the sonof Nicias, and several others who had been at the procession.

SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS - GLAUCON - ADEIMANTUS

Polemarchus said to me: I perceive, Socrates, that you and ourcompanion are already on your way to the city.

You are not far wrong, I said.

But do you see, he rejoined, how many we are?

Of course.

And are you stronger than all these? for if not, you will have toremain where you are.

May there not be the alternative, I said, that we may persuade you tolet us go?

But can you persuade us, if we refuse to listen to you? he said.

Certainly not, replied Glaucon.

Then we are not going to listen; of that you may be assured.

Adeimantus added: Has no one told you of the torch-race on horsebackin honour of the goddess which will take place in the evening?

With horses! I replied: That is a novelty. Will horsemen carrytorches and pass them one to another during the race?

Yes, said Polemarchus, and not only so, but a festival will hecelebrated at night, which you certainly ought to see. Let us risesoon after supper and see this festival; there will be a gathering ofyoung men, and we will have a good talk. Stay then, and do not beperverse.

Glaucon said: I suppose, since you insist, that we must.

Very good, I replied.

GLAUCON - CEPHALUS - SOCRATES

Accordingly we went with Polemarchus to his house; and there we foundhis brothers Lysias and Euthydemus, and with them Thrasymachus theChalcedonian, Charmantides the Paeanian, and Cleitophon the son ofAristonymus. There too was Cephalus the father of Polemarchus, whom Ihad not seen for a long time, and I thought him very much aged. He wasseated on a cushioned chair, and had a garland on his head, for he hadbeen sacrificing in the court; and there were some other chairs in theroom arranged in a semicircle, upon which we sat down by him. Hesaluted me eagerly, and then he said:—

You don't come to see me, Socrates, as often as you ought: If I werestill able to go and see you I would not ask you to come to me. But atmy age I can hardly get to the city, and therefore you should comeoftener to the Piraeus. For let me tell you, that the more thepleasures of the body fade away, the greater to me is the pleasure andcharm of conversation. Do not then deny my request, but make our houseyour resort and keep company with these young men; we are old friends,and you will be quite at home with us.

I replied: There is nothing which for my part I like better, Cephalus,than conversing with aged men; for I regard them as travellers who havegone a journey which I too may have to go, and of whom I ought toenquire, whether the way is smooth and easy, or rugged and difficult.And this is a question which I should like to ask of you who havearrived at that time which the poets call the 'threshold of oldage'—Is life harder towards the end, or what report do you give of it?

I will tell you, Socrates, he said, what my own feeling is. Men of myage flock together; we are birds of a feather, as the old proverb says;and at our meetings the tale of my acquaintance commonly is—I cannoteat, I cannot drink; the pleasures of youth and love are fled away:there was a good time once, but now that is gone, and life is no longerlife. Some complain of the slights which are put upon them byrelations, and they will tell you sadly of how many evils their old ageis the cause. But to me, Socrates, these complainers seem to blamethat which is not really in fault. For if old age were the cause, Itoo being old, and every other old man, would have felt as they do.But this is not my own experience, nor that of others whom I haveknown. How well I remember the aged poet Sophocles, when in answer tothe question, How does love suit with age, Sophocles,—are you stillthe man you were? Peace, he replied; most gladly have I escaped thething of which you speak; I feel as if I had escaped from a mad andfurious master. His words have often occurred to my mind since, andthey seem as good to me now as at the time when he uttered them. Forcertainly old age has a great sense of calm and freedom; when thepassions relax their hold, then, as Sophocles says, we are freed fromthe grasp not of one mad master only, but of many. The truth is,Socrates, that these regrets, and also the complaints about relations,are to be attributed to the same cause, which is not old age, but men'scharacters and tempers; for he who is of a calm and happy nature willhardly feel the pressure of age, but to him who is of an oppositedisposition youth and age are equally a burden.

I listened in admiration, and wanting to draw him out, that he might goon—Yes, Cephalus, I said: but I rather suspect that people in generalare not convinced by you when you speak thus; they think that old agesits lightly upon you, not because of your happy disposition, butbecause you are rich, and wealth is well known to be a great comforter.

You are right, he replied; they are not convinced: and there issomething in what they say; not, however, so much as they imagine. Imight answer them as Themistocles answered the Seriphian who wasabusing him and saying that he was famous, not for his own merits butbecause he was an Athenian: 'If you had been a native of my country orI of yours, neither of us would have been famous.' And to those who arenot rich and are impatient of old age, the same reply may be made; forto the good poor man old age cannot be a light burden, nor can a badrich man ever have peace with himself.

May I ask, Cephalus, whether your fortune was for the most partinherited or acquired by you?

Acquired! Socrates; do you want to know how much I acquired? In theart of making money I have been midway between my father andgrandfather: for my grandfather, whose name I bear, doubled and trebledthe value of his patrimony, that which he inherited being much what Ipossess now; but my father Lysanias reduced the property below what itis at present: and I shall be satisfied if I leave to these my sons notless but a little more than I received.

That was why I asked you the question, I replied, because I see thatyou are indifferent about money, which is a characteristic rather ofthose who have inherited their fortunes than of those who have acquiredthem; the makers of fortunes have a second love of money as a creationof their own, resembling the affection of authors for their own poems,or of parents for their children, besides that natural love of it forthe sake of use and profit which is common to them and all men. Andhence they are very bad company, for they can talk about nothing butthe praises of wealth. That is true, he said.

Yes, that is very true, but may I ask another question? What do youconsider to be the greatest blessing which you have reaped from yourwealth?

One, he said, of which I could not expect easily to convince others.For let me tell you, Socrates, that when a man thinks himself to benear death, fears and cares enter into his mind which he never hadbefore; the tales of a world below and the punishment which is exactedthere of deeds done here were once a laughing matter to him, but now heis tormented with the thought that they may be true: either from theweakness of age, or because he is now drawing nearer to that otherplace, he has a clearer view of these things; suspicions and alarmscrowd thickly upon him, and he begins to reflect and consider whatwrongs he has done to others. And when he finds that the sum of histransgressions is great he will many a time like a child start up inhis sleep for fear, and he is filled with dark forebodings. But to himwho is conscious of no sin, sweet hope, as Pindar charmingly says, isthe kind nurse of his age:

Hope, he says, cherishes the soul of him who lives in justice and holiness and is the nurse of his age and the companion of his journey;—hope which is mightiest to sway the restless soul of man.

How admirable are his words! And the great blessing of riches, I donot say to every man, but to a good man, is, that he has had nooccasion to deceive or to defraud others, either intentionally orunintentionally; and when he departs to the world below he is not inany apprehension about offerings due to the gods or debts which he owesto men. Now to this peace of mind the possession of wealth greatlycontributes; and therefore I say, that, setting one thing againstanother, of the many advantages which wealth has to give, to a man ofsense this is in my opinion the greatest.

Well said, Cephalus, I replied; but as concerning justice, what isit?—to speak the truth and to pay your debts—no more than this? Andeven to this are there not exceptions? Suppose that a friend when inhis right mind has deposited arms with me and he asks for them when heis not in his right mind, ought I to give them back to him? No onewould say that I ought or that I should be right in doing so, any morethan they would say that I ought always to speak the truth to one whois in his condition.

You are quite right, he replied.

But then, I said, speaking the truth and paying your debts is not acorrect definition of justice.

CEPHALUS - SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS

Quite correct, Socrates, if Simonides is to be believed, said
Polemarchus interposing.

I fear, said Cephalus, that I must go now, for I have to look after thesacrifices, and I hand over the argument to Polemarchus and the company.

Is not Polemarchus your heir? I said.

To be sure, he answered, and went away laughing to the sacrifices.

SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS

Tell me then, O thou heir of the argument, what did Simonides say, andaccording to you truly say, about justice?

He said that the repayment of a debt is just, and in saying so heappears to me to be right.

I should be sorry to doubt the word of such a wise and inspired man,but his meaning, though probably clear to you, is the reverse of clearto me. For he certainly does not mean, as we were now saying that Iought to return a return a deposit of arms or of anything else to onewho asks for it when he is not in his right senses; and yet a depositcannot be denied to be a debt.

True.

Then when the person who asks me is not in his right mind I am by nomeans to make the return?

Certainly not.

When Simonides said that the repayment of a debt was justice, he didnot mean to include that case?

Certainly not; for he thinks that a friend ought always to do good to afriend and never evil.

You mean that the return of a deposit of gold which is to the injury ofthe receiver, if the two parties are friends, is not the repayment of adebt,—that is what you would imagine him to say?

Yes.

And are enemies also to receive what we owe to them?

To be sure, he said, they are to receive what we owe them, and anenemy, as I take it, owes to an enemy that which is due or proper tohim—that is to say, evil.

Simonides, then, after the manner of poets, would seem to have spokendarkly of the nature of justice; for he really meant to say thatjustice is the giving to each man what is proper to him, and this hetermed a debt.

That must have been his meaning, he said.

By heaven! I replied; and if we asked him what due or proper thing isgiven by medicine, and to whom, what answer do you think that he wouldmake to us?

He would surely reply that medicine gives drugs and meat and drink tohuman bodies.

And what due or proper thing is given by cookery, and to what?

Seasoning to food.

And what is that which justice gives, and to whom?

If, Socrates, we are to be guided at all by the analogy of thepreceding instances, then justice is the art which gives good tofriends and evil to enemies.

That is his meaning then?

I think so.

And who is best able to do good to his friends and evil to his enemiesin time of sickness?

The physician.

Or when they are on a voyage, amid the perils of the sea?

The pilot.

And in what sort of actions or with a view to what result is the justman most able to do harm to his enemy and good to his friends?

In going to war against the one and in making alliances with the other.

But when a man is well, my dear Polemarchus, there is no need of aphysician?

No.

And he who is not on a voyage has no need of a pilot?

No.

Then in time of peace justice will be of no use?

I am very far from thinking so.

You think that justice may be of use in peace as well as in war?

Yes.

Like husbandry for the acquisition of corn?

Yes.

Or like shoemaking for the acquisition of shoes,—that is what you mean?

Yes.

And what similar use or power of acquisition has justice in time ofpeace?

In contracts, Socrates, justice is of use.

And by contracts you mean partnerships?

Exactly.

But is the just man or the skilful player a more useful and betterpartner at a game of draughts?

The skilful player.

And in the laying of bricks and stones is the just man a more useful orbetter partner than the builder?

Quite the reverse.

Then in what sort of partnership is the just man a better partner thanthe harp-player, as in playing the harp the harp-player is certainly abetter partner than the just man?

In a money partnership.

Yes, Polemarchus, but surely not in the use of money; for you do notwant a just man to be your counsellor the purchase or sale of a horse;a man who is knowing about horses would be better for that, would henot?

Certainly.

And when you want to buy a ship, the shipwright or the pilot would bebetter?

True.

Then what is that joint use of silver or gold in which the just man isto be preferred?

When you want a deposit to be kept safely.

You mean when money is not wanted, but allowed to lie?

Precisely.

That is to say, justice is useful when money is useless?

That is the inference.

And when you want to keep a pruning-hook safe, then justice is usefulto the individual and to the state; but when you want to use it, thenthe art of the vine-dresser?

Clearly.

And when you want to keep a shield or a lyre, and not to use them, youwould say that justice is useful; but when you want to use them, thenthe art of the soldier or of the musician?

Certainly.

And so of all the other things;—justice is useful when they areuseless, and useless when they are useful?

That is the inference.

Then justice is not good for much. But let us consider this furtherpoint: Is not he who can best strike a blow in a boxing match or inany kind of fighting best able to ward off a blow?

Certainly.

And he who is most skilful in preventing or escaping from a disease isbest able to create one?

True.

And he is the best guard of a camp who is best able to steal a marchupon the enemy?

Certainly.

Then he who is a good keeper of anything is also a good thief?

That, I suppose, is to be inferred.

Then if the just man is good at keeping money, he is good at stealingit.

That is implied in the argument.

Then after all the just man has turned out to be a thief. And this isa lesson which I suspect you must have learnt out of Homer; for he,speaking of Autolycus, the maternal grandfather of Odysseus, who is afavourite of his, affirms that

He was excellent above all men in theft and perjury.

And so, you and Homer and Simonides are agreed that justice is an artof theft; to be practised however 'for the good of friends and for theharm of enemies,'—that was what you were saying?

No, certainly not that, though I do not now know what I did say; but Istill stand by the latter words.

Well, there is another question: By friends and enemies do we meanthose who are so really, or only in seeming?

Surely, he said, a man may be expected to love those whom he thinksgood, and to hate those whom he thinks evil.

Yes, but do not persons often err about good and evil: many who are notgood seem to be so, and conversely?

That is true.

Then to them the good will be enemies and the evil will be theirfriends? True.

And in that case they will be right in doing good to the evil and evilto the good?

Clearly.

But the good are just and would not do an injustice?

True.

Then according to your argument it is just to injure those who do nowrong?

Nay, Socrates; the doctrine is immoral.

Then I suppose that we ought to do good to the just and harm to theunjust?

I like that better.

But see the consequence:—Many a man who is ignorant of human naturehas friends who are bad friends, and in that case he ought to do harmto them; and he has good enemies whom he ought to benefit; but, if so,we shall be saying the very opposite of that which we affirmed to bethe meaning of Simonides.

Very true, he said: and I think that we had better correct an errorinto which we seem to have fallen in the use of the words 'friend' and'enemy.'

What was the error, Polemarchus? I asked.

We assumed that he is a friend who seems to be or who is thought good.

And how is the error to be corrected?

We should rather say that he is a friend who is, as well as seems,good; and that he who seems only, and is not good, only seems to be andis not a friend; and of an enemy the same may be said.

You would argue that the good are our friends and the bad our enemies?

Yes.

And instead of saying simply as we did at first, that it is just to dogood to our friends and harm to our enemies, we should further say: Itis just to do good to our friends when they are good and harm to ourenemies when they are evil?

Yes, that appears to me to be the truth.

But ought the just to injure any one at all?

Undoubtedly he ought to injure those who are both wicked and hisenemies.

When horses are injured, are they improved or deteriorated?

The latter.

Deteriorated, that is to say, in the good qualities of horses, not ofdogs?

Yes, of horses.

And dogs are deteriorated in the good qualities of dogs, and not ofhorses?

Of course.

And will not men who are injured be deteriorated in that which is theproper virtue of man?

Certainly.

And that human virtue is justice?

To be sure.

Then men who are injured are of necessity made unjust?

That is the result.

But can the musician by his art make men unmusical?

Certainly not.

Or the horseman by his art make them bad horsemen?

Impossible.

And can the just by justice make men unjust, or speaking general canthe good by virtue make them bad?

Assuredly not.

Any more than heat can produce cold?

It cannot.

Or drought moisture?

Clearly not.

Nor can the good harm any one?

Impossible.

And the just is the good?

Certainly.

Then to injure a friend or any one else is not the act of a just man,but of the opposite, who is the unjust?

I think that what you say is quite true, Socrates.

Then if a man says that justice consists in the repayment of debts, andthat good is the debt which a man owes to his friends, and evil thedebt which he owes to his enemies,—to say this is not wise; for it isnot true, if, as has been clearly shown, the injuring of another can bein no case just.

I agree with you, said Polemarchus.

Then you and I are prepared to take up arms against any one whoattributes such a saying to Simonides or Bias or Pittacus, or any otherwise man or seer?

I am quite ready to do battle at your side, he said.

Shall I tell you whose I believe the saying to be?

Whose?

I believe that Periander or Perdiccas or Xerxes or Ismenias the Theban,or some other rich and mighty man, who had a great opinion of his ownpower, was the first to say that justice is 'doing good to your friendsand harm to your enemies.'

Most true, he said.

Yes, I said; but if this definition of justice also breaks down, whatother can be offered?

Several times in the course of the discussion Thrasymachus had made anattempt to get the argument into his own hands, and had been put downby the rest of the company, who wanted to hear the end. But whenPolemarchus and I had done speaking and there was a pause, he could nolonger hold his peace; and, gathering himself up, he came at us like awild beast, seeking to devour us. We were quite panic-stricken at thesight of him.

SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS - THRASYMACHUS

He roared out to the whole company: What folly. Socrates, has takenpossession of you all? And why, sillybillies, do you knock under toone another? I say that if you want really to know what justice is,you should not only ask but answer, and you should not seek honour toyourself from the refutation of an opponent, but have your own answer;for there is many a one who can ask and cannot answer. And now I willnot have you say that justice is duty or advantage or profit or gain orinterest, for this sort of nonsense will not do for me; I must haveclearness and accuracy.

I was panic-stricken at his words, and could not look at him withouttrembling. Indeed I believe that if I had not fixed my eye upon him, Ishould have been struck dumb: but when I saw his fury rising, I lookedat him first, and was therefore able to reply to him.

Thrasymachus, I said, with a quiver, don't be hard upon us.Polemarchus and I may have been guilty of a little mistake in theargument, but I can assure you that the error was not intentional. Ifwe were seeking for a piece of gold, you would not imagine that we were'knocking under to one another,' and so losing our chance of findingit. And why, when we are seeking for justice, a thing more preciousthan many pieces of gold, do you say that we are weakly yielding to oneanother and not doing our utmost to get at the truth? Nay, my goodfriend, we are most willing and anxious to do so, but the fact is thatwe cannot. And if so, you people who know all things should pity usand not be angry with us.

How characteristic of Socrates! he replied, with a bitterlaugh;—that's your ironical style! Did I not foresee—have I notalready told you, that whatever he was asked he would refuse to answer,and try irony or any other shuffle, in order that he might avoidanswering?

You are a philosopher, Thrasymachus, I replied, and well know that ifyou ask a person what numbers make up twelve, taking care to prohibithim whom you ask from answering twice six, or three times four, or sixtimes two, or four times three, 'for this sort of nonsense will not dofor me,'—then obviously, that is your way of putting the question, noone can answer you. But suppose that he were to retort, 'Thrasymachus,what do you mean? If one of these numbers which you interdict be thetrue answer to the question, am I falsely to say some other numberwhich is not the right one?—is that your meaning?'—How would youanswer him?

Just as if the two cases were at all alike! he said.

Why should they not be? I replied; and even if they are not, but onlyappear to be so to the person who is asked, ought he not to say what hethinks, whether you and I forbid him or not?

I presume then that you are going to make one of the interdictedanswers?

I dare say that I may, notwithstanding the danger, if upon reflection Iapprove of any of them.

But what if I give you an answer about justice other and better, hesaid, than any of these? What do you deserve to have done to you?

Done to me!—as becomes the ignorant, I must learn from the wise—thatis what I deserve to have done to me.

What, and no payment! a pleasant notion!

I will pay when I have the money, I replied.

SOCRATES - THRASYMACHUS - GLAUCON

But you have, Socrates, said Glaucon: and you, Thrasymachus, need beunder no anxiety about money, for we will all make a contribution forSocrates.

Yes, he replied, and then Socrates will do as he always does—refuse toanswer himself, but take and pull to pieces the answer of some one else.

Why, my good friend, I said, how can any one answer who knows, and saysthat he knows, just nothing; and who, even if he has some faint notionsof his own, is told by a man of authority not to utter them? Thenatural thing is, that the speaker should be some one like yourself whoprofesses to know and can tell what he knows. Will you then kindlyanswer, for the edification of the company and of myself?

Glaucon and the rest of the company joined in my request andThrasymachus, as any one might see, was in reality eager to speak; forhe thought that he had an excellent answer, and would distinguishhimself. But at first he to insist on my answering; at length heconsented to begin. Behold, he said, the wisdom of Socrates; herefuses to teach himself, and goes about learning of others, to whom henever even says thank you.

That I learn of others, I replied, is quite true; but that I amungrateful I wholly deny. Money I have none, and therefore I pay inpraise, which is all I have: and how ready I am to praise any one whoappears to me to speak well you will very soon find out when youanswer; for I expect that you will answer well.

Listen, then, he said; I proclaim that justice is nothing else than theinterest of the stronger. And now why do you not me? But of courseyou won't.

Let me first understand you, I replied. Justice, as you say, is theinterest of the stronger. What, Thrasymachus, is the meaning of this?You cannot mean to say that because Polydamas, the pancratiast, isstronger than we are, and finds the eating of beef conducive to hisbodily strength, that to eat beef is therefore equally for our good whoare weaker than he is, and right and just for us?

That's abominable of you, Socrates; you take the words in the sensewhich is most damaging to the argument.

Not at all, my good sir, I said; I am trying to understand them; and Iwish that you would be a little clearer.

Well, he said, have you never heard that forms of government differ;there are tyrannies, and there are democracies, and there arearistocracies?

Yes, I know.

And the government is the ruling power in each state?

Certainly.

And the different forms of government make laws democratical,aristocratical, tyrannical, with a view to their several interests; andthese laws, which are made by them for their own interests, are thejustice which they deliver to their subjects, and him who transgressesthem they punish as a breaker of the law, and unjust. And that is whatI mean when I say that in all states there is the same principle ofjustice, which is the interest of the government; and as the governmentmust be supposed to have power, the only reasonable conclusion is, thateverywhere there is one principle of justice, which is the interest ofthe stronger.

Now I understand you, I said; and whether you are right or not I willtry to discover. But let me remark, that in defining justice you haveyourself used the word 'interest' which you forbade me to use. It istrue, however, that in your definition the words 'of the stronger' areadded.

A small addition, you must allow, he said.

Great or small, never mind about that: we must first enquire whetherwhat you are saying is the truth. Now we are both agreed that justiceis interest of some sort, but you go on to say 'of the stronger'; aboutthis addition I am not so sure, and must therefore consider further.

Proceed.

I will; and first tell me, Do you admit that it is just or subjects toobey their rulers?

I do.

But are the rulers of states absolutely infallible, or are theysometimes liable to err?

To be sure, he replied, they are liable to err.

Then in making their laws they may sometimes make them rightly, andsometimes not?

True.

When they make them rightly, they make them agreeably to theirinterest; when they are mistaken, contrary to their interest; you admitthat?

Yes.

And the laws which they make must be obeyed by their subjects,—andthat is what you call justice?

Doubtless.

Then justice, according to your argument, is not only obedience to theinterest of the stronger but the reverse?

What is that you are saying? he asked.

I am only repeating what you are saying, I believe. But let usconsider: Have we not admitted that the rulers may be mistaken abouttheir own interest in what they command, and also that to obey them isjustice? Has not that been admitted?

Yes.

Then you must also have acknowledged justice not to be for the interestof the stronger, when the rulers unintentionally command things to bedone which are to their own injury. For if, as you say, justice is theobedience which the subject renders to their commands, in that case, Owisest of men, is there any escape from the conclusion that the weakerare commanded to do, not what is for the interest, but what is for theinjury of the stronger?

Nothing can be clearer, Socrates, said Polemarchus.

SOCRATES - CLEITOPHON - POLEMARCHUS - THRASYMACHUS

Yes, said Cleitophon, interposing, if you are allowed to be his witness.

But there is no need of any witness, said Polemarchus, for Thrasymachushimself acknowledges that rulers may sometimes command what is not fortheir own interest, and that for subjects to obey them is justice.

Yes, Polemarchus,—Thrasymachus said that for subjects to do what wascommanded by their rulers is just.

Yes, Cleitophon, but he also said that justice is the interest of thestronger, and, while admitting both these propositions, he furtheracknowledged that the stronger may command the weaker who are hissubjects to do what is not for his own interest; whence follows thatjustice is the injury quite as much as the interest of the stronger.

But, said Cleitophon, he meant by the interest of the stronger what thestronger thought to be his interest,—this was what the weaker had todo; and this was affirmed by him to be justice.

Those were not his words, rejoined Polemarchus.

SOCRATES - THRASYMACHUS

Never mind, I replied, if he now says that they are, let us accept hisstatement. Tell me, Thrasymachus, I said, did you mean by justice whatthe stronger thought to be his interest, whether really so or not?

Certainly not, he said. Do you suppose that I call him who is mistakenthe stronger at the time when he is mistaken?

Yes, I said, my impression was that you did so, when you admitted thatthe ruler was not infallible but might be sometimes mistaken.

You argue like an informer, Socrates. Do you mean, for example, thathe who is mistaken about the sick is a physician in that he ismistaken? or that he who errs in arithmetic or grammar is anarithmetician or grammarian at the me when he is making the mistake, inrespect of the mistake? True, we say that the physician orarithmetician or grammarian has made a mistake, but this is only a wayof speaking; for the fact is that neither the grammarian nor any otherperson of skill ever makes a mistake in so far as he is what his nameimplies; they none of them err unless their skill fails them, and thenthey cease to be skilled artists. No artist or sage or ruler errs atthe time when he is what his name implies; though he is commonly saidto err, and I adopted the common mode of speaking. But to be perfectlyaccurate, since you are such a lover of accuracy, we should say thatthe ruler, in so far as he is the ruler, is unerring, and, beingunerring, always commands that which is for his own interest; and thesubject is required to execute his commands; and therefore, as I saidat first and now repeat, justice is the interest of the stronger.

Indeed, Thrasymachus, and do I really appear to you to argue like aninformer?

Certainly, he replied.

And you suppose that I ask these questions with any design of injuringyou in the argument?

Nay, he replied, 'suppose' is not the word—I know it; but you will befound out, and by sheer force of argument you will never prevail.

I shall not make the attempt, my dear man; but to avoid anymisunderstanding occurring between us in future, let me ask, in whatsense do you speak of a ruler or stronger whose interest, as you weresaying, he being the superior, it is just that the inferior shouldexecute—is he a ruler in the popular or in the strict sense of theterm?

In the strictest of all senses, he said. And now cheat and play theinformer if you can; I ask no quarter at your hands. But you neverwill be able, never.

And do you imagine, I said, that I am such a madman as to try andcheat, Thrasymachus? I might as well shave a lion.

Why, he said, you made the attempt a minute ago, and you failed.

Enough, I said, of these civilities. It will be better that I shouldask you a question: Is the physician, taken in that strict sense ofwhich you are speaking, a healer of the sick or a maker of money? Andremember that I am now speaking of the true physician.

A healer of the sick, he replied.

And the pilot—that is to say, the true pilot—is he a captain ofsailors or a mere sailor?

A captain of sailors.

The circumstance that he sails in the ship is not to be taken intoaccount; neither is he to be called a sailor; the name pilot by whichhe is distinguished has nothing to do with sailing, but is significantof his skill and of his authority over the sailors.

Very true, he said.

Now, I said, every art has an interest?

Certainly.

For which the art has to consider and provide?

Yes, that is the aim of art.

And the interest of any art is the perfection of it—this and nothingelse?

What do you mean?

I mean what I may illustrate negatively by the example of the body.Suppose you were to ask me whether the body is self-sufficing or haswants, I should reply: Certainly the body has wants; for the body maybe ill and require to be cured, and has therefore interests to whichthe art of medicine ministers; and this is the origin and intention ofmedicine, as you will acknowledge. Am I not right?

Quite right, he replied.

But is the art of medicine or any other art faulty or deficient in anyquality in the same way that the eye may be deficient in sight or theear fail of hearing, and therefore requires another art to provide forthe interests of seeing and hearing—has art in itself, I say, anysimilar liability to fault or defect, and does every art requireanother supplementary art to provide for its interests, and thatanother and another without end? Or have the arts to look only aftertheir own interests? Or have they no need either of themselves or ofanother?—having no faults or defects, they have no need to correctthem, either by the exercise of their own art or of any other; theyhave only to consider the interest of their subject-matter. For everyart remains pure and faultless while remaining true—that is to say,while perfect and unimpaired. Take the words in your precise sense,and tell me whether I am not right."

Yes, clearly.

Then medicine does not consider the interest of medicine, but theinterest of the body?

True, he said.

Nor does the art of horsemanship consider the interests of the art ofhorsemanship, but the interests of the horse; neither do any other artscare for themselves, for they have no needs; they care only for thatwhich is the subject of their art?

True, he said.

But surely, Thrasymachus, the arts are the superiors and rulers oftheir own subjects?

To this he assented with a good deal of reluctance.

Then, I said, no science or art considers or enjoins the interest ofthe stronger or superior, but only the interest of the subject andweaker?

He made an attempt to contest this proposition also, but finallyacquiesced.

Then, I continued, no physician, in so far as he is a physician,considers his own good in what he prescribes, but the good of hispatient; for the true physician is also a ruler having the human bodyas a subject, and is not a mere money-maker; that has been admitted?

Yes.

And the pilot likewise, in the strict sense of the term, is a ruler ofsailors and not a mere sailor?

That has been admitted.

And such a pilot and ruler will provide and prescribe for the interestof the sailor who is under him, and not for his own or the ruler'sinterest?

He gave a reluctant 'Yes.'

Then, I said, Thrasymachus, there is no one in any rule who, in so faras he is a ruler, considers or enjoins what is for his own interest,but always what is for the interest of his subject or suitable to hisart; to that he looks, and that alone he considers in everything whichhe says and does.

When we had got to this point in the argument, and every one saw thatthe definition of justice had been completely upset, Thrasymachus,instead of replying to me, said: Tell me, Socrates, have you got anurse?

Why do you ask such a question, I said, when you ought rather to beanswering?

Because she leaves you to snivel, and never wipes your nose: she hasnot even taught you to know the shepherd from the sheep.

What makes you say that? I replied.

Because you fancy that the shepherd or neatherd fattens of tends thesheep or oxen with a view to their own good and not to the good ofhimself or his master; and you further imagine that the rulers ofstates, if they are true rulers, never think of their subjects assheep, and that they are not studying their own advantage day andnight. Oh, no; and so entirely astray are you in your ideas about thejust and unjust as not even to know that justice and the just are inreality another's good; that is to say, the interest of the ruler andstronger, and the loss of the subject and servant; and injustice theopposite; for the unjust is lord over the truly simple and just: he isthe stronger, and his subjects do what is for his interest, andminister to his happiness, which is very far from being their own.Consider further, most foolish Socrates, that the just is always aloser in comparison with the unjust. First of all, in privatecontracts: wherever the unjust is the partner of the just you will findthat, when the partnership is dissolved, the unjust man has always moreand the just less. Secondly, in their dealings with the State: whenthere is an income tax, the just man will pay more and the unjust lesson the same amount of income; and when there is anything to be receivedthe one gains nothing and the other much. Observe also what happenswhen they take an office; there is the just man neglecting his affairsand perhaps suffering other losses, and getting nothing out of thepublic, because he is just; moreover he is hated by his friends andacquaintance for refusing to serve them in unlawful ways. But all thisis reversed in the case of the unjust man. I am speaking, as before,of injustice on a large scale in which the advantage of the unjust ismore apparent; and my meaning will be most clearly seen if we turn tothat highest form of injustice in which the criminal is the happiest ofmen, and the sufferers or those who refuse to do injustice are the mostmiserable—that is to say tyranny, which by fraud and force takes awaythe property of others, not little by little but wholesale;comprehending in one, things sacred as well as profane, private andpublic; for which acts of wrong, if he were detected perpetrating anyone of them singly, he would be punished and incur great disgrace—theywho do such wrong in particular cases are called robbers of temples,and man-stealers and burglars and swindlers and thieves. But when aman besides taking away the money of the citizens has made slaves ofthem, then, instead of these names of reproach, he is termed happy andblessed, not only by the citizens but by all who hear of his havingachieved the consummation of injustice. For mankind censure injustice,fearing that they may be the victims of it and not because they shrinkfrom committing it. And thus, as I have shown, Socrates, injustice,when on a sufficient scale, has more strength and freedom and masterythan justice; and, as I said at first, justice is the interest of thestronger, whereas injustice is a man's own profit and interest.

Thrasymachus, when he had thus spoken, having, like a bathman, delugedour ears with his words, had a mind to go away. But the company wouldnot let him; they insisted that he should remain and defend hisposition; and I myself added my own humble request that he would notleave us. Thrasymachus, I said to him, excellent man, how suggestiveare your remarks! And are you going to run away before you have fairlytaught or learned whether they are true or not? Is the attempt todetermine the way of man's life so small a matter in your eyes—todetermine how life may be passed by each one of us to the greatestadvantage?

And do I differ from you, he said, as to the importance of the enquiry?

You appear rather, I replied, to have no care or thought about us,Thrasymachus—whether we live better or worse from not knowing what yousay you know, is to you a matter of indifference. Prithee, friend, donot keep your knowledge to yourself; we are a large party; and anybenefit which you confer upon us will be amply rewarded. For my ownpart I openly declare that I am not convinced, and that I do notbelieve injustice to be more gainful than justice, even if uncontrolledand allowed to have free play. For, granting that there may be anunjust man who is able to commit injustice either by fraud or force,still this does not convince me of the superior advantage of injustice,and there may be others who are in the same predicament with myself.Perhaps we may be wrong; if so, you in your wisdom should convince usthat we are mistaken in preferring justice to injustice.

And how am I to convince you, he said, if you are not already convincedby what I have just said; what more can I do for you? Would you haveme put the proof bodily into your souls?

Heaven forbid! I said; I would only ask you to be consistent; or, ifyou change, change openly and let there be no deception. For I mustremark, Thrasymachus, if you will recall what was previously said, thatalthough you began by defining the true physician in an exact sense,you did not observe a like exactness when speaking of the shepherd; youthought that the shepherd as a shepherd tends the sheep not with a viewto their own good, but like a mere diner or banqueter with a view tothe pleasures of the table; or, again, as a trader for sale in themarket, and not as a shepherd. Yet surely the art of the shepherd isconcerned only with the good of his subjects; he has only to providethe best for them, since the perfection of the art is already ensuredwhenever all the requirements of it are satisfied. And that was what Iwas saying just now about the ruler. I conceived that the art of theruler, considered as ruler, whether in a state or in private life,could only regard the good of his flock or subjects; whereas you seemto think that the rulers in states, that is to say, the true rulers,like being in authority.

Think! Nay, I am sure of it.

Then why in the case of lesser offices do men never take them willinglywithout payment, unless under the idea that they govern for theadvantage not of themselves but of others? Let me ask you a question:Are not the several arts different, by reason of their each having aseparate function? And, my dear illustrious friend, do say what youthink, that we may make a little progress.

Yes, that is the difference, he replied.

And each art gives us a particular good and not merely a generalone—medicine, for example, gives us health; navigation, safety at sea,and so on?

Yes, he said.

And the art of payment has the special function of giving pay: but wedo not confuse this with other arts, any more than the art of the pilotis to be confused with the art of medicine, because the health of thepilot may be improved by a sea voyage. You would not be inclined tosay, would you, that navigation is the art of medicine, at least if weare to adopt your exact use of language?

Certainly not.

Or because a man is in good health when he receives pay you would notsay that the art of payment is medicine?

I should say not.

Nor would you say that medicine is the art of receiving pay because aman takes fees when he is engaged in healing?

Certainly not.

And we have admitted, I said, that the good of each art is speciallyconfined to the art?

Yes.

Then, if there be any good which all artists have in common, that is tobe attributed to something of which they all have the common use?

True, he replied.

And when the artist is benefited by receiving pay the advantage isgained by an additional use of the art of pay, which is not the artprofessed by him?

He gave a reluctant assent to this.

Then the pay is not derived by the several artists from theirrespective arts. But the truth is, that while the art of medicinegives health, and the art of the builder builds a house, another artattends them which is the art of pay. The various arts may be doingtheir own business and benefiting that over which they preside, butwould the artist receive any benefit from his art unless he were paidas well?

I suppose not.

But does he therefore confer no benefit when he works for nothing?

Certainly, he confers a benefit.

Then now, Thrasymachus, there is no longer any doubt that neither artsnor governments provide for their own interests; but, as we were beforesaying, they rule and provide for the interests of their subjects whoare the weaker and not the stronger—to their good they attend and notto the good of the superior.

And this is the reason, my dear Thrasymachus, why, as I was just nowsaying, no one is willing to govern; because no one likes to take inhand the reformation of evils which are not his concern withoutremuneration. For, in the execution of his work, and in giving hisorders to another, the true artist does not regard his own interest,but always that of his subjects; and therefore in order that rulers maybe willing to rule, they must be paid in one of three modes of payment:money, or honour, or a penalty for refusing.

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

What do you mean, Socrates? said Glaucon. The first two modes ofpayment are intelligible enough, but what the penalty is I do notunderstand, or how a penalty can be a payment.

You mean that you do not understand the nature of this payment which tothe best men is the great inducement to rule? Of course you know thatambition and avarice are held to be, as indeed they are, a disgrace?

Very true.

And for this reason, I said, money and honour have no attraction forthem; good men do not wish to be openly demanding payment for governingand so to get the name of hirelings, nor by secretly helping themselvesout of the public revenues to get the name of thieves. And not beingambitious they do not care about honour. Wherefore necessity must belaid upon them, and they must be induced to serve from the fear ofpunishment. And this, as I imagine, is the reason why the forwardnessto take office, instead of waiting to be compelled, has been deemeddishonourable. Now the worst part of the punishment is that he whorefuses to rule is liable to be ruled by one who is worse than himself.And the fear of this, as I conceive, induces the good to take office,not because they would, but because they cannot help—not under theidea that they are going to have any benefit or enjoyment themselves,but as a necessity, and because they are not able to commit the task ofruling to any one who is better than themselves, or indeed as good.For there is reason to think that if a city were composed entirely ofgood men, then to avoid office would be as much an object of contentionas to obtain office is at present; then we should have plain proof thatthe true ruler is not meant by nature to regard his own interest, butthat of his subjects; and every one who knew this would choose ratherto receive a benefit from another than to have the trouble ofconferring one. So far am I from agreeing with Thrasymachus thatjustice is the interest of the stronger. This latter question need notbe further discussed at present; but when Thrasymachus says that thelife of the unjust is more advantageous than that of the just, his newstatement appears to me to be of a far more serious character. Whichof us has spoken truly? And which sort of life, Glaucon, do you prefer?

I for my part deem the life of the just to be the more advantageous, heanswered.

Did you hear all the advantages of the unjust which Thrasymachus wasrehearsing?

Yes, I heard him, he replied, but he has not convinced me.

Then shall we try to find some way of convincing him, if we can, thathe is saying what is not true?

Most certainly, he replied.

If, I said, he makes a set speech and we make another recounting allthe advantages of being just, and he answers and we rejoin, there mustbe a numbering and measuring of the goods which are claimed on eitherside, and in the end we shall want judges to decide; but if we proceedin our enquiry as we lately did, by making admissions to one another,we shall unite the offices of judge and advocate in our own persons.

Very good, he said.

And which method do I understand you to prefer? I said.

That which you propose.

Well, then, Thrasymachus, I said, suppose you begin at the beginningand answer me. You say that perfect injustice is more gainful thanperfect justice?

SOCRATES - GLAUCON - THRASYMACHUS

Yes, that is what I say, and I have given you my reasons.

And what is your view about them? Would you call one of them virtueand the other vice?

Certainly.

I suppose that you would call justice virtue and injustice vice?

What a charming notion! So likely too, seeing that I affirm injusticeto be profitable and justice not.

What else then would you say?

The opposite, he replied.

And would you call justice vice?

No, I would rather say sublime simplicity.

Then would you call injustice malignity?

No; I would rather say discretion.

And do the unjust appear to you to be wise and good?

Yes, he said; at any rate those of them who are able to be perfectlyunjust, and who have the power of subduing states and nations; butperhaps you imagine me to be talking of cutpurses.

Even this profession if undetected has advantages, though they are notto be compared with those of which I was just now speaking.

I do not think that I misapprehend your meaning, Thrasymachus, Ireplied; but still I cannot hear without amazement that you classinjustice with wisdom and virtue, and justice with the opposite.

Certainly I do so class them.

Now, I said, you are on more substantial and almost unanswerableground; for if the injustice which you were maintaining to beprofitable had been admitted by you as by others to be vice anddeformity, an answer might have been given to you on receivedprinciples; but now I perceive that you will call injustice honourableand strong, and to the unjust you will attribute all the qualitieswhich were attributed by us before to the just, seeing that you do nothesitate to rank injustice with wisdom and virtue.

You have guessed most infallibly, he replied.

Then I certainly ought not to shrink from going through with theargument so long as I have reason to think that you, Thrasymachus, arespeaking your real mind; for I do believe that you are now in earnestand are not amusing yourself at our expense.

I may be in earnest or not, but what is that to you?—to refute theargument is your business.

Very true, I said; that is what I have to do: But will you be so goodas answer yet one more question? Does the just man try to gain anyadvantage over the just?

Far otherwise; if he did would not be the simple, amusing creaturewhich he is.

And would he try to go beyond just action?

He would not.

And how would he regard the attempt to gain an advantage over theunjust; would that be considered by him as just or unjust?

He would think it just, and would try to gain the advantage; but hewould not be able.

Whether he would or would not be able, I said, is not to the point. Myquestion is only whether the just man, while refusing to have more thananother just man, would wish and claim to have more than the unjust?

Yes, he would.

And what of the unjust—does he claim to have more than the just manand to do more than is just.

Of course, he said, for he claims to have more than all men.

And the unjust man will strive and struggle to obtain more than theunjust man or action, in order that he may have more than all?

True.

We may put the matter thus, I said—the just does not desire more thanhis like but more than his unlike, whereas the unjust desires more thanboth his like and his unlike?

Nothing, he said, can be better than that statement.

And the unjust is good and wise, and the just is neither?

Good again, he said.

And is not the unjust like the wise and good and the just unlike them?

Of course, he said, he who is of a certain nature, is like those whoare of a certain nature; he who is not, not.

Each of them, I said, is such as his like is?

Certainly, he replied.

Very good, Thrasymachus, I said; and now to take the case of the arts:you would admit that one man is a musician and another not a musician?

Yes.

And which is wise and which is foolish?

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 isfoolish?

Yes.

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

Yes.

And do you think, my excellent friend, that a musician when he adjuststhe lyre would desire or claim to exceed or go beyond a musician in thetightening 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 anddrinks would he wish to go beyond another physician or beyond thepractice of medicine?

He would not.

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

Yes.

And about knowledge and ignorance in general; see whether you thinkthat any man who has knowledge ever would wish to have the choice ofsaying or doing more than another man who has knowledge. Would he notrather 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 eitherthe knowing or the ignorant?

I dare say.

And the knowing is wise?

Yes.

And the wise is good?

True.

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

I suppose so.

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

Yes.

But did we not say, Thrasymachus, that the unjust goes beyond both hislike 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 hisunlike?

Yes.

Then the just is like the wise and good, and the unjust like the eviland 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 eviland ignorant.

Thrasymachus made all these admissions, not fluently, as I repeat them,but with extreme reluctance; it was a hot summer's day, and theperspiration poured from him in torrents; and then I saw what I hadnever seen before, Thrasymachus blushing. As we were now agreed thatjustice was virtue and wisdom, and injustice vice and ignorance, Iproceeded to another point:

Well, I said, Thrasymachus, that matter is now settled; but were we notalso saying that injustice had strength; do you remember?

Yes, I remember, he said, but do not suppose that I approve of what youare saying or have no answer; if however I were to answer, you would bequite certain to accuse me of haranguing; therefore either permit me tohave 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 andyou shall answer.

Proceed.

Then I will repeat the question which I asked before, in order that ourexamination of the relative nature of justice and injustice may becarried on regularly. A statement was made that injustice is strongerand more powerful than justice, but now justice, having been identifiedwith 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: Youwould not deny that a state may be unjust and may be unjustlyattempting 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 statewill be most likely to do so.

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

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

I am delighted, Thrasymachus, to see you not only nodding assent anddissent, 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 toinform me, whether you think that a state, or an army, or a band ofrobbers and thieves, or any other gang of evil-doers could act at allif they injured one another?

No indeed, he said, they could not.

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

Yes.

And this is because injustice creates divisions and hatreds andfighting, 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 whetherinjustice, having this tendency to arouse hatred, wherever existing,among slaves or among freemen, will not make them hate one another andset them at variance and render them incapable of common action?

Certainly.

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

They will.

And suppose injustice abiding in a single person, would your wisdom saythat 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 thatwherever she takes up her abode, whether in a city, in an army, in afamily, or in any other body, that body is, to begin with, renderedincapable of united action by reason of sedition and distraction; anddoes it not become its own enemy and at variance with all that opposesit, and with the just? Is not this the case?

Yes, certainly.

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

Yes.

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 willbe their friend?

Feast away in triumph, and take your fill of the argument; I will notoppose you, lest I should displease the company.

Well then, proceed with your answers, and let me have the remainder ofmy repast. For we have already shown that the just are clearly wiserand better and abler than the unjust, and that the unjust are incapableof common action; nay ing at more, that to speak as we did of men whoare evil acting at any time vigorously together, is not strictly true,for if they had been perfectly evil, they would have laid hands uponone another; but it is evident that there must have been some remnantof justice in them, which enabled them to combine; if there had notbeen they would have injured one another as well as their victims; theywere but half—villains in their enterprises; for had they been wholevillains, and utterly unjust, they would have been utterly incapable ofaction. That, as I believe, is the truth of the matter, and not whatyou said at first. But whether the just have a better and happier lifethan the unjust is a further question which we also proposed toconsider. I think that they have, and for the reasons which to havegiven; but still I should like to examine further, for no light matteris at stake, nothing less than the rule of human life.

Proceed.

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

I should.

And the end or use of a horse or of anything would be that which couldnot 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?

No.

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, andin many other ways?

Of course.

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

True.

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 mymeaning when I asked the question whether the end of anything would bethat which could not be accomplished, or not so well accomplished, byany other thing?

I understand your meaning, he said, and assent.

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

It has.

And has not the eye an excellence?

Yes.

And the ear has an end and an excellence also?

True.

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

That is so.

Well, and can the eyes fulfil their end if they are wanting in theirown 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 issight; but I have not arrived at that point yet. I would rather askthe question more generally, and only enquire whether the things whichfulfil their ends fulfil them by their own proper excellence, and fallof fulfilling them by their own defect?

Certainly, he replied.

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

True.

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? forexample, to superintend and command and deliberate and the like. Arenot these functions proper to the soul, and can they rightly beassigned 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?

Yes.

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

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, andinjustice the defect of the soul?

That has been admitted.

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

That is what your argument proves.

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

Certainly.

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 profitablethan 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 gentletowards me and have left off scolding. Nevertheless, I have not beenwell entertained; but that was my own fault and not yours. As anepicure snatches a taste of every dish which is successively brought totable, he not having allowed himself time to enjoy the one before, sohave I gone from one subject to another without having discovered whatI sought at first, the nature of justice. I left that enquiry andturned away to consider whether justice is virtue and wisdom or eviland folly; and when there arose a further question about thecomparative advantages of justice and injustice, I could not refrainfrom passing on to that. And the result of the whole discussion hasbeen that I know nothing at all. For I know not what justice is, andtherefore I am not likely to know whether it is or is not a virtue, norcan I say whether the just man is happy or unhappy.

BOOK II

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

WITH these words I was thinking that I had made an end of thediscussion; but the end, in truth, proved to be only a beginning. ForGlaucon, who is always the most pugnacious of men, was dissatisfied atThrasymachus' retirement; he wanted to have the battle out. So he saidto me: Socrates, do you wish really to persuade us, or only to seem tohave 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 wouldyou arrange goods—are there not some which we welcome for their ownsakes, 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 theirresults?

Certainly, I said.

And would you not recognize a third class, such as gymnastic, and thecare of the sick, and the physician's art; also the various ways ofmoney-making—these do us good but we regard them as disagreeable; andno one would choose them for their own sakes, but only for the sake ofsome 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 placejustice?

In the highest class, I replied,—among those goods which he who wouldbe happy desires both for their own sake and for the sake of theirresults.

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

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

I wish, he said, that you would hear me as well as him, and then Ishall see whether you and I agree. For Thrasymachus seems to me, likea snake, to have been charmed by your voice sooner than he ought tohave been; but to my mind the nature of justice and injustice have notyet been made clear. Setting aside their rewards and results, I wantto know what they are in themselves, and how they inwardly work in thesoul. If you, please, then, I will revive the argument ofThrasymachus. And first I will speak of the nature and origin ofjustice according to the common view of them. Secondly, I will showthat all men who practise justice do so against their will, ofnecessity, but not as a good. And thirdly, I will argue that there isreason in this view, for the life of the unjust is after all better farthan the life of the just—if what they say is true, Socrates, since Imyself am not of their opinion. But still I acknowledge that I amperplexed when I hear the voices of Thrasymachus and myriads of othersdinning in my ears; and, on the other hand, I have never yet heard thesuperiority of justice to injustice maintained by any one in asatisfactory way. I want to hear justice praised in respect of itself;then I shall be satisfied, and you are the person from whom I thinkthat I am most likely to hear this; and therefore I will praise theunjust life to the utmost of my power, and my manner of speaking willindicate the manner in which I desire to hear you too praising justiceand censuring injustice. Will you say whether you approve of myproposal?

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

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

GLAUCON

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 haveboth done and suffered injustice and have had experience of both, notbeing able to avoid the one and obtain the other, they think that theyhad better agree among themselves to have neither; hence there ariselaws and mutual covenants; and that which is ordained by law is termedby them lawful and just. This they affirm to be the origin and natureof justice;—it is a mean or compromise, between the best of all, whichis to do injustice and not be punished, and the worst of all, which isto 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 mento do injustice. For no man who is worthy to be called a man wouldever submit to such an agreement if he were able to resist; he would bemad if he did. Such is the received account, Socrates, of the natureand origin of justice.

Now that those who practise justice do so involuntarily and becausethey have not the power to be unjust will best appear if we imaginesomething of this kind: having given both to the just and the unjustpower to do what they will, let us watch and see whither desire willlead them; then we shall discover in the very act the just and unjustman to be proceeding along the same road, following their interest,which all natures deem to be their good, and are only diverted into thepath of justice by the force of law. The liberty which we aresupposing may be most completely given to them in the form of such apower as is said to have been possessed by Gyges the ancestor ofCroesus the Lydian. According to the tradition, Gyges was a shepherdin the service of the king of Lydia; there was a great storm, and anearthquake made an opening in the earth at the place where he wasfeeding his flock. Amazed at the sight, he descended into the opening,where, among other marvels, he beheld a hollow brazen horse, havingdoors, 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 goldring; this he took from the finger of the dead and reascended. Now theshepherds met together, according to custom, that they might send theirmonthly report about the flocks to the king; into their assembly hecame having the ring on his finger, and as he was sitting among them hechanced to turn the collet of the ring inside his hand, when instantlyhe became invisible to the rest of the company and they began to speakof him as if he were no longer present. He was astonished at this, andagain touching the ring he turned the collet outwards and reappeared;he made several trials of the ring, and always with the sameresult-when he turned the collet inwards he became invisible, whenoutwards he reappeared. Whereupon he contrived to be chosen one of themessengers who were sent to the court; where as soon as he arrived heseduced the queen, and with her help conspired against the king andslew him, and took the kingdom. Suppose now that there were two suchmagic 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 standfast in justice. No man would keep his hands off what was not his ownwhen he could safely take what he liked out of the market, or go intohouses and lie with any one at his pleasure, or kill or release fromprison 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 trulyaffirm to be a great proof that a man is just, not willingly or becausehe thinks that justice is any good to him individually, but ofnecessity, for wherever any one thinks that he can safely be unjust,there he is unjust. For all men believe in their hearts that injusticeis far more profitable to the individual than justice, and he whoargues as I have been supposing, will say that they are right. If youcould imagine any one obtaining this power of becoming invisible, andnever doing any wrong or touching what was another's, he would bethought by the lookers-on to be a most wretched idiot, although theywould praise him to one another's faces, and keep up appearances withone another from a fear that they too might suffer injustice. Enoughof this.

Now, if we are to form a real judgment of the life of the just andunjust, we must isolate them; there is no other way; and how is theisolation to be effected? I answer: Let the unjust man be entirelyunjust, and the just man entirely just; nothing is to be taken awayfrom either of them, and both are to be perfectly furnished for thework of their respective lives. First, let the unjust be like otherdistinguished masters of craft; like the skilful pilot or physician,who knows intuitively his own powers and keeps within their limits, andwho, if he fails at any point, is able to recover himself. So let theunjust make his unjust attempts in the right way, and lie hidden if hemeans to be great in his injustice (he who is found out is nobody): forthe 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 themost perfect injustice; there is to be no deduction, but we must allowhim, while doing the most unjust acts, to have acquired the greatestreputation for justice. If he have taken a false step he must be ableto recover himself; he must be one who can speak with effect, if any ofhis deeds come to light, and who can force his way where force isrequired his courage and strength, and command of money and friends.And at his side let us place the just man in his nobleness andsimplicity, 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 honouredand rewarded, and then we shall not know whether he is just for thesake of justice or for the sake of honours and rewards; therefore, lethim be clothed in justice only, and have no other covering; and he mustbe imagined in a state of life the opposite of the former. Let him bethe best of men, and let him be thought the worst; then he will havebeen put to the proof; and we shall see whether he will be affected bythe fear of infamy and its consequences. And let him continue thus tothe hour of death; being just and seeming to be unjust. When both havereached the uttermost extreme, the one of justice and the other ofinjustice, let judgment be given which of them is the happier of thetwo.

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

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

I do my best, he said. And now that we know what they are like thereis no difficulty in tracing out the sort of life which awaits either ofthem. This I will proceed to describe; but as you may think thedescription a little too coarse, I ask you to suppose, Socrates, thatthe words which follow are not mine.— Let me put them into the mouthsof the eulogists of injustice: They will tell you that the just man whois thought unjust will be scourged, racked, bound—will have his eyesburnt out; and, at last, after suffering every kind of evil, he will beimpaled: Then he will understand that he ought to seem only, and notto be, just; the words of Aeschylus may be more truly spoken of theunjust than of the just. For the unjust is pursuing a reality; he doesnot live with a view to appearances—he wants to be really unjust andnot 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 thecity; 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 ownadvantage, because he has no misgivings about injustice and at everycontest, whether in public or private, he gets the better of hisantagonists, and gains at their expense, and is rich, and out of hisgains he can benefit his friends, and harm his enemies; moreover, hecan offer sacrifices, and dedicate gifts to the gods abundantly andmagnificently, and can honour the gods or any man whom he wants tohonour in a far better style than the just, and therefore he is likelyto be dearer than they are to the gods. And thus, Socrates, gods andmen are said to unite in making the life of the unjust better than thelife of the just.

ADEIMANTUS - SOCRATES

I was going to say something in answer to Glaucon, when Adeimantus, hisbrother, interposed: Socrates, he said, you do not suppose that thereis 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 hefails in any part do you assist him; although I must confess thatGlaucon has already said quite enough to lay me in the dust, and takefrom me the power of helping justice.

ADEIMANTUS

Nonsense, he replied. But let me add something more: There is anotherside to Glaucon's argument about the praise and censure of justice andinjustice, which is equally required in order to bring out what Ibelieve to be his meaning. Parents and tutors are always telling theirsons and their wards that they are to be just; but why? not for thesake of justice, but for the sake of character and reputation; in thehope of obtaining for him who is reputed just some of those offices,marriages, and the like which Glaucon has enumerated among theadvantages accruing to the unjust from the reputation of justice.More, however, is made of appearances by this class of persons than bythe others; for they throw in the good opinion of the gods, and willtell you of a shower of benefits which the heavens, as they say, rainupon the pious; and this accords with the testimony of the noble Hesiodand Homer, the first of whom says, that the gods make the oaks of thejust—

    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. AndHomer 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 sonvouchsafe to the just; they take them down into the world below, wherethey have the saints lying on couches at a feast, everlastingly drunk,crowned with garlands; their idea seems to be that an immortality ofdrunkenness is the highest meed of virtue. Some extend their rewardsyet further; the posterity, as they say, of the faithful and just shallsurvive to the third and fourth generation. This is the style in whichthey praise justice. But about the wicked there is another strain;they bury them in a slough in Hades, and make them carry water in asieve; also while they are yet living they bring them to infamy, andinflict upon them the punishments which Glaucon described as theportion of the just who are reputed to be unjust; nothing else doestheir invention supply. Such is their manner of praising the one andcensuring the other.

Once more, Socrates, I will ask you to consider another way of speakingabout justice and injustice, which is not confined to the poets, but isfound in prose writers. The universal voice of mankind is alwaysdeclaring that justice and virtue are honourable, but grievous andtoilsome; and that the pleasures of vice and injustice are easy ofattainment, and are only censured by law and opinion. They say alsothat honesty is for the most part less profitable than dishonesty; andthey are quite ready to call wicked men happy, and to honour them bothin public and private when they are rich or in any other wayinfluential, while they despise and overlook those who may be weak andpoor, even though acknowledging them to be better than the others. Butmost extraordinary of all is their mode of speaking about virtue andthe gods: they say that the gods apportion calamity and misery to manygood men, and good and happiness to the wicked. And mendicant prophetsgo to rich men's doors and persuade them that they have a powercommitted to them by the gods of making an atonement for a man's own orhis ancestor's sins by sacrifices or charms, with rejoicings andfeasts; and they promise to harm an enemy, whether just or unjust, at asmall cost; with magic arts and incantations binding heaven, as theysay, to execute their will. And the poets are the authorities to whomthey 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 thegods 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 transgressed.

And they produce a host of books written by Musaeus and Orpheus, whowere children of the Moon and the Muses—that is what theysay—according to which they perform their ritual, and persuade notonly individuals, but whole cities, that expiations and atonements forsin 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 lattersort 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 virtueand vice, and the way in which gods and men regard them, how are theirminds 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 whatmanner of persons they should be and in what way they should walk ifthey would make the best of life? Probably the youth will say tohimself 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 thoughtjust profit there is none, but the pain and loss on the other hand areunmistakable. But if, though unjust, I acquire the reputation ofjustice, a heavenly life is promised to me. Since then, asphilosophers prove, appearance tyrannizes over truth and is lord ofhappiness, to appearance I must devote myself. I will describe aroundme a picture and shadow of virtue to be the vestibule and exterior ofmy house; behind I will trail the subtle and crafty fox, asArchilochus, greatest of sages, recommends. But I hear some oneexclaiming that the concealment of wickedness is often difficult; towhich I answer, Nothing great is easy. Nevertheless, the argumentindicates this, if we would be happy, to be the path along which weshould proceed. With a view to concealment we will establish secretbrotherhoods and political clubs. And there are professors of rhetoricwho teach the art of persuading courts and assemblies; and so, partlyby persuasion and partly by force, I shall make unlawful gains and notbe punished. Still I hear a voice saying that the gods cannot bedeceived, neither can they be compelled. But what if there are nogods? or, suppose them to have no care of human things—why in eithercase should we mind about concealment? And even if there are gods, andthey do care about us, yet we know of them only from tradition and thegenealogies of the poets; and these are the very persons who say thatthey may be influenced and turned by 'sacrifices and soothingentreaties and by offerings.' Let us be consistent then, and believeboth or neither. If the poets speak truly, why then we had better beunjust, and offer of the fruits of injustice; for if we are just,although we may escape the vengeance of heaven, we shall lose the gainsof injustice; but, if we are unjust, we shall keep the gains, and byour sinning and praying, and praying and sinning, the gods will bepropitiated, and we shall not be punished. 'But there is a world belowin which either we or our posterity will suffer for our unjust deeds.'Yes, my friend, will be the reflection, but there are mysteries andatoning deities, and these have great power. That is what mightycities declare; and the children of the gods, who were their poets andprophets, bear a like testimony.

On what principle, then, shall we any longer choose justice rather thanthe worst injustice? when, if we only unite the latter with a deceitfulregard to appearances, we shall fare to our mind both with gods andmen, in life and after death, as the most numerous and the highestauthorities tell us. Knowing all this, Socrates, how can a man who hasany superiority of mind or person or rank or wealth, be willing tohonour justice; or indeed to refrain from laughing when he hearsjustice praised? And even if there should be some one who is able todisprove the truth of my words, and who is satisfied that justice isbest, still he is not angry with the unjust, but is very ready toforgive them, because he also knows that men are not just of their ownfree will; unless, peradventure, there be some one whom the divinitywithin him may have inspired with a hatred of injustice, or who hasattained knowledge of the truth—but no other man. He only blamesinjustice who, owing to cowardice or age or some weakness, has not thepower of being unjust. And this is proved by the fact that when heobtains the power, he immediately becomes unjust as far as he can be.

The cause of all this, Socrates, was indicated by us at the beginningof the argument, when my brother and I told you how astonished we wereto find that of all the professing panegyrists of justice—beginningwith 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 blamedinjustice or praised justice except with a view to the glories,honours, and benefits which flow from them. No one has ever adequatelydescribed either in verse or prose the true essential nature of eitherof 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 withinhim, justice is the greatest good, and injustice the greatest evil.Had this been the universal strain, had you sought to persuade us ofthis from our youth upwards, we should not have been on the watch tokeep one another from doing wrong, but every one would have been hisown watchman, because afraid, if he did wrong, of harbouring in himselfthe greatest of evils. I dare say that Thrasymachus and others wouldseriously hold the language which I have been merely repeating, andwords even stronger than these about justice and injustice, grossly, asI conceive, perverting their true nature. But I speak in this vehementmanner, as I must frankly confess to you, because I want to hear fromyou the opposite side; and I would ask you to show not only thesuperiority which justice has over injustice, but what effect they haveon the possessor of them which makes the one to be a good and the otheran evil to him. And please, as Glaucon requested of you, to excludereputations; for unless you take away from each of them his truereputation and add on the false, we shall say that you do not praisejustice, but the appearance of it; we shall think that you are onlyexhorting us to keep injustice dark, and that you really agree withThrasymachus in thinking that justice is another's good and theinterest of the stronger, and that injustice is a man's own profit andinterest, though injurious to the weaker. Now as you have admittedthat justice is one of that highest class of goods which are desiredindeed for their results, but in a far greater degree for their ownsakes—like sight or hearing or knowledge or health, or any other realand natural and not merely conventional good—I would ask you in yourpraise of justice to regard one point only: I mean the essential goodand evil which justice and injustice work in the possessors of them.Let others praise justice and censure injustice, magnifying the rewardsand honours of the one and abusing the other; that is a manner ofarguing which, coming from them, I am ready to tolerate, but from youwho have spent your whole life in the consideration of this question,unless I hear the contrary from your own lips, I expect somethingbetter. And therefore, I say, not only prove to us that justice isbetter than injustice, but show what they either of them do to thepossessor of them, which makes the one to be a good and the other anevil, whether seen or unseen by gods and men.

SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS

I had always admired the genius of Glaucon and Adeimantus, but onhearing these words I was quite delighted, and said: Sons of anillustrious father, that was not a bad beginning of the Elegiac verseswhich the admirer of Glaucon made in honour of you after you haddistinguished 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 inbeing able to argue as you have done for the superiority of injustice,and remaining unconvinced by your own arguments. And I do believe thatyou are not convinced—this I infer from your general character, forhad I judged only from your speeches I should have mistrusted you. Butnow, the greater my confidence in you, the greater is my difficulty inknowing what to say. For I am in a strait between two; on the one handI feel that I am unequal to the task; and my inability is brought hometo me by the fact that you were not satisfied with the answer which Imade to Thrasymachus, proving, as I thought, the superiority whichjustice has over injustice. And yet I cannot refuse to help, whilebreath and speech remain to me; I am afraid that there would be animpiety in being present when justice is evil spoken of and not liftingup a hand in her defence. And therefore I had best give such help as Ican.

Glaucon and the rest entreated me by all means not to let the questiondrop, but to proceed in the investigation. They wanted to arrive atthe truth, first, about the nature of justice and injustice, andsecondly, about their relative advantages. I told them, what I reallythought, that the enquiry would be of a serious nature, and wouldrequire very good eyes. Seeing then, I said, that we are no greatwits, I think that we had better adopt a method which I may illustratethus; suppose that a short-sighted person had been asked by some one toread small letters from a distance; and it occurred to some one elsethat they might be found in another place which was larger and in whichthe letters were larger—if they were the same and he could read thelarger letters first, and then proceed to the lesser—this would havebeen thought a rare piece of good fortune.

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

I will tell you, I replied; justice, which is the subject of ourenquiry, is, as you know, sometimes spoken of as the virtue of anindividual, 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 andmore easily discernible. I propose therefore that we enquire into thenature of justice and injustice, first as they appear in the State, andsecondly in the individual, proceeding from the greater to the lesserand comparing them.

That, he said, is an excellent proposal.

And if we imagine the State in process of creation, we shall see thejustice 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 oursearch will be more easily discovered.

Yes, far more easily.

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

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

A State, I said, arises, as I conceive, out of the needs of mankind; noone is self-sufficing, but all of us have many wants. Can any otherorigin of a State be imagined?

There can I be no other.

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

True, he said.

And they exchange with one another, and one gives, and anotherreceives, 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 truecreator is necessity, who is the mother of our invention.

Of course, he replied.

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

Certainly.

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

True.

And now let us see how our city will be able to supply this greatdemand: 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 perhapssome other purveyor to our bodily wants?

Quite right.

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

Clearly.

And how will they proceed? Will each bring the result of his laboursinto a common stock?—the individual husbandman, for example, producingfor four, and labouring four times as long and as much as he need inthe 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 ofproducing for them, but provide for himself alone a fourth of the foodin a fourth of the time, and in the remaining three-fourths of his timebe employed in making a house or a coat or a pair of shoes, having nopartnership with others, but supplying himself all his own wants?

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

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

Very true.

And will you have a work better done when the workman has manyoccupations, 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 atthe right time?

No doubt.

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

He must.

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

Undoubtedly..

Then more than four citizens will be required; for the husbandman willnot make his own plough or mattock, or other implements of agriculture,if they are to be good for anything. Neither will the builder make histools—and he too needs many; and in like manner the weaver andshoemaker.

True.

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

True.

Yet even if we add neatherds, shepherds, and other herdsmen, in orderthat our husbandmen may have oxen to plough with, and builders as wellas husbandmen may have draught cattle, and curriers and weavers fleecesand hides,—still our State will not be very large.

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

Then, again, there is the situation of the city—to find a place wherenothing need be imported is well-nigh impossible.

Impossible.

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

There must.

But if the trader goes empty-handed, having nothing which they requirewho 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 forthemselves, but such both in quantity and quality as to accommodatethose 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?

Yes.

Then we shall want merchants?

We shall.

And if merchandise is to be carried over the sea, skilful sailors willalso 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 ofexchange.

Certainly.

Suppose now that a husbandman, or an artisan, brings some production tomarket, and he comes at a time when there is no one to exchange withhim,—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, undertakethe office of salesmen. In well-ordered States they are commonly thosewho are the weakest in bodily strength, and therefore of little use forany other purpose; their duty is to be in the market, and to give moneyin exchange for goods to those who desire to sell and to take moneyfrom those who desire to buy.

This want, then, creates a class of retail-traders in our State. Isnot 'retailer' the term which is applied to those who sit in themarket-place engaged in buying and selling, while those who wander fromone city to another are called merchants?

Yes, he said.

And there is another class of servants, who are intellectually hardlyon the level of companionship; still they have plenty of bodilystrength for labour, which accordingly they sell, and are called, if Ido not mistake, hirelings, hire being the name which is given to theprice of their labour.

True.

Then hirelings will help to make up our population?

Yes.

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

I think so.

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

Probably in the dealings of these citizens with one another. cannotimagine that they are more likely to be found anywhere else.

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

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

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

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

True, I replied, I had forgotten; of course they must have arelish-salt, and olives, and cheese, and they will boil roots and herbssuch as country people prepare; for a dessert we shall give them figs,and peas, and beans; and they will roast myrtle-berries and acorns atthe fire, drinking in moderation. And with such a diet they may beexpected to live in peace and health to a good old age, and bequeath asimilar 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, anddine off tables, and they should have sauces and sweets in the modernstyle.

Yes, I said, now I understand: the question which you would have meconsider is, not only how a State, but how a luxurious State iscreated; and possibly there is no harm in this, for in such a State weshall be more likely to see how justice and injustice originate. In myopinion the true and healthy constitution of the State is the one whichI have described. But if you wish also to see a State at fever heat, Ihave no objection. For I suspect that many will not be satisfied withthe simpler way of way They will be for adding sofas, and tables, andother furniture; also dainties, and perfumes, and incense, andcourtesans, and cakes, all these not of one sort only, but in everyvariety; we must go beyond the necessaries of which I was at firstspeaking, such as houses, and clothes, and shoes: the arts of thepainter and the embroiderer will have to be set in motion, and gold andivory and all sorts of materials must be procured.

True, he said.

Then we must enlarge our borders; for the original healthy State is nolonger sufficient. Now will the city have to fill and swell with amultitude of callings which are not required by any natural want; suchas the whole tribe of hunters and actors, of whom one large class haveto do with forms and colours; another will be the votaries ofmusic—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 nottutors be also in request, and nurses wet and dry, tirewomen andbarbers, as well as confectioners and cooks; and swineherds, too, whowere not needed and therefore had no place in the former edition of ourState, but are needed now? They must not be forgotten: and there willbe animals of many other kinds, if people eat them.

Certainly.

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

Much greater.

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

Quite true.

Then a slice of our neighbours' land will be wanted by us for pastureand tillage, and they will want a slice of ours, if, like ourselves,they exceed the limit of necessity, and give themselves up to theunlimited 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, thusmuch we may affirm, that now we have discovered war to be derived fromcauses which are also the causes of almost all the evils in States,private as well as public.

Undoubtedly.

And our State must once more enlarge; and this time the will be nothingshort of a whole army, which will have to go out and fight with theinvaders for all that we have, as well as for the things and personswhom 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 wasacknowledged by all of us when we were framing the State: theprinciple, as you will remember, was that one man cannot practise manyarts with success.

Very true, he said.

But is not war an art?

Certainly.

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 himand to every other worker was assigned one work for which he was bynature fitted, and at that he was to continue working all his life longand at no other; he was not to let opportunities slip, and then hewould become a good workman. Now nothing can be more important thanthat the work of a soldier should be well done. But is war an art soeasily 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 agood dice or draught player who merely took up the game as arecreation, and had not from his earliest years devoted himself to thisand nothing else?

No tools will make a man a skilled workman, or master of defence, norbe of any use to him who has not learned how to handle them, and hasnever bestowed any attention upon them. How then will he who takes upa 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 bebeyond price.

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

No doubt, he replied.

Will he not also require natural aptitude for his calling?

Certainly.

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

It will.

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

We must.

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

What do you mean?

I mean that both of them ought to be quick to see, and swift toovertake the enemy when they see him; and strong too if, when they havecaught 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?

Certainly.

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

I have.

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

True.

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

Yes.

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, andgentle to their friends; if not, they will destroy themselves withoutwaiting for their enemies to destroy them.

True, he said.

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

True.

He will not be a good guardian who is wanting in either of these twoqualities; 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. Myfriend, I said, no wonder that we are in a perplexity; for we have lostsight 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 oppositequalities.

And where do you find them?

Many animals, I replied, furnish examples of them; our friend the dogis a very good one: you know that well-bred dogs are perfectly gentleto 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 ourfinding a guardian who has a similar combination of qualities?

Certainly not.

Would not he who is fitted to be a guardian, besides the spiritednature, 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 thedog, and is remarkable in the animal.

What trait?

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

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

And surely this instinct of the dog is very charming;—your dog is atrue philosopher.

Why?

Why, because he distinguishes the face of a friend and of an enemy onlyby the criterion of knowing and not knowing. And must not an animal bea lover of learning who determines what he likes and dislikes by thetest 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 begentle to his friends and acquaintances, must by nature be a lover ofwisdom and knowledge?

That we may safely affirm.

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

Undoubtedly.

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

SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS

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 ifsomewhat long.

Certainly not.

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

By all means.

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

True.

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?

Yes.

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

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; andthese stories are told them when they are not of an age to learngymnastics.

Very true.

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

Quite right, he said.

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

Quite true.

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

We cannot.

Then the first thing will be to establish a censorship of the writersof fiction, and let the censors receive any tale of fiction which isgood, and reject the bad; and we will desire mothers and nurses to telltheir children the authorised ones only. Let them fashion the mindwith such tales, even more fondly than they mould the body with theirhands; 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 arenecessarily of the same type, and there is the same spirit in both ofthem.

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

Those, I said, which are narrated by Homer and Hesiod, and the rest ofthe 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 withthem?

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 andheroes,—as when a painter paints a portrait not having the shadow of alikeness to the original.

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

First of all, I said, there was that greatest of all lies, in highplaces, which the poet told about Uranus, and which was a bad lietoo,—I mean what Hesiod says that Uranus did, and how Cronusretaliated on him. The doings of Cronus, and the sufferings which inturn his son inflicted upon him, even if they were true, oughtcertainly not to be lightly told to young and thoughtless persons; ifpossible, they had better be buried in silence. But if there is anabsolute necessity for their mention, a chosen few might hear them in amystery, and they should sacrifice not a common [Eleusinian] pig, butsome huge and unprocurable victim; and then the number of the hearerswill 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; theyoung man should not be told that in committing the worst of crimes heis far from doing anything outrageous; and that even if he chastiseshis father when does wrong, in whatever manner, he will only befollowing the example of the first and greatest among the gods.

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

Neither, if we mean our future guardians to regard the habit ofquarrelling among themselves as of all things the basest, should anyword be said to them of the wars in heaven, and of the plots andfightings of the gods against one another, for they are not true. No,we shall never mention the battles of the giants, or let them beembroidered on garments; and we shall be silent about the innumerableother quarrels of gods and heroes with their friends and relatives. Ifthey would only believe us we would tell them that quarrelling isunholy, and that never up to this time has there been any, quarrelbetween citizens; this is what old men and old women should begin bytelling children; and when they grow up, the poets also should be toldto compose for them in a similar spirit. But the narrative ofHephaestus binding Here his mother, or how on another occasion Zeussent him flying for taking her part when she was being beaten, and allthe battles of the gods in Homer—these tales must not be admitted intoour State, whether they are supposed to have an allegorical meaning ornot. For a young person cannot judge what is allegorical and what isliteral; anything that he receives into his mind at that age is likelyto become indelible and unalterable; and therefore it is most importantthat the tales which the young first hear should be models of virtuousthoughts.

There you are right, he replied; but if any one asks where are suchmodels to be found and of what tales are you speaking—how shall weanswer him?

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

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 ashe truly is, whatever be the sort of poetry, epic, lyric or tragic, inwhich the representation is given.

Right.

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

Certainly.

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?

No.

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

Impossible.

And the good is advantageous?

Yes.

And therefore the cause of well-being?

Yes.

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

Assuredly.

Then God, if he be good, is not the author of all things, as the manyassert, but he is the cause of a few things only, and not of mostthings that occur to men. For few are the goods of human life, andmany are the evils, and the good is to be attributed to God alone; ofthe 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 ofthe 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, whichwas really the work of Pandarus, was brought about by Athene and Zeus,or that the strife and contention of the gods was instigated by Themisand Zeus, he shall not have our approval; neither will we allow ouryoung men to hear the words of Aeschylus, that

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 thetragedy 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 permithim to say that these are the works of God, or if they are of God, hemust devise some explanation of them such as we are seeking; he mustsay that God did what was just and right, and they were the better forbeing punished; but that those who are punished are miserable, and thatGod is the author of their misery—the poet is not to be permitted tosay; though he may say that the wicked are miserable because theyrequire to be punished, and are benefited by receiving punishment fromGod; but that God being good is the author of evil to any one is to bestrenuously denied, and not to be said or sung or heard in verse orprose 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 Godis 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 whetherGod is a magician, and of a nature to appear insidiously now in oneshape, and now in another—sometimes himself changing and passing intomany forms, sometimes deceiving us with the semblance of suchtransformations; or is he one and the same immutably fixed in his ownproper image?

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

Well, I said; but if we suppose a change in anything, that change mustbe 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 alteredor discomposed; for example, when healthiest and strongest, the humanframe is least liable to be affected by meats and drinks, and the plantwhich is in the fullest vigour also suffers least from winds or theheat of the sun or any similar causes.

Of course.

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

True.

And the same principle, as I should suppose, applies to all compositethings—furniture, houses, garments; when good and well made, they areleast 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?

True.

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 manyshapes?

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 theworse and more unsightly?

If he change at all he can only change for the worse, for we cannotsuppose 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?

Impossible.

Then it is impossible that God should ever be willing to change; being,as is supposed, the fairest and best that is conceivable, every godremains 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, eitherin tragedy or in any other kind of poetry, introduce Here disguised inthe 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 mothersunder the influence of the poets scaring their children with a badversion of these myths—telling how certain gods, as they say, 'Goabout by night in the likeness of so many strangers and in diversforms'; but let them take heed lest they make cowards of theirchildren, and at the same time speak blasphemy against the gods.

Heaven forbid, he said.

But although the gods are themselves unchangeable, still by witchcraftand 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 inword 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 maybe 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 truestand 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 tomy words; but I am only saying that deception, or being deceived oruninformed about the highest realities in the highest part ofthemselves, which is the soul, and in that part of them to have and tohold the lie, is what mankind least like;—that, I say, is what theyutterly detest.

There is nothing more hateful to them.

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

Perfectly right.

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

Yes.

Whereas the lie in words is in certain cases useful and not hateful; indealing with enemies—that would be an instance; or again, when thosewhom we call our friends in a fit of madness or illusion are going todo some harm, then it is useful and is a sort of medicine orpreventive; also in the tales of mythology, of which we were just nowspeaking—because we do not know the truth about ancient times, we makefalsehood 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 isignorant 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?

Yes.

Then is God perfectly simple and true both in word and deed; he changesnot; 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 inwhich we should write and speak about divine things. The gods are notmagicians who transform themselves, neither do they deceive mankind inany way.

I grant that.

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

Was celebrating in song her fair progeny whose days were to be 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 ouranger; and he who utters them shall be refused a chorus; neither shallwe 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 betrue worshippers of the gods and like them.

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

BOOK III

SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS

SUCH then, I said, are our principles of theology—some tales are to betold, and others are not to be told to our disciples from their youthupwards, if we mean them to honour the gods and their parents, and tovalue 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 lessonsbesides these, and lessons of such a kind as will take away the fear ofdeath? 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 battlerather than defeat and slavery, who believes the world below to be realand terrible?

Impossible.

Then we must assume a control over the narrators of this class of talesas well as over the others, and beg them not simply to but rather tocommend the world below, intimating to them that their descriptions areuntrue, 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 be 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.

Again:—

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

Again:—

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

And,—

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 strikeout these and similar passages, not because they are unpoetical, orunattractive to the popular ear, but because the greater the poeticalcharm of them, the less are they meet for the ears of boys and men whoare meant to be free, and who should fear slavery more than death.

Undoubtedly.

Also we shall have to reject all the terrible and appalling namesdescribe the world below—Cocytus and Styx, ghosts under the earth, andsapless shades, and any similar words of which the very mention causesa shudder to pass through the inmost soul of him who hears them. I donot 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 renderedtoo excitable and effeminate by them.

There is a real danger, he said.

Then we must have no more of them.

True.

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

Clearly.

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

They will go with the rest.

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

Yes; that is our principle.

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

He will not.

Such an one, as we further maintain, is sufficient for himself and hisown 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 offortune, is to him of all men least terrible.

Assuredly.

And therefore he will be least likely to lament, and will bear with thegreatest 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 famousmen, and making them over to women (and not even to women who are goodfor anything), or to men of a baser sort, that those who are beingeducated by us to be the defenders of their country may scorn to do thelike.

That will be very right.

Then we will once more entreat Homer and the other poets not to depictAchilles, who is the son of a goddess, first lying on his side, then onhis back, and then on his face; then starting up and sailing in afrenzy along the shores of the barren sea; now taking the sooty ashesin both his hands and pouring them over his head, or weeping andwailing in the various modes which Homer has delineated. Nor should hedescribe 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 introducethe 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 socompletely to misrepresent the greatest of the gods, as to make himsay—

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 suchunworthy representations of the gods, instead of laughing at them asthey ought, hardly will any of them deem that he himself, being but aman, can be dishonoured by similar actions; neither will he rebuke anyinclination which may arise in his mind to say and do the like. Andinstead of having any shame or self-control, he will be always whiningand lamenting on slight occasions.

Yes, he said, that is most true.

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

It ought not to be.

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

So I believe.

Then persons of worth, even if only mortal men, must not be representedas overcome by laughter, and still less must such a representation ofthe 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 godsas 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 admitthem is certain.

Again, truth should be highly valued; if, as we were saying, a lie isuseless to the gods, and useful only as a medicine to men, then the useof such medicines should be restricted to physicians; privateindividuals have no business with them.

Clearly not, he said.

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

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 equallysubversive 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?

Certainly.

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

True.

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 stag,

and of the words which follow? Would you say that these, or anysimilar impertinences which private individuals are supposed to addressto 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 conduceto temperance. And therefore they are likely to do harm to our youngmen—you would agree with me there?

Yes.

And then, again, to make the wisest of men say that nothing in hisopinion 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 cups,

is it fit or conducive to temperance for a young man to hear suchwords? 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 andmen were asleep and he the only person awake, lay devising plans, butforgot them all in a moment through his lust, and was so completelyovercome 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 neverbeen in such a state of rapture before, even when they first met oneanother

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 hearthat sort of thing.

But any deeds of endurance which are done or told by famous men, thesethey 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 loversof 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 tohave given his pupil good counsel when he told him that he should takethe gifts of the Greeks and assist them; but that without a gift heshould not lay aside his anger. Neither will we believe or acknowledgeAchilles himself to have been such a lover of money that he tookAgamemnon's or that when he had received payment he restored the deadbody 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 thesefeelings to Achilles, or in believing that they are truly to him, he isguilty of downright impiety. As little can I believe the narrative ofhis 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 readyto 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 Hectorround 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 canallow our citizens to believe that he, the wise Cheiron's pupil, theson of a goddess and of Peleus who was the gentlest of men and third indescent from Zeus, was so disordered in his wits as to be at one timethe slave of two seemingly inconsistent passions, meanness, notuntainted by avarice, combined with overweening contempt of gods andmen.

You are quite right, he replied.

And let us equally refuse to believe, or allow to be repeated, the taleof Theseus son of Poseidon, or of Peirithous son of Zeus, going forthas they did to perpetrate a horrid rape; or of any other hero or son ofa god daring to do such impious and dreadful things as they falselyascribe to them in our day: and let us further compel the poets todeclare either that these acts were not done by them, or that they werenot the sons of gods;—both in the same breath they shall not bepermitted to affirm. We will not have them trying to persuade ouryouth that the gods are the authors of evil, and that heroes are nobetter than men-sentiments which, as we were saying, are neither piousnor true, for we have already proved that evil cannot come from thegods.

Assuredly not.

And further they are likely to have a bad effect on those who hearthem; for everybody will begin to excuse his own vices when he isconvinced 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 engenderlaxity of morals among the young.

By all means, he replied.

But now that we are determining what classes of subjects are or are notto be spoken of, let us see whether any have been omitted by us. Themanner in which gods and demigods and heroes and the world below shouldbe treated has been already laid down.

Very true.

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

Clearly so.

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

Why not?

Because, if I am not mistaken, we shall have to say that about menpoets and story-tellers are guilty of making the gravest misstatementswhen they tell us that wicked men are often happy, and the goodmiserable; and that injustice is profitable when undetected, but thatjustice is a man's own loss and another's gain—these things we shallforbid 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 thatyou have implied the principle for which we have been all alongcontending.

I grant the truth of your inference.

That such things are or are not to be said about men is a questionwhich we cannot determine until we have discovered what justice is, andhow naturally advantageous to the possessor, whether he seems to bejust or not.

Most true, he said.

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

I do not understand what you mean, said Adeimantus.

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

Certainly, he replied.

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

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

I fear that I must be a ridiculous teacher when I have so muchdifficulty in making myself apprehended. Like a bad speaker,therefore, I will not take the whole of the subject, but will break apiece off in illustration of my meaning. You know the first lines ofthe Iliad, in which the poet says that Chryses prayed Agamemnon torelease his daughter, and that Agamemnon flew into a passion with him;whereupon Chryses, failing of his object, invoked the anger of the Godagainst 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 supposethat he is any one else. But in what follows he takes the person ofChryses, and then he does all that he can to make us believe that thespeaker is not Homer, but the aged priest himself. And in this doubleform he has cast the entire narrative of the events which occurred atTroy and in Ithaca and throughout the Odyssey.

Yes.

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

Quite true.

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

Certainly.

And this assimilation of himself to another, either by the use of voiceor 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 byway of imitation?

Very true.

Or, if the poet everywhere appears and never conceals himself, thenagain the imitation is dropped, and his poetry becomes simplenarration. 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 thechange might be effected. If Homer had said, 'The priest came, havinghis daughter's ransom in his hands, supplicating the Achaeans, andabove all the kings;' and then if, instead of speaking in the person ofChryses, he had continued in his own person, the words would have been,not imitation, but simple narration. The passage would have run asfollows (I am no poet, and therefore I drop the metre), 'The priestcame and prayed the gods on behalf of the Greeks that they mightcapture Troy and return safely home, but begged that they would givehim back his daughter, and take the ransom which he brought, andrespect the God. Thus he spoke, and the other Greeks revered thepriest and assented. But Agamemnon was wroth, and bade him depart andnot come again, lest the staff and chaplets of the God should be of noavail to him—the daughter of Chryses should not be released, hesaid—she should grow old with him in Argos. And then he told him togo 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 leftthe camp, he called upon Apollo by his many names, reminding him ofeverything which he had done pleasing to him, whether in building histemples, or in offering sacrifice, and praying that his good deedsmight be returned to him, and that the Achaeans might expiate his tearsby the arrows of the god,'—and so on. In this way the whole becomessimple narrative.

I understand, he said.

Or you may suppose the opposite case—that the intermediate passagesare 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 youfailed to apprehend before is now made clear to you, that poetry andmythology are, in some cases, wholly imitative—instances of this aresupplied by tragedy and comedy; there is likewise the opposite style,in which the my poet is the only speaker—of this the dithyramb affordsthe best example; and the combination of both is found in epic, and inseveral 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 haddone with the subject and might proceed to the style.

Yes, I remember.

In saying this, I intended to imply that we must come to anunderstanding about the mimetic art,—whether the poets, in narratingtheir stories, are to be allowed by us to imitate, and if so, whetherin whole or in part, and if the latter, in what parts; or should allimitation be prohibited?

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

Yes, I said; but there may be more than this in question: I really donot 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 beimitators; or rather, has not this question been decided by the rulealready laid down that one man can only do one thing well, and notmany; and that if he attempt many, he will altogether fall of gainingmuch reputation in any?

Certainly.

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

He cannot.

Then the same person will hardly be able to play a serious part inlife, and at the same time to be an imitator and imitate many otherparts as well; for even when two species of imitation are nearlyallied, the same persons cannot succeed in both, as, for example, thewriters of tragedy and comedy—did you not just now call themimitations?

Yes, I did; and you are right in thinking that the same persons cannotsucceed in both.

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

True.

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

They are so.

And human nature, Adeimantus, appears to have been coined into yetsmaller 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 ourguardians, setting aside every other business, are to dedicatethemselves wholly to the maintenance of freedom in the State, makingthis their craft, and engaging in no work which does not bear on thisend, they ought not to practise or imitate anything else; if theyimitate at all, they should imitate from youth upward only thosecharacters which are suitable to their profession—the courageous,temperate, holy, free, and the like; but they should not depict or beskilful at imitating any kind of illiberality or baseness, lest fromimitation they should come to be what they imitate. Did you neverobserve how imitations, beginning in early youth and continuing farinto 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 ofwhom we say that they ought to be good men, to imitate a woman, whetheryoung or old, quarrelling with her husband, or striving and vauntingagainst the gods in conceit of her happiness, or when she is inaffliction, or sorrow, or weeping; and certainly not one who is insickness, love, or labour.

Very right, he said.

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

They must not.

And surely not bad men, whether cowards or any others, who do thereverse of what we have just been prescribing, who scold or mock orrevile one another in drink or out of in drink or, or who in any othermanner sin against themselves and their neighbours in word or deed, asthe manner of such is. Neither should they be trained to imitate theaction or speech of men or women who are mad or bad; for madness, likevice, 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, orboatswains, or the like?

How can they, he said, when they are not allowed to apply their mindsto 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 sortof thing?

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

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

And which are these two sorts? he asked.

Suppose, I answered, that a just and good man in the course of anarration comes on some saying or action of another good man,—I shouldimagine that he will like to personate him, and will not be ashamed ofthis sort of imitation: he will be most ready to play the part of thegood man when he is acting firmly and wisely; in a less degree when heis overtaken by illness or love or drink, or has met with any otherdisaster. 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, andwill assume his likeness, if at all, for a moment only when he isperforming some good action; at other times he will be ashamed to playa part which he has never practised, nor will he like to fashion andframe himself after the baser models; he feels the employment of suchan 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 outof Homer, that is to say, his style will be both imitative andnarrative; but there will be very little of the former, and a greatdeal of the latter. Do you agree?

Certainly, he said; that is the model which such a speaker mustnecessarily 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 toobad 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 justnow saying, he will attempt to represent the roll of thunder, the noiseof wind and hall, or the creaking of wheels, and pulleys, and thevarious sounds of flutes; pipes, trumpets, and all sorts ofinstruments: he will bark like a dog, bleat like a sheep, or crow likea 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?

Yes.

And you would agree with me in saying that one of them is simple andhas but slight changes; and if the harmony and rhythm are also chosenfor their simplicity, the result is that the speaker, if he speakscorrectly, is always pretty much the same in style, and he will keepwithin 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 ofrhythms, if the music and the style are to correspond, because thestyle 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 allpoetry, and every form of expression in words? No one can say anythingexcept 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 onlyof 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: andindeed the pantomimic, which is the opposite of the one chosen by you,is the most popular style with children and their attendants, and withthe world in general.

I do not deny it.

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

Yes; quite unsuitable.

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

True, he said.

And therefore when any one of these pantomimic gentlemen, who are soclever that they can imitate anything, comes to us, and makes aproposal to exhibit himself and his poetry, we will fall down andworship him as a sweet and holy and wonderful being; but we must alsoinform him that in our State such as he are not permitted to exist; thelaw 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 toanother city. For we mean to employ for our souls' health the rougherand severer poet or story-teller, who will imitate the style of thevirtuous only, and will follow those models which we prescribed atfirst 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 educationwhich 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 tobe consistent with ourselves.

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

I fear, said Glaucon, laughing, that the words 'every one' hardlyincludes me, for I cannot at the moment say what they should be; thoughI 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 wordswhich are and which are not set to music; both will conform to the samelaws, and these have been already determined by us?

Yes.

And the melody and rhythm will depend upon the words?

Certainly.

We were saying, when we spoke of the subject-matter, that we had noneed of lamentations and strains of sorrow?

True.

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

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

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

In the next place, drunkenness and softness and indolence are utterlyunbecoming 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 Phrygianare the only ones which you have left.

I answered: Of the harmonies I know nothing, but I want to have onewarlike, to sound the note or accent which a brave man utters in thehour of danger and stern resolve, or when his cause is failing, and heis going to wounds or death or is overtaken by some other evil, and atevery such crisis meets the blows of fortune with firm step and adetermination to endure; and another to be used by him in times ofpeace and freedom of action, when there is no pressure of necessity,and he is seeking to persuade God by prayer, or man by instruction andadmonition, or on the other hand, when he is expressing his willingnessto yield to persuasion or entreaty or admonition, and which representshim when by prudent conduct he has attained his end, not carried awayby his success, but acting moderately and wisely under thecircumstances, and acquiescing in the event. These two harmonies I askyou to leave; the strain of necessity and the strain of freedom, thestrain of the unfortunate and the strain of the fortunate, the strainof courage, and the strain of temperance; these, I say, leave.

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

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

I suppose not.

Then we shall not maintain the artificers of lyres with three cornersand complex scales, or the makers of any other many-stringedcuriously-harmonised instruments?

Certainly not.

But what do you say to flute-makers and flute-players? Would you admitthem into our State when you reflect that in this composite use ofharmony the flute is worse than all the stringed instruments puttogether; 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, andthe 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 hisinstruments 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 toharmonies, rhythms will naturally follow, and they should be subject tothe 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 theexpressions of a courageous and harmonious life; and when we have foundthem, we shall adapt the foot and the melody to words having a likespirit, not the words to the foot and melody. To say what theserhythms are will be your duty—you must teach me them, as you havealready taught me the harmonies.

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

Then, I said, we must take Damon into our counsels; and he will tell uswhat rhythms are expressive of meanness, or insolence, or fury, orother unworthiness, and what are to be reserved for the expression ofopposite feelings. And I think that I have an indistinct recollectionof 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 andshort alternating; and, unless I am mistaken, he spoke of an iambic aswell as of a trochaic rhythm, and assigned to them short and longquantities. Also in some cases he appeared to praise or censure themovement of the foot quite as much as the rhythm; or perhaps acombination of the two; for I am not certain what he meant. Thesematters, however, as I was saying, had better be referred to Damonhimself, 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 graceis an effect of good or bad rhythm.

None at all.

And also that good and bad rhythm naturally assimilate to a good andbad style; and that harmony and discord in like manner follow style;for our principle is that rhythm and harmony are regulated by thewords, 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 thetemper of the soul?

Yes.

And everything else on the style?

Yes.

Then beauty of style and harmony and grace and good rhythm depend onsimplicity,—I mean the true simplicity of a rightly and nobly orderedmind and character, not that other simplicity which is only aneuphemism for folly?

Very true, he replied.

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

They must.

And surely the art of the painter and every other creative andconstructive art are full of them,—weaving, embroidery, architecture,and every kind of manufacture; also nature, animal and vegetable,—inall of them there is grace or the absence of grace. And ugliness anddiscord and inharmonious motion are nearly allied to ill words and illnature, as grace and harmony are the twin sisters of goodness andvirtue and bear their likeness.

That is quite true, he said.

But shall our superintendence go no further, and are the poets only tobe required by us to express the image of the good in their works, onpain, if they do anything else, of expulsion from our State? Or is thesame control to be extended to other artists, and are they also to beprohibited from exhibiting the opposite forms of vice and intemperanceand meanness and indecency in sculpture and building and the othercreative arts; and is he who cannot conform to this rule of ours to beprevented from practising his art in our State, lest the taste of ourcitizens be corrupted by him? We would not have our guardians grow upamid images of moral deformity, as in some noxious pasture, and therebrowse and feed upon many a baneful herb and flower day by day, littleby little, until they silently gather a festering mass of corruption intheir own soul. Let our artists rather be those who are gifted todiscern the true nature of the beautiful and graceful; then will ouryouth dwell in a land of health, amid fair sights and sounds, andreceive the good in everything; and beauty, the effluence of fairworks, shall flow into the eye and ear, like a health-giving breezefrom a purer region, and insensibly draw the soul from earliest yearsinto 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 potentinstrument than any other, because rhythm and harmony find their wayinto the inward places of the soul, on which they mightily fasten,imparting grace, and making the soul of him who is rightly educatedgraceful, or of him who is ill-educated ungraceful; and also because hewho has received this true education of the inner being will mostshrewdly perceive omissions or faults in art and nature, and with atrue taste, while he praises and rejoices over and receives into hissoul the good, and becomes noble and good, he will justly blame andhate the bad, now in the days of his youth, even before he is able toknow the reason why; and when reason comes he will recognise and salutethe friend with whom his education has made him long familiar.

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

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

True—

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

Exactly—

Even so, as I maintain, neither we nor our guardians, whom we have toeducate, can ever become musical until we and they know the essentialforms, in all their combinations, and can recognise them and theirimages wherever they are found, not slighting them either in smallthings or great, but believing them all to be within the sphere of oneart and study.

Most assuredly.

And when a beautiful soul harmonises with a beautiful form, and the twoare cast in one mould, that will be the fairest of sights to him whohas 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 theloveliest; 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 ifthere 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 ofpleasure any affinity to temperance?

How can that be? he replied; pleasure deprives a man of the use of hisfaculties 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 andharmonious?

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 thelover and his beloved; neither of them can have any part in it if theirlove 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 alaw to the effect that a friend should use no other familiarity to hislove than a father would use to his son, and then only for a noblepurpose, and he must first have the other's consent; and this rule isto limit him in all his intercourse, and he is never to be seen goingfurther, or, if he exceeds, he is to be deemed guilty of coarseness andbad taste.

I quite agree, he said.

Thus much of music, which makes a fair ending; for what should be theend 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.

Certainly.

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

Yes, I agree.

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

Very good.

That they must abstain from intoxication has been already remarked byus; for of all persons a guardian should be the last to get drunk andnot know where in the world he is.

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

But next, what shall we say of their food; for the men are in trainingfor 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 asleepy sort of thing, and rather perilous to health. Do you notobserve that these athletes sleep away their lives, and are liable tomost 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 warriorathletes, who are to be like wakeful dogs, and to see and hear with theutmost keenness; amid the many changes of water and also of food, ofsummer heat and winter cold, which they will have to endure when on acampaign, they must not be liable to break down in health.

That is my view.

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

How so?

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

What do you mean?

My meaning may be learned from Homer; he, you know, feeds his heroes attheir feasts, when they are campaigning, on soldiers' fare; they haveno fish, although they are on the shores of the Hellespont, and theyare not allowed boiled meats but only roast, which is the food mostconvenient for soldiers, requiring only that they should light a fire,and not involving the trouble of carrying about pots and pans.

True.

And I can hardly be mistaken in saying that sweet sauces are nowherementioned in Homer. In proscribing them, however, he is not singular;all professional athletes are well aware that a man who is to be ingood 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 andsong composed in the panharmonic style, and in all the rhythms.Exactly.

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

Most true, he said.

But when intemperance and disease multiply in a State, halls of justiceand medicine are always being opened; and the arts of the doctor andthe lawyer give themselves airs, finding how keen is the interest whichnot 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 stateof education than this, that not only artisans and the meaner sort ofpeople need the skill of first-rate physicians and judges, but alsothose who would profess to have had a liberal education? Is it notdisgraceful, and a great sign of want of good-breeding, that a manshould have to go abroad for his law and physic because he has none ofhis own at home, and must therefore surrender himself into the hands ofother 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 afurther stage of the evil in which a man is not only a life-longlitigant, passing all his days in the courts, either as plaintiff ordefendant, but is actually led by his bad taste to pride himself on hislitigiousness; he imagines that he is a master in dishonesty; able totake 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 forwhat?—in order to gain small points not worth mentioning, he notknowing that so to order his life as to be able to do without a nappingjudge is a far higher and nobler sort of thing. Is not that still moredisgraceful?

Yes, he said, that is still more disgraceful.

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

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

Yes, I said, and I do not believe that there were any such diseases inthe days of Asclepius; and this I infer from the circumstance that thehero Eurypylus, after he has been wounded in Homer, drinks a posset ofPramnian wine well besprinkled with barley-meal and grated cheese,which are certainly inflammatory, and yet the sons of Asclepius whowere 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 aperson in his condition.

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

How was that? he said.

By the invention of lingering death; for he had a mortal disease whichhe perpetually tended, and as recovery was out of the question, hepassed his entire life as a valetudinarian; he could do nothing butattend upon himself, and he was in constant torment whenever hedeparted in anything from his usual regimen, and so dying hard, by thehelp 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 neverunderstood that, if Asclepius did not instruct his descendants invaletudinarian arts, the omission arose, not from ignorance orinexperience of such a branch of medicine, but because he knew that inall well-ordered states every individual has an occupation to which hemust attend, and has therefore no leisure to spend in continually beingill. This we remark in the case of the artisan, but, ludicrouslyenough, 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 roughand ready cure; an emetic or a purge or a cautery or the knife,—theseare his remedies. And if some one prescribes for him a course ofdietetics, and tells him that he must swathe and swaddle his head, andall that sort of thing, he replies at once that he has no time to beill, and that he sees no good in a life which is spent in nursing hisdisease to the neglect of his customary employment; and thereforebidding good-bye to this sort of physician, he resumes his ordinaryhabits, and either gets well and lives and does his business, or, ifhis constitution falls, he dies and has no more trouble.

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

Has he not, I said, an occupation; and what profit would there be inhis 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 hehas any specially appointed work which he must perform, if he wouldlive.

He is generally supposed to have nothing to do.

Then you never heard of the saying of Phocylides, that as soon as a manhas 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 askourselves: Is the practice of virtue obligatory on the rich man, orcan he live without it? And if obligatory on him, then let us raise afurther question, whether this dieting of disorders which is animpediment to the application of the mind t in carpentering and themechanical arts, does not equally stand in the way of the sentiment ofPhocylides?

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

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

Yes, likely enough.

And therefore our politic Asclepius may be supposed to have exhibitedthe power of his art only to persons who, being generally of healthyconstitution and habits of life, had a definite ailment; such as thesehe cured by purges and operations, and bade them live as usual, hereinconsulting the interests of the State; but bodies which disease hadpenetrated through and through he would not have attempted to cure bygradual processes of evacuation and infusion: he did not want tolengthen out good-for-nothing lives, or to have weak fathers begettingweaker sons;—if a man was not able to live in the ordinary way he hadno business to cure him; for such a cure would have been of no useeither 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. Notethat they were heroes in the days of old and practised the medicines ofwhich I am speaking at the siege of Troy: You will remember how, whenPandarus 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 ordrink 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 beforehe was wounded was healthy and regular in habits; and even though hedid happen to drink a posset of Pramnian wine, he might get well allthe same. But they would have nothing to do with unhealthy andintemperate subjects, whose lives were of no use either to themselvesor others; the art of medicine was not designed for their good, andthough they were as rich as Midas, the sons of Asclepius would havedeclined to attend them.

They were very acute persons, those sons of Asclepius.

Naturally so, I replied. Nevertheless, the tragedians and Pindardisobeying our behests, although they acknowledge that Asclepius wasthe son of Apollo, say also that he was bribed into healing a rich manwho was at the point of death, and for this reason he was struck bylightning. But we, in accordance with the principle already affirmedby us, will not believe them when they tell us both;—if he was the sonof a god, we maintain that he was not avaricious; or, if he wasavaricious he was not the son of a god.

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

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

Will you tell me?

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

How so? he asked.

Why, I said, you join physicians and judges. Now the most skilfulphysicians are those who, from their youth upwards, have combined withthe knowledge of their art the greatest experience of disease; they hadbetter not be robust in health, and should have had all manner ofdiseases in their own persons. For the body, as I conceive, is not theinstrument with which they cure the body; in that case we could notallow them ever to be or to have been sickly; but they cure the bodywith the mind, and the mind which has become and is sick can curenothing.

That is very true, he said.

But with the judge it is otherwise; since he governs mind by mind; heought not therefore to have been trained among vicious minds, and tohave associated with them from youth upwards, and to have gone throughthe whole calendar of crime, only in order that he may quickly inferthe crimes of others as he might their bodily diseases from his ownself-consciousness; the honourable mind which is to form a healthyjudgment should have had no experience or contamination of evil habitswhen young. And this is the reason why in youth good men often appearto be simple, and are easily practised upon by the dishonest, becausethey 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 havelearned to know evil, not from his own soul, but from late and longobservation of the nature of evil in others: knowledge should be hisguide, 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 yourquestion); for he is good who has a good soul. But the cunning andsuspicious nature of which we spoke,—he who has committed many crimes,and fancies himself to be a master in wickedness, when he is amongsthis fellows, is wonderful in the precautions which he takes, because hejudges of them by himself: but when he gets into the company of men ofvirtue, who have the experience of age, he appears to be a fool again,owing to his unseasonable suspicions; he cannot recognise an honestman, 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 themoftener, he thinks himself, and is by others thought to be, rather wisethan foolish.

Most true, he said.

Then the good and wise judge whom we are seeking is not this man, butthe other; for vice cannot know virtue too, but a virtuous nature,educated by time, will acquire a knowledge both of virtue and vice: thevirtuous, 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 yousanction in your State. They will minister to better natures, givinghealth both of soul and of body; but those who are diseased in theirbodies they will leave to die, and the corrupt and incurable souls theywill 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 musicwhich, as we said, inspires temperance, will be reluctant to go to law.

Clearly.

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

That I quite believe.

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

Very right, he said.

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

What then is the real object of them?

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

How can that be? he asked.

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

In what way shown? he said.

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

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

Yet surely, I said, this ferocity only comes from spirit, which, ifrightly educated, would give courage, but, if too much intensified, isliable 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, ifeducated rightly, will be gentle and moderate.

True.

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

Assuredly.

And both should be in harmony?

Beyond question.

And the harmonious soul is both temperate and courageous?

Yes.

And the inharmonious is cowardly and boorish?

Very true.

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

Very true.

If the element of spirit is naturally weak in him the change isspeedily accomplished, but if he have a good deal, then the power ofmusic weakening the spirit renders him excitable;—on the leastprovocation he flames up at once, and is speedily extinguished; insteadof having spirit he grows irritable and passionate and is quiteimpracticable.

Exactly.

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

Certainly.

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

True, he said.

And he ends by becoming a hater of philosophy, uncivilized, never usingthe weapon of persuasion,—he is like a wild beast, all violence andfierceness, and knows no other way of dealing; and he lives in allignorance 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 andthe other the philosophical, some God, as I should say, has givenmankind two arts answering to them (and only indirectly to the soul andbody), in order that these two principles (like the strings of aninstrument) may be relaxed or drawn tighter until they are dulyharmonised.

That appears to be the intention.

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

You are quite right, Socrates.

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

Yes, he will be absolutely necessary.

Such, then, are our principles of nurture and education: Where would bethe use of going into further details about the dances of our citizens,or about their hunting and coursing, their gymnastic and equestriancontests? For these all follow the general principle, and having foundthat, 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 whoare to be rulers and who subjects?

Certainly.

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

Clearly.

And that the best of these must rule.

That is also clear.

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

Yes.

And as we are to have the best of guardians for our city, must they notbe those who have most the character of guardians?

Yes.

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

True.

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 thesame interests with himself, and that of which the good or evil fortuneis 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 thosewho in their whole life show the greatest eagerness to do what is forthe good of their country, and the greatest repugnance to do what isagainst her interests.

Those are the right men.

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

How cast off? he said.

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

I understand, he said, the willing loss of a resolution; the meaning ofthe 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 topossess the truth a good? and you would agree that to conceive thingsas they are is to possess the truth?

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

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

Still, he replied, I do not understand you.

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

Yes.

Those again who are forced are those whom the violence of some pain orgrief 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 changetheir minds either under the softer influence of pleasure, or thesterner 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 bestguardians of their own conviction that what they think the interest ofthe State is to be the rule of their lives. We must watch them fromtheir youth upwards, and make them perform actions in which they aremost likely to forget or to be deceived, and he who remembers and isnot deceived is to be selected, and he who falls in the trial is to berejected. That will be the way?

Yes.

And there should also be toils and pains and conflicts prescribed forthem, in which they will be made to give further proof of the samequalities.

Very right, he replied.

And then, I said, we must try them with enchantments that is the thirdsort of test—and see what will be their behaviour: like those who takecolts amid noise and tumult to see if they are of a timid nature, somust we take our youth amid terrors of some kind, and again pass theminto pleasures, and prove them more thoroughly than gold is proved inthe furnace, that we may discover whether they are armed against allenchantments, and of a noble bearing always, good guardians ofthemselves and of the music which they have learned, and retainingunder all circumstances a rhythmical and harmonious nature, such aswill be most serviceable to the individual and to the State. And hewho at every age, as boy and youth and in mature life, has come out ofthe trial victorious and pure, shall be appointed a ruler and guardianof the State; he shall be honoured in life and death, and shall receivesepulture and other memorials of honour, the greatest that we have togive. But him who fails, we must reject. I am inclined to think thatthis is the sort of way in which our rulers and guardians should bechosen and appointed. I speak generally, and not with any pretensionto exactness.

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

And perhaps the word 'guardian' in the fullest sense ought to beapplied to this higher class only who preserve us against foreignenemies and maintain peace among our citizens at home, that the one maynot have the will, or the others the power, to harm us. The young menwhom we before called guardians may be more properly designatedauxiliaries 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 welately spoke—just one royal lie which may deceive the rulers, if thatbe 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 oftenoccurred before now in other places, (as the poets say, and have madethe world believe,) though not in our time, and I do not know whethersuch an event could ever happen again, or could now even be madeprobable, 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 inthe face, or in what words to utter the audacious fiction, which Ipropose to communicate gradually, first to the rulers, then to thesoldiers, and lastly to the people. They are to be told that theiryouth was a dream, and the education and training which they receivedfrom us, an appearance only; in reality during all that time they werebeing formed and fed in the womb of the earth, where they themselvesand their arms and appurtenances were manufactured; when they werecompleted, the earth, their mother, sent them up; and so, their countrybeing their mother and also their nurse, they are bound to advise forher good, and to defend her against attacks, and her citizens they areto regard as children of the earth and their own brothers.

You had good reason, he said, to be ashamed of the lie which you weregoing 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 Godhas framed you differently. Some of you have the power of command, andin the composition of these he has mingled gold, wherefore also theyhave the greatest honour; others he has made of silver, to beauxillaries; others again who are to be husbandmen and craftsmen he hascomposed of brass and iron; and the species will generally be preservedin the children. But as all are of the same original stock, a goldenparent will sometimes have a silver son, or a silver parent a goldenson. And God proclaims as a first principle to the rulers, and aboveall else, that there is nothing which should so anxiously guard, or ofwhich 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 ifthe son of a golden or silver parent has an admixture of brass andiron, then nature orders a transposition of ranks, and the eye of theruler must not be pitiful towards the child because he has to descendin the scale and become a husbandman or artisan, just as there may besons of artisans who having an admixture of gold or silver in them areraised to honour, and become guardians or auxiliaries. For an oraclesays that when a man of brass or iron guards the State, it will bedestroyed. Such is the tale; is there any possibility of making ourcitizens believe in it?

Not in the present generation, he replied; there is no way ofaccomplishing 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 beliefwill make them care more for the city and for one another. Enough,however, of the fiction, which may now fly abroad upon the wings ofrumour, while we arm our earth-born heroes, and lead them forth underthe command of their rulers. Let them look round and select a spotwhence they can best suppress insurrection, if any prove refractorywithin, and also defend themselves against enemies, who like wolves maycome down on the fold from without; there let them encamp, and whenthey have encamped, let them sacrifice to the proper Gods and preparetheir dwellings.

Just so, he said.

And their dwellings must be such as will shield them against the coldof 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 ofshop-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 orother, would turn upon the sheep and worry them, and behave not likedogs 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, beingstronger than our citizens, may not grow to be too much for them andbecome 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 certainthat they ought to be, and that true education, whatever that may be,will have the greatest tendency to civilize and humanize them in theirrelations 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 thatbelongs to them, should be such as will neither impair their virtue asguardians, nor tempt them to prey upon the other citizens. Any man ofsense must acknowledge that.

He must.

Then let us consider what will be their way of life, if they are torealize our idea of them. In the first place, none of them should haveany property of his own beyond what is absolutely necessary; neithershould they have a private house or store closed against any one whohas a mind to enter; their provisions should be only such as arerequired 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 goand live together like soldiers in a camp. Gold and silver we willtell them that they have from God; the diviner metal is within them,and they have therefore no need of the dross which is current amongmen, and ought not to pollute the divine by any such earthly admixture;for that commoner metal has been the source of many unholy deeds, buttheir own is undefiled. And they alone of all the citizens may nottouch or handle silver or gold, or be under the same roof with them, orwear them, or drink from them. And this will be their salvation, andthey will be the saviours of the State. But should they ever acquirehomes or lands or moneys of their own, they will become housekeepersand husbandmen instead of guardians, enemies and tyrants instead ofallies of the other citizens; hating and being hated, plotting andbeing plotted against, they will pass their whole life in much greaterterror of internal than of external enemies, and the hour of ruin, bothto themselves and to the rest of the State, will be at hand. For allwhich reasons may we not say that thus shall our State be ordered, andthat these shall be the regulations appointed by us for guardiansconcerning their houses and all other matters? other

Yes, said Glaucon.

BOOK IV

ADEIMANTUS - SOCRATES

HERE Adeimantus interposed a question: How would you answer, Socrates,said he, if a person were to say that you are making these peoplemiserable, and that they are the cause of their own unhappiness; thecity 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 thegods on their own account, and practising hospitality; moreover, as youwere saying just now, they have gold and silver, and all that is usualamong the favourites of fortune; but our poor citizens are no betterthan mercenaries who are quartered in the city and are always mountingguard?

Yes, I said; and you may add that they are only fed, and not paid inaddition to their food, like other men; and therefore they cannot, ifthey would, take a journey of pleasure; they have no money to spend ona mistress or any other luxurious fancy, which, as the world goes, isthought to be happiness; and many other accusations of the same naturemight 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?

Yes.

If we proceed along the old path, my belief, I said, is that we shallfind the answer. And our answer will be that, even as they are, ourguardians may very likely be the happiest of men; but that our aim infounding the State was not the disproportionate happiness of any oneclass, but the greatest happiness of the whole; we thought that in aState which is ordered with a view to the good of the whole we shouldbe 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 thehappier. At present, I take it, we are fashioning the happy State, notpiecemeal, or with a view of making a few happy citizens, but as awhole; and by-and-by we will proceed to view the opposite kind ofState. Suppose that we were painting a statue, and some one came up tous and said, Why do you not put the most beautiful colours on the mostbeautiful parts of the body—the eyes ought to be purple, but you havemade them black—to him we might fairly answer, Sir, you would notsurely have us beautify the eyes to such a degree that they are nolonger eyes; consider rather whether, by giving this and the otherfeatures their due proportion, we make the whole beautiful. And so Isay to you, do not compel us to assign to the guardians a sort ofhappiness which will make them anything but guardians; for we too canclothe our husbandmen in royal apparel, and set crowns of gold on theirheads, 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 bythe fireside, passing round the winecup, while their wheel isconveniently 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 ourheads; for, if we listen to you, the husbandman will be no longer ahusbandman, the potter will cease to be a potter, and no one will havethe character of any distinct class in the State. Now this is not ofmuch consequence where the corruption of society, and pretension to bewhat you are not, is confined to cobblers; but when the guardians ofthe laws and of the government are only seemingly and not realguardians, then see how they turn the State upside down; and on theother hand they alone have the power of giving order and happiness tothe State. We mean our guardians to be true saviours and not thedestroyers of the State, whereas our opponent is thinking of peasantsat a festival, who are enjoying a life of revelry, not of citizens whoare doing their duty to the State. But, if so, we mean differentthings, and he is speaking of something which is not a State. Andtherefore we must consider whether in appointing our guardians we wouldlook to their greatest happiness individually, or whether thisprinciple of happiness does not rather reside in the State as a whole.But the latter be the truth, then the guardians and auxillaries, andall others equally with them, must be compelled or induced to do theirown work in the best way. And thus the whole State will grow up in anoble order, and the several classes will receive the proportion ofhappiness which nature assigns to them.

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, thinkyou, 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 himselftools or instruments, he will not work equally well himself, nor willhe teach his sons or apprentices to work equally well.

Certainly not.

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

That is evident.

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

What evils?

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

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 anenemy who is rich and powerful, if deprived of the sinews of war.

There would certainly be a difficulty, I replied, in going to war withone 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 betrained 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 perfectin his art would easily be a match for two stout and well-to-dogentlemen 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 strikeat the one who first came up? And supposing he were to do this severaltimes 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 andpractice of boxing than they have in military qualities.

Likely enough.

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

I agree with you, for I think you right.

And suppose that, before engaging, our citizens send an embassy to oneof the two cities, telling them what is the truth: Silver and gold weneither have nor are permitted to have, but you may; do you thereforecome 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 wirydogs, rather than, with the dogs on their side, against fat and tendersheep?

That is not likely; and yet there might be a danger to the poor Stateif 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 ofthem is a city, but many cities, as they say in the game. For indeedany city, however small, is in fact divided into two, one the city ofthe poor, the other of the rich; these are at war with one another; andin either there are many smaller divisions, and you would be altogetherbeside the mark if you treated them all as a single State. But if youdeal with them as many, and give the wealth or power or persons of theone to the others, you will always have a great many friends and notmany enemies. And your State, while the wise order which has now beenprescribed continues to prevail in her, will be the greatest of States,I do not mean to say in reputation or appearance, but in deed andtruth, though she number not more than a thousand defenders. A singleState which is her equal you will hardly find, either among Hellenes orbarbarians, though many that appear to be as great and many timesgreater.

That is most true, he said.

And what, I said, will be the best limit for our rulers to fix whenthey are considering the size of the State and the amount of territorywhich 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 toour guardians: Let our city be accounted neither large nor small, butone and self-sufficing.

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

And the other, said I, of which we were speaking before is lighterstill, I mean the duty of degrading the offspring of the guardianswhen inferior, and of elevating into the rank of guardians theoffspring of the lower classes, when naturally superior. The intentionwas, that, in the case of the citizens generally, each individualshould 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 beone 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, ifcare be taken, as the saying is, of the one great thing,—a thing,however, which I would rather call, not great, but sufficient for ourpurpose.

What may that be? he asked.

Education, I said, and nurture: If our citizens are well educated, andgrow into sensible men, they will easily see their way through allthese, as well as other matters which I omit; such, for example, asmarriage, the possession of women and the procreation of children,which will all follow the general principle that friends have allthings 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 accumulatingforce like a wheel. For good nurture and education implant goodconstitutions, and these good constitutions taking root in a goodeducation improve more and more, and this improvement affects the breedin man as in other animals.

Very possibly, he said.

Then to sum up: This is the point to which, above all, the attentionof our rulers should be directed,—that music and gymnastic bepreserved in their original form, and no innovation made. They must dotheir utmost to maintain them intact. And when any one says thatmankind most regard

The newest song which the singers have,

they will be afraid that he may be praising, not new songs, but a newkind of song; and this ought not to be praised, or conceived to be themeaning of the poet; for any musical innovation is full of danger tothe whole State, and ought to be prohibited. So Damon tells me, and Ican quite believe him;-he says that when modes of music change, of theState always change with them.

Yes, said Adeimantus; and you may add my suffrage to Damon's and yourown.

Then, I said, our guardians must lay the foundations of their fortressin music?

Yes, he said; the lawlessness of which you speak too easily steals in.

Yes, I replied, in the form of amusement; and at first sight it appearsharmless.

Why, yes, he said, and there is no harm; were it not that little bylittle this spirit of licence, finding a home, imperceptibly penetratesinto manners and customs; whence, issuing with greater force, itinvades contracts between man and man, and from contracts goes on tolaws and constitutions, in utter recklessness, ending at last,Socrates, by an overthrow of all rights, private as well as public.

Is that true? I said.

That is my belief, he replied.

Then, as I was saying, our youth should be trained from the first in astricter system, for if amusements become lawless, and the youthsthemselves become lawless, they can never grow up into well-conductedand virtuous citizens.

Very true, he said.

And when they have made a good beginning in play, and by the help ofmusic have gained the habit of good order, then this habit of order, ina manner how unlike the lawless play of the others! will accompany themin all their actions and be a principle of growth to them, and if therebe any fallen places a principle in the State will raise them up again.

Very true, he said.

Thus educated, they will invent for themselves any lesser rules whichtheir predecessors have altogether neglected.

What do you mean?

I mean such things as these:—when the young are to be silent beforetheir elders; how they are to show respect to them by standing andmaking them sit; what honour is due to parents; what garments or shoesare to be worn; the mode of dressing the hair; deportment and mannersin general. You would agree with me?

Yes.

But there is, I think, small wisdom in legislating about suchmatters,—I doubt if it is ever done; nor are any precise writtenenactments about them likely to be lasting.

Impossible.

It would seem, Adeimantus, that the direction in which education startsa man, will determine his future life. Does not like always attractlike?

To be sure.

Until some one rare and grand result is reached which may be good, andmay be the reverse of good?

That is not to be denied.

And for this reason, I said, I shall not attempt to legislate furtherabout them.

Naturally enough, he replied.

Well, and about the business of the agora, dealings and the ordinarydealings between man and man, or again about agreements with thecommencement with artisans; about insult and injury, of thecommencement of actions, and the appointment of juries, what would yousay? there may also arise questions about any impositions andextractions of market and harbour dues which may be required, and ingeneral about the regulations of markets, police, harbours, and thelike. But, oh heavens! shall we condescend to legislate on any ofthese particulars?

I think, he said, that there is no need to impose laws about them ongood men; what regulations are necessary they will find out soon enoughfor themselves.

Yes, I said, my friend, if God will only preserve to them the lawswhich we have given them.

And without divine help, said Adeimantus, they will go on for evermaking and mending their laws and their lives in the hope of attainingperfection.

You would compare them, I said, to those invalids who, having noself-restraint, will not leave off their habits of intemperance?

Exactly.

Yes, I said; and what a delightful life they lead! they are alwaysdoctoring and increasing and complicating their disorders, and alwaysfancying that they will be cured by any nostrum which anybody advisesthem to try.

Such cases are very common, he said, with invalids of this sort.

Yes, I replied; and the charming thing is that they deem him theirworst enemy who tells them the truth, which is simply that, unless theygive up eating and drinking and wenching and idling, neither drug norcautery nor spell nor amulet nor any other remedy will avail.

Charming! he replied. I see nothing charming in going into a passionwith a man who tells you what is right.

These gentlemen, I said, do not seem to be in your good graces.

Assuredly not.

Nor would you praise the behaviour of States which act like the menwhom I was just now describing. For are there not ill-ordered Statesin which the citizens are forbidden under pain of death to alter theconstitution; and yet he who most sweetly courts those who live underthis regime and indulges them and fawns upon them and is skilful inanticipating and gratifying their humours is held to be a great andgood statesman—do not these States resemble the persons whom I wasdescribing?

Yes, he said; the States are as bad as the men; and I am very far frompraising them.

But do you not admire, I said, the coolness and dexterity of theseready ministers of political corruption?

Yes, he said, I do; but not of all of them, for there are some whom theapplause of the multitude has deluded into the belief that they arereally statesmen, and these are not much to be admired.

What do you mean? I said; you should have more feeling for them. Whena man cannot measure, and a great many others who cannot measuredeclare that he is four cubits high, can he help believing what theysay?

Nay, he said, certainly not in that case.

Well, then, do not be angry with them; for are they not as good as aplay, trying their hand at paltry reforms such as I was describing;they are always fancying that by legislation they will make an end offrauds in contracts, and the other rascalities which I was mentioning,not knowing that they are in reality cutting off the heads of a hydra?

Yes, he said; that is just what they are doing.

I conceive, I said, that the true legislator will not trouble himselfwith this class of enactments whether concerning laws or theconstitution either in an ill-ordered or in a well-ordered State; forin the former they are quite useless, and in the latter there will beno difficulty in devising them; and many of them will naturally flowout of our previous regulations.

What, then, he said, is still remaining to us of the work oflegislation?

Nothing to us, I replied; but to Apollo, the God of Delphi, thereremains the ordering of the greatest and noblest and chiefest things ofall.

Which are they? he said.

The institution of temples and sacrifices, and the entire service ofgods, demigods, and heroes; also the ordering of the repositories ofthe dead, and the rites which have to be observed by him who wouldpropitiate the inhabitants of the world below. These are matters ofwhich we are ignorant ourselves, and as founders of a city we should beunwise in trusting them to any interpreter but our ancestral deity. Heis the god who sits in the center, on the navel of the earth, and he isthe interpreter of religion to all mankind.

You are right, and we will do as you propose.

But where, amid all this, is justice? son of Ariston, tell me where.Now that our city has been made habitable, light a candle and search,and get your brother and Polemarchus and the rest of our friends tohelp, and let us see where in it we can discover justice and whereinjustice, and in what they differ from one another, and which of themthe man who would be happy should have for his portion, whether seen orunseen by gods and men.

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

Nonsense, said Glaucon: did you not promise to search yourself, sayingthat for you not to help justice in her need would be an impiety?

I do not deny that I said so, and as you remind me, I will be as goodas my word; but you must join.

We will, he replied.

Well, then, I hope to make the discovery in this way: I mean to beginwith the assumption that our State, if rightly ordered, is perfect.

That is most certain.

And being perfect, is therefore wise and valiant and temperate and just.

That is likewise clear.

And whichever of these qualities we find in the State, the one which isnot found will be the residue?

Very good.

If there were four things, and we were searching for one of them,wherever it might be, the one sought for might be known to us from thefirst, and there would be no further trouble; or we might know theother three first, and then the fourth would clearly be the one left.

Very true, he said.

And is not a similar method to be pursued about the virtues, which arealso four in number?

Clearly.

First among the virtues found in the State, wisdom comes into view, andin this I detect a certain peculiarity.

What is that?

The State which we have been describing is said to be wise as beinggood in counsel?

Very true.

And good counsel is clearly a kind of knowledge, for not by ignorance,but by knowledge, do men counsel well?

Clearly.

And the kinds of knowledge in a State are many and diverse?

Of course.

There is the knowledge of the carpenter; but is that the sort ofknowledge which gives a city the title of wise and good in counsel?

Certainly not; that would only give a city the reputation of skill incarpentering.

Then a city is not to be called wise because possessing a knowledgewhich counsels for the best about wooden implements?

Certainly not.

Nor by reason of a knowledge which advises about brazen pots, I said,nor as possessing any other similar knowledge?

Not by reason of any of them, he said.

Nor yet by reason of a knowledge which cultivates the earth; that wouldgive the city the name of agricultural?

Yes.

Well, I said, and is there any knowledge in our recently founded Stateamong any of the citizens which advises, not about any particular thingin the State, but about the whole, and considers how a State can bestdeal with itself and with other States?

There certainly is.

And what is knowledge, and among whom is it found? I asked.

It is the knowledge of the guardians, he replied, and found among thosewhom we were just now describing as perfect guardians.

And what is the name which the city derives from the possession of thissort of knowledge?

The name of good in counsel and truly wise.

And will there be in our city more of these true guardians or moresmiths?

The smiths, he replied, will be far more numerous.

Will not the guardians be the smallest of all the classes who receive aname from the profession of some kind of knowledge?

Much the smallest.

And so by reason of the smallest part or class, and of the knowledgewhich resides in this presiding and ruling part of itself, the wholeState, being thus constituted according to nature, will be wise; andthis, which has the only knowledge worthy to be called wisdom, has beenordained by nature to be of all classes the least.

Most true.

Thus, then, I said, the nature and place in the State of one of thefour virtues has somehow or other been discovered.

And, in my humble opinion, very satisfactorily discovered, he replied.

Again, I said, there is no difficulty in seeing the nature of courage;and in what part that quality resides which gives the name ofcourageous to the State.

How do you mean?

Why, I said, every one who calls any State courageous or cowardly, willbe thinking of the part which fights and goes out to war on the State'sbehalf.

No one, he replied, would ever think of any other.

Certainly not.

The rest of the citizens may be courageous or may be cowardly but theircourage or cowardice will not, as I conceive, have the effect of makingthe city either the one or the other.

The city will be courageous in virtue of a portion of herself whichpreserves under all circumstances that opinion about the nature ofthings to be feared and not to be feared in which our legislatoreducated them; and this is what you term courage.

I should like to hear what you are saying once more, for I do not thinkthat I perfectly understand you.

I mean that courage is a kind of salvation.

Salvation of what?

Of the opinion respecting things to be feared, what they are and ofwhat nature, which the law implants through education; and I mean bythe words 'under all circumstances' to intimate that in pleasure or inpain, or under the influence of desire or fear, a man preserves, anddoes not lose this opinion. Shall I give you an illustration?

If you please.

You know, I said, that dyers, when they want to dye wool for making thetrue sea-purple, begin by selecting their white colour first; this theyprepare and dress with much care and pains, in order that the whiteground may take the purple hue in full perfection. The dyeing thenproceeds; and whatever is dyed in this manner becomes a fast colour,and no washing either with lyes or without them can take away thebloom. But, when the ground has not been duly prepared, you will havenoticed how poor is the look either of purple or of any other colour.

Yes, he said; I know that they have a washed-out and ridiculousappearance.

Then now, I said, you will understand what our object was in selectingour soldiers, and educating them in music and gymnastic; we werecontriving influences which would prepare them to take the dye of thelaws in perfection, and the colour of their opinion about dangers andof every other opinion was to be indelibly fixed by their nurture andtraining, not to be washed away by such potent lyes aspleasure—mightier agent far in washing the soul than any soda or lye;or by sorrow, fear, and desire, the mightiest of all other solvents.And this sort of universal saving power of true opinion in conformitywith law about real and false dangers I call and maintain to becourage, unless you disagree.

But I agree, he replied; for I suppose that you mean to exclude mereuninstructed courage, such as that of a wild beast or of a slave—this,in your opinion, is not the courage which the law ordains, and ought tohave another name.

Most certainly.

Then I may infer courage to be such as you describe?

Why, yes, said I, you may, and if you add the words 'of a citizen,' youwill not be far wrong;—hereafter, if you like, we will carry theexamination further, but at present we are we w seeking not for couragebut justice; and for the purpose of our enquiry we have said enough.

You are right, he replied.

Two virtues remain to be discovered in the State-first temperance, andthen justice which is the end of our search.

Very true.

Now, can we find justice without troubling ourselves about temperance?

I do not know how that can be accomplished, he said, nor do I desirethat justice should be brought to light and temperance lost sight of;and therefore I wish that you would do me the favour of consideringtemperance first.

Certainly, I replied, I should not be justified in refusing yourrequest.

Then consider, he said.

Yes, I replied; I will; and as far as I can at present see, the virtueof temperance has more of the nature of harmony and symphony than thepreceding.

How so? he asked.

Temperance, I replied, is the ordering or controlling of certainpleasures and desires; this is curiously enough implied in the sayingof 'a man being his own master' and other traces of the same notion maybe found in language.

No doubt, he said.

There is something ridiculous in the expression 'master of himself';for the master is also the servant and the servant the master; and inall these modes of speaking the same person is denoted.

Certainly.

The meaning is, I believe, that in the human soul there is a better andalso a worse principle; and when the better has the worse undercontrol, then a man is said to be master of himself; and this is a termof praise: but when, owing to evil education or association, thebetter principle, which is also the smaller, is overwhelmed by thegreater mass of the worse—in this case he is blamed and is called theslave of self and unprincipled.

Yes, there is reason in that.

And now, I said, look at our newly created State, and there you willfind one of these two conditions realised; for the State, as you willacknowledge, may be justly called master of itself, if the words'temperance' and 'self-mastery' truly express the rule of the betterpart over the worse.

Yes, he said, I see that what you say is true.

Let me further note that the manifold and complex pleasures and desiresand pains are generally found in children and women and servants, andin the freemen so called who are of the lowest and more numerous class.

Certainly, he said.

Whereas the simple and moderate desires which follow reason, and areunder the guidance of mind and true opinion, are to be found only in afew, and those the best born and best educated.

Very true. These two, as you may perceive, have a place in our State;and the meaner desires of the are held down by the virtuous desires andwisdom of the few.

That I perceive, he said.

Then if there be any city which may be described as master of its ownpleasures and desires, and master of itself, ours may claim such adesignation?

Certainly, he replied.

It may also be called temperate, and for the same reasons?

Yes.

And if there be any State in which rulers and subjects will be agreedas to the question who are to rule, that again will be our State?

Undoubtedly.

And the citizens being thus agreed among themselves, in which classwill temperance be found—in the rulers or in the subjects?

In both, as I should imagine, he replied.

Do you observe that we were not far wrong in our guess that temperancewas a sort of harmony?

Why so?

Why, because temperance is unlike courage and wisdom, each of whichresides in a part only, the one making the State wise and the othervaliant; not so temperance, which extends to the whole, and runsthrough all the notes of the scale, and produces a harmony of theweaker and the stronger and the middle class, whether you suppose themto be stronger or weaker in wisdom or power or numbers or wealth, oranything else. Most truly then may we deem temperance to be theagreement of the naturally superior and inferior, as to the right torule of either, both in states and individuals.

I entirely agree with you.

And so, I said, we may consider three out of the four virtues to havebeen discovered in our State. The last of those qualities which make astate virtuous must be justice, if we only knew what that was.

The inference is obvious.

The time then has arrived, Glaucon, when, like huntsmen, we shouldsurround the cover, and look sharp that justice does not steal away,and pass out of sight and escape us; for beyond a doubt she issomewhere in this country: watch therefore and strive to catch a sightof her, and if you see her first, let me know.

Would that I could! but you should regard me rather as a follower whohas just eyes enough to, see what you show him—that is about as muchas I am good for.

Offer up a prayer with me and follow.

I will, but you must show me the way.

Here is no path, I said, and the wood is dark and perplexing; still wemust push on.

Let us push on.

Here I saw something: Halloo! I said, I begin to perceive a track,and I believe that the quarry will not escape.

Good news, he said.

Truly, I said, we are stupid fellows.

Why so?

Why, my good sir, at the beginning of our enquiry, ages ago, there wasjustice tumbling out at our feet, and we never saw her; nothing couldbe more ridiculous. Like people who go about looking for what theyhave in their hands—that was the way with us—we looked not at what wewere seeking, but at what was far off in the distance; and therefore, Isuppose, we missed her.

What do you mean?

I mean to say that in reality for a long time past we have been talkingof justice, and have failed to recognise her.

I grow impatient at the length of your exordium.

Well then, tell me, I said, whether I am right or not: You remember theoriginal principle which we were always laying down at the foundationof the State, that one man should practise one thing only, the thing towhich his nature was best adapted;—now justice is this principle or apart of it.

Yes, we often said that one man should do one thing only.

Further, we affirmed that justice was doing one's own business, and notbeing a busybody; we said so again and again, and many others have saidthe same to us.

Yes, we said so.

Then to do one's own business in a certain way may be assumed to bejustice. Can you tell me whence I derive this inference?

I cannot, but I should like to be told.

Because I think that this is the only virtue which remains in the Statewhen the other virtues of temperance and courage and wisdom areabstracted; and, that this is the ultimate cause and condition of theexistence of all of them, and while remaining in them is also theirpreservative; and we were saying that if the three were discovered byus, justice would be the fourth or remaining one.

That follows of necessity.

If we are asked to determine which of these four qualities by itspresence contributes most to the excellence of the State, whether theagreement of rulers and subjects, or the preservation in the soldiersof the opinion which the law ordains about the true nature of dangers,or wisdom and watchfulness in the rulers, or whether this other which Iam mentioning, and which is found in children and women, slave andfreeman, artisan, ruler, subject,—the quality, I mean, of every onedoing his own work, and not being a busybody, would claim the palm—thequestion is not so easily answered.

Certainly, he replied, there would be a difficulty in saying which.

Then the power of each individual in the State to do his own workappears to compete with the other political virtues, wisdom,temperance, courage.

Yes, he said.

And the virtue which enters into this competition is justice?

Exactly.

Let us look at the question from another point of view: Are not therulers in a State those to whom you would entrust the office ofdetermining suits at law?

Certainly.

And are suits decided on any other ground but that a man may neithertake what is another's, nor be deprived of what is his own?

Yes; that is their principle.

Which is a just principle?

Yes.

Then on this view also justice will be admitted to be the having anddoing what is a man's own, and belongs to him?

Very true.

Think, now, and say whether you agree with me or not. Suppose acarpenter to be doing the business of a cobbler, or a cobbler of acarpenter; and suppose them to exchange their implements or theirduties, or the same person to be doing the work of both, or whatever bethe change; do you think that any great harm would result to the State?

Not much.

But when the cobbler or any other man whom nature designed to be atrader, having his heart lifted up by wealth or strength or the numberof his followers, or any like advantage, attempts to force his way intothe class of warriors, or a warrior into that of legislators andguardians, for which he is unfitted, and either to take the implementsor the duties of the other; or when one man is trader, legislator, andwarrior all in one, then I think you will agree with me in saying thatthis interchange and this meddling of one with another is the ruin ofthe State.

Most true.

Seeing then, I said, that there are three distinct classes, anymeddling of one with another, or the change of one into another, is thegreatest harm to the State, and may be most justly termed evil-doing?

Precisely.

And the greatest degree of evil-doing to one's own city would be termedby you injustice?

Certainly.

This then is injustice; and on the other hand when the trader, theauxiliary, and the guardian each do their own business, that isjustice, and will make the city just.

I agree with you.

We will not, I said, be over-positive as yet; but if, on trial, thisconception of justice be verified in the individual as well as in theState, there will be no longer any room for doubt; if it be notverified, we must have a fresh enquiry. First let us complete the oldinvestigation, which we began, as you remember, under the impressionthat, if we could previously examine justice on the larger scale, therewould be less difficulty in discerning her in the individual. Thatlarger example appeared to be the State, and accordingly we constructedas good a one as we could, knowing well that in the good State justicewould be found. Let the discovery which we made be now applied to theindividual—if they agree, we shall be satisfied; or, if there be adifference in the individual, we will come back to the State and haveanother trial of the theory. The friction of the two when rubbedtogether may possibly strike a light in which justice will shine forth,and the vision which is then revealed we will fix in our souls.

That will be in regular course; let us do as you say.

I proceeded to ask: When two things, a greater and less, are called bythe same name, are they like or unlike in so far as they are called thesame?

Like, he replied.

The just man then, if we regard the idea of justice only, will be likethe just State?

He will.

And a State was thought by us to be just when the three classes in theState severally did their own business; and also thought to betemperate and valiant and wise by reason of certain other affectionsand qualities of these same classes?

True, he said.

And so of the individual; we may assume that he has the same threeprinciples in his own soul which are found in the State; and he may berightly described in the same terms, because he is affected in the samemanner?

Certainly, he said.

Once more then, O my friend, we have alighted upon an easyquestion—whether the soul has these three principles or not?

An easy question! Nay, rather, Socrates, the proverb holds that hardis the good.

Very true, I said; and I do not think that the method which we areemploying is at all adequate to the accurate solution of this question;the true method is another and a longer one. Still we may arrive at asolution not below the level of the previous enquiry.

May we not be satisfied with that? he said;—under the circumstances, Iam quite content.

I too, I replied, shall be extremely well satisfied.

Then faint not in pursuing the speculation, he said.

Must we not acknowledge, I said, that in each of us there are the sameprinciples and habits which there are in the State; and that from theindividual they pass into the State?—how else can they come there?Take the quality of passion or spirit;—it would be ridiculous toimagine that this quality, when found in States, is not derived fromthe individuals who are supposed to possess it, e.g. the Thracians,Scythians, and in general the northern nations; and the same may besaid of the love of knowledge, which is the special characteristic ofour part of the world, or of the love of money, which may, with equaltruth, be attributed to the Phoenicians and Egyptians.

Exactly so, he said.

There is no difficulty in understanding this.

None whatever.

But the question is not quite so easy when we proceed to ask whetherthese principles are three or one; whether, that is to say, we learnwith one part of our nature, are angry with another, and with a thirdpart desire the satisfaction of our natural appetites; or whether thewhole soul comes into play in each sort of action—to determine that isthe difficulty.

Yes, he said; there lies the difficulty.

Then let us now try and determine whether they are the same ordifferent.

How can we? he asked.

I replied as follows: The same thing clearly cannot act or be actedupon in the same part or in relation to the same thing at the sametime, in contrary ways; and therefore whenever this contradictionoccurs in things apparently the same, we know that they are really notthe same, but different.

Good.

For example, I said, can the same thing be at rest and in motion at thesame time in the same part?

Impossible.

Still, I said, let us have a more precise statement of terms, lest weshould hereafter fall out by the way. Imagine the case of a man who isstanding and also moving his hands and his head, and suppose a personto say that one and the same person is in motion and at rest at thesame moment-to such a mode of speech we should object, and shouldrather say that one part of him is in motion while another is at rest.

Very true.

And suppose the objector to refine still further, and to draw the nicedistinction that not only parts of tops, but whole tops, when they spinround with their pegs fixed on the spot, are at rest and in motion atthe same time (and he may say the same of anything which revolves inthe same spot), his objection would not be admitted by us, because insuch cases things are not at rest and in motion in the same parts ofthemselves; we should rather say that they have both an axis and acircumference, and that the axis stands still, for there is nodeviation from the perpendicular; and that the circumference goesround. But if, while revolving, the axis inclines either to the rightor left, forwards or backwards, then in no point of view can they be atrest.

That is the correct mode of describing them, he replied.

Then none of these objections will confuse us, or incline us to believethat the same thing at the same time, in the same part or in relationto the same thing, can act or be acted upon in contrary ways.

Certainly not, according to my way of thinking.

Yet, I said, that we may not be compelled to examine all suchobjections, and prove at length that they are untrue, let us assumetheir absurdity, and go forward on the understanding that hereafter, ifthis assumption turn out to be untrue, all the consequences whichfollow shall be withdrawn.

Yes, he said, that will be the best way.

Well, I said, would you not allow that assent and dissent, desire andaversion, attraction and repulsion, are all of them opposites, whetherthey are regarded as active or passive (for that makes no difference inthe fact of their opposition)?

Yes, he said, they are opposites.

Well, I said, and hunger and thirst, and the desires in general, andagain willing and wishing,—all these you would refer to the classesalready mentioned. You would say—would you not?—that the soul of himwho desires is seeking after the object of his desires; or that he isdrawing to himself the thing which he wishes to possess: or again, whena person wants anything to be given him, his mind, longing for therealisation of his desires, intimates his wish to have it by a nod ofassent, as if he had been asked a question?

Very true.

And what would you say of unwillingness and dislike and the absence ofdesire; should not these be referred to the opposite class of repulsionand rejection?

Certainly.

Admitting this to be true of desire generally, let us suppose aparticular class of desires, and out of these we will select hunger andthirst, as they are termed, which are the most obvious of them?

Let us take that class, he said.

The object of one is food, and of the other drink?

Yes.

And here comes the point: is not thirst the desire which the soul hasof drink, and of drink only; not of drink qualified by anything else;for example, warm or cold, or much or little, or, in a word, drink ofany particular sort: but if the thirst be accompanied by heat, thenthe desire is of cold drink; or, if accompanied by cold, then of warmdrink; or, if the thirst be excessive, then the drink which is desiredwill be excessive; or, if not great, the quantity of drink will also besmall: but thirst pure and simple will desire drink pure and simple,which is the natural satisfaction of thirst, as food is of hunger?

Yes, he said; the simple desire is, as you say, in every case of thesimple object, and the qualified desire of the qualified object.

But here a confusion may arise; and I should wish to guard against anopponent starting up and saying that no man desires drink only, butgood drink, or food only, but good food; for good is the universalobject of desire, and thirst being a desire, will necessarily be thirstafter good drink; and the same is true of every other desire.

Yes, he replied, the opponent might have something to say.

Nevertheless I should still maintain, that of relatives some have aquality attached to either term of the relation; others are simple andhave their correlatives simple.

I do not know what you mean.

Well, you know of course that the greater is relative to the less?

Certainly.

And the much greater to the much less?

Yes.

And the sometime greater to the sometime less, and the greater that isto be to the less that is to be?

Certainly, he said.

And so of more and less, and of other correlative terms, such as thedouble and the half, or again, the heavier and the lighter, the swifterand the slower; and of hot and cold, and of any other relatives;—isnot this true of all of them?

Yes.

And does not the same principle hold in the sciences? The object ofscience is knowledge (assuming that to be the true definition), but theobject of a particular science is a particular kind of knowledge; Imean, for example, that the science of house-building is a kind ofknowledge which is defined and distinguished from other kinds and istherefore termed architecture.

Certainly.

Because it has a particular quality which no other has?

Yes.

And it has this particular quality because it has an object of aparticular kind; and this is true of the other arts and sciences?

Yes.

Now, then, if I have made myself clear, you will understand my originalmeaning in what I said about relatives. My meaning was, that if oneterm of a relation is taken alone, the other is taken alone; if oneterm is qualified, the other is also qualified. I do not mean to saythat relatives may not be disparate, or that the science of health ishealthy, or of disease necessarily diseased, or that the sciences ofgood and evil are therefore good and evil; but only that, when the termscience is no longer used absolutely, but has a qualified object whichin this case is the nature of health and disease, it becomes defined,and is hence called not merely science, but the science of medicine.

I quite understand, and I think as you do.

Would you not say that thirst is one of these essentially relativeterms, having clearly a relation—

Yes, thirst is relative to drink.

And a certain kind of thirst is relative to a certain kind of drink;but thirst taken alone is neither of much nor little, nor of good norbad, nor of any particular kind of drink, but of drink only?

Certainly.

Then the soul of the thirsty one, in so far as he is thirsty, desiresonly drink; for this he yearns and tries to obtain it?

That is plain.

And if you suppose something which pulls a thirsty soul away fromdrink, that must be different from the thirsty principle which drawshim like a beast to drink; for, as we were saying, the same thingcannot at the same time with the same part of itself act in contraryways about the same.

Impossible.

No more than you can say that the hands of the archer push and pull thebow at the same time, but what you say is that one hand pushes and theother pulls.

Exactly so, he replied.

And might a man be thirsty, and yet unwilling to drink?

Yes, he said, it constantly happens.

And in such a case what is one to say? Would you not say that therewas something in the soul bidding a man to drink, and something elseforbidding him, which is other and stronger than the principle whichbids him?

I should say so.

And the forbidding principle is derived from reason, and that whichbids and attracts proceeds from passion and disease?

Clearly.

Then we may fairly assume that they are two, and that they differ fromone another; the one with which man reasons, we may call the rationalprinciple of the soul, the other, with which he loves and hungers andthirsts and feels the flutterings of any other desire, may be termedthe irrational or appetitive, the ally of sundry pleasures andsatisfactions?

Yes, he said, we may fairly assume them to be different.

Then let us finally determine that there are two principles existing inthe soul. And what of passion, or spirit? Is it a third, or akin toone of the preceding?

I should be inclined to say—akin to desire.

Well, I said, there is a story which I remember to have heard, and inwhich I put faith. The story is, that Leontius, the son of Aglaion,coming up one day from the Piraeus, under the north wall on theoutside, observed some dead bodies lying on the ground at the place ofexecution. He felt a desire to see them, and also a dread andabhorrence of them; for a time he struggled and covered his eyes, butat length the desire got the better of him; and forcing them open, heran up to the dead bodies, saying, Look, ye wretches, take your fill ofthe fair sight.

I have heard the story myself, he said.

The moral of the tale is, that anger at times goes to war with desire,as though they were two distinct things.

Yes; that is the meaning, he said.

And are there not many other cases in which we observe that when aman's desires violently prevail over his reason, he reviles himself,and is angry at the violence within him, and that in this struggle,which is like the struggle of factions in a State, his spirit is on theside of his reason;—but for the passionate or spirited element to takepart with the desires when reason that she should not be opposed, is asort of thing which thing which I believe that you never observedoccurring in yourself, nor, as I should imagine, in any one else?

Certainly not.

Suppose that a man thinks he has done a wrong to another, the nobler heis the less able is he to feel indignant at any suffering, such ashunger, or cold, or any other pain which the injured person may inflictupon him—these he deems to be just, and, as I say, his anger refusesto be excited by them.

True, he said.

But when he thinks that he is the sufferer of the wrong, then he boilsand chafes, and is on the side of what he believes to be justice; andbecause he suffers hunger or cold or other pain he is only the moredetermined to persevere and conquer. His noble spirit will not bequelled until he either slays or is slain; or until he hears the voiceof the shepherd, that is, reason, bidding his dog bark no more.

The illustration is perfect, he replied; and in our State, as we weresaying, the auxiliaries were to be dogs, and to hear the voice of therulers, who are their shepherds.

I perceive, I said, that you quite understand me; there is, however, afurther point which I wish you to consider.

What point?

You remember that passion or spirit appeared at first sight to be akind of desire, but now we should say quite the contrary; for in theconflict of the soul spirit is arrayed on the side of the rationalprinciple.

Most assuredly.

But a further question arises: Is passion different from reason also,or only a kind of reason; in which latter case, instead of threeprinciples in the soul, there will only be two, the rational and theconcupiscent; or rather, as the State was composed of three classes,traders, auxiliaries, counsellors, so may there not be in theindividual soul a third element which is passion or spirit, and whennot corrupted by bad education is the natural auxiliary of reason

Yes, he said, there must be a third.

Yes, I replied, if passion, which has already been shown to bedifferent from desire, turn out also to be different from reason.

But that is easily proved:—We may observe even in young children thatthey are full of spirit almost as soon as they are born, whereas someof them never seem to attain to the use of reason, and most of themlate enough.

Excellent, I said, and you may see passion equally in brute animals,which is a further proof of the truth of what you are saying. And wemay once more appeal to the words of Homer, which have been alreadyquoted by us,

He smote his breast, and thus rebuked his soul,

for in this verse Homer has clearly supposed the power which reasonsabout the better and worse to be different from the unreasoning angerwhich is rebuked by it.

Very true, he said.

And so, after much tossing, we have reached land, and are fairly agreedthat the same principles which exist in the State exist also in theindividual, and that they are three in number.

Exactly.

Must we not then infer that the individual is wise in the same way, andin virtue of the same quality which makes the State wise?

Certainly.

Also that the same quality which constitutes courage in the Stateconstitutes courage in the individual, and that both the State and theindividual bear the same relation to all the other virtues?

Assuredly.

And the individual will be acknowledged by us to be just in the sameway in which the State is just?

That follows, of course.

We cannot but remember that the justice of the State consisted in eachof the three classes doing the work of its own class?

We are not very likely to have forgotten, he said.

We must recollect that the individual in whom the several qualities ofhis nature do their own work will be just, and will do his own work?

Yes, he said, we must remember that too.

And ought not the rational principle, which is wise, and has the careof the whole soul, to rule, and the passionate or spirited principle tobe the subject and ally?

Certainly.

And, as we were saying, the united influence of music and gymnasticwill bring them into accord, nerving and sustaining the reason withnoble words and lessons, and moderating and soothing and civilizing thewildness of passion by harmony and rhythm?

Quite true, he said.

And these two, thus nurtured and educated, and having learned truly toknow their own functions, will rule over the concupiscent, which ineach of us is the largest part of the soul and by nature mostinsatiable of gain; over this they will keep guard, lest, waxing greatand strong with the fulness of bodily pleasures, as they are termed,the concupiscent soul, no longer confined to her own sphere, shouldattempt to enslave and rule those who are not her natural-bornsubjects, and overturn the whole life of man?

Very true, he said.

Both together will they not be the best defenders of the whole soul andthe whole body against attacks from without; the one counselling, andthe other fighting under his leader, and courageously executing hiscommands and counsels?

True.

And he is to be deemed courageous whose spirit retains in pleasure andin pain the commands of reason about what he ought or ought not to fear?

Right, he replied.

And him we call wise who has in him that little part which rules, andwhich proclaims these commands; that part too being supposed to have aknowledge of what is for the interest of each of the three parts and ofthe whole?

Assuredly.

And would you not say that he is temperate who has these same elementsin friendly harmony, in whom the one ruling principle of reason, andthe two subject ones of spirit and desire are equally agreed thatreason ought to rule, and do not rebel?

Certainly, he said, that is the true account of temperance whether inthe State or individual.

And surely, I said, we have explained again and again how and by virtueof what quality a man will be just.

That is very certain.

And is justice dimmer in the individual, and is her form different, oris she the same which we found her to be in the State?

There is no difference in my opinion, he said.

Because, if any doubt is still lingering in our minds, a fewcommonplace instances will satisfy us of the truth of what I am saying.

What sort of instances do you mean?

If the case is put to us, must we not admit that the just State, or theman who is trained in the principles of such a State, will be lesslikely than the unjust to make away with a deposit of gold or silver?Would any one deny this?

No one, he replied.

Will the just man or citizen ever be guilty of sacrilege or theft, ortreachery either to his friends or to his country?

Never.

Neither will he ever break faith where there have been oaths oragreements?

Impossible.

No one will be less likely to commit adultery, or to dishonour hisfather and mother, or to fall in his religious duties?

No one.

And the reason is that each part of him is doing its own business,whether in ruling or being ruled?

Exactly so.

Are you satisfied then that the quality which makes such men and suchstates is justice, or do you hope to discover some other?

Not I, indeed.

Then our dream has been realised; and the suspicion which weentertained at the beginning of our work of construction, that somedivine power must have conducted us to a primary form of justice, hasnow been verified?

Yes, certainly.

And the division of labour which required the carpenter and theshoemaker and the rest of the citizens to be doing each his ownbusiness, and not another's, was a shadow of justice, and for thatreason it was of use?

Clearly.

But in reality justice was such as we were describing, being concernedhowever, not with the outward man, but with the inward, which is thetrue self and concernment of man: for the just man does not permit theseveral elements within him to interfere with one another, or any ofthem to do the work of others,—he sets in order his own inner life,and is his own master and his own law, and at peace with himself; andwhen he has bound together the three principles within him, which maybe compared to the higher, lower, and middle notes of the scale, andthe intermediate intervals—when he has bound all these together, andis no longer many, but has become one entirely temperate and perfectlyadjusted nature, then he proceeds to act, if he has to act, whether ina matter of property, or in the treatment of the body, or in someaffair of politics or private business; always thinking and callingthat which preserves and co-operates with this harmonious condition,just and good action, and the knowledge which presides over it, wisdom,and that which at any time impairs this condition, he will call unjustaction, and the opinion which presides over it ignorance.

You have said the exact truth, Socrates.

Very good; and if we were to affirm that we had discovered the just manand the just State, and the nature of justice in each of them, weshould not be telling a falsehood?

Most certainly not.

May we say so, then?

Let us say so.

And now, I said, injustice has to be considered.

Clearly.

Must not injustice be a strife which arises among the threeprinciples—a meddlesomeness, and interference, and rising up of a partof the soul against the whole, an assertion of unlawful authority,which is made by a rebellious subject against a true prince, of whom heis the natural vassal,—what is all this confusion and delusion butinjustice, and intemperance and cowardice and ignorance, and every formof vice?

Exactly so.

And if the nature of justice and injustice be known, then the meaningof acting unjustly and being unjust, or, again, of acting justly, willalso be perfectly clear?

What do you mean? he said.

Why, I said, they are like disease and health; being in the soul justwhat disease and health are in the body.

How so? he said.

Why, I said, that which is healthy causes health, and that which isunhealthy causes disease.

Yes.

And just actions cause justice, and unjust actions cause injustice?

That is certain.

And the creation of health is the institution of a natural order andgovernment of one by another in the parts of the body; and the creationof disease is the production of a state of things at variance with thisnatural order?

True.

And is not the creation of justice the institution of a natural orderand government of one by another in the parts of the soul, and thecreation of injustice the production of a state of things at variancewith the natural order?

Exactly so, he said.

Then virtue is the health and beauty and well-being of the soul, andvice the disease and weakness and deformity of the same?

True.

And do not good practices lead to virtue, and evil practices to vice?

Assuredly.

Still our old question of the comparative advantage of justice andinjustice has not been answered: Which is the more profitable, to bejust and act justly and practise virtue, whether seen or unseen of godsand men, or to be unjust and act unjustly, if only unpunished andunreformed?

In my judgment, Socrates, the question has now become ridiculous. Weknow that, when the bodily constitution is gone, life is no longerendurable, though pampered with all kinds of meats and drinks, andhaving all wealth and all power; and shall we be told that when thevery essence of the vital principle is undermined and corrupted, lifeis still worth having to a man, if only he be allowed to do whatever helikes with the single exception that he is not to acquire justice andvirtue, or to escape from injustice and vice; assuming them both to besuch as we have described?

Yes, I said, the question is, as you say, ridiculous. Still, as we arenear the spot at which we may see the truth in the clearest manner withour own eyes, let us not faint by the way.

Certainly not, he replied.

Come up hither, I said, and behold the various forms of vice, those ofthem, I mean, which are worth looking at.

I am following you, he replied: proceed.

I said, The argument seems to have reached a height from which, as fromsome tower of speculation, a man may look down and see that virtue isone, but that the forms of vice are innumerable; there being fourspecial ones which are deserving of note.

What do you mean? he said.

I mean, I replied, that there appear to be as many forms of the soul asthere are distinct forms of the State.

How many?

There are five of the State, and five of the soul, I said.

What are they?

The first, I said, is that which we have been describing, and which maybe said to have two names, monarchy and aristocracy, accordingly asrule is exercised by one distinguished man or by many.

True, he replied.

But I regard the two names as describing one form only; for whether thegovernment is in the hands of one or many, if the governors have beentrained in the manner which we have supposed, the fundamental laws ofthe State will be maintained.

That is true, he replied.

BOOK V

SOCRATES - GLAUCON - ADEIMANTUS

SUCH is the good and true City or State, and the good and man is of thesame pattern; and if this is right every other is wrong; and the evilis one which affects not only the ordering of the State, but also theregulation of the individual soul, and is exhibited in four forms.

What are they? he said.

I was proceeding to tell the order in which the four evil formsappeared to me to succeed one another, when Pole marchus, who wassitting a little way off, just beyond Adeimantus, began to whisper tohim: stretching forth his hand, he took hold of the upper part of hiscoat by the shoulder, and drew him towards him, leaning forward himselfso as to be quite close and saying something in his ear, of which Ionly caught the words, 'Shall we let him off, or what shall we do?'

Certainly not, said Adeimantus, raising his voice.

Who is it, I said, whom you are refusing to let off?

You, he said.

I repeated, Why am I especially not to be let off?

Why, he said, we think that you are lazy, and mean to cheat us out of awhole chapter which is a very important part of the story; and youfancy that we shall not notice your airy way of proceeding; as if itwere self-evident to everybody, that in the matter of women andchildren 'friends have all things in common.'

And was I not right, Adeimantus?

Yes, he said; but what is right in this particular case, likeeverything else, requires to be explained; for community may be of manykinds. Please, therefore, to say what sort of community you mean. Wehave been long expecting that you would tell us something about thefamily life of your citizens—how they will bring children into theworld, and rear them when they have arrived, and, in general, what isthe nature of this community of women and children-for we are ofopinion that the right or wrong management of such matters will have agreat and paramount influence on the State for good or for evil. Andnow, since the question is still undetermined, and you are taking inhand another State, we have resolved, as you heard, not to let you gountil you give an account of all this.

To that resolution, said Glaucon, you may regard me as saying Agreed.

SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS - GLAUCON - THRASYMACHUS

And without more ado, said Thrasymachus, you may consider us all to beequally agreed.

I said, You know not what you are doing in thus assailing me: What anargument are you raising about the State! Just as I thought that I hadfinished, and was only too glad that I had laid this question to sleep,and was reflecting how fortunate I was in your acceptance of what Ithen said, you ask me to begin again at the very foundation, ignorantof what a hornet's nest of words you are stirring. Now I foresaw thisgathering trouble, and avoided it.

For what purpose do you conceive that we have come here, said
Thrasymachus,—to look for gold, or to hear discourse?

Yes, but discourse should have a limit.

Yes, Socrates, said Glaucon, and the whole of life is the only limitwhich wise men assign to the hearing of such discourses. But nevermind about us; take heart yourself and answer the question in your ownway: What sort of community of women and children is this which is toprevail among our guardians? and how shall we manage the period betweenbirth and education, which seems to require the greatest care? Tell ushow these things will be.

Yes, my simple friend, but the answer is the reverse of easy; many moredoubts arise about this than about our previous conclusions. For thepracticability of what is said may be doubted; and looked at in anotherpoint of view, whether the scheme, if ever so practicable, would be forthe best, is also doubtful. Hence I feel a reluctance to approach thesubject, lest our aspiration, my dear friend, should turn out to be adream only.

Fear not, he replied, for your audience will not be hard upon you; theyare not sceptical or hostile.

I said: My good friend, I suppose that you mean to encourage me bythese words.

Yes, he said.

Then let me tell you that you are doing just the reverse; theencouragement which you offer would have been all very well had Imyself believed that I knew what I was talking about: to declare thetruth about matters of high interest which a man honours and lovesamong wise men who love him need occasion no fear or faltering in hismind; but to carry on an argument when you are yourself only ahesitating enquirer, which is my condition, is a dangerous and slipperything; and the danger is not that I shall be laughed at (of which thefear would be childish), but that I shall miss the truth where I havemost need to be sure of my footing, and drag my friends after me in myfall. And I pray Nemesis not to visit upon me the words which I amgoing to utter. For I do indeed believe that to be an involuntaryhomicide is a less crime than to be a deceiver about beauty or goodnessor justice in the matter of laws. And that is a risk which I wouldrather run among enemies than among friends, and therefore you do wellto encourage me.

Glaucon laughed and said: Well then, Socrates, in case you and yourargument do us any serious injury you shall be acquitted beforehand ofthe and shall not be held to be a deceiver; take courage then and speak.

Well, I said, the law says that when a man is acquitted he is free fromguilt, and what holds at law may hold in argument.

Then why should you mind?

Well, I replied, I suppose that I must retrace my steps and say what Iperhaps ought to have said before in the proper place. The part of themen has been played out, and now properly enough comes the turn of thewomen. Of them I will proceed to speak, and the more readily since Iam invited by you.

For men born and educated like our citizens, the only way, in myopinion, of arriving at a right conclusion about the possession and useof women and children is to follow the path on which we originallystarted, when we said that the men were to be the guardians andwatchdogs of the herd.

True.

Let us further suppose the birth and education of our women to besubject to similar or nearly similar regulations; then we shall seewhether the result accords with our design.

What do you mean?

What I mean may be put into the form of a question, I said: Are dogsdivided into hes and shes, or do they both share equally in hunting andin keeping watch and in the other duties of dogs? or do we entrust tothe males the entire and exclusive care of the flocks, while we leavethe females at home, under the idea that the bearing and suckling theirpuppies is labour enough for them?

No, he said, they share alike; the only difference between them is thatthe males are stronger and the females weaker.

But can you use different animals for the same purpose, unless they arebred and fed in the same way?

You cannot.

Then, if women are to have the same duties as men, they must have thesame nurture and education?

Yes.

The education which was assigned to the men was music and gymnastic.
Yes.

Then women must be taught music and gymnastic and also the art of war,which they must practise like the men?

That is the inference, I suppose.

I should rather expect, I said, that several of our proposals, if theyare carried out, being unusual, may appear ridiculous.

No doubt of it.

Yes, and the most ridiculous thing of all will be the sight of womennaked in the palaestra, exercising with the men, especially when theyare no longer young; they certainly will not be a vision of beauty, anymore than the enthusiastic old men who in spite of wrinkles andugliness continue to frequent the gymnasia.

Yes, indeed, he said: according to present notions the proposal wouldbe thought ridiculous.

But then, I said, as we have determined to speak our minds, we must notfear the jests of the wits which will be directed against this sort ofinnovation; how they will talk of women's attainments both in music andgymnastic, and above all about their wearing armour and riding uponhorseback!

Very true, he replied.

Yet having begun we must go forward to the rough places of the law; atthe same time begging of these gentlemen for once in their life to beserious. Not long ago, as we shall remind them, the Hellenes were ofthe opinion, which is still generally received among the barbarians,that the sight of a naked man was ridiculous and improper; and whenfirst the Cretans and then the Lacedaemonians introduced the custom,the wits of that day might equally have ridiculed the innovation.

No doubt.

But when experience showed that to let all things be uncovered was farbetter than to cover them up, and the ludicrous effect to the outwardeye vanished before the better principle which reason asserted, thenthe man was perceived to be a fool who directs the shafts of hisridicule at any other sight but that of folly and vice, or seriouslyinclines to weigh the beautiful by any other standard but that of thegood.

Very true, he replied.

First, then, whether the question is to be put in jest or in earnest,let us come to an understanding about the nature of woman: Is shecapable of sharing either wholly or partially in the actions of men, ornot at all? And is the art of war one of those arts in which she canor can not share? That will be the best way of commencing the enquiry,and will probably lead to the fairest conclusion.

That will be much the best way.

Shall we take the other side first and begin by arguing againstourselves; in this manner the adversary's position will not beundefended.

Why not? he said.

Then let us put a speech into the mouths of our opponents. They willsay: 'Socrates and Glaucon, no adversary need convict you, for youyourselves, at the first foundation of the State, admitted theprinciple that everybody was to do the one work suited to his ownnature.' And certainly, if I am not mistaken, such an admission wasmade by us. 'And do not the natures of men and women differ very muchindeed?' And we shall reply: Of course they do. Then we shall beasked, 'Whether the tasks assigned to men and to women should not bedifferent, and such as are agreeable to their different natures?'Certainly they should. 'But if so, have you not fallen into a seriousinconsistency in saying that men and women, whose natures are soentirely different, ought to perform the same actions?'— What defencewill you make for us, my good Sir, against any one who offers theseobjections?

That is not an easy question to answer when asked suddenly; and I shalland I do beg of you to draw out the case on our side.

These are the objections, Glaucon, and there are many others of a likekind, which I foresaw long ago; they made me afraid and reluctant totake in hand any law about the possession and nurture of women andchildren.

By Zeus, he said, the problem to be solved is anything but easy.

Why yes, I said, but the fact is that when a man is out of his depth,whether he has fallen into a little swimming bath or into mid-ocean, hehas to swim all the same.

Very true.

And must not we swim and try to reach the shore: we will hope that
Arion's dolphin or some other miraculous help may save us?

I suppose so, he said.

Well then, let us see if any way of escape can be found. Weacknowledged—did we not? that different natures ought to havedifferent pursuits, and that men's and women's natures are different.And now what are we saying?—that different natures ought to have thesame pursuits,—this is the inconsistency which is charged upon us.

Precisely.

Verily, Glaucon, I said, glorious is the power of the art ofcontradiction!

Why do you say so?

Because I think that many a man falls into the practice against hiswill. When he thinks that he is reasoning he is really disputing, justbecause he cannot define and divide, and so know that of which he isspeaking; and he will pursue a merely verbal opposition in the spiritof contention and not of fair discussion.

Yes, he replied, such is very often the case; but what has that to dowith us and our argument?

A great deal; for there is certainly a danger of our gettingunintentionally into a verbal opposition.

In what way?

Why, we valiantly and pugnaciously insist upon the verbal truth, thatdifferent natures ought to have different pursuits, but we neverconsidered at all what was the meaning of sameness or difference ofnature, or why we distinguished them when we assigned differentpursuits to different natures and the same to the same natures.

Why, no, he said, that was never considered by us.

I said: Suppose that by way of illustration we were to ask thequestion whether there is not an opposition in nature between bald menand hairy men; and if this is admitted by us, then, if bald men arecobblers, we should forbid the hairy men to be cobblers, and conversely?

That would be a jest, he said.

Yes, I said, a jest; and why? because we never meant when weconstructed the State, that the opposition of natures should extend toevery difference, but only to those differences which affected thepursuit in which the individual is engaged; we should have argued, forexample, that a physician and one who is in mind a physician may besaid to have the same nature.

True.

Whereas the physician and the carpenter have different natures?

Certainly.

And if, I said, the male and female sex appear to differ in theirfitness for any art or pursuit, we should say that such pursuit or artought to be assigned to one or the other of them; but if the differenceconsists only in women bearing and men begetting children, this doesnot amount to a proof that a woman differs from a man in respect of thesort of education she should receive; and we shall therefore continueto maintain that our guardians and their wives ought to have the samepursuits.

Very true, he said.

Next, we shall ask our opponent how, in reference to any of thepursuits or arts of civic life, the nature of a woman differs from thatof a man?

That will be quite fair.

And perhaps he, like yourself, will reply that to give a sufficientanswer on the instant is not easy; but after a little reflection thereis no difficulty.

Yes, perhaps.

Suppose then that we invite him to accompany us in the argument, andthen we may hope to show him that there is nothing peculiar in theconstitution of women which would affect them in the administration ofthe State.

By all means.

Let us say to him: Come now, and we will ask you a question:—when youspoke of a nature gifted or not gifted in any respect, did you mean tosay that one man will acquire a thing easily, another with difficulty;a little learning will lead the one to discover a great deal; whereasthe other, after much study and application, no sooner learns than heforgets; or again, did you mean, that the one has a body which is agood servant to his mind, while the body of the other is a hindrance tohim?-would not these be the sort of differences which distinguish theman gifted by nature from the one who is ungifted?

No one will deny that.

And can you mention any pursuit of mankind in which the male sex hasnot all these gifts and qualities in a higher degree than the female?Need I waste time in speaking of the art of weaving, and the managementof pancakes and preserves, in which womankind does really appear to begreat, and in which for her to be beaten by a man is of all things themost absurd?

You are quite right, he replied, in maintaining the general inferiorityof the female sex: although many women are in many things superior tomany men, yet on the whole what you say is true.

And if so, my friend, I said, there is no special faculty ofadministration in a state which a woman has because she is a woman, orwhich a man has by virtue of his sex, but the gifts of nature are alikediffused in both; all the pursuits of men are the pursuits of womenalso, but in all of them a woman is inferior to a man.

Very true.

Then are we to impose all our enactments on men and none of them onwomen?

That will never do.

One woman has a gift of healing, another not; one is a musician, andanother has no music in her nature?

Very true.

And one woman has a turn for gymnastic and military exercises, andanother is unwarlike and hates gymnastics?

Certainly.

And one woman is a philosopher, and another is an enemy of philosophy;one has spirit, and another is without spirit?

That is also true.

Then one woman will have the temper of a guardian, and another not.Was not the selection of the male guardians determined by differencesof this sort?

Yes.

Men and women alike possess the qualities which make a guardian; theydiffer only in their comparative strength or weakness.

Obviously.

And those women who have such qualities are to be selected as thecompanions and colleagues of men who have similar qualities and whomthey resemble in capacity and in character?

Very true.

And ought not the same natures to have the same pursuits?

They ought.

Then, as we were saying before, there is nothing unnatural in assigningmusic and gymnastic to the wives of the guardians—to that point wecome round again.

Certainly not.

The law which we then enacted was agreeable to nature, and thereforenot an impossibility or mere aspiration; and the contrary practice,which prevails at present, is in reality a violation of nature.

That appears to be true.

We had to consider, first, whether our proposals were possible, andsecondly whether they were the most beneficial?

Yes.

And the possibility has been acknowledged?

Yes.

The very great benefit has next to be established?

Quite so.

You will admit that the same education which makes a man a goodguardian will make a woman a good guardian; for their original natureis the same?

Yes.

I should like to ask you a question.

What is it?

Would you say that all men are equal in excellence, or is one manbetter than another?

The latter.

And in the commonwealth which we were founding do you conceive theguardians who have been brought up on our model system to be moreperfect men, or the cobblers whose education has been cobbling?

What a ridiculous question!

You have answered me, I replied: Well, and may we not further say thatour guardians are the best of our citizens?

By far the best.

And will not their wives be the best women?

Yes, by far the best.

And can there be anything better for the interests of the State thanthat the men and women of a State should be as good as possible?

There can be nothing better.

And this is what the arts of music and gymnastic, when present in suchmanner as we have described, will accomplish?

Certainly.

Then we have made an enactment not only possible but in the highestdegree beneficial to the State?

True.

Then let the wives of our guardians strip, for their virtue will betheir robe, and let them share in the toils of war and the defence oftheir country; only in the distribution of labours the lighter are tobe assigned to the women, who are the weaker natures, but in otherrespects their duties are to be the same. And as for the man wholaughs at naked women exercising their bodies from the best of motives,in his laughter he is plucking

A fruit of unripe wisdom,

and he himself is ignorant of what he is laughing at, or what he isabout;—for that is, and ever will be, the best of sayings, That theuseful is the noble and the hurtful is the base.

Very true.

Here, then, is one difficulty in our law about women, which we may saythat we have now escaped; the wave has not swallowed us up alive forenacting that the guardians of either sex should have all theirpursuits in common; to the utility and also to the possibility of thisarrangement the consistency of the argument with itself bears witness.

Yes, that was a mighty wave which you have escaped.

Yes, I said, but a greater is coming; you will of this when you see thenext.

Go on; let me see.

The law, I said, which is the sequel of this and of all that haspreceded, is to the following effect,—'that the wives of our guardiansare to be common, and their children are to be common, and no parent isto know his own child, nor any child his parent.'

Yes, he said, that is a much greater wave than the other; and thepossibility as well as the utility of such a law are far morequestionable.

I do not think, I said, that there can be any dispute about the verygreat utility of having wives and children in common; the possibilityis quite another matter, and will be very much disputed.

I think that a good many doubts may be raised about both.

You imply that the two questions must be combined, I replied. Now Imeant that you should admit the utility; and in this way, as I thought;I should escape from one of them, and then there would remain only thepossibility.

But that little attempt is detected, and therefore you will please togive a defence of both.

Well, I said, I submit to my fate. Yet grant me a little favour: letme feast my mind with the dream as day dreamers are in the habit offeasting themselves when they are walking alone; for before they havediscovered any means of effecting their wishes—that is a matter whichnever troubles them—they would rather not tire themselves by thinkingabout possibilities; but assuming that what they desire is alreadygranted to them, they proceed with their plan, and delight in detailingwhat they mean to do when their wish has come true—that is a way whichthey have of not doing much good to a capacity which was never good formuch. Now I myself am beginning to lose heart, and I should like, withyour permission, to pass over the question of possibility at present.Assuming therefore the possibility of the proposal, I shall now proceedto enquire how the rulers will carry out these arrangements, and Ishall demonstrate that our plan, if executed, will be of the greatestbenefit to the State and to the guardians. First of all, then, if youhave no objection, I will endeavour with your help to consider theadvantages of the measure; and hereafter the question of possibility.

I have no objection; proceed.

First, I think that if our rulers and their auxiliaries are to beworthy of the name which they bear, there must be willingness to obeyin the one and the power of command in the other; the guardians mustthemselves obey the laws, and they must also imitate the spirit of themin any details which are entrusted to their care.

That is right, he said.

You, I said, who are their legislator, having selected the men, willnow select the women and give them to them;—they must be as far aspossible of like natures with them; and they must live in common housesand meet at common meals, None of them will have anything specially hisor her own; they will be together, and will be brought up together, andwill associate at gymnastic exercises. And so they will be drawn by anecessity of their natures to have intercourse with eachother—necessity is not too strong a word, I think?

Yes, he said;—necessity, not geometrical, but another sort ofnecessity which lovers know, and which is far more convincing andconstraining to the mass of mankind.

True, I said; and this, Glaucon, like all the rest, must proceed afteran orderly fashion; in a city of the blessed, licentiousness is anunholy thing which the rulers will forbid.

Yes, he said, and it ought not to be permitted.

Then clearly the next thing will be to make matrimony sacred in thehighest degree, and what is most beneficial will be deemed sacred?

Exactly.

And how can marriages be made most beneficial?—that is a questionwhich I put to you, because I see in your house dogs for hunting, andof the nobler sort of birds not a few. Now, I beseech you, do tell me,have you ever attended to their pairing and breeding?

In what particulars?

Why, in the first place, although they are all of a good sort, are notsome better than others?

True.

And do you breed from them all indifferently, or do you take care tobreed from the best only?

From the best.

And do you take the oldest or the youngest, or only those of ripe age?

I choose only those of ripe age.

And if care was not taken in the breeding, your dogs and birds wouldgreatly deteriorate?

Certainly.

And the same of horses and animals in general?

Undoubtedly.

Good heavens! my dear friend, I said, what consummate skill will ourrulers need if the same principle holds of the human species!

Certainly, the same principle holds; but why does this involve anyparticular skill?

Because, I said, our rulers will often have to practise upon the bodycorporate with medicines. Now you know that when patients do notrequire medicines, but have only to be put under a regimen, theinferior sort of practitioner is deemed to be good enough; but whenmedicine has to be given, then the doctor should be more of a man.

That is quite true, he said; but to what are you alluding?

I mean, I replied, that our rulers will find a considerable dose offalsehood and deceit necessary for the good of their subjects: we weresaying that the use of all these things regarded as medicines might beof advantage.

And we were very right.

And this lawful use of them seems likely to be often needed in theregulations of marriages and births.

How so?

Why, I said, the principle has been already laid down that the best ofeither sex should be united with the best as often, and the inferiorwith the inferior, as seldom as possible; and that they should rear theoffspring of the one sort of union, but not of the other, if the flockis to be maintained in first-rate condition. Now these goings on mustbe a secret which the rulers only know, or there will be a furtherdanger of our herd, as the guardians may be termed, breaking out intorebellion.

Very true.

Had we not better appoint certain festivals at which we will bringtogether the brides and bridegrooms, and sacrifices will be offered andsuitable hymeneal songs composed by our poets: the number of weddingsis a matter which must be left to the discretion of the rulers, whoseaim will be to preserve the average of population? There are manyother things which they will have to consider, such as the effects ofwars and diseases and any similar agencies, in order as far as this ispossible to prevent the State from becoming either too large or toosmall.

Certainly, he replied.

We shall have to invent some ingenious kind of lots which the lessworthy may draw on each occasion of our bringing them together, andthen they will accuse their own ill-luck and not the rulers.

To be sure, he said.

And I think that our braver and better youth, besides their otherhonours and rewards, might have greater facilities of intercourse withwomen given them; their bravery will be a reason, and such fathersought to have as many sons as possible.

True.

And the proper officers, whether male or female or both, for officesare to be held by women as well as by men—

Yes—

The proper officers will take the offspring of the good parents to thepen or fold, and there they will deposit them with certain nurses whodwell in a separate quarter; but the offspring of the inferior, or ofthe better when they chance to be deformed, will be put away in somemysterious, unknown place, as they should be.

Yes, he said, that must be done if the breed of the guardians is to bekept pure.

They will provide for their nurture, and will bring the mothers to thefold when they are full of milk, taking the greatest possible care thatno mother recognizes her own child; and other wet-nurses may be engagedif more are required. Care will also be taken that the process ofsuckling shall not be protracted too long; and the mothers will have nogetting up at night or other trouble, but will hand over all this sortof thing to the nurses and attendants.

You suppose the wives of our guardians to have a fine easy time of itwhen they are having children.

Why, said I, and so they ought. Let us, however, proceed with ourscheme. We were saying that the parents should be in the prime of life?

Very true.

And what is the prime of life? May it not be defined as a period ofabout twenty years in a woman's life, and thirty in a man's?

Which years do you mean to include?

A woman, I said, at twenty years of age may begin to bear children tothe State, and continue to bear them until forty; a man may begin atfive-and-twenty, when he has passed the point at which the pulse oflife beats quickest, and continue to beget children until he befifty-five.

Certainly, he said, both in men and women those years are the prime ofphysical as well as of intellectual vigour.

Any one above or below the prescribed ages who takes part in the publichymeneals shall be said to have done an unholy and unrighteous thing;the child of which he is the father, if it steals into life, will havebeen conceived under auspices very unlike the sacrifices and prayers,which at each hymeneal priestesses and priest and the whole city willoffer, that the new generation may be better and more useful than theirgood and useful parents, whereas his child will be the offspring ofdarkness and strange lust.

Very true, he replied.

And the same law will apply to any one of those within the prescribedage who forms a connection with any woman in the prime of life withoutthe sanction of the rulers; for we shall say that he is raising up abastard to the State, uncertified and unconsecrated.

Very true, he replied.

This applies, however, only to those who are within the specified age:after that we allow them to range at will, except that a man may notmarry his daughter or his daughter's daughter, or his mother or hismother's mother; and women, on the other hand, are prohibited frommarrying their sons or fathers, or son's son or father's father, and soon in either direction. And we grant all this, accompanying thepermission with strict orders to prevent any embryo which may come intobeing from seeing the light; and if any force a way to the birth, theparents must understand that the offspring of such an union cannot bemaintained, and arrange accordingly.

That also, he said, is a reasonable proposition. But how will theyknow who are fathers and daughters, and so on?

They will never know. The way will be this:—dating from the day ofthe hymeneal, the bridegroom who was then married will call all themale children who are born in the seventh and tenth month afterwardshis sons, and the female children his daughters, and they will call himfather, and he will call their children his grandchildren, and theywill call the elder generation grandfathers and grandmothers. All whowere begotten at the time when their fathers and mothers came togetherwill be called their brothers and sisters, and these, as I was saying,will be forbidden to inter-marry. This, however, is not to beunderstood as an absolute prohibition of the marriage of brothers andsisters; if the lot favours them, and they receive the sanction of thePythian oracle, the law will allow them.

Quite right, he replied.

Such is the scheme, Glaucon, according to which the guardians of ourState are to have their wives and families in common. And now youwould have the argument show that this community is consistent with therest of our polity, and also that nothing can be better—would you not?

Yes, certainly.

Shall we try to find a common basis by asking of ourselves what oughtto be the chief aim of the legislator in making laws and in theorganization of a State,—what is the greatest I good, and what is thegreatest evil, and then consider whether our previous description hasthe stamp of the good or of the evil?

By all means.

Can there be any greater evil than discord and distraction andplurality where unity ought to reign? or any greater good than the bondof unity?

There cannot.

And there is unity where there is community of pleasures andpains—where all the citizens are glad or grieved on the same occasionsof joy and sorrow?

No doubt.

Yes; and where there is no common but only private feeling a State isdisorganized—when you have one half of the world triumphing and theother plunged in grief at the same events happening to the city or thecitizens?

Certainly.

Such differences commonly originate in a disagreement about the use ofthe terms 'mine' and 'not mine,' 'his' and 'not his.'

Exactly so.

And is not that the best-ordered State in which the greatest number ofpersons apply the terms 'mine' and 'not mine' in the same way to thesame thing?

Quite true.

Or that again which most nearly approaches to the condition of theindividual—as in the body, when but a finger of one of us is hurt, thewhole frame, drawn towards the soul as a center and forming one kingdomunder the ruling power therein, feels the hurt and sympathizes alltogether with the part affected, and we say that the man has a pain inhis finger; and the same expression is used about any other part of thebody, which has a sensation of pain at suffering or of pleasure at thealleviation of suffering.

Very true, he replied; and I agree with you that in the best-orderedState there is the nearest approach to this common feeling which youdescribe.

Then when any one of the citizens experiences any good or evil, thewhole State will make his case their own, and will either rejoice orsorrow with him?

Yes, he said, that is what will happen in a well-ordered State.

It will now be time, I said, for us to return to our State and seewhether this or some other form is most in accordance with thesefundamental principles.

Very good.

Our State like every other has rulers and subjects?

True.

All of whom will call one another citizens?

Of course.

But is there not another name which people give to their rulers inother States?

Generally they call them masters, but in democratic States they simplycall them rulers.

And in our State what other name besides that of citizens do the peoplegive the rulers?

They are called saviours and helpers, he replied.

And what do the rulers call the people?

Their maintainers and foster-fathers.

And what do they call them in other States?

Slaves.

And what do the rulers call one another in other States?

Fellow-rulers.

And what in ours?

Fellow-guardians.

Did you ever know an example in any other State of a ruler who wouldspeak of one of his colleagues as his friend and of another as notbeing his friend?

Yes, very often.

And the friend he regards and describes as one in whom he has aninterest, and the other as a stranger in whom he has no interest?

Exactly.

But would any of your guardians think or speak of any other guardian asa stranger?

Certainly he would not; for every one whom they meet will be regardedby them either as a brother or sister, or father or mother, or son ordaughter, or as the child or parent of those who are thus connectedwith him.

Capital, I said; but let me ask you once more: Shall they be a familyin name only; or shall they in all their actions be true to the name?For example, in the use of the word 'father,' would the care of afather be implied and the filial reverence and duty and obedience tohim which the law commands; and is the violator of these duties to beregarded as an impious and unrighteous person who is not likely toreceive much good either at the hands of God or of man? Are these tobe or not to be the strains which the children will hear repeated intheir ears by all the citizens about those who are intimated to them tobe their parents and the rest of their kinsfolk?

These, he said, and none other; for what can be more ridiculous thanfor them to utter the names of family ties with the lips only and notto act in the spirit of them?

Then in our city the language of harmony and concord will be more oftenbeard than in any other. As I was describing before, when any one iswell or ill, the universal word will be with me 'it is well' or 'it isill.'

Most true.

And agreeably to this mode of thinking and speaking, were we not sayingthat they will have their pleasures and pains in common?

Yes, and so they will.

And they will have a common interest in the same thing which they willalike call 'my own,' and having this common interest they will have acommon feeling of pleasure and pain?

Yes, far more so than in other States.

And the reason of this, over and above the general constitution of theState, will be that the guardians will have a community of women andchildren?

That will be the chief reason.

And this unity of feeling we admitted to be the greatest good, as wasimplied in our own comparison of a well-ordered State to the relationof the body and the members, when affected by pleasure or pain?

That we acknowledged, and very rightly.

Then the community of wives and children among our citizens is clearlythe source of the greatest good to the State?

Certainly.

And this agrees with the other principle which we were affirming,—thatthe guardians were not to have houses or lands or any other property;their pay was to be their food, which they were to receive from theother citizens, and they were to have no private expenses; for weintended them to preserve their true character of guardians.

Right, he replied.

Both the community of property and the community of families, as I amsaying, tend to make them more truly guardians; they will not tear thecity in pieces by differing about 'mine' and 'not mine;' each mandragging any acquisition which he has made into a separate house of hisown, where he has a separate wife and children and private pleasuresand pains; but all will be affected as far as may be by the samepleasures and pains because they are all of one opinion about what isnear and dear to them, and therefore they all tend towards a common end.

Certainly, he replied.

And as they have nothing but their persons which they can call theirown, suits and complaints will have no existence among them; they willbe delivered from all those quarrels of which money or children orrelations are the occasion.

Of course they will.

Neither will trials for assault or insult ever be likely to occur amongthem. For that equals should defend themselves against equals we shallmaintain to be honourable and right; we shall make the protection ofthe person a matter of necessity.

That is good, he said.

Yes; and there is a further good in the law; viz. that if a man has aquarrel with another he will satisfy his resentment then and there, andnot proceed to more dangerous lengths.

Certainly.

To the elder shall be assigned the duty of ruling and chastising theyounger.

Clearly.

Nor can there be a doubt that the younger will not strike or do anyother violence to an elder, unless the magistrates command him; norwill he slight him in any way. For there are two guardians, shame andfear, mighty to prevent him: shame, which makes men refrain fromlaying hands on those who are to them in the relation of parents; fear,that the injured one will be succoured by the others who are hisbrothers, sons, one wi fathers.

That is true, he replied.

Then in every way the laws will help the citizens to keep the peacewith one another?

Yes, there will be no want of peace.

And as the guardians will never quarrel among themselves there will beno danger of the rest of the city being divided either against them oragainst one another.

None whatever.

I hardly like even to mention the little meannesses of which they willbe rid, for they are beneath notice: such, for example, as theflattery of the rich by the poor, and all the pains and pangs which menexperience in bringing up a family, and in finding money to buynecessaries for their household, borrowing and then repudiating,getting how they can, and giving the money into the hands of women andslaves to keep—the many evils of so many kinds which people suffer inthis way are mean enough and obvious enough, and not worth speaking of.

Yes, he said, a man has no need of eyes in order to perceive that.

And from all these evils they will be delivered, and their life will beblessed as the life of Olympic victors and yet more blessed.

How so?

The Olympic victor, I said, is deemed happy in receiving a part only ofthe blessedness which is secured to our citizens, who have won a moreglorious victory and have a more complete maintenance at the publiccost. For the victory which they have won is the salvation of thewhole State; and the crown with which they and their children arecrowned is the fulness of all that life needs; they receive rewardsfrom the hands of their country while living, and after death have anhonourable burial.

Yes, he said, and glorious rewards they are.

Do you remember, I said, how in the course of the previous discussionsome one who shall be nameless accused us of making our guardiansunhappy—they had nothing and might have possessed all things-to whomwe replied that, if an occasion offered, we might perhaps hereafterconsider this question, but that, as at present advised, we would makeour guardians truly guardians, and that we were fashioning the Statewith a view to the greatest happiness, not of any particular class, butof the whole?

Yes, I remember.

And what do you say, now that the life of our protectors is made out tobe far better and nobler than that of Olympic victors—is the life ofshoemakers, or any other artisans, or of husbandmen, to be comparedwith it?

Certainly not.

At the same time I ought here to repeat what I have said elsewhere,that if any of our guardians shall try to be happy in such a mannerthat he will cease to be a guardian, and is not content with this safeand harmonious life, which, in our judgment, is of all lives the best,but infatuated by some youthful conceit of happiness which gets up intohis head shall seek to appropriate the whole State to himself, then hewill have to learn how wisely Hesiod spoke, when he said, 'half is morethan the whole.'

If he were to consult me, I should say to him: Stay where you are,when you have the offer of such a life.

You agree then, I said, that men and women are to have a common way oflife such as we have described—common education, common children; andthey are to watch over the citizens in common whether abiding in thecity or going out to war; they are to keep watch together, and to hunttogether like dogs; and always and in all things, as far as they areable, women are to share with the men? And in so doing they will dowhat is best, and will not violate, but preserve the natural relationof the sexes.

I agree with you, he replied.

The enquiry, I said, has yet to be made, whether such a community befound possible—as among other animals, so also among men—and ifpossible, in what way possible?

You have anticipated the question which I was about to suggest.

There is no difficulty, I said, in seeing how war will be carried on bythem.

How?

Why, of course they will go on expeditions together; and will take withthem any of their children who are strong enough, that, after themanner of the artisan's child, they may look on at the work which theywill have to do when they are grown up; and besides looking on theywill have to help and be of use in war, and to wait upon their fathersand mothers. Did you never observe in the arts how the potters' boyslook on and help, long before they touch the wheel?

Yes, I have.

And shall potters be more careful in educating their children and ingiving them the opportunity of seeing and practising their duties thanour guardians will be?

The idea is ridiculous, he said.

There is also the effect on the parents, with whom, as with otheranimals, the presence of their young ones will be the greatestincentive to valour.

That is quite true, Socrates; and yet if they are defeated, which mayoften happen in war, how great the danger is! the children will be lostas well as their parents, and the State will never recover.

True, I said; but would you never allow them to run any risk?

I am far from saying that.

Well, but if they are ever to run a risk should they not do so on someoccasion when, if they escape disaster, they will be the better for it?

Clearly.

Whether the future soldiers do or do not see war in the days of theiryouth is a very important matter, for the sake of which some risk mayfairly be incurred.

Yes, very important.

This then must be our first step,—to make our children spectators ofwar; but we must also contrive that they shall be secured againstdanger; then all will be well.

True.

Their parents may be supposed not to be blind to the risks of war, butto know, as far as human foresight can, what expeditions are safe andwhat dangerous?

That may be assumed.

And they will take them on the safe expeditions and be cautious aboutthe dangerous ones?

True.

And they will place them under the command of experienced veterans whowill be their leaders and teachers?

Very properly.

Still, the dangers of war cannot be always foreseen; there is a gooddeal of chance about them?

True.

Then against such chances the children must be at once furnished withwings, in order that in the hour of need they may fly away and escape.

What do you mean? he said.

I mean that we must mount them on horses in their earliest youth, andwhen they have learnt to ride, take them on horseback to see war: thehorses must be spirited and warlike, but the most tractable and yet theswiftest that can be had. In this way they will get an excellent viewof what is hereafter to be their own business; and if there is dangerthey have only to follow their elder leaders and escape.

I believe that you are right, he said.

Next, as to war; what are to be the relations of your soldiers to oneanother and to their enemies? I should be inclined to propose that thesoldier who leaves his rank or throws away his arms, or is guilty ofany other act of cowardice, should be degraded into the rank of ahusbandman or artisan. What do you think?

By all means, I should say.

And he who allows himself to be taken prisoner may as well be made apresent of to his enemies; he is their lawful prey, and let them dowhat they like with him.

Certainly.

But the hero who has distinguished himself, what shall be done to him?
In the first place, he shall receive honour in the army from his
youthful comrades; every one of them in succession shall crown him.
What do you say?

I approve.

And what do you say to his receiving the right hand of fellowship?

To that too, I agree.

But you will hardly agree to my next proposal.

What is your proposal?

That he should kiss and be kissed by them.

Most certainly, and I should be disposed to go further, and say: Let noone whom he has a mind to kiss refuse to be kissed by him while theexpedition lasts. So that if there be a lover in the army, whether hislove be youth or maiden, he may be more eager to win the prize ofvalour.

Capital, I said. That the brave man is to have more wives than othershas been already determined: and he is to have first choices in suchmatters more than others, in order that he may have as many children aspossible?

Agreed.

Again, there is another manner in which, according to Homer, braveyouths should be honoured; for he tells how Ajax, after he haddistinguished himself in battle, was rewarded with long chines, whichseems to be a compliment appropriate to a hero in the flower of hisage, being not only a tribute of honour but also a very strengtheningthing.

Most true, he said.

Then in this, I said, Homer shall be our teacher; and we too, atsacrifices and on the like occasions, will honour the brave accordingto the measure of their valour, whether men or women, with hymns andthose other distinctions which we were mentioning; also with

seats of precedence, and meats and full cups;

and in honouring them, we shall be at the same time training them.

That, he replied, is excellent.

Yes, I said; and when a man dies gloriously in war shall we not say, inthe first place, that he is of the golden race?

To be sure.

Nay, have we not the authority of Hesiod for affirming that when theyare dead

    They are holy angels upon the earth, authors of good,
    averters of evil, the guardians of speech-gifted men?

Yes; and we accept his authority.

We must learn of the god how we are to order the sepulture of divineand heroic personages, and what is to be their special distinction andwe must do as he bids?

By all means.

And in ages to come we will reverence them and kneel before theirsepulchres as at the graves of heroes. And not only they but any whoare deemed pre-eminently good, whether they die from age, or in anyother way, shall be admitted to the same honours.

That is very right, he said.

Next, how shall our soldiers treat their enemies? What about this?

In what respect do you mean?

First of all, in regard to slavery? Do you think it right thatHellenes should enslave Hellenic States, or allow others to enslavethem, if they can help? Should not their custom be to spare them,considering the danger which there is that the whole race may one dayfall under the yoke of the barbarians?

To spare them is infinitely better.

Then no Hellene should be owned by them as a slave; that is a rulewhich they will observe and advise the other Hellenes to observe.

Certainly, he said; they will in this way be united against thebarbarians and will keep their hands off one another.

Next as to the slain; ought the conquerors, I said, to take anythingbut their armour? Does not the practice of despoiling an enemy affordan excuse for not facing the battle? Cowards skulk about the dead,pretending that they are fulfilling a duty, and many an army before nowhas been lost from this love of plunder.

Very true.

And is there not illiberality and avarice in robbing a corpse, and alsoa degree of meanness and womanishness in making an enemy of the deadbody when the real enemy has flown away and left only his fighting gearbehind him,—is not this rather like a dog who cannot get at hisassailant, quarrelling with the stones which strike him instead?

Very like a dog, he said.

Then we must abstain from spoiling the dead or hindering their burial?

Yes, he replied, we most certainly must.

Neither shall we offer up arms at the temples of the gods, least of allthe arms of Hellenes, if we care to maintain good feeling with otherHellenes; and, indeed, we have reason to fear that the offering ofspoils taken from kinsmen may be a pollution unless commanded by thegod himself?

Very true.

Again, as to the devastation of Hellenic territory or the burning ofhouses, what is to be the practice?

May I have the pleasure, he said, of hearing your opinion?

Both should be forbidden, in my judgment; I would take the annualproduce and no more. Shall I tell you why?

Pray do.

Why, you see, there is a difference in the names 'discord' and 'war,'and I imagine that there is also a difference in their natures; the oneis expressive of what is internal and domestic, the other of what isexternal and foreign; and the first of the two is termed discord, andonly the second, war.

That is a very proper distinction, he replied.

And may I not observe with equal propriety that the Hellenic race isall united together by ties of blood and friendship, and alien andstrange to the barbarians?

Very good, he said.

And therefore when Hellenes fight with barbarians and barbarians withHellenes, they will be described by us as being at war when they fight,and by nature enemies, and this kind of antagonism should be calledwar; but when Hellenes fight with one another we shall say that Hellasis then in a state of disorder and discord, they being by naturefriends and such enmity is to be called discord.

I agree.

Consider then, I said, when that which we have acknowledged to bediscord occurs, and a city is divided, if both parties destroy thelands and burn the houses of one another, how wicked does the strifeappear! No true lover of his country would bring himself to tear inpieces his own nurse and mother: There might be reason in theconqueror depriving the conquered of their harvest, but still theywould have the idea of peace in their hearts and would not mean to goon fighting for ever.

Yes, he said, that is a better temper than the other.

And will not the city, which you are founding, be an Hellenic city?

It ought to be, he replied.

Then will not the citizens be good and civilized?

Yes, very civilized.

And will they not be lovers of Hellas, and think of Hellas as their ownland, and share in the common temples?

Most certainly.

And any difference which arises among them will be regarded by them asdiscord only—a quarrel among friends, which is not to be called a war?

Certainly not.

Then they will quarrel as those who intend some day to be reconciled?
Certainly.

They will use friendly correction, but will not enslave or destroytheir opponents; they will be correctors, not enemies?

Just so.

And as they are Hellenes themselves they will not devastate Hellas, norwill they burn houses, not even suppose that the whole population of acity—men, women, and children—are equally their enemies, for theyknow that the guilt of war is always confined to a few persons and thatthe many are their friends. And for all these reasons they will beunwilling to waste their lands and raze their houses; their enmity tothem will only last until the many innocent sufferers have compelledthe guilty few to give satisfaction?

I agree, he said, that our citizens should thus deal with theirHellenic enemies; and with barbarians as the Hellenes now deal with oneanother.

Then let us enact this law also for our guardians:-that they areneither to devastate the lands of Hellenes nor to burn their houses.

Agreed; and we may agree also in thinking that these, all our previousenactments, are very good.

But still I must say, Socrates, that if you are allowed to go on inthis way you will entirely forget the other question which at thecommencement of this discussion you thrust aside:—Is such an order ofthings possible, and how, if at all? For I am quite ready toacknowledge that the plan which you propose, if only feasible, would doall sorts of good to the State. I will add, what you have omitted,that your citizens will be the bravest of warriors, and will neverleave their ranks, for they will all know one another, and each willcall the other father, brother, son; and if you suppose the women tojoin their armies, whether in the same rank or in the rear, either as aterror to the enemy, or as auxiliaries in case of need, I know thatthey will then be absolutely invincible; and there are many domestictic advantages which might also be mentioned and which I also fullyacknowledge: but, as I admit all these advantages and as many more asyou please, if only this State of yours were to come into existence, weneed say no more about them; assuming then the existence of the State,let us now turn to the question of possibility and ways and means—therest may be left.

If I loiter for a moment, you instantly make a raid upon me, I said,and have no mercy; I have hardly escaped the first and second waves,and you seem not to be aware that you are now bringing upon me thethird, which is the greatest and heaviest. When you have seen andheard the third wave, I think you be more considerate and willacknowledge that some fear and hesitation was natural respecting aproposal so extraordinary as that which I have now to state andinvestigate.

The more appeals of this sort which you make, he said, the moredetermined are we that you shall tell us how such a State is possible:speak out and at once.

Let me begin by reminding you that we found our way hither in thesearch after justice and injustice.

True, he replied; but what of that?

I was only going to ask whether, if we have discovered them, we are torequire that the just man should in nothing fail of absolute justice;or may we be satisfied with an approximation, and the attainment in himof a higher degree of justice than is to be found in other men?

The approximation will be enough.

We are enquiring into the nature of absolute justice and into thecharacter of the perfectly just, and into injustice and the perfectlyunjust, that we might have an ideal. We were to look at these in orderthat we might judge of our own happiness and unhappiness according tothe standard which they exhibited and the degree in which we resembledthem, but not with any view of showing that they could exist in fact.

True, he said.

Would a painter be any the worse because, after having delineated withconsummate art an ideal of a perfectly beautiful man, he was unable toshow that any such man could ever have existed?

He would be none the worse.

Well, and were we not creating an ideal of a perfect State?

To be sure.

And is our theory a worse theory because we are unable to prove thepossibility of a city being ordered in the manner described?

Surely not, he replied.

That is the truth, I said. But if, at your request, I am to try andshow how and under what conditions the possibility is highest, I mustask you, having this in view, to repeat your former admissions.

What admissions?

I want to know whether ideals are ever fully realised in language?Does not the word express more than the fact, and must not the actual,whatever a man may think, always, in the nature of things, fall shortof the truth? What do you say?

I agree.

Then you must not insist on my proving that the actual State will inevery respect coincide with the ideal: if we are only able to discoverhow a city may be governed nearly as we proposed, you will admit thatwe have discovered the possibility which you demand; and will becontented. I am sure that I should be contented—will not you?

Yes, I will.

Let me next endeavour to show what is that fault in States which is thecause of their present maladministration, and what is the least changewhich will enable a State to pass into the truer form; and let thechange, if possible, be of one thing only, or if not, of two; at anyrate, let the changes be as few and slight as possible.

Certainly, he replied.

I think, I said, that there might be a reform of the State if only onechange were made, which is not a slight or easy though still a possibleone.

What is it? he said.

Now then, I said, I go to meet that which I liken to the greatest ofthe waves; yet shall the word be spoken, even though the wave break anddrown me in laughter and dishonour; and do you mark my words.

Proceed.

I said: Until philosophers are kings, or the kings and princes of thisworld have the spirit and power of philosophy, and political greatnessand wisdom meet in one, and those commoner natures who pursue either tothe exclusion of the other are compelled to stand aside, cities willnever have rest from their evils,—nor the human race, as Ibelieve,—and then only will this our State have a possibility of lifeand behold the light of day. Such was the thought, my dear Glaucon,which I would fain have uttered if it had not seemed too extravagant;for to be convinced that in no other State can there be happinessprivate or public is indeed a hard thing.

Socrates, what do you mean? I would have you consider that the wordwhich you have uttered is one at which numerous persons, and veryrespectable persons too, in a figure pulling off their coats all in amoment, and seizing any weapon that comes to hand, will run at youmight and main, before you know where you are, intending to do heavenknows what; and if you don't prepare an answer, and put yourself inmotion, you will be prepared by their fine wits,' and no mistake.

You got me into the scrape, I said.

And I was quite right; however, I will do all I can to get you out ofit; but I can only give you good-will and good advice, and, perhaps, Imay be able to fit answers to your questions better than another—thatis all. And now, having such an auxiliary, you must do your best toshow the unbelievers that you are right.

I ought to try, I said, since you offer me such invaluable assistance.And I think that, if there is to be a chance of our escaping, we mustexplain to them whom we mean when we say that philosophers are to rulein the State; then we shall be able to defend ourselves: There will bediscovered to be some natures who ought to study philosophy and to beleaders in the State; and others who are not born to be philosophers,and are meant to be followers rather than leaders.

Then now for a definition, he said.

Follow me, I said, and I hope that I may in some way or other be ableto give you a satisfactory explanation.

Proceed.

I dare say that you remember, and therefore I need not remind you, thata lover, if lie is worthy of the name, ought to show his love, not tosome one part of that which he loves, but to the whole.

I really do not understand, and therefore beg of you to assist mymemory.

Another person, I said, might fairly reply as you do; but a man ofpleasure like yourself ought to know that all who are in the flower ofyouth do somehow or other raise a pang or emotion in a lover's breast,and are thought by him to be worthy of his affectionate regards. Isnot this a way which you have with the fair: one has a snub nose, andyou praise his charming face; the hook-nose of another has, you say, aroyal look; while he who is neither snub nor hooked has the grace ofregularity: the dark visage is manly, the fair are children of thegods; and as to the sweet 'honey pale,' as they are called, what is thevery name but the invention of a lover who talks in diminutives, and isnot adverse to paleness if appearing on the cheek of youth? In a word,there is no excuse which you will not make, and nothing which you willnot say, in order not to lose a single flower that blooms in thespring-time of youth.

If you make me an authority in matters of love, for the sake of theargument, I assent.

And what do you say of lovers of wine? Do you not see them doing thesame? They are glad of any pretext of drinking any wine.

Very good.

And the same is true of ambitious men; if they cannot command an army,they are willing to command a file; and if they cannot be honoured byreally great and important persons, they are glad to be honoured bylesser and meaner people, but honour of some kind they must have.

Exactly.

Once more let me ask: Does he who desires any class of goods, desirethe whole class or a part only?

The whole.

And may we not say of the philosopher that he is a lover, not of a partof wisdom only, but of the whole?

Yes, of the whole.

And he who dislikes learnings, especially in youth, when he has nopower of judging what is good and what is not, such an one we maintainnot to be a philosopher or a lover of knowledge, just as he who refuseshis food is not hungry, and may be said to have a bad appetite and nota good one?

Very true, he said.

Whereas he who has a taste for every sort of knowledge and who iscurious to learn and is never satisfied, may be justly termed aphilosopher? Am I not right?

Glaucon said: If curiosity makes a philosopher, you will find many astrange being will have a title to the name. All the lovers of sightshave a delight in learning, and must therefore be included. Musicalamateurs, too, are a folk strangely out of place among philosophers,for they are the last persons in the world who would come to anythinglike a philosophical discussion, if they could help, while they runabout at the Dionysiac festivals as if they had let out their ears tohear every chorus; whether the performance is in town or country—thatmakes no difference—they are there. Now are we to maintain that allthese and any who have similar tastes, as well as the professors ofquite minor arts, are philosophers?

Certainly not, I replied; they are only an imitation.

He said: Who then are the true philosophers?

Those, I said, who are lovers of the vision of truth.

That is also good, he said; but I should like to know what you mean?

To another, I replied, I might have a difficulty in explaining; but Iam sure that you will admit a proposition which I am about to make.

What is the proposition?

That since beauty is the opposite of ugliness, they are two?

Certainly.

And inasmuch as they are two, each of them is one?

True again.

And of just and unjust, good and evil, and of every other class, thesame remark holds: taken singly, each of them one; but from thevarious combinations of them with actions and things and with oneanother, they are seen in all sorts of lights and appear many? Verytrue.

And this is the distinction which I draw between the sight-loving,art-loving, practical class and those of whom I am speaking, and whoare alone worthy of the name of philosophers.

How do you distinguish them? he said.

The lovers of sounds and sights, I replied, are, as I conceive, fond offine tones and colours and forms and all the artificial products thatare made out of them, but their mind is incapable of seeing or lovingabsolute beauty.

True, he replied.

Few are they who are able to attain to the sight of this.

Very true.

And he who, having a sense of beautiful things has no sense of absolutebeauty, or who, if another lead him to a knowledge of that beauty isunable to follow—of such an one I ask, Is he awake or in a dream only?Reflect: is not the dreamer, sleeping or waking, one who likensdissimilar things, who puts the copy in the place of the real object?

I should certainly say that such an one was dreaming.

But take the case of the other, who recognises the existence ofabsolute beauty and is able to distinguish the idea from the objectswhich participate in the idea, neither putting the objects in the placeof the idea nor the idea in the place of the objects—is he a dreamer,or is he awake?

He is wide awake.

And may we not say that the mind of the one who knows has knowledge,and that the mind of the other, who opines only, has opinion

Certainly.

But suppose that the latter should quarrel with us and dispute ourstatement, can we administer any soothing cordial or advice to him,without revealing to him that there is sad disorder in his wits?

We must certainly offer him some good advice, he replied.

Come, then, and let us think of something to say to him. Shall webegin by assuring him that he is welcome to any knowledge which he mayhave, and that we are rejoiced at his having it? But we should like toask him a question: Does he who has knowledge know something ornothing? (You must answer for him.)

I answer that he knows something.

Something that is or is not?

Something that is; for how can that which is not ever be known?

And are we assured, after looking at the matter from many points ofview, that absolute being is or may be absolutely known, but that theutterly non-existent is utterly unknown?

Nothing can be more certain.

Good. But if there be anything which is of such a nature as to be andnot to be, that will have a place intermediate between pure being andthe absolute negation of being?

Yes, between them.

And, as knowledge corresponded to being and ignorance of necessity tonot-being, for that intermediate between being and not-being there hasto be discovered a corresponding intermediate between ignorance andknowledge, if there be such?

Certainly.

Do we admit the existence of opinion?

Undoubtedly.

As being the same with knowledge, or another faculty?

Another faculty.

Then opinion and knowledge have to do with different kinds of mattercorresponding to this difference of faculties?

Yes.

And knowledge is relative to being and knows being. But before Iproceed further I will make a division.

What division?

I will begin by placing faculties in a class by themselves: they arepowers in us, and in all other things, by which we do as we do. Sightand hearing, for example, I should call faculties. Have I clearlyexplained the class which I mean?

Yes, I quite understand.

Then let me tell you my view about them. I do not see them, andtherefore the distinctions of fire, colour, and the like, which enableme to discern the differences of some things, do not apply to them. Inspeaking of a faculty I think only of its sphere and its result; andthat which has the same sphere and the same result I call the samefaculty, but that which has another sphere and another result I calldifferent. Would that be your way of speaking?

Yes.

And will you be so very good as to answer one more question? Would yousay that knowledge is a faculty, or in what class would you place it?

Certainly knowledge is a faculty, and the mightiest of all faculties.

And is opinion also a faculty?

Certainly, he said; for opinion is that with which we are able to forman opinion.

And yet you were acknowledging a little while ago that knowledge is notthe same as opinion?

Why, yes, he said: how can any reasonable being ever identify thatwhich is infallible with that which errs?

An excellent answer, proving, I said, that we are quite conscious of adistinction between them.

Yes.

Then knowledge and opinion having distinct powers have also distinctspheres or subject-matters?

That is certain.

Being is the sphere or subject-matter of knowledge, and knowledge is toknow the nature of being?

Yes.

And opinion is to have an opinion?

Yes.

And do we know what we opine? or is the subject-matter of opinion thesame as the subject-matter of knowledge?

Nay, he replied, that has been already disproven; if difference infaculty implies difference in the sphere or subject matter, and if, aswe were saying, opinion and knowledge are distinct faculties, then thesphere of knowledge and of opinion cannot be the same.

Then if being is the subject-matter of knowledge, something else mustbe the subject-matter of opinion?

Yes, something else.

Well then, is not-being the subject-matter of opinion? or, rather, howcan there be an opinion at all about not-being? Reflect: when a man hasan opinion, has he not an opinion about something? Can he have anopinion which is an opinion about nothing?

Impossible.

He who has an opinion has an opinion about some one thing?

Yes.

And not-being is not one thing but, properly speaking, nothing?

True.

Of not-being, ignorance was assumed to be the necessary correlative; ofbeing, knowledge?

True, he said.

Then opinion is not concerned either with being or with not-being?

Not with either.

And can therefore neither be ignorance nor knowledge?

That seems to be true.

But is opinion to be sought without and beyond either of them, in agreater clearness than knowledge, or in a greater darkness thanignorance?

In neither.

Then I suppose that opinion appears to you to be darker than knowledge,but lighter than ignorance?

Both; and in no small degree.

And also to be within and between them?

Yes.

Then you would infer that opinion is intermediate?

No question.

But were we not saying before, that if anything appeared to be of asort which is and is not at the same time, that sort of thing wouldappear also to lie in the interval between pure being and absolutenot-being; and that the corresponding faculty is neither knowledge norignorance, but will be found in the interval between them?

True.

And in that interval there has now been discovered something which wecall opinion?

There has.

Then what remains to be discovered is the object which partakes equallyof the nature of being and not-being, and cannot rightly be termedeither, pure and simple; this unknown term, when discovered, we maytruly call the subject of opinion, and assign each to its properfaculty, the extremes to the faculties of the extremes and the mean tothe faculty of the mean.

True.

This being premised, I would ask the gentleman who is of opinion thatthere is no absolute or unchangeable idea of beauty—in whose opinionthe beautiful is the manifold—he, I say, your lover of beautifulsights, who cannot bear to be told that the beautiful is one, and thejust is one, or that anything is one—to him I would appeal, saying,Will you be so very kind, sir, as to tell us whether, of all thesebeautiful things, there is one which will not be found ugly; or of thejust, which will not be found unjust; or of the holy, which will notalso be unholy?

No, he replied; the beautiful will in some point of view be found ugly;and the same is true of the rest.

And may not the many which are doubles be also halves?—doubles, thatis, of one thing, and halves of another?

Quite true.

And things great and small, heavy and light, as they are termed, willnot be denoted by these any more than by the opposite names?

True; both these and the opposite names will always attach to all ofthem.

And can any one of those many things which are called by particularnames be said to be this rather than not to be this?

He replied: They are like the punning riddles which are asked atfeasts or the children's puzzle about the eunuch aiming at the bat,with what he hit him, as they say in the puzzle, and upon what the batwas sitting. The individual objects of which I am speaking are also ariddle, and have a double sense: nor can you fix them in your mind,either as being or not-being, or both, or neither.

Then what will you do with them? I said. Can they have a better placethan between being and not-being? For they are clearly not in greaterdarkness or negation than not-being, or more full of light andexistence than being.

That is quite true, he said.

Thus then we seem to have discovered that the many ideas which themultitude entertain about the beautiful and about all other things aretossing about in some region which is halfway between pure being andpure not-being?

We have.

Yes; and we had before agreed that anything of this kind which we mightfind was to be described as matter of opinion, and not as matter ofknowledge; being the intermediate flux which is caught and detained bythe intermediate faculty.

Quite true.

Then those who see the many beautiful, and who yet neither see absolutebeauty, nor can follow any guide who points the way thither; who seethe many just, and not absolute justice, and the like,—such personsmay be said to have opinion but not knowledge?

That is certain.

But those who see the absolute and eternal and immutable may be said toknow, and not to have opinion only?

Neither can that be denied.

The one loves and embraces the subjects of knowledge, the other thoseof opinion? The latter are the same, as I dare say will remember, wholistened to sweet sounds and gazed upon fair colours, but would nottolerate the existence of absolute beauty.

Yes, I remember.

Shall we then be guilty of any impropriety in calling them lovers ofopinion rather than lovers of wisdom, and will they be very angry withus for thus describing them?

I shall tell them not to be angry; no man should be angry at what istrue.

But those who love the truth in each thing are to be called lovers ofwisdom and not lovers of opinion.

Assuredly.

BOOK VI

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

AND thus, Glaucon, after the argument has gone a weary way, the trueand the false philosophers have at length appeared in view.

I do not think, he said, that the way could have been shortened.

I suppose not, I said; and yet I believe that we might have had abetter view of both of them if the discussion could have been confinedto this one subject and if there were not many other questions awaitingus, which he who desires to see in what respect the life of the justdiffers from that of the unjust must consider.

And what is the next question? he asked.

Surely, I said, the one which follows next in order. Inasmuch asphilosophers only are able to grasp the eternal and unchangeable, andthose who wander in the region of the many and variable are notphilosophers, I must ask you which of the two classes should be therulers of our State?

And how can we rightly answer that question?

Whichever of the two are best able to guard the laws and institutionsof our State—let them be our guardians.

Very good.

Neither, I said, can there be any question that the guardian who is tokeep anything should have eyes rather than no eyes?

There can be no question of that.

And are not those who are verily and indeed wanting in the knowledge ofthe true being of each thing, and who have in their souls no clearpattern, and are unable as with a painter's eye to look at the absolutetruth and to that original to repair, and having perfect vision of theother world to order the laws about beauty, goodness, justice in this,if not already ordered, and to guard and preserve the order ofthem—are not such persons, I ask, simply blind?

Truly, he replied, they are much in that condition.

And shall they be our guardians when there are others who, besidesbeing their equals in experience and falling short of them in noparticular of virtue, also know the very truth of each thing?

There can be no reason, he said, for rejecting those who have thisgreatest of all great qualities; they must always have the first placeunless they fail in some other respect.

Suppose then, I said, that we determine how far they can unite this andthe other excellences.

By all means.

In the first place, as we began by observing, the nature of thephilosopher has to be ascertained. We must come to an understandingabout him, and, when we have done so, then, if I am not mistaken, weshall also acknowledge that such an union of qualities is possible, andthat those in whom they are united, and those only, should be rulers inthe State.

What do you mean?

Let us suppose that philosophical minds always love knowledge of a sortwhich shows them the eternal nature not varying from generation andcorruption.

Agreed.

And further, I said, let us agree that they are lovers of all truebeing; there is no part whether greater or less, or more or lesshonourable, which they are willing to renounce; as we said before ofthe lover and the man of ambition.

True.

And if they are to be what we were describing, is there not anotherquality which they should also possess?

What quality?

Truthfulness: they will never intentionally receive into their mindfalsehood, which is their detestation, and they will love the truth.

Yes, that may be safely affirmed of them.

'May be,' my friend, I replied, is not the word; say rather 'must beaffirmed:' for he whose nature is amorous of anything cannot helploving all that belongs or is akin to the object of his affections.

Right, he said.

And is there anything more akin to wisdom than truth?

How can there be?

Can the same nature be a lover of wisdom and a lover of falsehood?

Never.

The true lover of learning then must from his earliest youth, as far asin him lies, desire all truth?

Assuredly.

But then again, as we know by experience, he whose desires are strongin one direction will have them weaker in others; they will be like astream which has been drawn off into another channel.

True.

He whose desires are drawn towards knowledge in every form will beabsorbed in the pleasures of the soul, and will hardly feel bodilypleasure—I mean, if he be a true philosopher and not a sham one.

That is most certain.

Such an one is sure to be temperate and the reverse of covetous; forthe motives which make another man desirous of having and spending,have no place in his character.

Very true.

Another criterion of the philosophical nature has also to be considered.

What is that?

There should be no secret corner of illiberality; nothing can moreantagonistic than meanness to a soul which is ever longing after thewhole of things both divine and human.

Most true, he replied.

Then how can he who has magnificence of mind and is the spectator ofall time and all existence, think much of human life?

He cannot.

Or can such an one account death fearful?

No indeed.

Then the cowardly and mean nature has no part in true philosophy?

Certainly not.

Or again: can he who is harmoniously constituted, who is not covetousor mean, or a boaster, or a coward-can he, I say, ever be unjust orhard in his dealings?

Impossible.

Then you will soon observe whether a man is just and gentle, or rudeand unsociable; these are the signs which distinguish even in youth thephilosophical nature from the unphilosophical.

True.

There is another point which should be remarked.

What point?

Whether he has or has not a pleasure in learning; for no one will lovethat which gives him pain, and in which after much toil he makes littleprogress.

Certainly not.

And again, if he is forgetful and retains nothing of what he learns,will he not be an empty vessel?

That is certain.

Labouring in vain, he must end in hating himself and his fruitlessoccupation? Yes.

Then a soul which forgets cannot be ranked among genuine philosophicnatures; we must insist that the philosopher should have a good memory?

Certainly.

And once more, the inharmonious and unseemly nature can only tend todisproportion?

Undoubtedly.

And do you consider truth to be akin to proportion or to disproportion?

To proportion.

Then, besides other qualities, we must try to find a naturallywell-proportioned and gracious mind, which will move spontaneouslytowards the true being of everything.

Certainly.

Well, and do not all these qualities, which we have been enumerating,go together, and are they not, in a manner, necessary to a soul, whichis to have a full and perfect participation of being?

They are absolutely necessary, he replied.

And must not that be a blameless study which he only can pursue who hasthe gift of a good memory, and is quick to learn,—noble, gracious, thefriend of truth, justice, courage, temperance, who are his kindred?

The god of jealousy himself, he said, could find no fault with such astudy.

And to men like him, I said, when perfected by years and education, andto these only you will entrust the State.

SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS

Here Adeimantus interposed and said: To these statements, Socrates, noone can offer a reply; but when you talk in this way, a strange feelingpasses over the minds of your hearers: They fancy that they are ledastray a little at each step in the argument, owing to their own wantof skill in asking and answering questions; these littles accumulate,and at the end of the discussion they are found to have sustained amighty overthrow and all their former notions appear to be turnedupside down. And as unskilful players of draughts are at last shut upby their more skilful adversaries and have no piece to move, so theytoo find themselves shut up at last; for they have nothing to say inthis new game of which words are the counters; and yet all the timethey are in the right. The observation is suggested to me by what isnow occurring. For any one of us might say, that although in words heis not able to meet you at each step of the argument, he sees as a factthat the votaries of philosophy, when they carry on the study, not onlyin youth as a part of education, but as the pursuit of their matureryears, most of them become strange monsters, not to say utter rogues,and that those who may be considered the best of them are made uselessto the world by the very study which you extol.

Well, and do you think that those who say so are wrong?

I cannot tell, he replied; but I should like to know what is youropinion.

Hear my answer; I am of opinion that they are quite right.

Then how can you be justified in saying that cities will not cease fromevil until philosophers rule in them, when philosophers areacknowledged by us to be of no use to them?

You ask a question, I said, to which a reply can only be given in aparable.

Yes, Socrates; and that is a way of speaking to which you are not atall accustomed, I suppose.

I perceive, I said, that you are vastly amused at having plunged meinto such a hopeless discussion; but now hear the parable, and then youwill be still more amused at the meagreness of my imagination: for themanner in which the best men are treated in their own States is sogrievous that no single thing on earth is comparable to it; andtherefore, if I am to plead their cause, I must have recourse tofiction, and put together a figure made up of many things, like thefabulous unions of goats and stags which are found in pictures.Imagine then a fleet or a ship in which there is a captain who istaller and stronger than any of the crew, but he is a little deaf andhas a similar infirmity in sight, and his knowledge of navigation isnot much better. The sailors are quarrelling with one another aboutthe steering—every one is of opinion that he has a right to steer,though he has never learned the art of navigation and cannot tell whotaught him or when he learned, and will further assert that it cannotbe taught, and they are ready to cut in pieces any one who says thecontrary. They throng about the captain, begging and praying him tocommit the helm to them; and if at any time they do not prevail, butothers are preferred to them, they kill the others or throw themoverboard, and having first chained up the noble captain's senses withdrink or some narcotic drug, they mutiny and take possession of theship and make free with the stores; thus, eating and drinking, theyproceed on their voyage in such a manner as might be expected of them.Him who is their partisan and cleverly aids them in their plot forgetting the ship out of the captain's hands into their own whether byforce or persuasion, they compliment with the name of sailor, pilot,able seaman, and abuse the other sort of man, whom they call agood-for-nothing; but that the true pilot must pay attention to theyear and seasons and sky and stars and winds, and whatever else belongsto his art, if he intends to be really qualified for the command of aship, and that he must and will be the steerer, whether other peoplelike or not-the possibility of this union of authority with thesteerer's art has never seriously entered into their thoughts or beenmade part of their calling. Now in vessels which are in a state ofmutiny and by sailors who are mutineers, how will the true pilot beregarded? Will he not be called by them a prater, a star-gazer, agood-for-nothing?

Of course, said Adeimantus.

Then you will hardly need, I said, to hear the interpretation of thefigure, which describes the true philosopher in his relation to theState; for you understand already.

Certainly.

Then suppose you now take this parable to the gentleman who issurprised at finding that philosophers have no honour in their cities;explain it to him and try to convince him that their having honourwould be far more extraordinary.

I will.

Say to him, that, in deeming the best votaries of philosophy to beuseless to the rest of the world, he is right; but also tell him toattribute their uselessness to the fault of those who will not usethem, and not to themselves. The pilot should not humbly beg thesailors to be commanded by him—that is not the order of nature;neither are 'the wise to go to the doors of the rich'—the ingeniousauthor of this saying told a lie—but the truth is, that, when a man isill, whether he be rich or poor, to the physician he must go, and hewho wants to be governed, to him who is able to govern. The ruler whois good for anything ought not to beg his subjects to be ruled by him;although the present governors of mankind are of a different stamp;they may be justly compared to the mutinous sailors, and the truehelmsmen to those who are called by them good-for-nothings andstar-gazers.

Precisely so, he said.

For these reasons, and among men like these, philosophy, the noblestpursuit of all, is not likely to be much esteemed by those of theopposite faction; not that the greatest and most lasting injury is doneto her by her opponents, but by her own professing followers, the sameof whom you suppose the accuser to say, that the greater number of themare arrant rogues, and the best are useless; in which opinion I agreed.

Yes.

And the reason why the good are useless has now been explained?

True.

Then shall we proceed to show that the corruption of the majority isalso unavoidable, and that this is not to be laid to the charge ofphilosophy any more than the other?

By all means.

And let us ask and answer in turn, first going back to the descriptionof the gentle and noble nature. Truth, as you will remember, was hisleader, whom he followed always and in all things; failing in this, hewas an impostor, and had no part or lot in true philosophy.

Yes, that was said.

Well, and is not this one quality, to mention no others, greatly atvariance with present notions of him?

Certainly, he said.

And have we not a right to say in his defence, that the true lover ofknowledge is always striving after being—that is his nature; he willnot rest in the multiplicity of individuals which is an appearanceonly, but will go on—the keen edge will not be blunted, nor the forceof his desire abate until he have attained the knowledge of the truenature of every essence by a sympathetic and kindred power in the soul,and by that power drawing near and mingling and becoming incorporatewith very being, having begotten mind and truth, he will have knowledgeand will live and grow truly, and then, and not till then, will hecease from his travail.

Nothing, he said, can be more just than such a description of him.

And will the love of a lie be any part of a philosopher's nature? Willhe not utterly hate a lie?

He will.

And when truth is the captain, we cannot suspect any evil of the bandwhich he leads?

Impossible.

Justice and health of mind will be of the company, and temperance willfollow after?

True, he replied.

Neither is there any reason why I should again set in array thephilosopher's virtues, as you will doubtless remember that courage,magnificence, apprehension, memory, were his natural gifts. And youobjected that, although no one could deny what I then said, still, ifyou leave words and look at facts, the persons who are thus describedare some of them manifestly useless, and the greater number utterlydepraved; we were then led to enquire into the grounds of theseaccusations, and have now arrived at the point of asking why are themajority bad, which question of necessity brought us back to theexamination and definition of the true philosopher.

Exactly.

And we have next to consider the corruptions of the philosophic nature,why so many are spoiled and so few escape spoiling—I am speaking ofthose who were said to be useless but not wicked—and, when we havedone with them, we will speak of the imitators of philosophy, whatmanner of men are they who aspire after a profession which is abovethem and of which they are unworthy, and then, by their manifoldinconsistencies, bring upon philosophy, and upon all philosophers, thatuniversal reprobation of which we speak.

What are these corruptions? he said.

I will see if I can explain them to you. Every one will admit that anature having in perfection all the qualities which we required in aphilosopher, is a rare plant which is seldom seen among men.

Rare indeed.

And what numberless and powerful causes tend to destroy these rarenatures!

What causes?

In the first place there are their own virtues, their courage,temperance, and the rest of them, every one of which praise worthyqualities (and this is a most singular circumstance) destroys anddistracts from philosophy the soul which is the possessor of them.

That is very singular, he replied.

Then there are all the ordinary goods of life—beauty, wealth,strength, rank, and great connections in the State—you understand thesort of things—these also have a corrupting and distracting effect.

I understand; but I should like to know more precisely what you meanabout them.

Grasp the truth as a whole, I said, and in the right way; you will thenhave no difficulty in apprehending the preceding remarks, and they willno longer appear strange to you.

And how am I to do so? he asked.

Why, I said, we know that all germs or seeds, whether vegetable oranimal, when they fail to meet with proper nutriment or climate orsoil, in proportion to their vigour, are all the more sensitive to thewant of a suitable environment, for evil is a greater enemy to what isgood than what is not.

Very true.

There is reason in supposing that the finest natures, when under alienconditions, receive more injury than the inferior, because the contrastis greater.

Certainly.

And may we not say, Adeimantus, that the most gifted minds, when theyare ill-educated, become pre-eminently bad? Do not great crimes andthe spirit of pure evil spring out of a fulness of nature ruined byeducation rather than from any inferiority, whereas weak natures arescarcely capable of any very great good or very great evil?

There I think that you are right.

And our philosopher follows the same analogy-he is like a plant which,having proper nurture, must necessarily grow and mature into allvirtue, but, if sown and planted in an alien soil, becomes the mostnoxious of all weeds, unless he be preserved by some divine power. Doyou really think, as people so often say, that our youth are corruptedby Sophists, or that private teachers of the art corrupt them in anydegree worth speaking of? Are not the public who say these things thegreatest of all Sophists? And do they not educate to perfection youngand old, men and women alike, and fashion them after their own hearts?

When is this accomplished? he said.

When they meet together, and the world sits down at an assembly, or ina court of law, or a theatre, or a camp, or in any other popularresort, and there is a great uproar, and they praise some things whichare being said or done, and blame other things, equally exaggeratingboth, shouting and clapping their hands, and the echo of the rocks andthe place in which they are assembled redoubles the sound of the praiseor blame—at such a time will not a young man's heart, as they say,leap within him? Will any private training enable him to stand firmagainst the overwhelming flood of popular opinion? or will he becarried away by the stream? Will he not have the notions of good andevil which the public in general have—he will do as they do, and asthey are, such will he be?

Yes, Socrates; necessity will compel him.

And yet, I said, there is a still greater necessity, which has not beenmentioned.

What is that?

The gentle force of attainder or confiscation or death which, as youare aware, these new Sophists and educators who are the public, applywhen their words are powerless.

Indeed they do; and in right good earnest.

Now what opinion of any other Sophist, or of any private person, can beexpected to overcome in such an unequal contest?

None, he replied.

No, indeed, I said, even to make the attempt is a great piece of folly;there neither is, nor has been, nor is ever likely to be, any differenttype of character which has had no other training in virtue but thatwhich is supplied by public opinion—I speak, my friend, of humanvirtue only; what is more than human, as the proverb says, is notincluded: for I would not have you ignorant that, in the present evilstate of governments, whatever is saved and comes to good is saved bythe power of God, as we may truly say.

I quite assent, he replied.

Then let me crave your assent also to a further observation.

What are you going to say?

Why, that all those mercenary individuals, whom the many call Sophistsand whom they deem to be their adversaries, do, in fact, teach nothingbut the opinion of the many, that is to say, the opinions of theirassemblies; and this is their wisdom. I might compare them to a manwho should study the tempers and desires of a mighty strong beast whois fed by him-he would learn how to approach and handle him, also atwhat times and from what causes he is dangerous or the reverse, andwhat is the meaning of his several cries, and by what sounds, whenanother utters them, he is soothed or infuriated; and you may supposefurther, that when, by continually attending upon him, he has becomeperfect in all this, he calls his knowledge wisdom, and makes of it asystem or art, which he proceeds to teach, although he has no realnotion of what he means by the principles or passions of which he isspeaking, but calls this honourable and that dishonourable, or good orevil, or just or unjust, all in accordance with the tastes and tempersof the great brute. Good he pronounces to be that in which the beastdelights and evil to be that which he dislikes; and he can give noother account of them except that the just and noble are the necessary,having never himself seen, and having no power of explaining to othersthe nature of either, or the difference between them, which is immense.By heaven, would not such an one be a rare educator?

Indeed, he would.

And in what way does he who thinks that wisdom is the discernment ofthe tempers and tastes of the motley multitude, whether in painting ormusic, or, finally, in politics, differ from him whom I have beendescribing? For when a man consorts with the many, and exhibits tothem his poem or other work of art or the service which he has done theState, making them his judges when he is not obliged, the so-callednecessity of Diomede will oblige him to produce whatever they praise.And yet the reasons are utterly ludicrous which they give inconfirmation of their own notions about the honourable and good. Didyou ever hear any of them which were not?

No, nor am I likely to hear.

You recognise the truth of what I have been saying? Then let me askyou to consider further whether the world will ever be induced tobelieve in the existence of absolute beauty rather than of the manybeautiful, or of the absolute in each kind rather than of the many ineach kind?

Certainly not.

Then the world cannot possibly be a philosopher?

Impossible.

And therefore philosophers must inevitably fall under the censure ofthe world?

They must.

And of individuals who consort with the mob and seek to please them?

That is evident.

Then, do you see any way in which the philosopher can be preserved inhis calling to the end? and remember what we were saying of him, thathe was to have quickness and memory and courage and magnificence—thesewere admitted by us to be the true philosopher's gifts.

Yes.

Will not such an one from his early childhood be in all things firstamong all, especially if his bodily endowments are like his mental ones?

Certainly, he said.

And his friends and fellow-citizens will want to use him as he getsolder for their own purposes?

No question.

Falling at his feet, they will make requests to him and do him honourand flatter him, because they want to get into their hands now, thepower which he will one day possess.

That often happens, he said.

And what will a man such as he be likely to do under suchcircumstances, especially if he be a citizen of a great city, rich andnoble, and a tall proper youth? Will he not be full of boundlessaspirations, and fancy himself able to manage the affairs of Hellenesand of barbarians, and having got such notions into his head will henot dilate and elevate himself in the fulness of vain pomp andsenseless pride?

To be sure he will.

Now, when he is in this state of mind, if some one gently comes to himand tells him that he is a fool and must get understanding, which canonly be got by slaving for it, do you think that, under such adversecircumstances, he will be easily induced to listen?

Far otherwise.

And even if there be some one who through inherent goodness or naturalreasonableness has had his eyes opened a little and is humbled andtaken captive by philosophy, how will his friends behave when theythink that they are likely to lose the advantage which they were hopingto reap from his companionship? Will they not do and say anything toprevent him from yielding to his better nature and to render histeacher powerless, using to this end private intrigues as well aspublic prosecutions?

There can be no doubt of it.

And how can one who is thus circumstanced ever become a philosopher?

Impossible.

Then were we not right in saying that even the very qualities whichmake a man a philosopher may, if he be ill-educated, divert him fromphilosophy, no less than riches and their accompaniments and the otherso-called goods of life?

We were quite right.

Thus, my excellent friend, is brought about all that ruin and failurewhich I have been describing of the natures best adapted to the best ofall pursuits; they are natures which we maintain to be rare at anytime; this being the class out of which come the men who are theauthors of the greatest evil to States and individuals; and also of thegreatest good when the tide carries them in that direction; but a smallman never was the doer of any great thing either to individuals or toStates.

That is most true, he said.

And so philosophy is left desolate, with her marriage rite incomplete:for her own have fallen away and forsaken her, and while they areleading a false and unbecoming life, other unworthy persons, seeingthat she has no kinsmen to be her protectors, enter in and dishonourher; and fasten upon her the reproaches which, as you say, herreprovers utter, who affirm of her votaries that some are good fornothing, and that the greater number deserve the severest punishment.

That is certainly what people say.

Yes; and what else would you expect, I said, when you think of the punycreatures who, seeing this land open to them—a land well stocked withfair names and showy titles—like prisoners running out of prison intoa sanctuary, take a leap out of their trades into philosophy; those whodo so being probably the cleverest hands at their own miserable crafts?For, although philosophy be in this evil case, still there remains adignity about her which is not to be found in the arts. And many arethus attracted by her whose natures are imperfect and whose souls aremaimed and disfigured by their meannesses, as their bodies are by theirtrades and crafts. Is not this unavoidable?

Yes.

Are they not exactly like a bald little tinker who has just got out ofdurance and come into a fortune; he takes a bath and puts on a newcoat, and is decked out as a bridegroom going to marry his master'sdaughter, who is left poor and desolate?

A most exact parallel.

What will be the issue of such marriages? Will they not be vile andbastard?

There can be no question of it.

And when persons who are unworthy of education approach philosophy andmake an alliance with her who is a rank above them what sort of ideasand opinions are likely to be generated? Will they not be sophismscaptivating to the ear, having nothing in them genuine, or worthy of orakin to true wisdom?

No doubt, he said.

Then, Adeimantus, I said, the worthy disciples of philosophy will bebut a small remnant: perchance some noble and well-educated person,detained by exile in her service, who in the absence of corruptinginfluences remains devoted to her; or some lofty soul born in a meancity, the politics of which he contemns and neglects; and there may bea gifted few who leave the arts, which they justly despise, and come toher;—or peradventure there are some who are restrained by our friendTheages' bridle; for everything in the life of Theages conspired todivert him from philosophy; but ill-health kept him away from politics.My own case of the internal sign is hardly worth mentioning, forrarely, if ever, has such a monitor been given to any other man. Thosewho belong to this small class have tasted how sweet and blessed apossession philosophy is, and have also seen enough of the madness ofthe multitude; and they know that no politician is honest, nor is thereany champion of justice at whose side they may fight and be saved.Such an one may be compared to a man who has fallen among wildbeasts—he will not join in the wickedness of his fellows, but neitheris he able singly to resist all their fierce natures, and thereforeseeing that he would be of no use to the State or to his friends, andreflecting that he would have to throw away his life without doing anygood either to himself or others, he holds his peace, and goes his ownway. He is like one who, in the storm of dust and sleet which thedriving wind hurries along, retires under the shelter of a wall; andseeing the rest of mankind full of wickedness, he is content, if onlyhe can live his own life and be pure from evil or unrighteousness, anddepart in peace and good-will, with bright hopes.

Yes, he said, and he will have done a great work before he departs.

A great work—yes; but not the greatest, unless he find a Statesuitable to him; for in a State which is suitable to him, he will havea larger growth and be the saviour of his country, as well as ofhimself.

The causes why philosophy is in such an evil name have now beensufficiently explained: the injustice of the charges against her hasbeen shown-is there anything more which you wish to say?

Nothing more on that subject, he replied; but I should like to knowwhich of the governments now existing is in your opinion the oneadapted to her.

Not any of them, I said; and that is precisely the accusation which Ibring against them—not one of them is worthy of the philosophicnature, and hence that nature is warped and estranged;—as the exoticseed which is sown in a foreign land becomes denaturalized, and is wontto be overpowered and to lose itself in the new soil, even so thisgrowth of philosophy, instead of persisting, degenerates and receivesanother character. But if philosophy ever finds in the State thatperfection which she herself is, then will be seen that she is in truthdivine, and that all other things, whether natures of men orinstitutions, are but human;—and now, I know that you are going toask, what that State is.

No, he said; there you are wrong, for I was going to ask anotherquestion—whether it is the State of which we are the founders andinventors, or some other?

Yes, I replied, ours in most respects; but you may remember my sayingbefore, that some living authority would always be required in theState having the same idea of the constitution which guided you when aslegislator you were laying down the laws.

That was said, he replied.

Yes, but not in a satisfactory manner; you frightened us by interposingobjections, which certainly showed that the discussion would be longand difficult; and what still remains is the reverse of easy.

What is there remaining?

The question how the study of philosophy may be so ordered as not to bethe ruin of the State: All great attempts are attended with risk;'hard is the good,' as men say.

Still, he said, let the point be cleared up, and the enquiry will thenbe complete.

I shall not be hindered, I said, by any want of will, but, if at all,by a want of power: my zeal you may see for yourselves; and please toremark in what I am about to say how boldly and unhesitatingly Ideclare that States should pursue philosophy, not as they do now, butin a different spirit.

In what manner?

At present, I said, the students of philosophy are quite young;beginning when they are hardly past childhood, they devote only thetime saved from moneymaking and housekeeping to such pursuits; and eventhose of them who are reputed to have most of the philosophic spirit,when they come within sight of the great difficulty of the subject, Imean dialectic, take themselves off. In after life when invited bysome one else, they may, perhaps, go and hear a lecture, and about thisthey make much ado, for philosophy is not considered by them to betheir proper business: at last, when they grow old, in most cases theyare extinguished more truly than Heracleitus' sun, inasmuch as theynever light up again.

But what ought to be their course?

Just the opposite. In childhood and youth their study, and whatphilosophy they learn, should be suited to their tender years: duringthis period while they are growing up towards manhood, the chief andspecial care should be given to their bodies that they may have them touse in the service of philosophy; as life advances and the intellectbegins to mature, let them increase the gymnastics of the soul; butwhen the strength of our citizens fails and is past civil and militaryduties, then let them range at will and engage in no serious labour, aswe intend them to live happily here, and to crown this life with asimilar happiness in another.

How truly in earnest you are, Socrates! he said; I am sure of that; andyet most of your hearers, if I am not mistaken, are likely to be stillmore earnest in their opposition to you, and will never be convinced;Thrasymachus least of all.

Do not make a quarrel, I said, between Thrasymachus and me, who haverecently become friends, although, indeed, we were never enemies; for Ishall go on striving to the utmost until I either convert him and othermen, or do something which may profit them against the day when theylive again, and hold the like discourse in another state of existence.

You are speaking of a time which is not very near.

Rather, I replied, of a time which is as nothing in comparison witheternity. Nevertheless, I do not wonder that the many refuse tobelieve; for they have never seen that of which we are now speakingrealised; they have seen only a conventional imitation of philosophy,consisting of words artificially brought together, not like these ofours having a natural unity. But a human being who in word and work isperfectly moulded, as far as he can be, into the proportion andlikeness of virtue—such a man ruling in a city which bears the sameimage, they have never yet seen, neither one nor many of them—do youthink that they ever did?

No indeed.

No, my friend, and they have seldom, if ever, heard free and noblesentiments; such as men utter when they are earnestly and by everymeans in their power seeking after truth for the sake of knowledge,while they look coldly on the subtleties of controversy, of which theend is opinion and strife, whether they meet with them in the courts oflaw or in society.

They are strangers, he said, to the words of which you speak.

And this was what we foresaw, and this was the reason why truth forcedus to admit, not without fear and hesitation, that neither cities norStates nor individuals will ever attain perfection until the smallclass of philosophers whom we termed useless but not corrupt areprovidentially compelled, whether they will or not, to take care of theState, and until a like necessity be laid on the State to obey them; oruntil kings, or if not kings, the sons of kings or princes, aredivinely inspired with a true love of true philosophy. That either orboth of these alternatives are impossible, I see no reason to affirm:if they were so, we might indeed be justly ridiculed as dreamers andvisionaries. Am I not right?

Quite right.

If then, in the countless ages of the past, or at the present hour insome foreign clime which is far away and beyond our ken, the perfectedphilosopher is or has been or hereafter shall be compelled by asuperior power to have the charge of the State, we are ready to assertto the death, that this our constitution has been, and is—yea, andwill be whenever the Muse of Philosophy is queen. There is noimpossibility in all this; that there is a difficulty, we acknowledgeourselves.

My opinion agrees with yours, he said.

But do you mean to say that this is not the opinion of the multitude?

I should imagine not, he replied.

O my friend, I said, do not attack the multitude: they will changetheir minds, if, not in an aggressive spirit, but gently and with theview of soothing them and removing their dislike of over-education, youshow them your philosophers as they really are and describe as you werejust now doing their character and profession, and then mankind willsee that he of whom you are speaking is not such as they supposed—ifthey view him in this new light, they will surely change their notionof him, and answer in another strain. Who can be at enmity with onewho loves them, who that is himself gentle and free from envy will bejealous of one in whom there is no jealousy? Nay, let me answer foryou, that in a few this harsh temper may be found but not in themajority of mankind.

I quite agree with you, he said.

And do you not also think, as I do, that the harsh feeling which themany entertain towards philosophy originates in the pretenders, whorush in uninvited, and are always abusing them, and finding fault withthem, who make persons instead of things the theme of theirconversation? and nothing can be more unbecoming in philosophers thanthis.

It is most unbecoming.

For he, Adeimantus, whose mind is fixed upon true being, has surely notime to look down upon the affairs of earth, or to be filled withmalice and envy, contending against men; his eye is ever directedtowards things fixed and immutable, which he sees neither injuring norinjured by one another, but all in order moving according to reason;these he imitates, and to these he will, as far as he can, conformhimself. Can a man help imitating that with which he holds reverentialconverse?

Impossible.

And the philosopher holding converse with the divine order, becomesorderly and divine, as far as the nature of man allows; but like everyone else, he will suffer from detraction.

Of course.

And if a necessity be laid upon him of fashioning, not only himself,but human nature generally, whether in States or individuals, into thatwhich he beholds elsewhere, will he, think you, be an unskilfulartificer of justice, temperance, and every civil virtue?

Anything but unskilful.

And if the world perceives that what we are saying about him is thetruth, will they be angry with philosophy? Will they disbelieve us,when we tell them that no State can be happy which is not designed byartists who imitate the heavenly pattern?

They will not be angry if they understand, he said. But how will theydraw out the plan of which you are speaking?

They will begin by taking the State and the manners of men, from which,as from a tablet, they will rub out the picture, and leave a cleansurface. This is no easy task. But whether easy or not, herein willlie the difference between them and every other legislator,—they willhave nothing to do either with individual or State, and will inscribeno laws, until they have either found, or themselves made, a cleansurface.

They will be very right, he said.

Having effected this, they will proceed to trace an outline of theconstitution?

No doubt.

And when they are filling in the work, as I conceive, they will oftenturn their eyes upwards and downwards: I mean that they will firstlook at absolute justice and beauty and temperance, and again at thehuman copy; and will mingle and temper the various elements of lifeinto the image of a man; and thus they will conceive according to thatother image, which, when existing among men, Homer calls the form andlikeness of God.

Very true, he said.

And one feature they will erase, and another they will put in, theyhave made the ways of men, as far as possible, agreeable to the ways ofGod?

Indeed, he said, in no way could they make a fairer picture.

And now, I said, are we beginning to persuade those whom you describedas rushing at us with might and main, that the painter of constitutionsis such an one as we are praising; at whom they were so very indignantbecause to his hands we committed the State; and are they growing alittle calmer at what they have just heard?

Much calmer, if there is any sense in them.

Why, where can they still find any ground for objection? Will theydoubt that the philosopher is a lover of truth and being?

They would not be so unreasonable.

Or that his nature, being such as we have delineated, is akin to thehighest good?

Neither can they doubt this.

But again, will they tell us that such a nature, placed underfavourable circumstances, will not be perfectly good and wise if anyever was? Or will they prefer those whom we have rejected?

Surely not.

Then will they still be angry at our saying, that, until philosophersbear rule, States and individuals will have no rest from evil, nor willthis our imaginary State ever be realised?

I think that they will be less angry.

Shall we assume that they are not only less angry but quite gentle, andthat they have been converted and for very shame, if for no otherreason, cannot refuse to come to terms?

By all means, he said.

Then let us suppose that the reconciliation has been effected. Willany one deny the other point, that there may be sons of kings orprinces who are by nature philosophers?

Surely no man, he said.

And when they have come into being will any one say that they must ofnecessity be destroyed; that they can hardly be saved is not deniedeven by us; but that in the whole course of ages no single one of themcan escape—who will venture to affirm this?

Who indeed!

But, said I, one is enough; let there be one man who has a cityobedient to his will, and he might bring into existence the idealpolity about which the world is so incredulous.

Yes, one is enough.

The ruler may impose the laws and institutions which we have beendescribing, and the citizens may possibly be willing to obey them?

Certainly.

And that others should approve of what we approve, is no miracle orimpossibility?

I think not.

But we have sufficiently shown, in what has preceded, that all this, ifonly possible, is assuredly for the best.

We have.

And now we say not only that our laws, if they could be enacted, wouldbe for the best, but also that the enactment of them, though difficult,is not impossible.

Very good.

And so with pain and toil we have reached the end of one subject, butmore remains to be discussed;—how and by what studies and pursuitswill the saviours of the constitution be created, and at what ages arethey to apply themselves to their several studies?

Certainly.

I omitted the troublesome business of the possession of women, and theprocreation of children, and the appointment of the rulers, because Iknew that the perfect State would be eyed with jealousy and wasdifficult of attainment; but that piece of cleverness was not of muchservice to me, for I had to discuss them all the same. The women andchildren are now disposed of, but the other question of the rulers mustbe investigated from the very beginning. We were saying, as you willremember, that they were to be lovers of their country, tried by thetest of pleasures and pains, and neither in hardships, nor in dangers,nor at any other critical moment were to lose their patriotism—he wasto be rejected who failed, but he who always came forth pure, like goldtried in the refiner's fire, was to be made a ruler, and to receivehonours and rewards in life and after death. This was the sort ofthing which was being said, and then the argument turned aside andveiled her face; not liking to stir the question which has now arisen.

I perfectly remember, he said.

Yes, my friend, I said, and I then shrank from hazarding the bold word;but now let me dare to say—that the perfect guardian must be aphilosopher.

Yes, he said, let that be affirmed.

And do not suppose that there will be many of them; for the gifts whichwere deemed by us to be essential rarely grow together; they are mostlyfound in shreds and patches.

What do you mean? he said.

You are aware, I replied, that quick intelligence, memory, sagacity,cleverness, and similar qualities, do not often grow together, and thatpersons who possess them and are at the same time high-spirited andmagnanimous are not so constituted by nature as to live orderly and ina peaceful and settled manner; they are driven any way by theirimpulses, and all solid principle goes out of them.

Very true, he said.

On the other hand, those steadfast natures which can better be dependedupon, which in a battle are impregnable to fear and immovable, areequally immovable when there is anything to be learned; they are alwaysin a torpid state, and are apt to yawn and go to sleep over anyintellectual toil.

Quite true.

And yet we were saying that both qualities were necessary in those towhom the higher education is to be imparted, and who are to share inany office or command.

Certainly, he said.

And will they be a class which is rarely found?

Yes, indeed.

Then the aspirant must not only be tested in those labours and dangersand pleasures which we mentioned before, but there is another kind ofprobation which we did not mention—he must be exercised also in manykinds of knowledge, to see whether the soul will be able to endure thehighest of all, will faint under them, as in any other studies andexercises.

Yes, he said, you are quite right in testing him. But what do you meanby the highest of all knowledge?

You may remember, I said, that we divided the soul into three parts;and distinguished the several natures of justice, temperance, courage,and wisdom?

Indeed, he said, if I had forgotten, I should not deserve to hear more.

And do you remember the word of caution which preceded the discussionof them?

To what do you refer?

We were saying, if I am not mistaken, that he who wanted to see them intheir perfect beauty must take a longer and more circuitous way, at theend of which they would appear; but that we could add on a popularexposition of them on a level with the discussion which had preceded.And you replied that such an exposition would be enough for you, and sothe enquiry was continued in what to me seemed to be a very inaccuratemanner; whether you were satisfied or not, it is for you to say.

Yes, he said, I thought and the others thought that you gave us a fairmeasure of truth.

But, my friend, I said, a measure of such things Which in any degreefalls short of the whole truth is not fair measure; for nothingimperfect is the measure of anything, although persons are too apt tobe contented and think that they need search no further.

Not an uncommon case when people are indolent.

Yes, I said; and there cannot be any worse fault in a guardian of the
State and of the laws.

True.

The guardian then, I said, must be required to take the longer circuit,and toll at learning as well as at gymnastics, or he will never reachthe highest knowledge of all which, as we were just now saying, is hisproper calling.

What, he said, is there a knowledge still higher than this—higher thanjustice and the other virtues?

Yes, I said, there is. And of the virtues too we must behold not theoutline merely, as at present—nothing short of the most finishedpicture should satisfy us. When little things are elaborated with aninfinity of pains, in order that they may appear in their full beautyand utmost clearness, how ridiculous that we should not think thehighest truths worthy of attaining the highest accuracy!

A right noble thought; but do you suppose that we shall refrain fromasking you what is this highest knowledge?

Nay, I said, ask if you will; but I am certain that you have heard theanswer many times, and now you either do not understand me or, as Irather think, you are disposed to be troublesome; for you have of beentold that the idea of good is the highest knowledge, and that all otherthings become useful and advantageous only by their use of this. Youcan hardly be ignorant that of this I was about to speak, concerningwhich, as you have often heard me say, we know so little; and, withoutwhich, any other knowledge or possession of any kind will profit usnothing. Do you think that the possession of all other things is ofany value if we do not possess the good? or the knowledge of all otherthings if we have no knowledge of beauty and goodness?

Assuredly not.

You are further aware that most people affirm pleasure to be the good,but the finer sort of wits say it is knowledge

Yes.

And you are aware too that the latter cannot explain what they mean byknowledge, but are obliged after all to say knowledge of the good?

How ridiculous!

Yes, I said, that they should begin by reproaching us with ourignorance of the good, and then presume our knowledge of it—for thegood they define to be knowledge of the good, just as if we understoodthem when they use the term 'good'—this is of course ridiculous.

Most true, he said.

And those who make pleasure their good are in equal perplexity; forthey are compelled to admit that there are bad pleasures as well asgood.

Certainly.

And therefore to acknowledge that bad and good are the same?

True.

There can be no doubt about the numerous difficulties in which thisquestion is involved.

There can be none.

Further, do we not see that many are willing to do or to have or toseem to be what is just and honourable without the reality; but no oneis satisfied with the appearance of good—the reality is what theyseek; in the case of the good, appearance is despised by every one.

Very true, he said.

Of this then, which every soul of man pursues and makes the end of allhis actions, having a presentiment that there is such an end, and yethesitating because neither knowing the nature nor having the sameassurance of this as of other things, and therefore losing whatevergood there is in other things,—of a principle such and so great asthis ought the best men in our State, to whom everything is entrusted,to be in the darkness of ignorance?

Certainly not, he said.

I am sure, I said, that he who does not know now the beautiful and thejust are likewise good will be but a sorry guardian of them; and Isuspect that no one who is ignorant of the good will have a trueknowledge of them.

That, he said, is a shrewd suspicion of yours.

And if we only have a guardian who has this knowledge our State will beperfectly ordered?

Of course, he replied; but I wish that you would tell me whether youconceive this supreme principle of the good to be knowledge orpleasure, or different from either.

Aye, I said, I knew all along that a fastidious gentleman like youwould not be contented with the thoughts of other people about thesematters.

True, Socrates; but I must say that one who like you has passed alifetime in the study of philosophy should not be always repeating theopinions of others, and never telling his own.

Well, but has any one a right to say positively what he does not know?

Not, he said, with the assurance of positive certainty; he has no rightto do that: but he may say what he thinks, as a matter of opinion.

And do you not know, I said, that all mere opinions are bad, and thebest of them blind? You would not deny that those who have any truenotion without intelligence are only like blind men who feel their wayalong the road?

Very true.

And do you wish to behold what is blind and crooked and base, whenothers will tell you of brightness and beauty?

GLAUCON - SOCRATES

Still, I must implore you, Socrates, said Glaucon, not to turn awayjust as you are reaching the goal; if you will only give such anexplanation of the good as you have already given of justice andtemperance and the other virtues, we shall be satisfied.

Yes, my friend, and I shall be at least equally satisfied, but I cannothelp fearing that I shall fall, and that my indiscreet zeal will bringridicule upon me. No, sweet sirs, let us not at present ask what isthe actual nature of the good, for to reach what is now in my thoughtswould be an effort too great for me. But of the child of the good whois likest him, I would fain speak, if I could be sure that you wishedto hear—otherwise, not.

By all means, he said, tell us about the child, and you shall remain inour debt for the account of the parent.

I do indeed wish, I replied, that I could pay, and you receive, theaccount of the parent, and not, as now, of the offspring only; take,however, this latter by way of interest, and at the same time have acare that i do not render a false account, although I have no intentionof deceiving you.

Yes, we will take all the care that we can: proceed.

Yes, I said, but I must first come to an understanding with you, andremind you of what I have mentioned in the course of this discussion,and at many other times.

What?

The old story, that there is a many beautiful and a many good, and soof other things which we describe and define; to all of them 'many' isapplied.

True, he said.

And there is an absolute beauty and an absolute good, and of otherthings to which the term 'many' is applied there is an absolute; forthey may be brought under a single idea, which is called the essence ofeach.

Very true.

The many, as we say, are seen but not known, and the ideas are knownbut not seen.

Exactly.

And what is the organ with which we see the visible things?

The sight, he said.

And with the hearing, I said, we hear, and with the other sensesperceive the other objects of sense?

True.

But have you remarked that sight is by far the most costly and complexpiece of workmanship which the artificer of the senses ever contrived?

No, I never have, he said.

Then reflect; has the ear or voice need of any third or additionalnature in order that the one may be able to hear and the other to beheard?

Nothing of the sort.

No, indeed, I replied; and the same is true of most, if not all, theother senses—you would not say that any of them requires such anaddition?

Certainly not.

But you see that without the addition of some other nature there is noseeing or being seen?

How do you mean?

Sight being, as I conceive, in the eyes, and he who has eyes wanting tosee; colour being also present in them, still unless there be a thirdnature specially adapted to the purpose, the owner of the eyes will seenothing and the colours will be invisible.

Of what nature are you speaking?

Of that which you term light, I replied.

True, he said.

Noble, then, is the bond which links together sight and visibility, andgreat beyond other bonds by no small difference of nature; for light istheir bond, and light is no ignoble thing?

Nay, he said, the reverse of ignoble.

And which, I said, of the gods in heaven would you say was the lord ofthis element? Whose is that light which makes the eye to see perfectlyand the visible to appear?

You mean the sun, as you and all mankind say.

May not the relation of sight to this deity be described as follows?

How?

Neither sight nor the eye in which sight resides is the sun?

No.

Yet of all the organs of sense the eye is the most like the sun?

By far the most like.

And the power which the eye possesses is a sort of effluence which isdispensed from the sun?

Exactly.

Then the sun is not sight, but the author of sight who is recognised bysight.

True, he said.

And this is he whom I call the child of the good, whom the good begatin his own likeness, to be in the visible world, in relation to sightand the things of sight, what the good is in the intellectual world inrelation to mind and the things of mind.

Will you be a little more explicit? he said.

Why, you know, I said, that the eyes, when a person directs themtowards objects on which the light of day is no longer shining, but themoon and stars only, see dimly, and are nearly blind; they seem to haveno clearness of vision in them?

Very true.

But when they are directed towards objects on which the sun shines,they see clearly and there is sight in them?

Certainly.

And the soul is like the eye: when resting upon that on which truthand being shine, the soul perceives and understands and is radiant withintelligence; but when turned towards the twilight of becoming andperishing, then she has opinion only, and goes blinking about, and isfirst of one opinion and then of another, and seems to have nointelligence?

Just so.

Now, that which imparts truth to the known and the power of knowing tothe knower is what I would have you term the idea of good, and this youwill deem to be the cause of science, and of truth in so far as thelatter becomes the subject of knowledge; beautiful too, as are bothtruth and knowledge, you will be right in esteeming this other natureas more beautiful than either; and, as in the previous instance, lightand sight may be truly said to be like the sun, and yet not to be thesun, so in this other sphere, science and truth may be deemed to belike the good, but not the good; the good has a place of honour yethigher.

What a wonder of beauty that must be, he said, which is the author ofscience and truth, and yet surpasses them in beauty; for you surelycannot mean to say that pleasure is the good?

God forbid, I replied; but may I ask you to consider the image inanother point of view?

In what point of view?

You would say, would you not, that the sun is only the author ofvisibility in all visible things, but of generation and nourishment andgrowth, though he himself is not generation?

Certainly.

In like manner the good may be said to be not only the author ofknowledge to all things known, but of their being and essence, and yetthe good is not essence, but far exceeds essence in dignity and power.

Glaucon said, with a ludicrous earnestness: By the light of heaven,how amazing!

Yes, I said, and the exaggeration may be set down to you; for you mademe utter my fancies.

And pray continue to utter them; at any rate let us hear if there isanything more to be said about the similitude of the sun.

Yes, I said, there is a great deal more.

Then omit nothing, however slight.

I will do my best, I said; but I should think that a great deal willhave to be omitted.

You have to imagine, then, that there are two ruling powers, and thatone of them is set over the intellectual world, the other over thevisible. I do not say heaven, lest you should fancy that I am playingupon the name ('ourhanoz, orhatoz'). May I suppose that you have thisdistinction of the visible and intelligible fixed in your mind?

I have.

Now take a line which has been cut into two unequal parts, and divideeach of them again in the same proportion, and suppose the two maindivisions to answer, one to the visible and the other to theintelligible, and then compare the subdivisions in respect of theirclearness and want of clearness, and you will find that the firstsection in the sphere of the visible consists of images. And by imagesI mean, in the first place, shadows, and in the second place,reflections in water and in solid, smooth and polished bodies and thelike: Do you understand?

Yes, I understand.

Imagine, now, the other section, of which this is only the resemblance,to include the animals which we see, and everything that grows or ismade.

Very good.

Would you not admit that both the sections of this division havedifferent degrees of truth, and that the copy is to the original as thesphere of opinion is to the sphere of knowledge?

Most undoubtedly.

Next proceed to consider the manner in which the sphere of theintellectual is to be divided.

In what manner?

Thus:—There are two subdivisions, in the lower or which the soul usesthe figures given by the former division as images; the enquiry canonly be hypothetical, and instead of going upwards to a principledescends to the other end; in the higher of the two, the soul passesout of hypotheses, and goes up to a principle which is abovehypotheses, making no use of images as in the former case, butproceeding only in and through the ideas themselves.

I do not quite understand your meaning, he said.

Then I will try again; you will understand me better when I have madesome preliminary remarks. You are aware that students of geometry,arithmetic, and the kindred sciences assume the odd and the even andthe figures and three kinds of angles and the like in their severalbranches of science; these are their hypotheses, which they andeverybody are supposed to know, and therefore they do not deign to giveany account of them either to themselves or others; but they begin withthem, and go on until they arrive at last, and in a consistent manner,at their conclusion?

Yes, he said, I know.

And do you not know also that although they make use of the visibleforms and reason about them, they are thinking not of these, but of theideals which they resemble; not of the figures which they draw, but ofthe absolute square and the absolute diameter, and so on—the formswhich they draw or make, and which have shadows and reflections inwater of their own, are converted by them into images, but they arereally seeking to behold the things themselves, which can only be seenwith the eye of the mind?

That is true.

And of this kind I spoke as the intelligible, although in the searchafter it the soul is compelled to use hypotheses; not ascending to afirst principle, because she is unable to rise above the region ofhypothesis, but employing the objects of which the shadows below areresemblances in their turn as images, they having in relation to theshadows and reflections of them a greater distinctness, and therefore ahigher value.

I understand, he said, that you are speaking of the province ofgeometry and the sister arts.

And when I speak of the other division of the intelligible, you willunderstand me to speak of that other sort of knowledge which reasonherself attains by the power of dialectic, using the hypotheses not asfirst principles, but only as hypotheses—that is to say, as steps andpoints of departure into a world which is above hypotheses, in orderthat she may soar beyond them to the first principle of the whole; andclinging to this and then to that which depends on this, by successivesteps she descends again without the aid of any sensible object, fromideas, through ideas, and in ideas she ends.

I understand you, he replied; not perfectly, for you seem to me to bedescribing a task which is really tremendous; but, at any rate, Iunderstand you to say that knowledge and being, which the science ofdialectic contemplates, are clearer than the notions of the arts, asthey are termed, which proceed from hypotheses only: these are alsocontemplated by the understanding, and not by the senses: yet, becausethey start from hypotheses and do not ascend to a principle, those whocontemplate them appear to you not to exercise the higher reason uponthem, although when a first principle is added to them they arecognizable by the higher reason. And the habit which is concerned withgeometry and the cognate sciences I suppose that you would termunderstanding and not reason, as being intermediate between opinion andreason.

You have quite conceived my meaning, I said; and now, corresponding tothese four divisions, let there be four faculties in the soul-reasonanswering to the highest, understanding to the second, faith (orconviction) to the third, and perception of shadows to the last-and letthere be a scale of them, and let us suppose that the several facultieshave clearness in the same degree that their objects have truth.

I understand, he replied, and give my assent, and accept yourarrangement.

BOOK VII

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

AND now, I said, let me show in a figure how far our nature isenlightened or unenlightened:—Behold! human beings living in aunderground den, which has a mouth open towards the light and reachingall along the den; here they have been from their childhood, and havetheir legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only seebefore them, being prevented by the chains from turning round theirheads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, andbetween the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and you willsee, if you look, a low wall built along the way, like the screen whichmarionette players have in front of them, over which they show thepuppets.

I see.

And do you see, I said, men passing along the wall carrying all sortsof vessels, and statues and figures of animals made of wood and stoneand various materials, which appear over the wall? Some of them aretalking, others silent.

You have shown me a strange image, and they are strange prisoners.

Like ourselves, I replied; and they see only their own shadows, or theshadows of one another, which the fire throws on the opposite wall ofthe cave?

True, he said; how could they see anything but the shadows if they werenever allowed to move their heads?

And of the objects which are being carried in like manner they wouldonly see the shadows?

Yes, he said.

And if they were able to converse with one another, would they notsuppose that they were naming what was actually before them?

Very true.

And suppose further that the prison had an echo which came from theother side, would they not be sure to fancy when one of the passers-byspoke that the voice which they heard came from the passing shadow?

No question, he replied.

To them, I said, the truth would be literally nothing but the shadowsof the images.

That is certain.

And now look again, and see what will naturally follow it' theprisoners are released and disabused of their error. At first, whenany of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turnhis neck round and walk and look towards the light, he will suffersharp pains; the glare will distress him, and he will be unable to seethe realities of which in his former state he had seen the shadows; andthen conceive some one saying to him, that what he saw before was anillusion, but that now, when he is approaching nearer to being and hiseye is turned towards more real existence, he has a clearer vision,what will be his reply? And you may further imagine that hisinstructor is pointing to the objects as they pass and requiring him toname them,—will he not be perplexed? Will he not fancy that theshadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are nowshown to him?

Far truer.

And if he is compelled to look straight at the light, will he not havea pain in his eyes which will make him turn away to take and take inthe objects of vision which he can see, and which he will conceive tobe in reality clearer than the things which are now being shown to him?

True, he now

And suppose once more, that he is reluctantly dragged up a steep andrugged ascent, and held fast until he's forced into the presence of thesun himself, is he not likely to be pained and irritated? When heapproaches the light his eyes will be dazzled, and he will not be ableto see anything at all of what are now called realities.

Not all in a moment, he said.

He will require to grow accustomed to the sight of the upper world.And first he will see the shadows best, next the reflections of men andother objects in the water, and then the objects themselves; then hewill gaze upon the light of the moon and the stars and the spangledheaven; and he will see the sky and the stars by night better than thesun or the light of the sun by day?

Certainly.

Last of he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflections of himin the water, but he will see him in his own proper place, and not inanother; and he will contemplate him as he is.

Certainly.

He will then proceed to argue that this is he who gives the season andthe years, and is the guardian of all that is in the visible world, andin a certain way the cause of all things which he and his fellows havebeen accustomed to behold?

Clearly, he said, he would first see the sun and then reason about him.

And when he remembered his old habitation, and the wisdom of the denand his fellow-prisoners, do you not suppose that he would felicitatehimself on the change, and pity them?

Certainly, he would.

And if they were in the habit of conferring honours among themselves onthose who were quickest to observe the passing shadows and to remarkwhich of them went before, and which followed after, and which weretogether; and who were therefore best able to draw conclusions as tothe future, do you think that he would care for such honours andglories, or envy the possessors of them? Would he not say with Homer,

Better to be the poor servant of a poor master,

and to endure anything, rather than think as they do and live aftertheir manner?

Yes, he said, I think that he would rather suffer anything thanentertain these false notions and live in this miserable manner.

Imagine once more, I said, such an one coming suddenly out of the sunto be replaced in his old situation; would he not be certain to havehis eyes full of darkness?

To be sure, he said.

And if there were a contest, and he had to compete in measuring theshadows with the prisoners who had never moved out of the den, whilehis sight was still weak, and before his eyes had become steady (andthe time which would be needed to acquire this new habit of sight mightbe very considerable) would he not be ridiculous? Men would say of himthat up he went and down he came without his eyes; and that it wasbetter not even to think of ascending; and if any one tried to looseanother and lead him up to the light, let them only catch the offender,and they would put him to death.

No question, he said.

This entire allegory, I said, you may now append, dear Glaucon, to theprevious argument; the prison-house is the world of sight, the light ofthe fire is the sun, and you will not misapprehend me if you interpretthe journey upwards to be the ascent of the soul into the intellectualworld according to my poor belief, which, at your desire, I haveexpressed whether rightly or wrongly God knows. But, whether true orfalse, my opinion is that in the world of knowledge the idea of goodappears last of all, and is seen only with an effort; and, when seen,is also inferred to be the universal author of all things beautiful andright, parent of light and of the lord of light in this visible world,and the immediate source of reason and truth in the intellectual; andthat this is the power upon which he who would act rationally, eitherin public or private life must have his eye fixed.

I agree, he said, as far as I am able to understand you.

Moreover, I said, you must not wonder that those who attain to thisbeatific vision are unwilling to descend to human affairs; for theirsouls are ever hastening into the upper world where they desire todwell; which desire of theirs is very natural, if our allegory may betrusted.

Yes, very natural.

And is there anything surprising in one who passes from divinecontemplations to the evil state of man, misbehaving himself in aridiculous manner; if, while his eyes are blinking and before he hasbecome accustomed to the surrounding darkness, he is compelled to fightin courts of law, or in other places, about the images or the shadowsof images of justice, and is endeavouring to meet the conceptions ofthose who have never yet seen absolute justice?

Anything but surprising, he replied.

Any one who has common sense will remember that the bewilderments ofthe eyes are of two kinds, and arise from two causes, either fromcoming out of the light or from going into the light, which is true ofthe mind's eye, quite as much as of the bodily eye; and he whoremembers this when he sees any one whose vision is perplexed and weak,will not be too ready to laugh; he will first ask whether that soul ofman has come out of the brighter light, and is unable to see becauseunaccustomed to the dark, or having turned from darkness to the day isdazzled by excess of light. And he will count the one happy in hiscondition and state of being, and he will pity the other; or, if hehave a mind to laugh at the soul which comes from below into the light,there will be more reason in this than in the laugh which greets himwho returns from above out of the light into the den.

That, he said, is a very just distinction.

But then, if I am right, certain professors of education must be wrongwhen they say that they can put a knowledge into the soul which was notthere before, like sight into blind eyes.

They undoubtedly say this, he replied.

Whereas, our argument shows that the power and capacity of learningexists in the soul already; and that just as the eye was unable to turnfrom darkness to light without the whole body, so too the instrument ofknowledge can only by the movement of the whole soul be turned from theworld of becoming into that of being, and learn by degrees to endurethe sight of being, and of the brightest and best of being, or in otherwords, of the good.

Very true.

And must there not be some art which will effect conversion in theeasiest and quickest manner; not implanting the faculty of sight, forthat exists already, but has been turned in the wrong direction, and islooking away from the truth?

Yes, he said, such an art may be presumed.

And whereas the other so-called virtues of the soul seem to be akin tobodily qualities, for even when they are not originally innate they canbe implanted later by habit and exercise, the of wisdom more thananything else contains a divine element which always remains, and bythis conversion is rendered useful and profitable; or, on the otherhand, hurtful and useless. Did you never observe the narrowintelligence flashing from the keen eye of a clever rogue—how eager heis, how clearly his paltry soul sees the way to his end; he is thereverse of blind, but his keen eyesight is forced into the service ofevil, and he is mischievous in proportion to his cleverness.

Very true, he said.

But what if there had been a circumcision of such natures in the daysof their youth; and they had been severed from those sensual pleasures,such as eating and drinking, which, like leaden weights, were attachedto them at their birth, and which drag them down and turn the vision oftheir souls upon the things that are below—if, I say, they had beenreleased from these impediments and turned in the opposite direction,the very same faculty in them would have seen the truth as keenly asthey see what their eyes are turned to now.

Very likely.

Yes, I said; and there is another thing which is likely, or rather anecessary inference from what has preceded, that neither the uneducatedand uninformed of the truth, nor yet those who never make an end oftheir education, will be able ministers of State; not the former,because they have no single aim of duty which is the rule of all theiractions, private as well as public; nor the latter, because they willnot act at all except upon compulsion, fancying that they are alreadydwelling apart in the islands of the blest.

Very true, he replied.

Then, I said, the business of us who are the founders of the State willbe to compel the best minds to attain that knowledge which we havealready shown to be the greatest of all-they must continue to ascenduntil they arrive at the good; but when they have ascended and seenenough we must not allow them to do as they do now.

What do you mean?

I mean that they remain in the upper world: but this must not beallowed; they must be made to descend again among the prisoners in theden, and partake of their labours and honours, whether they are worthhaving or not.

But is not this unjust? he said; ought we to give them a worse life,when they might have a better?

You have again forgotten, my friend, I said, the intention of thelegislator, who did not aim at making any one class in the State happyabove the rest; the happiness was to be in the whole State, and he heldthe citizens together by persuasion and necessity, making thembenefactors of the State, and therefore benefactors of one another; tothis end he created them, not to please themselves, but to be hisinstruments in binding up the State.

True, he said, I had forgotten.

Observe, Glaucon, that there will be no injustice in compelling ourphilosophers to have a care and providence of others; we shall explainto them that in other States, men of their class are not obliged toshare in the toils of politics: and this is reasonable, for they growup at their own sweet will, and the government would rather not havethem. Being self-taught, they cannot be expected to show any gratitudefor a culture which they have never received. But we have brought youinto the world to be rulers of the hive, kings of yourselves and of theother citizens, and have educated you far better and more perfectlythan they have been educated, and you are better able to share in thedouble duty. Wherefore each of you, when his turn comes, must go downto the general underground abode, and get the habit of seeing in thedark. When you have acquired the habit, you will see ten thousandtimes better than the inhabitants of the den, and you will know whatthe several images are, and what they represent, because you have seenthe beautiful and just and good in their truth. And thus our Statewhich is also yours will be a reality, and not a dream only, and willbe administered in a spirit unlike that of other States, in which menfight with one another about shadows only and are distracted in thestruggle for power, which in their eyes is a great good. Whereas thetruth is that the State in which the rulers are most reluctant togovern is always the best and most quietly governed, and the State inwhich they are most eager, the worst.

Quite true, he replied.

And will our pupils, when they hear this, refuse to take their turn atthe toils of State, when they are allowed to spend the greater part oftheir time with one another in the heavenly light?

Impossible, he answered; for they are just men, and the commands whichwe impose upon them are just; there can be no doubt that every one ofthem will take office as a stern necessity, and not after the fashionof our present rulers of State.

Yes, my friend, I said; and there lies the point. You must contrivefor your future rulers another and a better life than that of a ruler,and then you may have a well-ordered State; for only in the State whichoffers this, will they rule who are truly rich, not in silver and gold,but in virtue and wisdom, which are the true blessings of life.Whereas if they go to the administration of public affairs, poor andhungering after the' own private advantage, thinking that hence theyare to snatch the chief good, order there can never be; for they willbe fighting about office, and the civil and domestic broils which thusarise will be the ruin of the rulers themselves and of the whole State.

Most true, he replied.

And the only life which looks down upon the life of political ambitionis that of true philosophy. Do you know of any other?

Indeed, I do not, he said.

And those who govern ought not to be lovers of the task? For, if theyare, there will be rival lovers, and they will fight.

No question.

Who then are those whom we shall compel to be guardians? Surely theywill be the men who are wisest about affairs of State, and by whom theState is best administered, and who at the same time have other honoursand another and a better life than that of politics?

They are the men, and I will choose them, he replied.

And now shall we consider in what way such guardians will be produced,and how they are to be brought from darkness to light,—as some aresaid to have ascended from the world below to the gods?

By all means, he replied.

The process, I said, is not the turning over of an oyster-shell, butthe turning round of a soul passing from a day which is little betterthan night to the true day of being, that is, the ascent from below,which we affirm to be true philosophy?

Quite so.

And should we not enquire what sort of knowledge has the power ofeffecting such a change?

Certainly.

What sort of knowledge is there which would draw the soul from becomingto being? And another consideration has just occurred to me: You willremember that our young men are to be warrior athletes

Yes, that was said.

Then this new kind of knowledge must have an additional quality?

What quality?

Usefulness in war.

Yes, if possible.

There were two parts in our former scheme of education, were there not?

Just so.

There was gymnastic which presided over the growth and decay of thebody, and may therefore be regarded as having to do with generation andcorruption?

True.

Then that is not the knowledge which we are seeking to discover? No.

But what do you say of music, which also entered to a certain extentinto our former scheme?

Music, he said, as you will remember, was the counterpart of gymnastic,and trained the guardians by the influences of habit, by harmony makingthem harmonious, by rhythm rhythmical, but not giving them science; andthe words, whether fabulous or possibly true, had kindred elements ofrhythm and harmony in them. But in music there was nothing whichtended to that good which you are now seeking.

You are most accurate, I said, in your recollection; in music therecertainly was nothing of the kind. But what branch of knowledge isthere, my dear Glaucon, which is of the desired nature; since all theuseful arts were reckoned mean by us?

Undoubtedly; and yet if music and gymnastic are excluded, and the artsare also excluded, what remains?

Well, I said, there may be nothing left of our special subjects; andthen we shall have to take something which is not special, but ofuniversal application.

What may that be?

A something which all arts and sciences and intelligences use incommon, and which every one first has to learn among the elements ofeducation.

What is that?

The little matter of distinguishing one, two, and three—in a word,number and calculation:—do not all arts and sciences necessarilypartake of them?

Yes.

Then the art of war partakes of them?

To the sure.

Then Palamedes, whenever he appears in tragedy, proves Agamemnonridiculously unfit to be a general. Did you never remark how hedeclares that he had invented number, and had numbered the ships andset in array the ranks of the army at Troy; which implies that they hadnever been numbered before, and Agamemnon must be supposed literally tohave been incapable of counting his own feet—how could he if he wasignorant of number? And if that is true, what sort of general must hehave been?

I should say a very strange one, if this was as you say.

Can we deny that a warrior should have a knowledge of arithmetic?

Certainly he should, if he is to have the smallest understanding ofmilitary tactics, or indeed, I should rather say, if he is to be a manat all.

I should like to know whether you have the same notion which I have ofthis study?

What is your notion?

It appears to me to be a study of the kind which we are seeking, andwhich leads naturally to reflection, but never to have been rightlyused; for the true use of it is simply to draw the soul towards being.

Will you explain your meaning? he said.

I will try, I said; and I wish you would share the enquiry with me, andsay 'yes' or 'no' when I attempt to distinguish in my own mind whatbranches of knowledge have this attracting power, in order that we mayhave clearer proof that arithmetic is, as I suspect, one of them.

Explain, he said.

I mean to say that objects of sense are of two kinds; some of them donot invite thought because the sense is an adequate judge of them;while in the case of other objects sense is so untrustworthy thatfurther enquiry is imperatively demanded.

You are clearly referring, he said, to the manner in which the sensesare imposed upon by distance, and by painting in light and shade.

No, I said, that is not at all my meaning.

Then what is your meaning?

When speaking of uninviting objects, I mean those which do not passfrom one sensation to the opposite; inviting objects are those whichdo; in this latter case the sense coming upon the object, whether at adistance or near, gives no more vivid idea of anything in particularthan of its opposite. An illustration will make my meaningclearer:—here are three fingers—a little finger, a second finger, anda middle finger.

Very good.

You may suppose that they are seen quite close: And here comes thepoint.

What is it?

Each of them equally appears a finger, whether seen in the middle or atthe extremity, whether white or black, or thick or thin—it makes nodifference; a finger is a finger all the same. In these cases a man isnot compelled to ask of thought the question, what is a finger? for thesight never intimates to the mind that a finger is other than a finger.

True.

And therefore, I said, as we might expect, there is nothing here whichinvites or excites intelligence.

There is not, he said.

But is this equally true of the greatness and smallness of the fingers?Can sight adequately perceive them? and is no difference made by thecircumstance that one of the fingers is in the middle and another atthe extremity? And in like manner does the touch adequately perceivethe qualities of thickness or thinness, or softness or hardness? Andso of the other senses; do they give perfect intimations of suchmatters? Is not their mode of operation on this wise—the sense whichis concerned with the quality of hardness is necessarily concerned alsowith the quality of softness, and only intimates to the soul that thesame thing is felt to be both hard and soft?

You are quite right, he said.

And must not the soul be perplexed at this intimation which the sensegives of a hard which is also soft? What, again, is the meaning oflight and heavy, if that which is light is also heavy, and that whichis heavy, light?

Yes, he said, these intimations which the soul receives are verycurious and require to be explained.

Yes, I said, and in these perplexities the soul naturally summons toher aid calculation and intelligence, that she may see whether theseveral objects announced to her are one or two.

True.

And if they turn out to be two, is not each of them one and different?

Certainly.

And if each is one, and both are two, she will conceive the two as in astate of division, for if there were undivided they could only beconceived of as one?

True.

The eye certainly did see both small and great, but only in a confusedmanner; they were not distinguished.

Yes.

Whereas the thinking mind, intending to light up the chaos, wascompelled to reverse the process, and look at small and great asseparate and not confused.

Very true.

Was not this the beginning of the enquiry 'What is great?' and 'What issmall?'

Exactly so.

And thus arose the distinction of the visible and the intelligible.

Most true.

This was what I meant when I spoke of impressions which invited theintellect, or the reverse—those which are simultaneous with oppositeimpressions, invite thought; those which are not simultaneous do not.

I understand, he said, and agree with you.

And to which class do unity and number belong?

I do not know, he replied.

Think a little and you will see that what has preceded will supply theanswer; for if simple unity could be adequately perceived by the sightor by any other sense, then, as we were saying in the case of thefinger, there would be nothing to attract towards being; but when thereis some contradiction always present, and one is the reverse of one andinvolves the conception of plurality, then thought begins to be arousedwithin us, and the soul perplexed and wanting to arrive at a decisionasks 'What is absolute unity?' This is the way in which the study ofthe one has a power of drawing and converting the mind to thecontemplation of true being.

And surely, he said, this occurs notably in the case of one; for we seethe same thing to be both one and infinite in multitude?

Yes, I said; and this being true of one must be equally true of allnumber?

Certainly.

And all arithmetic and calculation have to do with number?

Yes.

And they appear to lead the mind towards truth?

Yes, in a very remarkable manner.

Then this is knowledge of the kind for which we are seeking, having adouble use, military and philosophical; for the man of war must learnthe art of number or he will not know how to array his troops, and thephilosopher also, because he has to rise out of the sea of change andlay hold of true being, and therefore he must be an arithmetician.

That is true.

And our guardian is both warrior and philosopher?

Certainly.

Then this is a kind of knowledge which legislation may fitly prescribe;and we must endeavour to persuade those who are prescribe to be theprincipal men of our State to go and learn arithmetic, not as amateurs,but they must carry on the study until they see the nature of numberswith the mind only; nor again, like merchants or retail-traders, with aview to buying or selling, but for the sake of their military use, andof the soul herself; and because this will be the easiest way for herto pass from becoming to truth and being.

That is excellent, he said.

Yes, I said, and now having spoken of it, I must add how charming thescience is! and in how many ways it conduces to our desired end, ifpursued in the spirit of a philosopher, and not of a shopkeeper!

How do you mean?

I mean, as I was saying, that arithmetic has a very great and elevatingeffect, compelling the soul to reason about abstract number, andrebelling against the introduction of visible or tangible objects intothe argument. You know how steadily the masters of the art repel andridicule any one who attempts to divide absolute unity when he iscalculating, and if you divide, they multiply, taking care that oneshall continue one and not become lost in fractions.

That is very true.

Now, suppose a person were to say to them: O my friends, what arethese wonderful numbers about which you are reasoning, in which, as yousay, there is a unity such as you demand, and each unit is equal,invariable, indivisible,—what would they answer?

They would answer, as I should conceive, that they were speaking ofthose numbers which can only be realised in thought.

Then you see that this knowledge may be truly called necessary,necessitating as it clearly does the use of the pure intelligence inthe attainment of pure truth?

Yes; that is a marked characteristic of it.

And have you further observed, that those who have a natural talent forcalculation are generally quick at every other kind of knowledge; andeven the dull if they have had an arithmetical training, although theymay derive no other advantage from it, always become much quicker thanthey would otherwise have been.

Very true, he said.

And indeed, you will not easily find a more difficult study, and notmany as difficult.

You will not.

And, for all these reasons, arithmetic is a kind of knowledge in whichthe best natures should be trained, and which must not be given up.

I agree.

Let this then be made one of our subjects of education. And next,shall we enquire whether the kindred science also concerns us?

You mean geometry?

Exactly so.

Clearly, he said, we are concerned with that part of geometry whichrelates to war; for in pitching a camp, or taking up a position, orclosing or extending the lines of an army, or any other militarymanoeuvre, whether in actual battle or on a march, it will make all thedifference whether a general is or is not a geometrician.

Yes, I said, but for that purpose a very little of either geometry orcalculation will be enough; the question relates rather to the greaterand more advanced part of geometry—whether that tends in any degree tomake more easy the vision of the idea of good; and thither, as I wassaying, all things tend which compel the soul to turn her gaze towardsthat place, where is the full perfection of being, which she ought, byall means, to behold.

True, he said.

Then if geometry compels us to view being, it concerns us; if becomingonly, it does not concern us?

Yes, that is what we assert.

Yet anybody who has the least acquaintance with geometry will not denythat such a conception of the science is in flat contradiction to theordinary language of geometricians.

How so?

They have in view practice only, and are always speaking? in a narrowand ridiculous manner, of squaring and extending and applying and thelike—they confuse the necessities of geometry with those of dailylife; whereas knowledge is the real object of the whole science.

Certainly, he said.

Then must not a further admission be made?

What admission?

That the knowledge at which geometry aims is knowledge of the eternal,and not of aught perishing and transient.

That, he replied, may be readily allowed, and is true.

Then, my noble friend, geometry will draw the soul towards truth, andcreate the spirit of philosophy, and raise up that which is nowunhappily allowed to fall down.

Nothing will be more likely to have such an effect.

Then nothing should be more sternly laid down than that the inhabitantsof your fair city should by all means learn geometry. Moreover thescience has indirect effects, which are not small.

Of what kind? he said.

There are the military advantages of which you spoke, I said; and inall departments of knowledge, as experience proves, any one who hasstudied geometry is infinitely quicker of apprehension than one who hasnot.

Yes indeed, he said, there is an infinite difference between them.

Then shall we propose this as a second branch of knowledge which ouryouth will study?

Let us do so, he replied.

And suppose we make astronomy the third—what do you say?

I am strongly inclined to it, he said; the observation of the seasonsand of months and years is as essential to the general as it is to thefarmer or sailor.

I am amused, I said, at your fear of the world, which makes you guardagainst the appearance of insisting upon useless studies; and I quiteadmit the difficulty of believing that in every man there is an eye ofthe soul which, when by other pursuits lost and dimmed, is by thesepurified and re-illumined; and is more precious far than ten thousandbodily eyes, for by it alone is truth seen. Now there are two classesof persons: one class of those who will agree with you and will takeyour words as a revelation; another class to whom they will be utterlyunmeaning, and who will naturally deem them to be idle tales, for theysee no sort of profit which is to be obtained from them. And thereforeyou had better decide at once with which of the two you are proposingto argue. You will very likely say with neither, and that your chiefaim in carrying on the argument is your own improvement; at the sametime you do not grudge to others any benefit which they may receive.

I think that I should prefer to carry on the argument mainly on my ownbehalf.

Then take a step backward, for we have gone wrong in the order of thesciences.

What was the mistake? he said.

After plane geometry, I said, we proceeded at once to solids inrevolution, instead of taking solids in themselves; whereas after thesecond dimension the third, which is concerned with cubes anddimensions of depth, ought to have followed.

That is true, Socrates; but so little seems to be known as yet aboutthese subjects.

Why, yes, I said, and for two reasons:—in the first place, nogovernment patronises them; this leads to a want of energy in thepursuit of them, and they are difficult; in the second place, studentscannot learn them unless they have a director. But then a director canhardly be found, and even if he could, as matters now stand, thestudents, who are very conceited, would not attend to him. That,however, would be otherwise if the whole State became the director ofthese studies and gave honour to them; then disciples would want tocome, and there would be continuous and earnest search, and discoverieswould be made; since even now, disregarded as they are by the world,and maimed of their fair proportions, and although none of theirvotaries can tell the use of them, still these studies force their wayby their natural charm, and very likely, if they had the help of theState, they would some day emerge into light.

Yes, he said, there is a remarkable charm in them. But I do notclearly understand the change in the order. First you began with ageometry of plane surfaces?

Yes, I said.

And you placed astronomy next, and then you made a step backward?

Yes, and I have delayed you by my hurry; the ludicrous state of solidgeometry, which, in natural order, should have followed, made me passover this branch and go on to astronomy, or motion of solids.

True, he said.

Then assuming that the science now omitted would come into existence ifencouraged by the State, let us go on to astronomy, which will befourth.

The right order, he replied. And now, Socrates, as you rebuked thevulgar manner in which I praised astronomy before, my praise shall begiven in your own spirit. For every one, as I think, must see thatastronomy compels the soul to look upwards and leads us from this worldto another.

Every one but myself, I said; to every one else this may be clear, butnot to me.

And what then would you say?

I should rather say that those who elevate astronomy into philosophyappear to me to make us look downwards and not upwards.

What do you mean? he asked.

You, I replied, have in your mind a truly sublime conception of ourknowledge of the things above. And I dare say that if a person were tothrow his head back and study the fretted ceiling, you would stillthink that his mind was the percipient, and not his eyes. And you arevery likely right, and I may be a simpleton: but, in my opinion, thatknowledge only which is of being and of the unseen can make the soullook upwards, and whether a man gapes at the heavens or blinks on theground, seeking to learn some particular of sense, I would deny that hecan learn, for nothing of that sort is matter of science; his soul islooking downwards, not upwards, whether his way to knowledge is bywater or by land, whether he floats, or only lies on his back.

I acknowledge, he said, the justice of your rebuke. Still, I shouldlike to ascertain how astronomy can be learned in any manner moreconducive to that knowledge of which we are speaking?

I will tell you, I said: The starry heaven which we behold is wroughtupon a visible ground, and therefore, although the fairest and mostperfect of visible things, must necessarily be deemed inferior far tothe true motions of absolute swiftness and absolute slowness, which arerelative to each other, and carry with them that which is contained inthem, in the true number and in every true figure. Now, these are tobe apprehended by reason and intelligence, but not by sight.

True, he replied.

The spangled heavens should be used as a pattern and with a view tothat higher knowledge; their beauty is like the beauty of figures orpictures excellently wrought by the hand of Daedalus, or some othergreat artist, which we may chance to behold; any geometrician who sawthem would appreciate the exquisiteness of their workmanship, but hewould never dream of thinking that in them he could find the true equalor the true double, or the truth of any other proportion.

No, he replied, such an idea would be ridiculous.

And will not a true astronomer have the same feeling when he looks atthe movements of the stars? Will he not think that heaven and thethings in heaven are framed by the Creator of them in the most perfectmanner? But he will never imagine that the proportions of night andday, or of both to the month, or of the month to the year, or of thestars to these and to one another, and any other things that arematerial and visible can also be eternal and subject to nodeviation—that would be absurd; and it is equally absurd to take somuch pains in investigating their exact truth.

I quite agree, though I never thought of this before.

Then, I said, in astronomy, as in geometry, we should employ problems,and let the heavens alone if we would approach the subject in the rightway and so make the natural gift of reason to be of any real use.

That, he said, is a work infinitely beyond our present astronomers.

Yes, I said; and there are many other things which must also have asimilar extension given to them, if our legislation is to be of anyvalue. But can you tell me of any other suitable study?

No, he said, not without thinking.

Motion, I said, has many forms, and not one only; two of them areobvious enough even to wits no better than ours; and there are others,as I imagine, which may be left to wiser persons.

But where are the two?

There is a second, I said, which is the counterpart of the one alreadynamed.

And what may that be?

The second, I said, would seem relatively to the ears to be what thefirst is to the eyes; for I conceive that as the eyes are designed tolook up at the stars, so are the ears to hear harmonious motions; andthese are sister sciences—as the Pythagoreans say, and we, Glaucon,agree with them?

Yes, he replied.

But this, I said, is a laborious study, and therefore we had better goand learn of them; and they will tell us whether there are any otherapplications of these sciences. At the same time, we must not losesight of our own higher object.

What is that?

There is a perfection which all knowledge ought to reach, and which ourpupils ought also to attain, and not to fall short of, as I was sayingthat they did in astronomy. For in the science of harmony, as youprobably know, the same thing happens. The teachers of harmony comparethe sounds and consonances which are heard only, and their labour, likethat of the astronomers, is in vain.

Yes, by heaven! he said; and 'tis as good as a play to hear themtalking about their condensed notes, as they call them; they put theirears close alongside of the strings like persons catching a sound fromtheir neighbour's wall—one set of them declaring that they distinguishan intermediate note and have found the least interval which should bethe unit of measurement; the others insisting that the two sounds havepassed into the same—either party setting their ears before theirunderstanding.

You mean, I said, those gentlemen who tease and torture the strings andrack them on the pegs of the instrument: might carry on the metaphorand speak after their manner of the blows which the plectrum gives, andmake accusations against the strings, both of backwardness andforwardness to sound; but this would be tedious, and therefore I willonly say that these are not the men, and that I am referring to thePythagoreans, of whom I was just now proposing to enquire aboutharmony. For they too are in error, like the astronomers; theyinvestigate the numbers of the harmonies which are heard, but theynever attain to problems-that is to say, they never reach the naturalharmonies of number, or reflect why some numbers are harmonious andothers not.

That, he said, is a thing of more than mortal knowledge.

A thing, I replied, which I would rather call useful; that is, ifsought after with a view to the beautiful and good; but if pursued inany other spirit, useless. Very true, he said.

Now, when all these studies reach the point of inter-communion andconnection with one another, and come to be considered in their mutualaffinities, then, I think, but not till then, will the pursuit of themhave a value for our objects; otherwise there is no profit in them.

I suspect so; but you are speaking, Socrates, of a vast work.

What do you mean? I said; the prelude or what? Do you not know thatall this is but the prelude to the actual strain which we have tolearn? For you surely would not regard the skilled mathematician as adialectician?

Assuredly not, he said; I have hardly ever known a mathematician whowas capable of reasoning.

But do you imagine that men who are unable to give and take a reasonwill have the knowledge which we require of them?

Neither can this be supposed.

And so, Glaucon, I said, we have at last arrived at the hymn ofdialectic. This is that strain which is of the intellect only, butwhich the faculty of sight will nevertheless be found to imitate; forsight, as you may remember, was imagined by us after a while to beholdthe real animals and stars, and last of all the sun himself. And sowith dialectic; when a person starts on the discovery of the absoluteby the light of reason only, and without any assistance of sense, andperseveres until by pure intelligence he arrives at the perception ofthe absolute good, he at last finds himself at the end of theintellectual world, as in the case of sight at the end of the visible.

Exactly, he said.

Then this is the progress which you call dialectic?

True.

But the release of the prisoners from chains, and their translationfrom the shadows to the images and to the light, and the ascent fromthe underground den to the sun, while in his presence they are vainlytrying to look on animals and plants and the light of the sun, but areable to perceive even with their weak eyes the images in the water(which are divine), and are the shadows of true existence (not shadowsof images cast by a light of fire, which compared with the sun is onlyan image)—this power of elevating the highest principle in the soul tothe contemplation of that which is best in existence, with which we maycompare the raising of that faculty which is the very light of the bodyto the sight of that which is brightest in the material and visibleworld—this power is given, as I was saying, by all that study andpursuit of the arts which has been described.

I agree in what you are saying, he replied, which may be hard tobelieve, yet, from another point of view, is harder still to deny.This, however, is not a theme to be treated of in passing only, butwill have to be discussed again and again. And so, whether ourconclusion be true or false, let us assume all this, and proceed atonce from the prelude or preamble to the chief strain, and describethat in like manner. Say, then, what is the nature and what are thedivisions of dialectic, and what are the paths which lead thither; forthese paths will also lead to our final rest?

Dear Glaucon, I said, you will not be able to follow me here, though Iwould do my best, and you should behold not an image only but theabsolute truth, according to my notion. Whether what I told you wouldor would not have been a reality I cannot venture to say; but you wouldhave seen something like reality; of that I am confident.

Doubtless, he replied.

But I must also remind you, that the power of dialectic alone canreveal this, and only to one who is a disciple of the previous sciences.

Of that assertion you may be as confident as of the last.

And assuredly no one will argue that there is any other method ofcomprehending by any regular process all true existence or ofascertaining what each thing is in its own nature; for the arts ingeneral are concerned with the desires or opinions of men, or arecultivated with a view to production and construction, or for thepreservation of such productions and constructions; and as to themathematical sciences which, as we were saying, have some apprehensionof true being—geometry and the like—they only dream about being, butnever can they behold the waking reality so long as they leave thehypotheses which they use unexamined, and are unable to give an accountof them. For when a man knows not his own first principle, and whenthe conclusion and intermediate steps are also constructed out of heknows not what, how can he imagine that such a fabric of convention canever become science?

Impossible, he said.

Then dialectic, and dialectic alone, goes directly to the firstprinciple and is the only science which does away with hypotheses inorder to make her ground secure; the eye of the soul, which isliterally buried in an outlandish slough, is by her gentle aid liftedupwards; and she uses as handmaids and helpers in the work ofconversion, the sciences which we have been discussing. Custom termsthem sciences, but they ought to have some other name, implying greaterclearness than opinion and less clearness than science: and this, inour previous sketch, was called understanding. But why should wedispute about names when we have realities of such importance toconsider?

Why indeed, he said, when any name will do which expresses the thoughtof the mind with clearness?

At any rate, we are satisfied, as before, to have four divisions; twofor intellect and two for opinion, and to call the first divisionscience, the second understanding, the third belief, and the fourthperception of shadows, opinion being concerned with becoming, andintellect with being; and so to make a proportion:—

    As being is to becoming, so is pure intellect to opinion.
    And as intellect is to opinion, so is science to belief, and
    understanding to the perception of shadows.

But let us defer the further correlation and subdivision of thesubjects of opinion and of intellect, for it will be a long enquiry,many times longer than this has been.

As far as I understand, he said, I agree.

And do you also agree, I said, in describing the dialectician as onewho attains a conception of the essence of each thing? And he who doesnot possess and is therefore unable to impart this conception, inwhatever degree he fails, may in that degree also be said to fail inintelligence? Will you admit so much?

Yes, he said; how can I deny it?

And you would say the same of the conception of the good?

Until the person is able to abstract and define rationally the idea ofgood, and unless he can run the gauntlet of all objections, and isready to disprove them, not by appeals to opinion, but to absolutetruth, never faltering at any step of the argument—unless he can doall this, you would say that he knows neither the idea of good nor anyother good; he apprehends only a shadow, if anything at all, which isgiven by opinion and not by science;—dreaming and slumbering in thislife, before he is well awake here, he arrives at the world below, andhas his final quietus.

In all that I should most certainly agree with you.

And surely you would not have the children of your ideal State, whomyou are nurturing and educating—if the ideal ever becomes areality—you would not allow the future rulers to be like posts, havingno reason in them, and yet to be set in authority over the highestmatters?

Certainly not.

Then you will make a law that they shall have such an education as willenable them to attain the greatest skill in asking and answeringquestions?

Yes, he said, you and I together will make it.

Dialectic, then, as you will agree, is the coping-stone of thesciences, and is set over them; no other science can be placedhigher—the nature of knowledge can no further go?

I agree, he said.

But to whom we are to assign these studies, and in what way they are tobe assigned, are questions which remain to be considered?

Yes, clearly.

You remember, I said, how the rulers were chosen before?

Certainly, he said.

The same natures must still be chosen, and the preference again givento the surest and the bravest, and, if possible, to the fairest; and,having noble and generous tempers, they should also have the naturalgifts which will facilitate their education.

And what are these?

Such gifts as keenness and ready powers of acquisition; for the mindmore often faints from the severity of study than from the severity ofgymnastics: the toil is more entirely the mind's own, and is notshared with the body.

Very true, he replied.

Further, he of whom we are in search should have a good memory, and bean unwearied solid man who is a lover of labour in any line; or he willnever be able to endure the great amount of bodily exercise and to gothrough all the intellectual discipline and study which we require ofhim.

Certainly, he said; he must have natural gifts.

The mistake at present is, that those who study philosophy have novocation, and this, as I was before saying, is the reason why she hasfallen into disrepute: her true sons should take her by the hand andnot bastards.

What do you mean?

In the first place, her votary should not have a lame or haltingindustry—I mean, that he should not be half industrious and half idle:as, for example, when a man is a lover of gymnastic and hunting, andall other bodily exercises, but a hater rather than a lover of thelabour of learning or listening or enquiring. Or the occupation towhich he devotes himself may be of an opposite kind, and he may havethe other sort of lameness.

Certainly, he said.

And as to truth, I said, is not a soul equally to be deemed halt andlame which hates voluntary falsehood and is extremely indignant atherself and others when they tell lies, but is patient of involuntaryfalsehood, and does not mind wallowing like a swinish beast in the mireof ignorance, and has no shame at being detected?

To be sure.

And, again, in respect of temperance, courage, magnificence, and everyother virtue, should we not carefully distinguish between the true sonand the bastard? for where there is no discernment of such qualitiesStates and individuals unconsciously err and the State makes a ruler,and the individual a friend, of one who, being defective in some partof virtue, is in a figure lame or a bastard.

That is very true, he said.

All these things, then, will have to be carefully considered by us; andif only those whom we introduce to this vast system of education andtraining are sound in body and mind, justice herself will have nothingto say against us, and we shall be the saviours of the constitution andof the State; but, if our pupils are men of another stamp, the reversewill happen, and we shall pour a still greater flood of ridicule onphilosophy than she has to endure at present.

That would not be creditable.

Certainly not, I said; and yet perhaps, in thus turning jest intoearnest I am equally ridiculous.

In what respect?

I had forgotten, I said, that we were not serious, and spoke with toomuch excitement. For when I saw philosophy so undeservedly trampledunder foot of men I could not help feeling a sort of indignation at theauthors of her disgrace: and my anger made me too vehement.

Indeed! I was listening, and did not think so.

But I, who am the speaker, felt that I was. And now let me remind youthat, although in our former selection we chose old men, we must not doso in this. Solon was under a delusion when he said that a man when hegrows old may learn many things—for he can no more learn much than hecan run much; youth is the time for any extraordinary toil.

Of course.

And, therefore, calculation and geometry and all the other elements ofinstruction, which are a preparation for dialectic, should be presentedto the mind in childhood; not, however, under any notion of forcing oursystem of education.

Why not?

Because a freeman ought not to be a slave in the acquisition ofknowledge of any kind. Bodily exercise, when compulsory, does no harmto the body; but knowledge which is acquired under compulsion obtainsno hold on the mind.

Very true.

Then, my good friend, I said, do not use compulsion, but let earlyeducation be a sort of amusement; you will then be better able to findout the natural bent.

That is a very rational notion, he said.

Do you remember that the children, too, were to be taken to see thebattle on horseback; and that if there were no danger they were to bebrought close up and, like young hounds, have a taste of blood giventhem?

Yes, I remember.

The same practice may be followed, I said, in all thesethings—labours, lessons, dangers—and he who is most at home in all ofthem ought to be enrolled in a select number.

At what age?

At the age when the necessary gymnastics are over: the period whetherof two or three years which passes in this sort of training is uselessfor any other purpose; for sleep and exercise are unpropitious tolearning; and the trial of who is first in gymnastic exercises is oneof the most important tests to which our youth are subjected.

Certainly, he replied.

After that time those who are selected from the class of twenty yearsold will be promoted to higher honour, and the sciences which theylearned without any order in their early education will now be broughttogether, and they will be able to see the natural relationship of themto one another and to true being.

Yes, he said, that is the only kind of knowledge which takes lastingroot.

Yes, I said; and the capacity for such knowledge is the great criterionof dialectical talent: the comprehensive mind is always thedialectical.

I agree with you, he said.

These, I said, are the points which you must consider; and those whohave most of this comprehension, and who are more steadfast in theirlearning, and in their military and other appointed duties, when theyhave arrived at the age of thirty have to be chosen by you out of theselect class, and elevated to higher honour; and you will have to provethem by the help of dialectic, in order to learn which of them is ableto give up the use of sight and the other senses, and in company withtruth to attain absolute being: And here, my friend, great caution isrequired.

Why great caution?

Do you not remark, I said, how great is the evil which dialectic hasintroduced?

What evil? he said.

The students of the art are filled with lawlessness.

Quite true, he said.

Do you think that there is anything so very unnatural or inexcusable intheir case? or will you make allowance for them?

In what way make allowance?

I want you, I said, by way of parallel, to imagine a supposititious sonwho is brought up in great wealth; he is one of a great and numerousfamily, and has many flatterers. When he grows up to manhood, helearns that his alleged are not his real parents; but who the real arehe is unable to discover. Can you guess how he will be likely tobehave towards his flatterers and his supposed parents, first of allduring the period when he is ignorant of the false relation, and thenagain when he knows? Or shall I guess for you?

If you please.

Then I should say, that while he is ignorant of the truth he will belikely to honour his father and his mother and his supposed relationsmore than the flatterers; he will be less inclined to neglect them whenin need, or to do or say anything against them; and he will be lesswilling to disobey them in any important matter.

He will.

But when he has made the discovery, I should imagine that he woulddiminish his honour and regard for them, and would become more devotedto the flatterers; their influence over him would greatly increase; hewould now live after their ways, and openly associate with them, and,unless he were of an unusually good disposition, he would troublehimself no more about his supposed parents or other relations.

Well, all that is very probable. But how is the image applicable tothe disciples of philosophy?

In this way: you know that there are certain principles about justiceand honour, which were taught us in childhood, and under their parentalauthority we have been brought up, obeying and honouring them.

That is true.

There are also opposite maxims and habits of pleasure which flatter andattract the soul, but do not influence those of us who have any senseof right, and they continue to obey and honour the maxims of theirfathers.

True.

Now, when a man is in this state, and the questioning spirit asks whatis fair or honourable, and he answers as the legislator has taught him,and then arguments many and diverse refute his words, until he isdriven into believing that nothing is honourable any more thandishonourable, or just and good any more than the reverse, and so ofall the notions which he most valued, do you think that he will stillhonour and obey them as before?

Impossible.

And when he ceases to think them honourable and natural as heretofore,and he fails to discover the true, can he be expected to pursue anylife other than that which flatters his desires?

He cannot.

And from being a keeper of the law he is converted into a breaker of it?

Unquestionably.

Now all this is very natural in students of philosophy such as I havedescribed, and also, as I was just now saying, most excusable.

Yes, he said; and, I may add, pitiable.

Therefore, that your feelings may not be moved to pity about ourcitizens who are now thirty years of age, every care must be taken inintroducing them to dialectic.

Certainly.

There is a danger lest they should taste the dear delight too early;for youngsters, as you may have observed, when they first get the tastein their mouths, argue for amusement, and are always contradicting andrefuting others in imitation of those who refute them; like puppy-dogs,they rejoice in pulling and tearing at all who come near them.

Yes, he said, there is nothing which they like better.

And when they have made many conquests and received defeats at thehands of many, they violently and speedily get into a way of notbelieving anything which they believed before, and hence, not onlythey, but philosophy and all that relates to it is apt to have a badname with the rest of the world.

Too true, he said.

But when a man begins to get older, he will no longer be guilty of suchinsanity; he will imitate the dialectician who is seeking for truth,and not the eristic, who is contradicting for the sake of amusement;and the greater moderation of his character will increase instead ofdiminishing the honour of the pursuit.

Very true, he said.

And did we not make special provision for this, when we said that thedisciples of philosophy were to be orderly and steadfast, not, as now,any chance aspirant or intruder?

Very true.

Suppose, I said, the study of philosophy to take the place ofgymnastics and to be continued diligently and earnestly and exclusivelyfor twice the number of years which were passed in bodilyexercise—will that be enough?

Would you say six or four years? he asked.

Say five years, I replied; at the end of the time they must be sentdown again into the den and compelled to hold any military or otheroffice which young men are qualified to hold: in this way they will gettheir experience of life, and there will be an opportunity of tryingwhether, when they are drawn all manner of ways by temptation, theywill stand firm or flinch.

And how long is this stage of their lives to last?

Fifteen years, I answered; and when they have reached fifty years ofage, then let those who still survive and have distinguished themselvesin every action of their lives and in every branch of knowledge come atlast to their consummation; the time has now arrived at which they mustraise the eye of the soul to the universal light which lightens allthings, and behold the absolute good; for that is the pattern accordingto which they are to order the State and the lives of individuals, andthe remainder of their own lives also; making philosophy their chiefpursuit, but, when their turn comes, toiling also at politics andruling for the public good, not as though they were performing someheroic action, but simply as a matter of duty; and when they havebrought up in each generation others like themselves and left them intheir place to be governors of the State, then they will depart to theIslands of the Blest and dwell there; and the city will give thempublic memorials and sacrifices and honour them, if the Pythian oracleconsent, as demi-gods, but if not, as in any case blessed and divine.

You are a sculptor, Socrates, and have made statues of our governorsfaultless in beauty.

Yes, I said, Glaucon, and of our governesses too; for you must notsuppose that what I have been saying applies to men only and not towomen as far as their natures can go.

There you are right, he said, since we have made them to share in allthings like the men.

Well, I said, and you would agree (would you not?) that what has beensaid about the State and the government is not a mere dream, andalthough difficult not impossible, but only possible in the way whichhas been supposed; that is to say, when the true philosopher kings areborn in a State, one or more of them, despising the honours of thispresent world which they deem mean and worthless, esteeming above allthings right and the honour that springs from right, and regardingjustice as the greatest and most necessary of all things, whoseministers they are, and whose principles will be exalted by them whenthey set in order their own city?

How will they proceed?

They will begin by sending out into the country all the inhabitants ofthe city who are more than ten years old, and will take possession oftheir children, who will be unaffected by the habits of their parents;these they will train in their own habits and laws, I mean in the lawswhich we have given them: and in this way the State and constitutionof which we were speaking will soonest and most easily attainhappiness, and the nation which has such a constitution will gain most.

Yes, that will be the best way. And I think, Socrates, that you havevery well described how, if ever, such a constitution might come intobeing.

Enough then of the perfect State, and of the man who bears itsimage—there is no difficulty in seeing how we shall describe him.

There is no difficulty, he replied; and I agree with you in thinkingthat nothing more need be said.

BOOK VIII

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

AND so, Glaucon, we have arrived at the conclusion that in the perfectState wives and children are to be in common; and that all educationand the pursuits of war and peace are also to be common, and the bestphilosophers and the bravest warriors are to be their kings?

That, replied Glaucon, has been acknowledged.

Yes, I said; and we have further acknowledged that the governors, whenappointed themselves, will take their soldiers and place them in housessuch as we were describing, which are common to all, and containnothing private, or individual; and about their property, you rememberwhat we agreed?

Yes, I remember that no one was to have any of the ordinary possessionsof mankind; they were to be warrior athletes and guardians, receivingfrom the other citizens, in lieu of annual payment, only theirmaintenance, and they were to take care of themselves and of the wholeState.

True, I said; and now that this division of our task is concluded, letus find the point at which we digressed, that we may return into theold path.

There is no difficulty in returning; you implied, then as now, that youhad finished the description of the State: you said that such a Statewas good, and that the man was good who answered to it, although, asnow appears, you had more excellent things to relate both of State andman. And you said further, that if this was the true form, then theothers were false; and of the false forms, you said, as I remember,that there were four principal ones, and that their defects, and thedefects of the individuals corresponding to them, were worth examining.When we had seen all the individuals, and finally agreed as to who wasthe best and who was the worst of them, we were to consider whether thebest was not also the happiest, and the worst the most miserable. Iasked you what were the four forms of government of which you spoke,and then Polemarchus and Adeimantus put in their word; and you beganagain, and have found your way to the point at which we have nowarrived.

Your recollection, I said, is most exact.

Then, like a wrestler, he replied, you must put yourself again in thesame position; and let me ask the same questions, and do you give methe same answer which you were about to give me then.

Yes, if I can, I will, I said.

I shall particularly wish to hear what were the four constitutions ofwhich you were speaking.

That question, I said, is easily answered: the four governments ofwhich I spoke, so far as they have distinct names, are, first, those ofCrete and Sparta, which are generally applauded; what is termedoligarchy comes next; this is not equally approved, and is a form ofgovernment which teems with evils: thirdly, democracy, which naturallyfollows oligarchy, although very different: and lastly comes tyranny,great and famous, which differs from them all, and is the fourth andworst disorder of a State. I do not know, do you? of any otherconstitution which can be said to have a distinct character. There arelordships and principalities which are bought and sold, and some otherintermediate forms of government. But these are nondescripts and maybe found equally among Hellenes and among barbarians.

Yes, he replied, we certainly hear of many curious forms of governmentwhich exist among them.

Do you know, I said, that governments vary as the dispositions of menvary, and that there must be as many of the one as there are of theother? For we cannot suppose that States are made of 'oak and rock,'and not out of the human natures which are in them, and which in afigure turn the scale and draw other things after them?

Yes, he said, the States are as the men are; they grow out of humancharacters.

Then if the constitutions of States are five, the dispositions ofindividual minds will also be five?

Certainly.

Him who answers to aristocracy, and whom we rightly call just and good,we have already described.

We have.

Then let us now proceed to describe the inferior sort of natures, beingthe contentious and ambitious, who answer to the Spartan polity; alsothe oligarchical, democratical, and tyrannical. Let us place the mostjust by the side of the most unjust, and when we see them we shall beable to compare the relative happiness or unhappiness of him who leadsa life of pure justice or pure injustice. The enquiry will then becompleted. And we shall know whether we ought to pursue injustice, asThrasymachus advises, or in accordance with the conclusions of theargument to prefer justice.

Certainly, he replied, we must do as you say.

Shall we follow our old plan, which we adopted with a view toclearness, of taking the State first and then proceeding to theindividual, and begin with the government of honour?—I know of no namefor such a government other than timocracy, or perhaps timarchy. Wewill compare with this the like character in the individual; and, afterthat, consider oligarchical man; and then again we will turn ourattention to democracy and the democratical man; and lastly, we will goand view the city of tyranny, and once more take a look into thetyrant's soul, and try to arrive at a satisfactory decision.

That way of viewing and judging of the matter will be very suitable.

First, then, I said, let us enquire how timocracy (the government ofhonour) arises out of aristocracy (the government of the best).Clearly, all political changes originate in divisions of the actualgoverning power; a government which is united, however small, cannot bemoved.

Very true, he said.

In what way, then, will our city be moved, and in what manner the twoclasses of auxiliaries and rulers disagree among themselves or with oneanother? Shall we, after the manner of Homer, pray the Muses to tellus 'how discord first arose'? Shall we imagine them in solemn mockery,to play and jest with us as if we were children, and to address us in alofty tragic vein, making believe to be in earnest?

How would they address us?

After this manner:—A city which is thus constituted can hardly beshaken; but, seeing that everything which has a beginning has also anend, even a constitution such as yours will not last for ever, but willin time be dissolved. And this is the dissolution:—In plants thatgrow in the earth, as well as in animals that move on the earth'ssurface, fertility and sterility of soul and body occur when thecircumferences of the circles of each are completed, which inshort-lived existences pass over a short space, and in long-lived onesover a long space. But to the knowledge of human fecundity andsterility all the wisdom and education of your rulers will not attain;the laws which regulate them will not be discovered by an intelligencewhich is alloyed with sense, but will escape them, and they will bringchildren into the world when they ought not. Now that which is ofdivine birth has a period which is contained in a perfect number, butthe period of human birth is comprehended in a number in which firstincrements by involution and evolution (or squared and cubed) obtainingthree intervals and four terms of like and unlike, waxing and waningnumbers, make all the terms commensurable and agreeable to one another.The base of these (3) with a third added (4) when combined with five(20) and raised to the third power furnishes two harmonies; the first asquare which is a hundred times as great (400 = 4 X 100), and the othera figure having one side equal to the former, but oblong, consisting ofa hundred numbers squared upon rational diameters of a square (i. e.omitting fractions), the side of which is five (7 X 7 = 49 X 100 =4900), each of them being less by one (than the perfect square whichincludes the fractions, sc. 50) or less by two perfect squares ofirrational diameters (of a square the side of which is five = 50 + 50 =100); and a hundred cubes of three (27 X 100 = 2700 + 4900 + 400 =8000). Now this number represents a geometrical figure which hascontrol over the good and evil of births. For when your guardians areignorant of the law of births, and unite bride and bridegroom out ofseason, the children will not be goodly or fortunate. And though onlythe best of them will be appointed by their predecessors, still theywill be unworthy to hold their fathers' places, and when they come intopower as guardians, they will soon be found to fall in taking care ofus, the Muses, first by under-valuing music; which neglect will soonextend to gymnastic; and hence the young men of your State will be lesscultivated. In the succeeding generation rulers will be appointed whohave lost the guardian power of testing the metal of your differentraces, which, like Hesiod's, are of gold and silver and brass and iron.And so iron will be mingled with silver, and brass with gold, and hencethere will arise dissimilarity and inequality and irregularity, whichalways and in all places are causes of hatred and war. This the Musesaffirm to be the stock from which discord has sprung, wherever arising;and this is their answer to us.

Yes, and we may assume that they answer truly.

Why, yes, I said, of course they answer truly; how can the Muses speakfalsely?

And what do the Muses say next?

When discord arose, then the two races were drawn different ways: theiron and brass fell to acquiring money and land and houses and gold andsilver; but the gold and silver races, not wanting money but having thetrue riches in their own nature, inclined towards virtue and theancient order of things. There was a battle between them, and at lastthey agreed to distribute their land and houses among individualowners; and they enslaved their friends and maintainers, whom they hadformerly protected in the condition of freemen, and made of themsubjects and servants; and they themselves were engaged in war and inkeeping a watch against them.

I believe that you have rightly conceived the origin of the change.

And the new government which thus arises will be of a form intermediatebetween oligarchy and aristocracy?

Very true.

Such will be the change, and after the change has been made, how willthey proceed? Clearly, the new State, being in a mean betweenoligarchy and the perfect State, will partly follow one and partly theother, and will also have some peculiarities.

True, he said.

In the honour given to rulers, in the abstinence of the warrior classfrom agriculture, handicrafts, and trade in general, in the institutionof common meals, and in the attention paid to gymnastics and militarytraining—in all these respects this State will resemble the former.

True.

But in the fear of admitting philosophers to power, because they are nolonger to be had simple and earnest, but are made up of mixed elements;and in turning from them to passionate and less complex characters, whoare by nature fitted for war rather than peace; and in the value set bythem upon military stratagems and contrivances, and in the waging ofeverlasting wars—this State will be for the most part peculiar.

Yes.

Yes, I said; and men of this stamp will be covetous of money, likethose who live in oligarchies; they will have, a fierce secret longingafter gold and silver, which they will hoard in dark places, havingmagazines and treasuries of their own for the deposit and concealmentof them; also castles which are just nests for their eggs, and in whichthey will spend large sums on their wives, or on any others whom theyplease.

That is most true, he said.

And they are miserly because they have no means of openly acquiring themoney which they prize; they will spend that which is another man's onthe gratification of their desires, stealing their pleasures andrunning away like children from the law, their father: they have beenschooled not by gentle influences but by force, for they have neglectedher who is the true Muse, the companion of reason and philosophy, andhave honoured gymnastic more than music.

Undoubtedly, he said, the form of government which you describe is amixture of good and evil.

Why, there is a mixture, I said; but one thing, and one thing only, ispredominantly seen,—the spirit of contention and ambition; and theseare due to the prevalence of the passionate or spirited element.

Assuredly, he said.

Such is the origin and such the character of this State, which has beendescribed in outline only; the more perfect execution was not required,for a sketch is enough to show the type of the most perfectly just andmost perfectly unjust; and to go through all the States and all thecharacters of men, omitting none of them, would be an interminablelabour.

Very true, he replied.

Now what man answers to this form of government-how did he come intobeing, and what is he like?

SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS

I think, said Adeimantus, that in the spirit of contention whichcharacterises him, he is not unlike our friend Glaucon.

Perhaps, I said, he may be like him in that one point; but there areother respects in which he is very different.

In what respects?

He should have more of self-assertion and be less cultivated, and yet afriend of culture; and he should be a good listener, but no speaker.Such a person is apt to be rough with slaves, unlike the educated man,who is too proud for that; and he will also be courteous to freemen,and remarkably obedient to authority; he is a lover of power and alover of honour; claiming to be a ruler, not because he is eloquent, oron any ground of that sort, but because he is a soldier and hasperformed feats of arms; he is also a lover of gymnastic exercises andof the chase.

Yes, that is the type of character which answers to timocracy.

Such an one will despise riches only when he is young; but as he getsolder he will be more and more attracted to them, because he has apiece of the avaricious nature in him, and is not singleminded towardsvirtue, having lost his best guardian.

Who was that? said Adeimantus.

Philosophy, I said, tempered with music, who comes and takes her abodein a man, and is the only saviour of his virtue throughout life.

Good, he said.

Such, I said, is the timocratical youth, and he is like thetimocratical State.

Exactly.

His origin is as follows:—He is often the young son of a grave father,who dwells in an ill-governed city, of which he declines the honoursand offices, and will not go to law, or exert himself in any way, butis ready to waive his rights in order that he may escape trouble.

And how does the son come into being?

The character of the son begins to develop when he hears his mothercomplaining that her husband has no place in the government, of whichthe consequence is that she has no precedence among other women.Further, when she sees her husband not very eager about money, andinstead of battling and railing in the law courts or assembly, takingwhatever happens to him quietly; and when she observes that histhoughts always centre in himself, while he treats her with veryconsiderable indifference, she is annoyed, and says to her son that hisfather is only half a man and far too easy-going: adding all the othercomplaints about her own ill-treatment which women are so fond ofrehearsing.

Yes, said Adeimantus, they give us plenty of them, and their complaintsare so like themselves.

And you know, I said, that the old servants also, who are supposed tobe attached to the family, from time to time talk privately in the samestrain to the son; and if they see any one who owes money to hisfather, or is wronging him in any way, and he falls to prosecute them,they tell the youth that when he grows up he must retaliate upon peopleof this sort, and be more of a man than his father. He has only towalk abroad and he hears and sees the same sort of thing: those who dotheir own business in the city are called simpletons, and held in noesteem, while the busy-bodies are honoured and applauded. The resultis that the young man, hearing and seeing all these thing—hearing too,the words of his father, and having a nearer view of his way of life,and making comparisons of him and others—is drawn opposite ways: whilehis father is watering and nourishing the rational principle in hissoul, the others are encouraging the passionate and appetitive; and hebeing not originally of a bad nature, but having kept bad company, isat last brought by their joint influence to a middle point, and givesup the kingdom which is within him to the middle principle ofcontentiousness and passion, and becomes arrogant and ambitious.

You seem to me to have described his origin perfectly.

Then we have now, I said, the second form of government and the secondtype of character?

We have.

Next, let us look at another man who, as Aeschylus says,

Is set over against another State;

or rather, as our plan requires, begin with the State.

By all means.

I believe that oligarchy follows next in order.

And what manner of government do you term oligarchy?

A government resting on a valuation of property, in which the rich havepower and the poor man is deprived of it.

I understand, he replied.

Ought I not to begin by describing how the change from timocracy tooligarchy arises?

Yes.

Well, I said, no eyes are required in order to see how the one passesinto the other.

How?

The accumulation of gold in the treasury of private individuals is ruinthe of timocracy; they invent illegal modes of expenditure; for what dothey or their wives care about the law?

Yes, indeed.

And then one, seeing another grow rich, seeks to rival him, and thusthe great mass of the citizens become lovers of money.

Likely enough.

And so they grow richer and richer, and the more they think of making afortune the less they think of virtue; for when riches and virtue areplaced together in the scales of the balance, the one always rises asthe other falls.

True.

And in proportion as riches and rich men are honoured in the State,virtue and the virtuous are dishonoured.

Clearly.

And what is honoured is cultivated, and that which has no honour isneglected.

That is obvious.

And so at last, instead of loving contention and glory, men becomelovers of trade and money; they honour and look up to the rich man, andmake a ruler of him, and dishonour the poor man.

They do so.

They next proceed to make a law which fixes a sum of money as thequalification of citizenship; the sum is higher in one place and lowerin another, as the oligarchy is more or less exclusive; and they allowno one whose property falls below the amount fixed to have any share inthe government. These changes in the constitution they effect by forceof arms, if intimidation has not already done their work.

Very true.

And this, speaking generally, is the way in which oligarchy isestablished.

Yes, he said; but what are the characteristics of this form ofgovernment, and what are the defects of which we were speaking?

First of all, I said, consider the nature of the qualification justthink what would happen if pilots were to be chosen according to theirproperty, and a poor man were refused permission to steer, even thoughhe were a better pilot?

You mean that they would shipwreck?

Yes; and is not this true of the government of anything?

I should imagine so.

Except a city?—or would you include a city?

Nay, he said, the case of a city is the strongest of all, inasmuch asthe rule of a city is the greatest and most difficult of all.

This, then, will be the first great defect of oligarchy?

Clearly.

And here is another defect which is quite as bad.

What defect?

The inevitable division: such a State is not one, but two States, theone of poor, the other of rich men; and they are living on the samespot and always conspiring against one another.

That, surely, is at least as bad.

Another discreditable feature is, that, for a like reason, they areincapable of carrying on any war. Either they arm the multitude, andthen they are more afraid of them than of the enemy; or, if they do notcall them out in the hour of battle, they are oligarchs indeed, few tofight as they are few to rule. And at the same time their fondness formoney makes them unwilling to pay taxes.

How discreditable!

And, as we said before, under such a constitution the same persons havetoo many callings—they are husbandmen, tradesmen, warriors, all inone. Does that look well?

Anything but well.

There is another evil which is, perhaps, the greatest of all, and towhich this State first begins to be liable.

What evil?

A man may sell all that he has, and another may acquire his property;yet after the sale he may dwell in the city of which he is no longer apart, being neither trader, nor artisan, nor horseman, nor hoplite, butonly a poor, helpless creature.

Yes, that is an evil which also first begins in this State.

The evil is certainly not prevented there; for oligarchies have boththe extremes of great wealth and utter poverty.

True.

But think again: In his wealthy days, while he was spending his money,was a man of this sort a whit more good to the State for the purposesof citizenship? Or did he only seem to be a member of the ruling body,although in truth he was neither ruler nor subject, but just aspendthrift?

As you say, he seemed to be a ruler, but was only a spendthrift.

May we not say that this is the drone in the house who is like thedrone in the honeycomb, and that the one is the plague of the city asthe other is of the hive?

Just so, Socrates.

And God has made the flying drones, Adeimantus, all without stings,whereas of the walking drones he has made some without stings butothers have dreadful stings; of the stingless class are those who intheir old age end as paupers; of the stingers come all the criminalclass, as they are termed.

Most true, he said.

Clearly then, whenever you see paupers in a State, somewhere in thatneighborhood there are hidden away thieves, and cutpurses and robbersof temples, and all sorts of malefactors.

Clearly.

Well, I said, and in oligarchical States do you not find paupers?

Yes, he said; nearly everybody is a pauper who is not a ruler.

And may we be so bold as to affirm that there are also many criminalsto be found in them, rogues who have stings, and whom the authoritiesare careful to restrain by force?

Certainly, we may be so bold.

The existence of such persons is to be attributed to want of education,ill-training, and an evil constitution of the State?

True.

Such, then, is the form and such are the evils of oligarchy; and theremay be many other evils.

Very likely.

Then oligarchy, or the form of government in which the rulers areelected for their wealth, may now be dismissed. Let us next proceed toconsider the nature and origin of the individual who answers to thisState.

By all means.

Does not the timocratical man change into the oligarchical on this wise?

How?

A time arrives when the representative of timocracy has a son: at firsthe begins by emulating his father and walking in his footsteps, butpresently he sees him of a sudden foundering against the State as upona sunken reef, and he and all that he has is lost; he may have been ageneral or some other high officer who is brought to trial under aprejudice raised by informers, and either put to death, or exiled, ordeprived of the privileges of a citizen, and all his property takenfrom him.

Nothing more likely.

And the son has seen and known all this—he is a ruined man, and hisfear has taught him to knock ambition and passion head-foremost fromhis bosom's throne; humbled by poverty he takes to money-making and bymean and miserly savings and hard work gets a fortune together. Is notsuch an one likely to seat the concupiscent and covetous element on thevacant throne and to suffer it to play the great king within him, girtwith tiara and chain and scimitar?

Most true, he replied.

And when he has made reason and spirit sit down on the groundobediently on either side of their sovereign, and taught them to knowtheir place, he compels the one to think only of how lesser sums may beturned into larger ones, and will not allow the other to worship andadmire anything but riches and rich men, or to be ambitious of anythingso much as the acquisition of wealth and the means of acquiring it.

Of all changes, he said, there is none so speedy or so sure as theconversion of the ambitious youth into the avaricious one.

And the avaricious, I said, is the oligarchical youth?

Yes, he said; at any rate the individual out of whom he came is likethe State out of which oligarchy came.

Let us then consider whether there is any likeness between them.

Very good.

First, then, they resemble one another in the value which they set uponwealth?

Certainly.

Also in their penurious, laborious character; the individual onlysatisfies his necessary appetites, and confines his expenditure tothem; his other desires he subdues, under the idea that they areunprofitable.

True.

He is a shabby fellow, who saves something out of everything and makesa purse for himself; and this is the sort of man whom the vulgarapplaud. Is he not a true image of the State which he represents?

He appears to me to be so; at any rate money is highly valued by him aswell as by the State.

You see that he is not a man of cultivation, I said.

I imagine not, he said; had he been educated he would never have made ablind god director of his chorus, or given him chief honour.

Excellent! I said. Yet consider: Must we not further admit thatowing to this want of cultivation there will be found in him dronelikedesires as of pauper and rogue, which are forcibly kept down by hisgeneral habit of life?

True.

Do you know where you will have to look if you want to discover hisrogueries?

Where must I look?

You should see him where he has some great opportunity of actingdishonestly, as in the guardianship of an orphan.

Aye.

It will be clear enough then that in his ordinary dealings which givehim a reputation for honesty he coerces his bad passions by an enforcedvirtue; not making them see that they are wrong, or taming them byreason, but by necessity and fear constraining them, and because hetrembles for his possessions.

To be sure.

Yes, indeed, my dear friend, but you will find that the natural desiresof the drone commonly exist in him all the same whenever he has tospend what is not his own.

Yes, and they will be strong in him too.

The man, then, will be at war with himself; he will be two men, and notone; but, in general, his better desires will be found to prevail overhis inferior ones.

True.

For these reasons such an one will be more respectable than mostpeople; yet the true virtue of a unanimous and harmonious soul willflee far away and never come near him.

I should expect so.

And surely, the miser individually will be an ignoble competitor in aState for any prize of victory, or other object of honourable ambition;he will not spend his money in the contest for glory; so afraid is heof awakening his expensive appetites and inviting them to help and joinin the struggle; in true oligarchical fashion he fights with a smallpart only of his resources, and the result commonly is that he losesthe prize and saves his money.

Very true.

Can we any longer doubt, then, that the miser and money-maker answersto the oligarchical State?

There can be no doubt.

Next comes democracy; of this the origin and nature have still to beconsidered by us; and then we will enquire into the ways of thedemocratic man, and bring him up for judgement.

That, he said, is our method.

Well, I said, and how does the change from oligarchy into democracyarise? Is it not on this wise?—The good at which such a State alms isto become as rich as possible, a desire which is insatiable?

What then?

The rulers, being aware that their power rests upon their wealth,refuse to curtail by law the extravagance of the spendthrift youthbecause they gain by their ruin; they take interest from them and buyup their estates and thus increase their own wealth and importance?

To be sure.

There can be no doubt that the love of wealth and the spirit ofmoderation cannot exist together in citizens of the same State to anyconsiderable extent; one or the other will be disregarded.

That is tolerably clear.

And in oligarchical States, from the general spread of carelessness andextravagance, men of good family have often been reduced to beggary?

Yes, often.

And still they remain in the city; there they are, ready to sting andfully armed, and some of them owe money, some have forfeited theircitizenship; a third class are in both predicaments; and they hate andconspire against those who have got their property, and againsteverybody else, and are eager for revolution.

That is true.

On the other hand, the men of business, stooping as they walk, andpretending not even to see those whom they have already ruined, inserttheir sting—that is, their money—into some one else who is not on hisguard against them, and recover the parent sum many times overmultiplied into a family of children: and so they make drone andpauper to abound in the State.

Yes, he said, there are plenty of them—that is certain.

The evil blazes up like a fire; and they will not extinguish it, eitherby restricting a man's use of his own property, or by another remedy:

What other?

One which is the next best, and has the advantage of compelling thecitizens to look to their characters:—Let there be a general rule thatevery one shall enter into voluntary contracts at his own risk, andthere will be less of this scandalous money-making, and the evils ofwhich we were speaking will be greatly lessened in the State.

Yes, they will be greatly lessened.

At present the governors, induced by the motives which I have named,treat their subjects badly; while they and their adherents, especiallythe young men of the governing class, are habituated to lead a life ofluxury and idleness both of body and mind; they do nothing, and areincapable of resisting either pleasure or pain.

Very true.

They themselves care only for making money, and are as indifferent asthe pauper to the cultivation of virtue.

Yes, quite as indifferent.

Such is the state of affairs which prevails among them. And oftenrulers and their subjects may come in one another's way, whether on apilgrimage or a march, as fellow-soldiers or fellow-sailors; aye, andthey may observe the behaviour of each other in the very moment ofdanger—for where danger is, there is no fear that the poor will bedespised by the rich—and very likely the wiry sunburnt poor man may beplaced in battle at the side of a wealthy one who has never spoilt hiscomplexion and has plenty of superfluous flesh—when he sees such anone puffing and at his wit's end, how can he avoid drawing theconclusion that men like him are only rich because no one has thecourage to despoil them? And when they meet in private will not peoplebe saying to one another 'Our warriors are not good for much'?

Yes, he said, I am quite aware that this is their way of talking.

And, as in a body which is diseased the addition of a touch fromwithout may bring on illness, and sometimes even when there is noexternal provocation a commotion may arise within-in the same waywherever there is weakness in the State there is also likely to beillness, of which the occasions may be very slight, the one partyintroducing from without their oligarchical, the other theirdemocratical allies, and then the State falls sick, and is at war withherself; and may be at times distracted, even when there is no externalcause.

Yes, surely.

And then democracy comes into being after the poor have conquered theiropponents, slaughtering some and banishing some, while to the remainderthey give an equal share of freedom and power; and this is the form ofgovernment in which the magistrates are commonly elected by lot.

Yes, he said, that is the nature of democracy, whether the revolutionhas been effected by arms, or whether fear has caused the oppositeparty to withdraw.

And now what is their manner of life, and what sort of a governmenthave they? for as the government is, such will be the man.

Clearly, he said.

In the first place, are they not free; and is not the city full offreedom and frankness—a man may say and do what he likes?

'Tis said so, he replied.

And where freedom is, the individual is clearly able to order forhimself his own life as he pleases?

Clearly.

Then in this kind of State there will be the greatest variety of humannatures?

There will.

This, then, seems likely to be the fairest of States, being anembroidered robe which is spangled with every sort of flower. And justas women and children think a variety of colours to be of all thingsmost charming, so there are many men to whom this State, which isspangled with the manners and characters of mankind, will appear to bethe fairest of States.

Yes.

Yes, my good Sir, and there will be no better in which to look for agovernment.

Why?

Because of the liberty which reigns there—they have a completeassortment of constitutions; and he who has a mind to establish aState, as we have been doing, must go to a democracy as he would to abazaar at which they sell them, and pick out the one that suits him;then, when he has made his choice, he may found his State.

He will be sure to have patterns enough.

And there being no necessity, I said, for you to govern in this State,even if you have the capacity, or to be governed, unless you like, orgo to war when the rest go to war, or to be at peace when others are atpeace, unless you are so disposed—there being no necessity also,because some law forbids you to hold office or be a dicast, that youshould not hold office or be a dicast, if you have a fancy—is not thisa way of life which for the moment is supremely delightful

For the moment, yes.

And is not their humanity to the condemned in some cases quitecharming? Have you not observed how, in a democracy, many persons,although they have been sentenced to death or exile, just stay wherethey are and walk about the world—the gentleman parades like a hero,and nobody sees or cares?

Yes, he replied, many and many a one.

See too, I said, the forgiving spirit of democracy, and the 'don'tcare' about trifles, and the disregard which she shows of all the fineprinciples which we solemnly laid down at the foundation of thecity—as when we said that, except in the case of some rarely giftednature, there never will be a good man who has not from his childhoodbeen used to play amid things of beauty and make of them a joy and astudy—how grandly does she trample all these fine notions of oursunder her feet, never giving a thought to the pursuits which make astatesman, and promoting to honour any one who professes to be thepeople's friend.

Yes, she is of a noble spirit.

These and other kindred characteristics are proper to democracy, whichis a charming form of government, full of variety and disorder, anddispensing a sort of equality to equals and unequals alike.

We know her well.

Consider now, I said, what manner of man the individual is, or ratherconsider, as in the case of the State, how he comes into being.

Very good, he said.

Is not this the way—he is the son of the miserly and oligarchicalfather who has trained him in his own habits?

Exactly.

And, like his father, he keeps under by force the pleasures which areof the spending and not of the getting sort, being those which arecalled unnecessary?

Obviously.

Would you like, for the sake of clearness, to distinguish which are thenecessary and which are the unnecessary pleasures?

I should.

Are not necessary pleasures those of which we cannot get rid, and ofwhich the satisfaction is a benefit to us? And they are rightly so,because we are framed by nature to desire both what is beneficial andwhat is necessary, and cannot help it.

True.

We are not wrong therefore in calling them necessary?

We are not.

And the desires of which a man may get rid, if he takes pains from hisyouth upwards—of which the presence, moreover, does no good, and insome cases the reverse of good—shall we not be right in saying thatall these are unnecessary?

Yes, certainly.

Suppose we select an example of either kind, in order that we may havea general notion of them?

Very good.

Will not the desire of eating, that is, of simple food and condiments,in so far as they are required for health and strength, be of thenecessary class?

That is what I should suppose.

The pleasure of eating is necessary in two ways; it does us good and itis essential to the continuance of life?

Yes.

But the condiments are only necessary in so far as they are good forhealth?

Certainly.

And the desire which goes beyond this, or more delicate food, or otherluxuries, which might generally be got rid of, if controlled andtrained in youth, and is hurtful to the body, and hurtful to the soulin the pursuit of wisdom and virtue, may be rightly called unnecessary?

Very true.

May we not say that these desires spend, and that the others make moneybecause they conduce to production?

Certainly.

And of the pleasures of love, and all other pleasures, the same holdsgood?

True.

And the drone of whom we spoke was he who was surfeited in pleasuresand desires of this sort, and was the slave of the unnecessary desires,whereas he who was subject o the necessary only was miserly andoligarchical?

Very true.

Again, let us see how the democratical man grows out of theoligarchical: the following, as I suspect, is commonly the process.

What is the process?

When a young man who has been brought up as we were just nowdescribing, in a vulgar and miserly way, has tasted drones' honey andhas come to associate with fierce and crafty natures who are able toprovide for him all sorts of refinements and varieties ofpleasure—then, as you may imagine, the change will begin of theoligarchical principle within him into the democratical?

Inevitably.

And as in the city like was helping like, and the change was effectedby an alliance from without assisting one division of the citizens, sotoo the young man is changed by a class of desires coming from withoutto assist the desires within him, that which is and alike again helpingthat which is akin and alike?

Certainly.

And if there be any ally which aids the oligarchical principle withinhim, whether the influence of a father or of kindred, advising orrebuking him, then there arises in his soul a faction and an oppositefaction, and he goes to war with himself.

It must be so.

And there are times when the democratical principle gives way to theoligarchical, and some of his desires die, and others are banished; aspirit of reverence enters into the young man's soul and order isrestored.

Yes, he said, that sometimes happens.

And then, again, after the old desires have been driven out, fresh onesspring up, which are akin to them, and because he, their father, doesnot know how to educate them, wax fierce and numerous.

Yes, he said, that is apt to be the way.

They draw him to his old associates, and holding secret intercoursewith them, breed and multiply in him.

Very true.

At length they seize upon the citadel of the young man's soul, whichthey perceive to be void of all accomplishments and fair pursuits andtrue words, which make their abode in the minds of men who are dear tothe gods, and are their best guardians and sentinels.

None better.

False and boastful conceits and phrases mount upwards and take theirplace.

They are certain to do so.

And so the young man returns into the country of the lotus-eaters, andtakes up his dwelling there in the face of all men; and if any help besent by his friends to the oligarchical part of him, the aforesaid vainconceits shut the gate of the king's fastness; and they will neitherallow the embassy itself to enter, private if private advisers offerthe fatherly counsel of the aged will they listen to them or receivethem. There is a battle and they gain the day, and then modesty, whichthey call silliness, is ignominiously thrust into exile by them, andtemperance, which they nickname unmanliness, is trampled in the mireand cast forth; they persuade men that moderation and orderlyexpenditure are vulgarity and meanness, and so, by the help of a rabbleof evil appetites, they drive them beyond the border.

Yes, with a will.

And when they have emptied and swept clean the soul of him who is nowin their power and who is being initiated by them in great mysteries,the next thing is to bring back to their house insolence and anarchyand waste and impudence in bright array having garlands on their heads,and a great company with them, hymning their praises and calling themby sweet names; insolence they term breeding, and anarchy liberty, andwaste magnificence, and impudence courage. And so the young man passesout of his original nature, which was trained in the school ofnecessity, into the freedom and libertinism of useless and unnecessarypleasures.

Yes, he said, the change in him is visible enough.

After this he lives on, spending his money and labour and time onunnecessary pleasures quite as much as on necessary ones; but if he befortunate, and is not too much disordered in his wits, when years haveelapsed, and the heyday of passion is over—supposing that he thenre-admits into the city some part of the exiled virtues, and does notwholly give himself up to their successors—in that case he balanceshis pleasures and lives in a sort of equilibrium, putting thegovernment of himself into the hands of the one which comes first andwins the turn; and when he has had enough of that, then into the handsof another; he despises none of them but encourages them all equally.

Very true, he said.

Neither does he receive or let pass into the fortress any true word ofadvice; if any one says to him that some pleasures are thesatisfactions of good and noble desires, and others of evil desires,and that he ought to use and honour some and chastise and master theothers—whenever this is repeated to him he shakes his head and saysthat they are all alike, and that one is as good as another.

Yes, he said; that is the way with him.

Yes, I said, he lives from day to day indulging the appetite of thehour; and sometimes he is lapped in drink and strains of the flute;then he becomes a water-drinker, and tries to get thin; then he takes aturn at gymnastics; sometimes idling and neglecting everything, thenonce more living the life of a philosopher; often he-is busy withpolitics, and starts to his feet and says and does whatever comes intohis head; and, if he is emulous of any one who is a warrior, off he isin that direction, or of men of business, once more in that. His lifehas neither law nor order; and this distracted existence he terms joyand bliss and freedom; and so he goes on.

Yes, he replied, he is all liberty and equality.

Yes, I said; his life is motley and manifold and an epitome of thelives of many;—he answers to the State which we described as fair andspangled. And many a man and many a woman will take him for theirpattern, and many a constitution and many an example of manners iscontained in him.

Just so.

Let him then be set over against democracy; he may truly be called thedemocratic man.

Let that be his place, he said.

Last of all comes the most beautiful of all, man and State alike,tyranny and the tyrant; these we have now to consider.

Quite true, he said.

Say then, my friend, in what manner does tyranny arise?—that it has ademocratic origin is evident.

Clearly.

And does not tyranny spring from democracy in the same manner asdemocracy from oligarchy—I mean, after a sort?

How?

The good which oligarchy proposed to itself and the means by which itwas maintained was excess of wealth—am I not right?

Yes.

And the insatiable desire of wealth and the neglect of all other thingsfor the sake of money-getting was also the ruin of oligarchy?

True.

And democracy has her own good, of which the insatiable desire bringsher to dissolution?

What good?

Freedom, I replied; which, as they tell you in a democracy, is theglory of the State—and that therefore in a democracy alone will thefreeman of nature deign to dwell.

Yes; the saying is in everybody's mouth.

I was going to observe, that the insatiable desire of this and theneglect of other things introduces the change in democracy, whichoccasions a demand for tyranny.

How so?

When a democracy which is thirsting for freedom has evil cupbearerspresiding over the feast, and has drunk too deeply of the strong wineof freedom, then, unless her rulers are very amenable and give aplentiful draught, she calls them to account and punishes them, andsays that they are cursed oligarchs.

Yes, he replied, a very common occurrence.

Yes, I said; and loyal citizens are insultingly termed by her slaveswho hug their chains and men of naught; she would have subjects who arelike rulers, and rulers who are like subjects: these are men after herown heart, whom she praises and honours both in private and public.Now, in such a State, can liberty have any limit?

Certainly not.

By degrees the anarchy finds a way into private houses, and ends bygetting among the animals and infecting them.

How do you mean?

I mean that the father grows accustomed to descend to the level of hissons and to fear them, and the son is on a level with his father, hehaving no respect or reverence for either of his parents; and this ishis freedom, and metic is equal with the citizen and the citizen withthe metic, and the stranger is quite as good as either.

Yes, he said, that is the way.

And these are not the only evils, I said—there are several lesserones: In such a state of society the master fears and flatters hisscholars, and the scholars despise their masters and tutors; young andold are all alike; and the young man is on a level with the old, and isready to compete with him in word or deed; and old men condescend tothe young and are full of pleasantry and gaiety; they are loth to bethought morose and authoritative, and therefore they adopt the mannersof the young.

Quite true, he said.

The last extreme of popular liberty is when the slave bought withmoney, whether male or female, is just as free as his or her purchaser;nor must I forget to tell of the liberty and equality of the two sexesin relation to each other.

Why not, as Aeschylus says, utter the word which rises to our lips?

That is what I am doing, I replied; and I must add that no one who doesnot know would believe, how much greater is the liberty which theanimals who are under the dominion of man have in a democracy than inany other State: for truly, the she-dogs, as the proverb says, are asgood as their she-mistresses, and the horses and asses have a way ofmarching along with all the rights and dignities of freemen; and theywill run at anybody who comes in their way if he does not leave theroad clear for them: and all things are just ready to burst withliberty.

When I take a country walk, he said, I often experience what youdescribe. You and I have dreamed the same thing.

And above all, I said, and as the result of all, see how sensitive thecitizens become; they chafe impatiently at the least touch of authorityand at length, as you know, they cease to care even for the laws,written or unwritten; they will have no one over them.

Yes, he said, I know it too well.

Such, my friend, I said, is the fair and glorious beginning out ofwhich springs tyranny.

Glorious indeed, he said. But what is the next step?

The ruin of oligarchy is the ruin of democracy; the same diseasemagnified and intensified by liberty overmasters democracy—the truthbeing that the excessive increase of anything often causes a reactionin the opposite direction; and this is the case not only in the seasonsand in vegetable and animal life, but above all in forms of government.

True.

The excess of liberty, whether in States or individuals, seems only topass into excess of slavery.

Yes, the natural order.

And so tyranny naturally arises out of democracy, and the mostaggravated form of tyranny and slavery out of the most extreme form ofliberty?

As we might expect.

That, however, was not, as I believe, your question-you rather desiredto know what is that disorder which is generated alike in oligarchy anddemocracy, and is the ruin of both?

Just so, he replied.

Well, I said, I meant to refer to the class of idle spendthrifts, ofwhom the more courageous are the-leaders and the more timid thefollowers, the same whom we were comparing to drones, some stingless,and others having stings.

A very just comparison.

These two classes are the plagues of every city in which they aregenerated, being what phlegm and bile are to the body. And the goodphysician and lawgiver of the State ought, like the wise bee-master, tokeep them at a distance and prevent, if possible, their ever coming in;and if they have anyhow found a way in, then he should have them andtheir cells cut out as speedily as possible.

Yes, by all means, he said.

Then, in order that we may see clearly what we are doing, let usimagine democracy to be divided, as indeed it is, into three classes;for in the first place freedom creates rather more drones in thedemocratic than there were in the oligarchical State.

That is true.

And in the democracy they are certainly more intensified.

How so?

Because in the oligarchical State they are disqualified and driven fromoffice, and therefore they cannot train or gather strength; whereas ina democracy they are almost the entire ruling power, and while thekeener sort speak and act, the rest keep buzzing about the bema and donot suffer a word to be said on the other side; hence in democraciesalmost everything is managed by the drones.

Very true, he said.

Then there is another class which is always being severed from the mass.

What is that?

They are the orderly class, which in a nation of traders sure to be therichest.

Naturally so.

They are the most squeezable persons and yield the largest amount ofhoney to the drones.

Why, he said, there is little to be squeezed out of people who havelittle.

And this is called the wealthy class, and the drones feed upon them.

That is pretty much the case, he said.

The people are a third class, consisting of those who work with theirown hands; they are not politicians, and have not much to live upon.This, when assembled, is the largest and most powerful class in ademocracy.

True, he said; but then the multitude is seldom willing to congregateunless they get a little honey.

And do they not share? I said. Do not their leaders deprive the richof their estates and distribute them among the people; at the same timetaking care to reserve the larger part for themselves?

Why, yes, he said, to that extent the people do share.

And the persons whose property is taken from them are compelled todefend themselves before the people as they best can?

What else can they do?

And then, although they may have no desire of change, the others chargethem with plotting against the people and being friends of oligarchy?True.

And the end is that when they see the people, not of their own accord,but through ignorance, and because they are deceived by informers,seeking to do them wrong, then at last they are forced to becomeoligarchs in reality; they do not wish to be, but the sting of thedrones torments them and breeds revolution in them.

That is exactly the truth.

Then come impeachments and judgments and trials of one another.

True.

The people have always some champion whom they set over them and nurseinto greatness.

Yes, that is their way.

This and no other is the root from which a tyrant springs; when hefirst appears above ground he is a protector.

Yes, that is quite clear.

How then does a protector begin to change into a tyrant? Clearly whenhe does what the man is said to do in the tale of the Arcadian templeof Lycaean Zeus.

What tale?

The tale is that he who has tasted the entrails of a single humanvictim minced up with the entrails of other victims is destined tobecome a wolf. Did you never hear it?

Oh, yes.

And the protector of the people is like him; having a mob entirely athis disposal, he is not restrained from shedding the blood of kinsmen;by the favourite method of false accusation he brings them into courtand murders them, making the life of man to disappear, and with unholytongue and lips tasting the blood of his fellow citizen; some he killsand others he banishes, at the same time hinting at the abolition ofdebts and partition of lands: and after this, what will be hisdestiny? Must he not either perish at the hands of his enemies, orfrom being a man become a wolf—that is, a tyrant?

Inevitably.

This, I said, is he who begins to make a party against the rich?

The same.

After a while he is driven out, but comes back, in spite of hisenemies, a tyrant full grown.

That is clear.

And if they are unable to expel him, or to get him condemned to deathby a public accusation, they conspire to assassinate him.

Yes, he said, that is their usual way.

Then comes the famous request for a bodyguard, which is the device ofall those who have got thus far in their tyrannical career—'Let notthe people's friend,' as they say, 'be lost to them.'

Exactly.

The people readily assent; all their fears are for him—they have nonefor themselves.

Very true.

And when a man who is wealthy and is also accused of being an enemy ofthe people sees this, then, my friend, as the oracle said to Croesus,

    By pebbly Hermus' shore he flees and rests not and is not
    ashamed to be a coward.

And quite right too, said he, for if he were, he would never be ashamedagain.

But if he is caught he dies.

Of course.

And he, the protector of whom we spoke, is to be seen, not 'larding theplain' with his bulk, but himself the overthrower of many, standing upin the chariot of State with the reins in his hand, no longerprotector, but tyrant absolute.

No doubt, he said.

And now let us consider the happiness of the man, and also of the Statein which a creature like him is generated.

Yes, he said, let us consider that.

At first, in the early days of his power, he is full of smiles, and hesalutes every one whom he meets;—he to be called a tyrant, who ismaking promises in public and also in private! liberating debtors, anddistributing land to the people and his followers, and wanting to be sokind and good to every one!

Of course, he said.

But when he has disposed of foreign enemies by conquest or treaty, andthere is nothing to fear from them, then he is always stirring up somewar or other, in order that the people may require a leader.

To be sure.

Has he not also another object, which is that they may be impoverishedby payment of taxes, and thus compelled to devote themselves to theirdaily wants and therefore less likely to conspire against him? Clearly.

And if any of them are suspected by him of having notions of freedom,and of resistance to his authority, he will have a good pretext fordestroying them by placing them at the mercy of the enemy; and for allthese reasons the tyrant must be always getting up a war.

He must.

Now he begins to grow unpopular.

A necessary result.

Then some of those who joined in setting him up, and who are in power,speak their minds to him and to one another, and the more courageous ofthem cast in his teeth what is being done.

Yes, that may be expected.

And the tyrant, if he means to rule, must get rid of them; he cannotstop while he has a friend or an enemy who is good for anything.

He cannot.

And therefore he must look about him and see who is valiant, who ishigh-minded, who is wise, who is wealthy; happy man, he is the enemy ofthem all, and must seek occasion against them whether he will or no,until he has made a purgation of the State.

Yes, he said, and a rare purgation.

Yes, I said, not the sort of purgation which the physicians make of thebody; for they take away the worse and leave the better part, but hedoes the reverse.

If he is to rule, I suppose that he cannot help himself.

What a blessed alternative, I said:—to be compelled to dwell only withthe many bad, and to be by them hated, or not to live at all!

Yes, that is the alternative.

And the more detestable his actions are to the citizens the moresatellites and the greater devotion in them will he require?

Certainly.

And who are the devoted band, and where will he procure them?

They will flock to him, he said, of their own accord, if lie pays them.

By the dog! I said, here are more drones, of every sort and from everyland.

Yes, he said, there are.

But will he not desire to get them on the spot?

How do you mean?

He will rob the citizens of their slaves; he will then set them freeand enrol them in his bodyguard.

To be sure, he said; and he will be able to trust them best of all.

What a blessed creature, I said, must this tyrant be; he has put todeath the others and has these for his trusted friends.

Yes, he said; they are quite of his sort.

Yes, I said, and these are the new citizens whom he has called intoexistence, who admire him and are his companions, while the good hateand avoid him.

Of course.

Verily, then, tragedy is a wise thing and Euripides a great tragedian.

Why so?

Why, because he is the author of the pregnant saying,

Tyrants are wise by living with the wise;

and he clearly meant to say that they are the wise whom the tyrantmakes his companions.

Yes, he said, and he also praises tyranny as godlike; and many otherthings of the same kind are said by him and by the other poets.

And therefore, I said, the tragic poets being wise men will forgive usand any others who live after our manner if we do not receive them intoour State, because they are the eulogists of tyranny.

Yes, he said, those who have the wit will doubtless forgive us.

But they will continue to go to other cities and attract mobs, and hirevoices fair and loud and persuasive, and draw the cities over totyrannies and democracies.

Very true.

Moreover, they are paid for this and receive honour—the greatesthonour, as might be expected, from tyrants, and the next greatest fromdemocracies; but the higher they ascend our constitution hill, the moretheir reputation fails, and seems unable from shortness of breath toproceed further.

True.

But we are wandering from the subject: Let us therefore return andenquire how the tyrant will maintain that fair and numerous and variousand ever-changing army of his.

If, he said, there are sacred treasures in the city, he will confiscateand spend them; and in so far as the fortunes of attainted persons maysuffice, he will be able to diminish the taxes which he would otherwisehave to impose upon the people.

And when these fail?

Why, clearly, he said, then he and his boon companions, whether male orfemale, will be maintained out of his father's estate.

You mean to say that the people, from whom he has derived his being,will maintain him and his companions?

Yes, he said; they cannot help themselves.

But what if the people fly into a passion, and aver that a grown-up sonought not to be supported by his father, but that the father should besupported by the son? The father did not bring him into being, orsettle him in life, in order that when his son became a man he shouldhimself be the servant of his own servants and should support him andhis rabble of slaves and companions; but that his son should protecthim, and that by his help he might be emancipated from the governmentof the rich and aristocratic, as they are termed. And so he bids himand his companions depart, just as any other father might drive out ofthe house a riotous son and his undesirable associates.

By heaven, he said, then the parent will discover what a monster he hasbeen fostering in his bosom; and, when he wants to drive him out, hewill find that he is weak and his son strong.

Why, you do not mean to say that the tyrant will use violence? What!beat his father if he opposes him?

Yes, he will, having first disarmed him.

Then he is a parricide, and a cruel guardian of an aged parent; andthis is real tyranny, about which there can be no longer a mistake: asthe saying is, the people who would escape the smoke which is theslavery of freemen, has fallen into the fire which is the tyranny ofslaves. Thus liberty, getting out of all order and reason, passes intothe harshest and bitterest form of slavery.

True, he said.

Very well; and may we not rightly say that we have sufficientlydiscussed the nature of tyranny, and the manner of the transition fromdemocracy to tyranny?

Yes, quite enough, he said.

BOOK IX

SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS

LAST of all comes the tyrannical man; about whom we have once more toask, how is he formed out of the democratical? and how does he live, inhappiness or in misery?

Yes, he said, he is the only one remaining.

There is, however, I said, a previous question which remains unanswered.

What question?

I do not think that we have adequately determined the nature and numberof the appetites, and until this is accomplished the enquiry willalways be confused.

Well, he said, it is not too late to supply the omission.

Very true, I said; and observe the point which I want to understand:Certain of the unnecessary pleasures and appetites I conceive to beunlawful; every one appears to have them, but in some persons they arecontrolled by the laws and by reason, and the better desires prevailover them-either they are wholly banished or they become few and weak;while in the case of others they are stronger, and there are more ofthem.

Which appetites do you mean?

I mean those which are awake when the reasoning and human and rulingpower is asleep; then the wild beast within us, gorged with meat ordrink, starts up and having shaken off sleep, goes forth to satisfy hisdesires; and there is no conceivable folly or crime—not exceptingincest or any other unnatural union, or parricide, or the eating offorbidden food—which at such a time, when he has parted company withall shame and sense, a man may not be ready to commit.

Most true, he said.

But when a man's pulse is healthy and temperate, and when before goingto sleep he has awakened his rational powers, and fed them on noblethoughts and enquiries, collecting himself in meditation; after havingfirst indulged his appetites neither too much nor too little, but justenough to lay them to sleep, and prevent them and their enjoyments andpains from interfering with the higher principle—which he leaves inthe solitude of pure abstraction, free to contemplate and aspire to theknowledge of the unknown, whether in past, present, or future: whenagain he has allayed the passionate element, if he has a quarrelagainst any one—I say, when, after pacifying the two irrationalprinciples, he rouses up the third, which is reason, before he takeshis rest, then, as you know, he attains truth most nearly, and is leastlikely to be the sport of fantastic and lawless visions.

I quite agree.

In saying this I have been running into a digression; but the pointwhich I desire to note is that in all of us, even in good men, there isa lawless wild-beast nature, which peers out in sleep. Pray, considerwhether I am right, and you agree with me.

Yes, I agree.

And now remember the character which we attributed to the democraticman. He was supposed from his youth upwards to have been trained undera miserly parent, who encouraged the saving appetites in him, butdiscountenanced the unnecessary, which aim only at amusement andornament?

True.

And then he got into the company of a more refined, licentious sort ofpeople, and taking to all their wanton ways rushed into the oppositeextreme from an abhorrence of his father's meanness. At last, being abetter man than his corruptors, he was drawn in both directions untilhe halted midway and led a life, not of vulgar and slavish passion, butof what he deemed moderate indulgence in various pleasures. After thismanner the democrat was generated out of the oligarch?

Yes, he said; that was our view of him, and is so still.

And now, I said, years will have passed away, and you must conceivethis man, such as he is, to have a son, who is brought up in hisfather's principles.

I can imagine him.

Then you must further imagine the same thing to happen to the son whichhas already happened to the father:—he is drawn into a perfectlylawless life, which by his seducers is termed perfect liberty; and hisfather and friends take part with his moderate desires, and theopposite party assist the opposite ones. As soon as these diremagicians and tyrant-makers find that they are losing their hold onhim, they contrive to implant in him a master passion, to be lord overhis idle and spendthrift lusts—a sort of monstrous winged drone—thatis the only image which will adequately describe him.

Yes, he said, that is the only adequate image of him.

And when his other lusts, amid clouds of incense and perfumes andgarlands and wines, and all the pleasures of a dissolute life, now letloose, come buzzing around him, nourishing to the utmost the sting ofdesire which they implant in his drone-like nature, then at last thislord of the soul, having Madness for the captain of his guard, breaksout into a frenzy: and if he finds in himself any good opinions orappetites in process of formation, and there is in him any sense ofshame remaining, to these better principles he puts an end, and caststhem forth until he has purged away temperance and brought in madnessto the full.

Yes, he said, that is the way in which the tyrannical man is generated.

And is not this the reason why of old love has been called a tyrant?

I should not wonder.

Further, I said, has not a drunken man also the spirit of a tyrant?

He has.

And you know that a man who is deranged and not right in his mind, willfancy that he is able to rule, not only over men, but also over thegods?

That he will.

And the tyrannical man in the true sense of the word comes into beingwhen, either under the influence of nature, or habit, or both, hebecomes drunken, lustful, passionate? O my friend, is not that so?

Assuredly.

Such is the man and such is his origin. And next, how does he live?

Suppose, as people facetiously say, you were to tell me.

I imagine, I said, at the next step in his progress, that there will befeasts and carousals and revellings and courtezans, and all that sortof thing; Love is the lord of the house within him, and orders all theconcerns of his soul.

That is certain.

Yes; and every day and every night desires grow up many and formidable,and their demands are many.

They are indeed, he said.

His revenues, if he has any, are soon spent.

True.

Then comes debt and the cutting down of his property.

Of course.

When he has nothing left, must not his desires, crowding in the nestlike young ravens, be crying aloud for food; and he, goaded on by them,and especially by love himself, who is in a manner the captain of them,is in a frenzy, and would fain discover whom he can defraud or despoilof his property, in order that he may gratify them?

Yes, that is sure to be the case.

He must have money, no matter how, if he is to escape horrid pains andpangs.

He must.

And as in himself there was a succession of pleasures, and the new gotthe better of the old and took away their rights, so he being youngerwill claim to have more than his father and his mother, and if he hasspent his own share of the property, he will take a slice of theirs.

No doubt he will.

And if his parents will not give way, then he will try first of all tocheat and deceive them.

Very true.

And if he fails, then he will use force and plunder them.

Yes, probably.

And if the old man and woman fight for their own, what then, my friend?
Will the creature feel any compunction at tyrannizing over them?

Nay, he said, I should not feel at all comfortable about his parents.

But, O heavens! Adeimantus, on account of some newfangled love of aharlot, who is anything but a necessary connection, can you believethat he would strike the mother who is his ancient friend and necessaryto his very existence, and would place her under the authority of theother, when she is brought under the same roof with her; or that, underlike circumstances, he would do the same to his withered old father,first and most indispensable of friends, for the sake of some newlyfound blooming youth who is the reverse of indispensable?

Yes, indeed, he said; I believe that he would.

Truly, then, I said, a tyrannical son is a blessing to his father andmother.

He is indeed, he replied.

He first takes their property, and when that falls, and pleasures arebeginning to swarm in the hive of his soul, then he breaks into ahouse, or steals the garments of some nightly wayfarer; next heproceeds to clear a temple. Meanwhile the old opinions which he hadwhen a child, and which gave judgment about good and evil, areoverthrown by those others which have just been emancipated, and arenow the bodyguard of love and share his empire. These in hisdemocratic days, when he was still subject to the laws and to hisfather, were only let loose in the dreams of sleep. But now that he isunder the dominion of love, he becomes always and in waking realitywhat he was then very rarely and in a dream only; he will commit thefoulest murder, or eat forbidden food, or be guilty of any other horridact. Love is his tyrant, and lives lordly in him and lawlessly, andbeing himself a king, leads him on, as a tyrant leads a State, to theperformance of any reckless deed by which he can maintain himself andthe rabble of his associates, whether those whom evil communicationshave brought in from without, or those whom he himself has allowed tobreak loose within him by reason of a similar evil nature in himself.Have we not here a picture of his way of life?

Yes, indeed, he said.

And if there are only a few of them in the State, the rest of thepeople are well disposed, they go away and become the bodyguard ormercenary soldiers of some other tyrant who may probably want them fora war; and if there is no war, they stay at home and do many littlepieces of mischief in the city.

What sort of mischief?

For example, they are the thieves, burglars, cutpurses, footpads,robbers of temples, man-stealers of the community; or if they are ableto speak they turn informers, and bear false witness, and take bribes.

A small catalogue of evils, even if the perpetrators of them are few innumber.

Yes, I said; but small and great are comparative terms, and all thesethings, in the misery and evil which they inflict upon a State, do notcome within a thousand miles of the tyrant; when this noxious class andtheir followers grow numerous and become conscious of their strength,assisted by the infatuation of the people, they choose from amongthemselves the one who has most of the tyrant in his own soul, and himthey create their tyrant.

Yes, he said, and he will be the most fit to be a tyrant.

If the people yield, well and good; but if they resist him, as he beganby beating his own father and mother, so now, if he has the power, hebeats them, and will keep his dear old fatherland or motherland, as theCretans say, in subjection to his young retainers whom he hasintroduced to be their rulers and masters. This is the end of hispassions and desires.

Exactly.

When such men are only private individuals and before they get power,this is their character; they associate entirely with their ownflatterers or ready tools; or if they want anything from anybody, theyin their turn are equally ready to bow down before them: they professevery sort of affection for them; but when they have gained their pointthey know them no more.

Yes, truly.

They are always either the masters or servants and never the friends ofanybody; the tyrant never tastes of true freedom or friendship.

Certainly not.

And may we not rightly call such men treacherous?

No question.

Also they are utterly unjust, if we were right in our notion of justice?

Yes, he said, and we were perfectly right.

Let us then sum up in a word, I said, the character of the worst man:he is the waking reality of what we dreamed.

Most true.

And this is he who being by nature most of a tyrant bears rule, and thelonger he lives the more of a tyrant he becomes.

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

That is certain, said Glaucon, taking his turn to answer.

And will not he who has been shown to be the wickedest, be also themost miserable? and he who has tyrannized longest and most, mostcontinually and truly miserable; although this may not be the opinionof men in general?

Yes, he said, inevitably.

And must not the tyrannical man be like the tyrannical, State, and thedemocratical man like the democratical State; and the same of theothers?

Certainly.

And as State is to State in virtue and happiness, so is man in relationto man?

To be sure.

Then comparing our original city, which was under a king, and the citywhich is under a tyrant, how do they stand as to virtue?

They are the opposite extremes, he said, for one is the very best andthe other is the very worst.

There can be no mistake, I said, as to which is which, and therefore Iwill at once enquire whether you would arrive at a similar decisionabout their relative happiness and misery. And here we must not allowourselves to be panic-stricken at the apparition of the tyrant, who isonly a unit and may perhaps have a few retainers about him; but let usgo as we ought into every corner of the city and look all about, andthen we will give our opinion.

A fair invitation, he replied; and I see, as every one must, that atyranny is the wretchedest form of government, and the rule of a kingthe happiest.

And in estimating the men too, may I not fairly make a like request,that I should have a judge whose mind can enter into and see throughhuman nature? He must not be like a child who looks at the outside andis dazzled at the pompous aspect which the tyrannical nature assumes tothe beholder, but let him be one who has a clear insight. May Isuppose that the judgment is given in the hearing of us all by one whois able to judge, and has dwelt in the same place with him, and beenpresent at his dally life and known him in his family relations, wherehe may be seen stripped of his tragedy attire, and again in the hour ofpublic danger—he shall tell us about the happiness and misery of thetyrant when compared with other men?

That again, he said, is a very fair proposal.

Shall I assume that we ourselves are able and experienced judges andhave before now met with such a person? We shall then have some onewho will answer our enquiries.

By all means.

Let me ask you not to forget the parallel of the individual and theState; bearing this in mind, and glancing in turn from one to the otherof them, will you tell me their respective conditions?

What do you mean? he asked.

Beginning with the State, I replied, would you say that a city which isgoverned by a tyrant is free or enslaved?

No city, he said, can be more completely enslaved.

And yet, as you see, there are freemen as well as masters in such a
State?

Yes, he said, I see that there are—a few; but the people, speakinggenerally, and the best of them, are miserably degraded and enslaved.

Then if the man is like the State, I said, must not the same ruleprevail? his soul is full of meanness and vulgarity—the best elementsin him are enslaved; and there is a small ruling part, which is alsothe worst and maddest.

Inevitably.

And would you say that the soul of such an one is the soul of afreeman, or of a slave?

He has the soul of a slave, in my opinion.

And the State which is enslaved under a tyrant is utterly incapable ofacting voluntarily?

Utterly incapable.

And also the soul which is under a tyrant (I am speaking of the soultaken as a whole) is least capable of doing what she desires; there isa gadfly which goads her, and she is full of trouble and remorse?

Certainly.

And is the city which is under a tyrant rich or poor?

Poor.

And the tyrannical soul must be always poor and insatiable?

True.

And must not such a State and such a man be always full of fear?

Yes, indeed.

Is there any State in which you will find more of lamentation andsorrow and groaning and pain?

Certainly not.

And is there any man in whom you will find more of this sort of miserythan in the tyrannical man, who is in a fury of passions and desires?

Impossible.

Reflecting upon these and similar evils, you held the tyrannical Stateto be the most miserable of States?

And I was right, he said.

Certainly, I said. And when you see the same evils in the tyrannicalman, what do you say of him?

I say that he is by far the most miserable of all men.

There, I said, I think that you are beginning to go wrong.

What do you mean?

I do not think that he has as yet reached the utmost extreme of misery.

Then who is more miserable?

One of whom I am about to speak.

Who is that?

He who is of a tyrannical nature, and instead of leading a private lifehas been cursed with the further misfortune of being a public tyrant.

From what has been said, I gather that you are right.

Yes, I replied, but in this high argument you should be a little morecertain, and should not conjecture only; for of all questions, thisrespecting good and evil is the greatest.

Very true, he said.

Let me then offer you an illustration, which may, I think, throw alight upon this subject.

What is your illustration?

The case of rich individuals in cities who possess many slaves: fromthem you may form an idea of the tyrant's condition, for they both haveslaves; the only difference is that he has more slaves.

Yes, that is the difference.

You know that they live securely and have nothing to apprehend fromtheir servants?

What should they fear?

Nothing. But do you observe the reason of this?

Yes; the reason is, that the whole city is leagued together for theprotection of each individual.

Very true, I said. But imagine one of these owners, the master say ofsome fifty slaves, together with his family and property and slaves,carried off by a god into the wilderness, where there are no freemen tohelp him—will he not be in an agony of fear lest he and his wife andchildren should be put to death by his slaves?

Yes, he said, he will be in the utmost fear.

The time has arrived when he will be compelled to flatter divers of hisslaves, and make many promises to them of freedom and other things,much against his will—he will have to cajole his own servants.

Yes, he said, that will be the only way of saving himself.

And suppose the same god, who carried him away, to surround him withneighbours who will not suffer one man to be the master of another, andwho, if they could catch the offender, would take his life?

His case will be still worse, if you suppose him to be everywheresurrounded and watched by enemies.

And is not this the sort of prison in which the tyrant will bebound—he who being by nature such as we have described, is full of allsorts of fears and lusts? His soul is dainty and greedy, and yetalone, of all men in the city, he is never allowed to go on a journey,or to see the things which other freemen desire to see, but he lives inhis hole like a woman hidden in the house, and is jealous of any othercitizen who goes into foreign parts and sees anything of interest.

Very true, he said.

And amid evils such as these will not he who is ill-governed in his ownperson—the tyrannical man, I mean—whom you just now decided to be themost miserable of all—will not he be yet more miserable when, insteadof leading a private life, he is constrained by fortune to be a publictyrant? He has to be master of others when he is not master ofhimself: he is like a diseased or paralytic man who is compelled topass his life, not in retirement, but fighting and combating with othermen.

Yes, he said, the similitude is most exact.

Is not his case utterly miserable? and does not the actual tyrant leada worse life than he whose life you determined to be the worst?

Certainly.

He who is the real tyrant, whatever men may think, is the real slave,and is obliged to practise the greatest adulation and servility, and tobe the flatterer of the vilest of mankind. He has desires which he isutterly unable to satisfy, and has more wants than any one, and istruly poor, if you know how to inspect the whole soul of him: all hislife long he is beset with fear and is full of convulsions, anddistractions, even as the State which he resembles: and surely theresemblance holds?

Very true, he said.

Moreover, as we were saying before, he grows worse from having power:he becomes and is of necessity more jealous, more faithless, moreunjust, more friendless, more impious, than he was at first; he is thepurveyor and cherisher of every sort of vice, and the consequence isthat he is supremely miserable, and that he makes everybody else asmiserable as himself.

No man of any sense will dispute your words.

Come then, I said, and as the general umpire in theatrical contestsproclaims the result, do you also decide who in your opinion is firstin the scale of happiness, and who second, and in what order the othersfollow: there are five of them in all—they are the royal,timocratical, oligarchical, democratical, tyrannical.

The decision will be easily given, he replied; they shall be chorusescoming on the stage, and I must judge them in the order in which theyenter, by the criterion of virtue and vice, happiness and misery.

Need we hire a herald, or shall I announce, that the son of Ariston(the best) has decided that the best and justest is also the happiest,and that this is he who is the most royal man and king over himself;and that the worst and most unjust man is also the most miserable, andthat this is he who being the greatest tyrant of himself is also thegreatest tyrant of his State?

Make the proclamation yourself, he said.

And shall I add, 'whether seen or unseen by gods and men'?

Let the words be added.

Then this, I said, will be our first proof; and there is another, whichmay also have some weight.

What is that?

The second proof is derived from the nature of the soul: seeing thatthe individual soul, like the State, has been divided by us into threeprinciples, the division may, I think, furnish a new demonstration.

Of what nature?

It seems to me that to these three principles three pleasurescorrespond; also three desires and governing powers.

How do you mean? he said.

There is one principle with which, as we were saying, a man learns,another with which he is angry; the third, having many forms, has nospecial name, but is denoted by the general term appetitive, from theextraordinary strength and vehemence of the desires of eating anddrinking and the other sensual appetites which are the main elements ofit; also money-loving, because such desires are generally satisfied bythe help of money.

That is true, he said.

If we were to say that the loves and pleasures of this third part wereconcerned with gain, we should then be able to fall back on a singlenotion; and might truly and intelligibly describe this part of the soulas loving gain or money.

I agree with you.

Again, is not the passionate element wholly set on ruling andconquering and getting fame?

True.

Suppose we call it the contentious or ambitious—would the term besuitable?

Extremely suitable.

On the other hand, every one sees that the principle of knowledge iswholly directed to the truth, and cares less than either of the othersfor gain or fame.

Far less.

'Lover of wisdom,' 'lover of knowledge,' are titles which we may fitlyapply to that part of the soul?

Certainly.

One principle prevails in the souls of one class of men, another inothers, as may happen?

Yes.

Then we may begin by assuming that there are three classes ofmen—lovers of wisdom, lovers of honour, lovers of gain?

Exactly.

And there are three kinds of pleasure, which are their several objects?

Very true.

Now, if you examine the three classes of men, and ask of them in turnwhich of their lives is pleasantest, each will be found praising hisown and depreciating that of others: the money-maker will contrast thevanity of honour or of learning if they bring no money with the solidadvantages of gold and silver?

True, he said.

And the lover of honour—what will be his opinion? Will he not thinkthat the pleasure of riches is vulgar, while the pleasure of learning,if it brings no distinction, is all smoke and nonsense to him?

Very true.

And are we to suppose, I said, that the philosopher sets any value onother pleasures in comparison with the pleasure of knowing the truth,and in that pursuit abiding, ever learning, not so far indeed from theheaven of pleasure? Does he not call the other pleasures necessary,under the idea that if there were no necessity for them, he wouldrather not have them?

There can be no doubt of that, he replied.

Since, then, the pleasures of each class and the life of each are indispute, and the question is not which life is more or less honourable,or better or worse, but which is the more pleasant or painless—howshall we know who speaks truly?

I cannot myself tell, he said.

Well, but what ought to be the criterion? Is any better thanexperience and wisdom and reason?

There cannot be a better, he said.

Then, I said, reflect. Of the three individuals, which has thegreatest experience of all the pleasures which we enumerated? Has thelover of gain, in learning the nature of essential truth, greaterexperience of the pleasure of knowledge than the philosopher has of thepleasure of gain?

The philosopher, he replied, has greatly the advantage; for he has ofnecessity always known the taste of the other pleasures from hischildhood upwards: but the lover of gain in all his experience has notof necessity tasted—or, I should rather say, even had he desired,could hardly have tasted—the sweetness of learning and knowing truth.

Then the lover of wisdom has a great advantage over the lover of gain,for he has a double experience?

Yes, very great.

Again, has he greater experience of the pleasures of honour, or thelover of honour of the pleasures of wisdom?

Nay, he said, all three are honoured in proportion as they attain theirobject; for the rich man and the brave man and the wise man alike havetheir crowd of admirers, and as they all receive honour they all haveexperience of the pleasures of honour; but the delight which is to befound in the knowledge of true being is known to the philosopher only.

His experience, then, will enable him to judge better than any one?

Far better.

And he is the only one who has wisdom as well as experience?

Certainly.

Further, the very faculty which is the instrument of judgment is notpossessed by the covetous or ambitious man, but only by the philosopher?

What faculty?

Reason, with whom, as we were saying, the decision ought to rest.

Yes.

And reasoning is peculiarly his instrument?

Certainly.

If wealth and gain were the criterion, then the praise or blame of thelover of gain would surely be the most trustworthy?

Assuredly.

Or if honour or victory or courage, in that case the judgement of theambitious or pugnacious would be the truest?

Clearly.

But since experience and wisdom and reason are the judges—

The only inference possible, he replied, is that pleasures which areapproved by the lover of wisdom and reason are the truest.

And so we arrive at the result, that the pleasure of the intelligentpart of the soul is the pleasantest of the three, and that he of us inwhom this is the ruling principle has the pleasantest life.

Unquestionably, he said, the wise man speaks with authority when heapproves of his own life.

And what does the judge affirm to be the life which is next, and thepleasure which is next?

Clearly that of the soldier and lover of honour; who is nearer tohimself than the money-maker.

Last comes the lover of gain?

Very true, he said.

Twice in succession, then, has the just man overthrown the unjust inthis conflict; and now comes the third trial, which is dedicated toOlympian Zeus the saviour: a sage whispers in my ear that no pleasureexcept that of the wise is quite true and pure—all others are a shadowonly; and surely this will prove the greatest and most decisive offalls?

Yes, the greatest; but will you explain yourself?

I will work out the subject and you shall answer my questions.

Proceed.

Say, then, is not pleasure opposed to pain?

True.

And there is a neutral state which is neither pleasure nor pain?

There is.

A state which is intermediate, and a sort of repose of the soul abouteither—that is what you mean?

Yes.

You remember what people say when they are sick?

What do they say?

That after all nothing is pleasanter than health. But then they neverknew this to be the greatest of pleasures until they were ill.

Yes, I know, he said.

And when persons are suffering from acute pain, you must. have heardthem say that there is nothing pleasanter than to get rid of their pain?

I have.

And there are many other cases of suffering in which the mere rest andcessation of pain, and not any positive enjoyment, is extolled by themas the greatest pleasure?

Yes, he said; at the time they are pleased and well content to be atrest.

Again, when pleasure ceases, that sort of rest or cessation will bepainful?

Doubtless, he said.

Then the intermediate state of rest will be pleasure and will also bepain?

So it would seem.

But can that which is neither become both?

I should say not.

And both pleasure and pain are motions of the soul, are they not?

Yes.

But that which is neither was just now shown to be rest and not motion,and in a mean between them?

Yes.

How, then, can we be right in supposing that the absence of pain ispleasure, or that the absence of pleasure is pain?

Impossible.

This then is an appearance only and not a reality; that is to say, therest is pleasure at the moment and in comparison of what is painful,and painful in comparison of what is pleasant; but all theserepresentations, when tried by the test of true pleasure, are not realbut a sort of imposition?

That is the inference.

Look at the other class of pleasures which have no antecedent pains andyou will no longer suppose, as you perhaps may at present, thatpleasure is only the cessation of pain, or pain of pleasure.

What are they, he said, and where shall I find them?

There are many of them: take as an example the pleasures, of smell,which are very great and have no antecedent pains; they come in amoment, and when they depart leave no pain behind them.

Most true, he said.

Let us not, then, be induced to believe that pure pleasure is thecessation of pain, or pain of pleasure.

No.

Still, the more numerous and violent pleasures which reach the soulthrough the body are generally of this sort—they are reliefs of pain.

That is true.

And the anticipations of future pleasures and pains are of a likenature?

Yes.

Shall I give you an illustration of them?

Let me hear.

You would allow, I said, that there is in nature an upper and lower andmiddle region?

I should.

And if a person were to go from the lower to the middle region, wouldhe not imagine that he is going up; and he who is standing in themiddle and sees whence he has come, would imagine that he is already inthe upper region, if he has never seen the true upper world?

To be sure, he said; how can he think otherwise?

But if he were taken back again he would imagine, and truly imagine,that he was descending?

No doubt.

All that would arise out of his ignorance of the true upper and middleand lower regions?

Yes.

Then can you wonder that persons who are inexperienced in the truth, asthey have wrong ideas about many other things, should also have wrongideas about pleasure and pain and the intermediate state; so that whenthey are only being drawn towards the painful they feel pain and thinkthe pain which they experience to be real, and in like manner, whendrawn away from pain to the neutral or intermediate state, they firmlybelieve that they have reached the goal of satiety and pleasure; they,not knowing pleasure, err in contrasting pain with the absence of pain,which is like contrasting black with grey instead of white—can youwonder, I say, at this?

No, indeed; I should be much more disposed to wonder at the opposite.

Look at the matter thus:—Hunger, thirst, and the like, are inanitionsof the bodily state?

Yes.

And ignorance and folly are inanitions of the soul?

True.

And food and wisdom are the corresponding satisfactions of either?

Certainly.

And is the satisfaction derived from that which has less or from thatwhich has more existence the truer?

Clearly, from that which has more.

What classes of things have a greater share of pure existence in yourjudgment—those of which food and drink and condiments and all kinds ofsustenance are examples, or the class which contains true opinion andknowledge and mind and all the different kinds of virtue? Put thequestion in this way:—Which has a more pure being—that which isconcerned with the invariable, the immortal, and the true, and is ofsuch a nature, and is found in such natures; or that which is concernedwith and found in the variable and mortal, and is itself variable andmortal?

Far purer, he replied, is the being of that which is concerned with theinvariable.

And does the essence of the invariable partake of knowledge in the samedegree as of essence?

Yes, of knowledge in the same degree.

And of truth in the same degree?

Yes.

And, conversely, that which has less of truth will also have less ofessence?

Necessarily.

Then, in general, those kinds of things which are in the service of thebody have less of truth and essence than those which are in the serviceof the soul?

Far less.

And has not the body itself less of truth and essence than the soul?

Yes.

What is filled with more real existence, and actually has a more realexistence, is more really filled than that which is filled with lessreal existence and is less real?

Of course.

And if there be a pleasure in being filled with that which is accordingto nature, that which is more really filled with more real being willmore really and truly enjoy true pleasure; whereas that whichparticipates in less real being will be less truly and surelysatisfied, and will participate in an illusory and less real pleasure?

Unquestionably.

Those then who know not wisdom and virtue, and are always busy withgluttony and sensuality, go down and up again as far as the mean; andin this region they move at random throughout life, but they never passinto the true upper world; thither they neither look, nor do they everfind their way, neither are they truly filled with true being, nor dothey taste of pure and abiding pleasure. Like cattle, with their eyesalways looking down and their heads stooping to the earth, that is, tothe dining-table, they fatten and feed and breed, and, in theirexcessive love of these delights, they kick and butt at one anotherwith horns and hoofs which are made of iron; and they kill one anotherby reason of their insatiable lust. For they fill themselves with thatwhich is not substantial, and the part of themselves which they fill isalso unsubstantial and incontinent.

Verily, Socrates, said Glaucon, you describe the life of the many likean oracle.

Their pleasures are mixed with pains—how can they be otherwise? Forthey are mere shadows and pictures of the true, and are coloured bycontrast, which exaggerates both light and shade, and so they implantin the minds of fools insane desires of themselves; and they are foughtabout as Stesichorus says that the Greeks fought about the shadow ofHelen at Troy in ignorance of the truth.

Something of that sort must inevitably happen.

And must not the like happen with the spirited or passionate element ofthe soul? Will not the passionate man who carries his passion intoaction, be in the like case, whether he is envious and ambitious, orviolent and contentious, or angry and discontented, if he be seeking toattain honour and victory and the satisfaction of his anger withoutreason or sense?

Yes, he said, the same will happen with the spirited element also.

Then may we not confidently assert that the lovers of money and honour,when they seek their pleasures under the guidance and in the company ofreason and knowledge, and pursue after and win the pleasures whichwisdom shows them, will also have the truest pleasures in the highestdegree which is attainable to them, inasmuch as they follow truth; andthey will have the pleasures which are natural to them, if that whichis best for each one is also most natural to him?

Yes, certainly; the best is the most natural.

And when the whole soul follows the philosophical principle, and thereis no division, the several parts are just, and do each of them theirown business, and enjoy severally the best and truest pleasures ofwhich they are capable?

Exactly.

But when either of the two other principles prevails, it fails inattaining its own pleasure, and compels the rest to pursue after apleasure which is a shadow only and which is not their own?

True.

And the greater the interval which separates them from philosophy andreason, the more strange and illusive will be the pleasure?

Yes.

And is not that farthest from reason which is at the greatest distancefrom law and order?

Clearly.

And the lustful and tyrannical desires are, as we saw, at the greatestdistance? Yes.

And the royal and orderly desires are nearest?

Yes.

Then the tyrant will live at the greatest distance from true or naturalpleasure, and the king at the least?

Certainly.

But if so, the tyrant will live most unpleasantly, and the king mostpleasantly?

Inevitably.

Would you know the measure of the interval which separates them?

Will you tell me?

There appear to be three pleasures, one genuine and two spurious: nowthe transgression of the tyrant reaches a point beyond the spurious; hehas run away from the region of law and reason, and taken up his abodewith certain slave pleasures which are his satellites, and the measureof his inferiority can only be expressed in a figure.

How do you mean?

I assume, I said, that the tyrant is in the third place from theoligarch; the democrat was in the middle?

Yes.

And if there is truth in what has preceded, he will be wedded to animage of pleasure which is thrice removed as to truth from the pleasureof the oligarch?

He will.

And the oligarch is third from the royal; since we count as one royaland aristocratical?

Yes, he is third.

Then the tyrant is removed from true pleasure by the space of a numberwhich is three times three?

Manifestly.

The shadow then of tyrannical pleasure determined by the number oflength will be a plane figure.

Certainly.

And if you raise the power and make the plane a solid, there is nodifficulty in seeing how vast is the interval by which the tyrant isparted from the king.

Yes; the arithmetician will easily do the sum.

Or if some person begins at the other end and measures the interval bywhich the king is parted from the tyrant in truth of pleasure, he willfind him, when the multiplication is complete, living 729 times morepleasantly, and the tyrant more painfully by this same interval.

What a wonderful calculation! And how enormous is the distance whichseparates the just from the unjust in regard to pleasure and pain!

Yet a true calculation, I said, and a number which nearly concernshuman life, if human beings are concerned with days and nights andmonths and years.

Yes, he said, human life is certainly concerned with them.

Then if the good and just man be thus superior in pleasure to the eviland unjust, his superiority will be infinitely greater in propriety oflife and in beauty and virtue?

Immeasurably greater.

Well, I said, and now having arrived at this stage of the argument, wemay revert to the words which brought us hither: Was not some onesaying that injustice was a gain to the perfectly unjust who wasreputed to be just?

Yes, that was said.

Now then, having determined the power and quality of justice andinjustice, let us have a little conversation with him.

What shall we say to him?

Let us make an image of the soul, that he may have his own wordspresented before his eyes.

Of what sort?

An ideal image of the soul, like the composite creations of ancientmythology, such as the Chimera or Scylla or Cerberus, and there aremany others in which two or more different natures are said to growinto one.

There are said of have been such unions.

Then do you now model the form of a multitudinous, many-headed monster,having a ring of heads of all manner of beasts, tame and wild, which heis able to generate and metamorphose at will.

You suppose marvellous powers in the artist; but, as language is morepliable than wax or any similar substance, let there be such a model asyou propose.

Suppose now that you make a second form as of a lion, and a third of aman, the second smaller than the first, and the third smaller than thesecond.

That, he said, is an easier task; and I have made them as you say.

And now join them, and let the three grow into one.

That has been accomplished.

Next fashion the outside of them into a single image, as of a man, sothat he who is not able to look within, and sees only the outer hull,may believe the beast to be a single human creature. I have done so,he said.

And now, to him who maintains that it is profitable for the humancreature to be unjust, and unprofitable to be just, let us reply that,if he be right, it is profitable for this creature to feast themultitudinous monster and strengthen the lion and the lion-likequalities, but to starve and weaken the man, who is consequently liableto be dragged about at the mercy of either of the other two; and he isnot to attempt to familiarize or harmonize them with one another—heought rather to suffer them to fight and bite and devour one another.

Certainly, he said; that is what the approver of injustice says.

To him the supporter of justice makes answer that he should ever sospeak and act as to give the man within him in some way or other themost complete mastery over the entire human creature.

He should watch over the many-headed monster like a good husbandman,fostering and cultivating the gentle qualities, and preventing the wildones from growing; he should be making the lion-heart his ally, and incommon care of them all should be uniting the several parts with oneanother and with himself.

Yes, he said, that is quite what the maintainer of justice say.

And so from every point of view, whether of pleasure, honour, oradvantage, the approver of justice is right and speaks the truth, andthe disapprover is wrong and false and ignorant.

Yes, from every point of view.

Come, now, and let us gently reason with the unjust, who is notintentionally in error. 'Sweet Sir,' we will say to him, what thinkyou of things esteemed noble and ignoble? Is not the noble that whichsubjects the beast to the man, or rather to the god in man; and theignoble that which subjects the man to the beast?' He can hardly avoidsaying yes—can he now?

Not if he has any regard for my opinion.

But, if he agree so far, we may ask him to answer another question:'Then how would a man profit if he received gold and silver on thecondition that he was to enslave the noblest part of him to the worst?Who can imagine that a man who sold his son or daughter into slaveryfor money, especially if he sold them into the hands of fierce and evilmen, would be the gainer, however large might be the sum which hereceived? And will any one say that he is not a miserable caitiff whoremorselessly sells his own divine being to that which is most godlessand detestable? Eriphyle took the necklace as the price of herhusband's life, but he is taking a bribe in order to compass a worseruin.'

Yes, said Glaucon, far worse—I will answer for him.

Has not the intemperate been censured of old, because in him the hugemultiform monster is allowed to be too much at large?

Clearly.

And men are blamed for pride and bad temper when the lion and serpentelement in them disproportionately grows and gains strength?

Yes.

And luxury and softness are blamed, because they relax and weaken thissame creature, and make a coward of him?

Very true.

And is not a man reproached for flattery and meanness who subordinatesthe spirited animal to the unruly monster, and, for the sake of money,of which he can never have enough, habituates him in the days of hisyouth to be trampled in the mire, and from being a lion to become amonkey?

True, he said.

And why are mean employments and manual arts a reproach Only becausethey imply a natural weakness of the higher principle; the individualis unable to control the creatures within him, but has to court them,and his great study is how to flatter them.

Such appears to be the reason.

And therefore, being desirous of placing him under a rule like that ofthe best, we say that he ought to be the servant of the best, in whomthe Divine rules; not, as Thrasymachus supposed, to the injury of theservant, but because every one had better be ruled by divine wisdomdwelling within him; or, if this be impossible, then by an externalauthority, in order that we may be all, as far as possible, under thesame government, friends and equals.

True, he said.

And this is clearly seen to be the intention of the law, which is theally of the whole city; and is seen also in the authority which weexercise over children, and the refusal to let them be free until wehave established in them a principle analogous to the constitution of astate, and by cultivation of this higher element have set up in theirhearts a guardian and ruler like our own, and when this is done theymay go their ways.

Yes, he said, the purpose of the law is manifest.

From what point of view, then, and on what ground can we say that a manis profited by injustice or intemperance or other baseness, which willmake him a worse man, even though he acquire money or power by hiswickedness?

From no point of view at all.

What shall he profit, if his injustice be undetected and unpunished?He who is undetected only gets worse, whereas he who is detected andpunished has the brutal part of his nature silenced and humanized; thegentler element in him is liberated, and his whole soul is perfectedand ennobled by the acquirement of justice and temperance and wisdom,more than the body ever is by receiving gifts of beauty, strength andhealth, in proportion as the soul is more honourable than the body.

Certainly, he said.

To this nobler purpose the man of understanding will devote theenergies of his life. And in the first place, he will honour studieswhich impress these qualities on his soul and disregard others?

Clearly, he said.

In the next place, he will regulate his bodily habit and training, andso far will he be from yielding to brutal and irrational pleasures,that he will regard even health as quite a secondary matter; his firstobject will be not that he may be fair or strong or well, unless he islikely thereby to gain temperance, but he will always desire so toattemper the body as to preserve the harmony of the soul?

Certainly he will, if he has true music in him.

And in the acquisition of wealth there is a principle of order andharmony which he will also observe; he will not allow himself to bedazzled by the foolish applause of the world, and heap up riches to hisown infinite harm?

Certainly not, he said.

He will look at the city which is within him, and take heed that nodisorder occur in it, such as might arise either from superfluity orfrom want; and upon this principle he will regulate his property andgain or spend according to his means.

Very true.

And, for the same reason, he will gladly accept and enjoy such honoursas he deems likely to make him a better man; but those, whether privateor public, which are likely to disorder his life, he will avoid?

Then, if that is his motive, he will not be a statesman.

By the dog of Egypt, he will! in the city which is his own he certainlywill, though in the land of his birth perhaps not, unless he have adivine call.

I understand; you mean that he will be a ruler in the city of which weare the founders, and which exists in idea only; for I do not believethat there is such an one anywhere on earth?

In heaven, I replied, there is laid up a pattern of it, methinks, whichhe who desires may behold, and beholding, may set his own house inorder. But whether such an one exists, or ever will exist in fact, isno matter; for he will live after the manner of that city, havingnothing to do with any other.

I think so, he said.

BOOK X

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

OF THE many excellences which I perceive in the order of our State,there is none which upon reflection pleases me better than the ruleabout poetry.

To what do you refer?

To the rejection of imitative poetry, which certainly ought not to bereceived; as I see far more clearly now that the parts of the soul havebeen distinguished.

What do you mean?

Speaking in confidence, for I should not like to have my words repeatedto the tragedians and the rest of the imitative tribe—but I do notmind saying to you, that all poetical imitations are ruinous to theunderstanding of the hearers, and that the knowledge of their truenature is the only antidote to them.

Explain the purport of your remark.

Well, I will tell you, although I have always from my earliest youthhad an awe and love of Homer, which even now makes the words falter onmy lips, for he is the great captain and teacher of the whole of thatcharming tragic company; but a man is not to be reverenced more thanthe truth, and therefore I will speak out.

Very good, he said.

Listen to me then, or rather, answer me.

Put your question.

Can you tell me what imitation is? for I really do not know.

A likely thing, then, that I should know.

Why not? for the duller eye may often see a thing sooner than thekeener.

Very true, he said; but in your presence, even if I had any faintnotion, I could not muster courage to utter it. Will you enquireyourself?

Well then, shall we begin the enquiry in our usual manner: Whenever anumber of individuals have a common name, we assume them to have also acorresponding idea or form. Do you understand me?

I do.

Let us take any common instance; there are beds and tables in theworld—plenty of them, are there not?

Yes.

But there are only two ideas or forms of them—one the idea of a bed,the other of a table.

True.

And the maker of either of them makes a bed or he makes a table for ouruse, in accordance with the idea—that is our way of speaking in thisand similar instances—but no artificer makes the ideas themselves: howcould he?

Impossible.

And there is another artist,—I should like to know what you would sayof him.

Who is he?

One who is the maker of all the works of all other workmen.

What an extraordinary man!

Wait a little, and there will be more reason for your saying so. Forthis is he who is able to make not only vessels of every kind, butplants and animals, himself and all other things—the earth and heaven,and the things which are in heaven or under the earth; he makes thegods also.

He must be a wizard and no mistake.

Oh! you are incredulous, are you? Do you mean that there is no suchmaker or creator, or that in one sense there might be a maker of allthese things but in another not? Do you see that there is a way inwhich you could make them all yourself?

What way?

An easy way enough; or rather, there are many ways in which the featmight be quickly and easily accomplished, none quicker than that ofturning a mirror round and round—you would soon enough make the sunand the heavens, and the earth and yourself, and other animals andplants, and all the other things of which we were just now speaking, inthe mirror.

Yes, he said; but they would be appearances only.

Very good, I said, you are coming to the point now. And the paintertoo is, as I conceive, just such another—a creator of appearances, ishe not?

Of course.

But then I suppose you will say that what he creates is untrue. Andyet there is a sense in which the painter also creates a bed?

Yes, he said, but not a real bed.

And what of the maker of the bed? Were you not saying that he toomakes, not the idea which, according to our view, is the essence of thebed, but only a particular bed?

Yes, I did.

Then if he does not make that which exists he cannot make trueexistence, but only some semblance of existence; and if any one were tosay that the work of the maker of the bed, or of any other workman, hasreal existence, he could hardly be supposed to be speaking the truth.

At any rate, he replied, philosophers would say that he was notspeaking the truth.

No wonder, then, that his work too is an indistinct expression of truth.

No wonder.

Suppose now that by the light of the examples just offered we enquirewho this imitator is?

If you please.

Well then, here are three beds: one existing in nature, which is madeby God, as I think that we may say—for no one else can be the maker?

No.

There is another which is the work of the carpenter?

Yes.

And the work of the painter is a third?

Yes.

Beds, then, are of three kinds, and there are three artists whosuperintend them: God, the maker of the bed, and the painter?

Yes, there are three of them.

God, whether from choice or from necessity, made one bed in nature andone only; two or more such ideal beds neither ever have been nor everwill be made by God.

Why is that?

Because even if He had made but two, a third would still appear behindthem which both of them would have for their idea, and that would bethe ideal bed and the two others.

Very true, he said.

God knew this, and He desired to be the real maker of a real bed, not aparticular maker of a particular bed, and therefore He created a bedwhich is essentially and by nature one only.

So we believe.

Shall we, then, speak of Him as the natural author or maker of the bed?

Yes, he replied; inasmuch as by the natural process of creation He isthe author of this and of all other things.

And what shall we say of the carpenter—is not he also the maker of thebed?

Yes.

But would you call the painter a creator and maker?

Certainly not.

Yet if he is not the maker, what is he in relation to the bed?

I think, he said, that we may fairly designate him as the imitator ofthat which the others make.

Good, I said; then you call him who is third in the descent from naturean imitator?

Certainly, he said.

And the tragic poet is an imitator, and therefore, like all otherimitators, he is thrice removed from the king and from the truth?

That appears to be so.

Then about the imitator we are agreed. And what about the painter?— Iwould like to know whether he may be thought to imitate that whichoriginally exists in nature, or only the creations of artists?

The latter.

As they are or as they appear? You have still to determine this.

What do you mean?

I mean, that you may look at a bed from different points of view,obliquely or directly or from any other point of view, and the bed willappear different, but there is no difference in reality. And the sameof all things.

Yes, he said, the difference is only apparent.

Now let me ask you another question: Which is the art of paintingdesigned to be—an imitation of things as they are, or as theyappear—of appearance or of reality?

Of appearance.

Then the imitator, I said, is a long way off the truth, and can do allthings because he lightly touches on a small part of them, and thatpart an image. For example: A painter will paint a cobbler,carpenter, or any other artist, though he knows nothing of their arts;and, if he is a good artist, he may deceive children or simple persons,when he shows them his picture of a carpenter from a distance, and theywill fancy that they are looking at a real carpenter.

Certainly.

And whenever any one informs us that he has found a man knows all thearts, and all things else that anybody knows, and every single thingwith a higher degree of accuracy than any other man—whoever tells usthis, I think that we can only imagine to be a simple creature who islikely to have been deceived by some wizard or actor whom he met, andwhom he thought all-knowing, because he himself was unable to analysethe nature of knowledge and ignorance and imitation.

Most true.

And so, when we hear persons saying that the tragedians, and Homer, whois at their head, know all the arts and all things human, virtue aswell as vice, and divine things too, for that the good poet cannotcompose well unless he knows his subject, and that he who has not thisknowledge can never be a poet, we ought to consider whether here alsothere may not be a similar illusion. Perhaps they may have come acrossimitators and been deceived by them; they may not have remembered whenthey saw their works that these were but imitations thrice removed fromthe truth, and could easily be made without any knowledge of the truth,because they are appearances only and not realities? Or, after all,they may be in the right, and poets do really know the things aboutwhich they seem to the many to speak so well?

The question, he said, should by all means be considered.

Now do you suppose that if a person were able to make the original aswell as the image, he would seriously devote himself to theimage-making branch? Would he allow imitation to be the rulingprinciple of his life, as if he had nothing higher in him?

I should say not.

The real artist, who knew what he was imitating, would be interested inrealities and not in imitations; and would desire to leave as memorialsof himself works many and fair; and, instead of being the author ofencomiums, he would prefer to be the theme of them.

Yes, he said, that would be to him a source of much greater honour andprofit.

Then, I said, we must put a question to Homer; not about medicine, orany of the arts to which his poems only incidentally refer: we are notgoing to ask him, or any other poet, whether he has cured patients likeAsclepius, or left behind him a school of medicine such as theAsclepiads were, or whether he only talks about medicine and other artsat second hand; but we have a right to know respecting militarytactics, politics, education, which are the chiefest and noblestsubjects of his poems, and we may fairly ask him about them. 'FriendHomer,' then we say to him, 'if you are only in the second remove fromtruth in what you say of virtue, and not in the third—not an imagemaker or imitator—and if you are able to discern what pursuits makemen better or worse in private or public life, tell us what State wasever better governed by your help? The good order of Lacedaemon is dueto Lycurgus, and many other cities great and small have been similarlybenefited by others; but who says that you have been a good legislatorto them and have done them any good? Italy and Sicily boast ofCharondas, and there is Solon who is renowned among us; but what cityhas anything to say about you?' Is there any city which he might name?

I think not, said Glaucon; not even the Homerids themselves pretendthat he was a legislator.

Well, but is there any war on record which was carried on successfullyby him, or aided by his counsels, when he was alive?

There is not.

Or is there any invention of his, applicable to the arts or to humanlife, such as Thales the Milesian or Anacharsis the Scythian, and otheringenious men have conceived, which is attributed to him?

There is absolutely nothing of the kind.

But, if Homer never did any public service, was he privately a guide orteacher of any? Had he in his lifetime friends who loved to associatewith him, and who handed down to posterity an Homeric way of life, suchas was established by Pythagoras who was so greatly beloved for hiswisdom, and whose followers are to this day quite celebrated for theorder which was named after him?

Nothing of the kind is recorded of him. For surely, Socrates,Creophylus, the companion of Homer, that child of flesh, whose namealways makes us laugh, might be more justly ridiculed for hisstupidity, if, as is said, Homer was greatly neglected by him andothers in his own day when he was alive?

Yes, I replied, that is the tradition. But can you imagine, Glaucon,that if Homer had really been able to educate and improve mankind—ifhe had possessed knowledge and not been a mere imitator—can youimagine, I say, that he would not have had many followers, and beenhonoured and loved by them? Protagoras of Abdera, and Prodicus ofCeos, and a host of others, have only to whisper to theircontemporaries: 'You will never be able to manage either your own houseor your own State until you appoint us to be your ministers ofeducation'—and this ingenious device of theirs has such an effect inmaking them love them that their companions all but carry them about ontheir shoulders. And is it conceivable that the contemporaries ofHomer, or again of Hesiod, would have allowed either of them to goabout as rhapsodists, if they had really been able to make mankindvirtuous? Would they not have been as unwilling to part with them aswith gold, and have compelled them to stay at home with them? Or, ifthe master would not stay, then the disciples would have followed himabout everywhere, until they had got education enough?

Yes, Socrates, that, I think, is quite true.

Then must we not infer that all these poetical individuals, beginningwith Homer, are only imitators; they copy images of virtue and thelike, but the truth they never reach? The poet is like a painter who,as we have already observed, will make a likeness of a cobbler thoughhe understands nothing of cobbling; and his picture is good enough forthose who know no more than he does, and judge only by colours andfigures.

Quite so.

In like manner the poet with his words and phrases may be said to layon the colours of the several arts, himself understanding their natureonly enough to imitate them; and other people, who are as ignorant ashe is, and judge only from his words, imagine that if he speaks ofcobbling, or of military tactics, or of anything else, in metre andharmony and rhythm, he speaks very well—such is the sweet influencewhich melody and rhythm by nature have. And I think that you must haveobserved again and again what a poor appearance the tales of poets makewhen stripped of the colours which music puts upon them, and recited insimple prose.

Yes, he said.

They are like faces which were never really beautiful, but onlyblooming; and now the bloom of youth has passed away from them?

Exactly.

Here is another point: The imitator or maker of the image knowsnothing of true existence; he knows appearances only. Am I not right?

Yes.

Then let us have a clear understanding, and not be satisfied with halfan explanation.

Proceed.

Of the painter we say that he will paint reins, and he will paint a bit?

Yes.

And the worker in leather and brass will make them?

Certainly.

But does the painter know the right form of the bit and reins? Nay,hardly even the workers in brass and leather who make them; only thehorseman who knows how to use them—he knows their right form.

Most true.

And may we not say the same of all things?

What?

That there are three arts which are concerned with all things: onewhich uses, another which makes, a third which imitates them?

Yes.

And the excellence or beauty or truth of every structure, animate orinanimate, and of every action of man, is relative to the use for whichnature or the artist has intended them.

True.

Then the user of them must have the greatest experience of them, and hemust indicate to the maker the good or bad qualities which developthemselves in use; for example, the flute-player will tell theflute-maker which of his flutes is satisfactory to the performer; hewill tell him how he ought to make them, and the other will attend tohis instructions?

Of course.

The one knows and therefore speaks with authority about the goodnessand badness of flutes, while the other, confiding in him, will do whathe is told by him?

True.

The instrument is the same, but about the excellence or badness of itthe maker will only attain to a correct belief; and this he will gainfrom him who knows, by talking to him and being compelled to hear whathe has to say, whereas the user will have knowledge?

True.

But will the imitator have either? Will he know from use whether or nohis drawing is correct or beautiful? Or will he have right opinionfrom being compelled to associate with another who knows and gives himinstructions about what he should draw?

Neither.

Then he will no more have true opinion than he will have knowledgeabout the goodness or badness of his imitations?

I suppose not.

The imitative artist will be in a brilliant state of intelligence abouthis own creations?

Nay, very much the reverse.

And still he will go on imitating without knowing what makes a thinggood or bad, and may be expected therefore to imitate only that whichappears to be good to the ignorant multitude?

Just so.

Thus far then we are pretty well agreed that the imitator has noknowledge worth mentioning of what he imitates. Imitation is only akind of play or sport, and the tragic poets, whether they write iniambic or in Heroic verse, are imitators in the highest degree?

Very true.

And now tell me, I conjure you, has not imitation been shown by us tobe concerned with that which is thrice removed from the truth?

Certainly.

And what is the faculty in man to which imitation is addressed?

What do you mean?

I will explain: The body which is large when seen near, appears smallwhen seen at a distance?

True.

And the same object appears straight when looked at out of the water,and crooked when in the water; and the concave becomes convex, owing tothe illusion about colours to which the sight is liable. Thus everysort of confusion is revealed within us; and this is that weakness ofthe human mind on which the art of conjuring and of deceiving by lightand shadow and other ingenious devices imposes, having an effect uponus like magic.

True.

And the arts of measuring and numbering and weighing come to the rescueof the human understanding-there is the beauty of them—and theapparent greater or less, or more or heavier, no longer have themastery over us, but give way before calculation and measure and weight?

Most true.

And this, surely, must be the work of the calculating and rationalprinciple in the soul

To be sure.

And when this principle measures and certifies that some things areequal, or that some are greater or less than others, there occurs anapparent contradiction?

True.

But were we not saying that such a contradiction is the same facultycannot have contrary opinions at the same time about the same thing?

Very true.

Then that part of the soul which has an opinion contrary to measure isnot the same with that which has an opinion in accordance with measure?

True.

And the better part of the soul is likely to be that which trusts tomeasure and calculation?

Certainly.

And that which is opposed to them is one of the inferior principles ofthe soul?

No doubt.

This was the conclusion at which I was seeking to arrive when I saidthat painting or drawing, and imitation in general, when doing theirown proper work, are far removed from truth, and the companions andfriends and associates of a principle within us which is equallyremoved from reason, and that they have no true or healthy aim.

Exactly.

The imitative art is an inferior who marries an inferior, and hasinferior offspring.

Very true.

And is this confined to the sight only, or does it extend to thehearing also, relating in fact to what we term poetry?

Probably the same would be true of poetry.

Do not rely, I said, on a probability derived from the analogy ofpainting; but let us examine further and see whether the faculty withwhich poetical imitation is concerned is good or bad.

By all means.

We may state the question thus:—Imitation imitates the actions of men,whether voluntary or involuntary, on which, as they imagine, a good orbad result has ensued, and they rejoice or sorrow accordingly. Isthere anything more?

No, there is nothing else.

But in all this variety of circumstances is the man at unity withhimself—or rather, as in the instance of sight there was confusion andopposition in his opinions about the same things, so here also is therenot strife and inconsistency in his life? Though I need hardly raisethe question again, for I remember that all this has been alreadyadmitted; and the soul has been acknowledged by us to be full of theseand ten thousand similar oppositions occurring at the same moment?

And we were right, he said.

Yes, I said, thus far we were right; but there was an omission whichmust now be supplied.

What was the omission?

Were we not saying that a good man, who has the misfortune to lose hisson or anything else which is most dear to him, will bear the loss withmore equanimity than another?

Yes.

But will he have no sorrow, or shall we say that although he cannothelp sorrowing, he will moderate his sorrow?

The latter, he said, is the truer statement.

Tell me: will he be more likely to struggle and hold out against hissorrow when he is seen by his equals, or when he is alone?

It will make a great difference whether he is seen or not.

When he is by himself he will not mind saying or doing many thingswhich he would be ashamed of any one hearing or seeing him do?

True.

There is a principle of law and reason in him which bids him resist, aswell as a feeling of his misfortune which is forcing him to indulge hissorrow?

True.

But when a man is drawn in two opposite directions, to and from thesame object, this, as we affirm, necessarily implies two distinctprinciples in him?

Certainly.

One of them is ready to follow the guidance of the law?

How do you mean?

The law would say that to be patient under suffering is best, and thatwe should not give way to impatience, as there is no knowing whethersuch things are good or evil; and nothing is gained by impatience;also, because no human thing is of serious importance, and grief standsin the way of that which at the moment is most required.

What is most required? he asked.

That we should take counsel about what has happened, and when the dicehave been thrown order our affairs in the way which reason deems best;not, like children who have had a fall, keeping hold of the part struckand wasting time in setting up a howl, but always accustoming the soulforthwith to apply a remedy, raising up that which is sickly andfallen, banishing the cry of sorrow by the healing art.

Yes, he said, that is the true way of meeting the attacks of fortune.

Yes, I said; and the higher principle is ready to follow thissuggestion of reason?

Clearly.

And the other principle, which inclines us to recollection of ourtroubles and to lamentation, and can never have enough of them, we maycall irrational, useless, and cowardly?

Indeed, we may.

And does not the latter—I mean the rebellious principle—furnish agreat variety of materials for imitation? Whereas the wise and calmtemperament, being always nearly equable, is not easy to imitate or toappreciate when imitated, especially at a public festival when apromiscuous crowd is assembled in a theatre. For the feelingrepresented is one to which they are strangers.

Certainly.

Then the imitative poet who aims at being popular is not by naturemade, nor is his art intended, to please or to affect the principle inthe soul; but he will prefer the passionate and fitful temper, which iseasily imitated?

Clearly.

And now we may fairly take him and place him by the side of thepainter, for he is like him in two ways: first, inasmuch as hiscreations have an inferior degree of truth—in this, I say, he is likehim; and he is also like him in being concerned with an inferior partof the soul; and therefore we shall be right in refusing to admit himinto a well-ordered State, because he awakens and nourishes andstrengthens the feelings and impairs the reason. As in a city when theevil are permitted to have authority and the good are put out of theway, so in the soul of man, as we maintain, the imitative poet implantsan evil constitution, for he indulges the irrational nature which hasno discernment of greater and less, but thinks the same thing at onetime great and at another small-he is a manufacturer of images and isvery far removed from the truth.

Exactly.

But we have not yet brought forward the heaviest count in ouraccusation:—the power which poetry has of harming even the good (andthere are very few who are not harmed), is surely an awful thing?

Yes, certainly, if the effect is what you say.

Hear and judge: The best of us, as I conceive, when we listen to apassage of Homer, or one of the tragedians, in which he represents somepitiful hero who is drawling out his sorrows in a long oration, orweeping, and smiting his breast—the best of us, you know, delight ingiving way to sympathy, and are in raptures at the excellence of thepoet who stirs our feelings most.

Yes, of course I know.

But when any sorrow of our own happens to us, then you may observe thatwe pride ourselves on the opposite quality—we would fain be quiet andpatient; this is the manly part, and the other which delighted us inthe recitation is now deemed to be the part of a woman.

Very true, he said.

Now can we be right in praising and admiring another who is doing thatwhich any one of us would abominate and be ashamed of in his own person?

No, he said, that is certainly not reasonable.

Nay, I said, quite reasonable from one point of view.

What point of view?

If you consider, I said, that when in misfortune we feel a naturalhunger and desire to relieve our sorrow by weeping and lamentation, andthat this feeling which is kept under control in our own calamities issatisfied and delighted by the poets;-the better nature in each of us,not having been sufficiently trained by reason or habit, allows thesympathetic element to break loose because the sorrow is another's; andthe spectator fancies that there can be no disgrace to himself inpraising and pitying any one who comes telling him what a good man heis, and making a fuss about his troubles; he thinks that the pleasureis a gain, and why should he be supercilious and lose this and the poemtoo? Few persons ever reflect, as I should imagine, that from the evilof other men something of evil is communicated to themselves. And sothe feeling of sorrow which has gathered strength at the sight of themisfortunes of others is with difficulty repressed in our own.

How very true!

And does not the same hold also of the ridiculous? There are jestswhich you would be ashamed to make yourself, and yet on the comicstage, or indeed in private, when you hear them, you are greatly amusedby them, and are not at all disgusted at their unseemliness;—the caseof pity is repeated;—there is a principle in human nature which isdisposed to raise a laugh, and this which you once restrained byreason, because you were afraid of being thought a buffoon, is now letout again; and having stimulated the risible faculty at the theatre,you are betrayed unconsciously to yourself into playing the comic poetat home.

Quite true, he said.

And the same may be said of lust and anger and all the otheraffections, of desire and pain and pleasure, which are held to beinseparable from every action—in all of them poetry feeds and watersthe passions instead of drying them up; she lets them rule, althoughthey ought to be controlled, if mankind are ever to increase inhappiness and virtue.

I cannot deny it.

Therefore, Glaucon, I said, whenever you meet with any of the eulogistsof Homer declaring that he has been the educator of Hellas, and that heis profitable for education and for the ordering of human things, andthat you should take him up again and again and get to know him andregulate your whole life according to him, we may love and honour thosewho say these things—they are excellent people, as far as their lightsextend; and we are ready to acknowledge that Homer is the greatest ofpoets and first of tragedy writers; but we must remain firm in ourconviction that hymns to the gods and praises of famous men are theonly poetry which ought to be admitted into our State. For if you gobeyond this and allow the honeyed muse to enter, either in epic orlyric verse, not law and the reason of mankind, which by common consenthave ever been deemed best, but pleasure and pain will be the rulers inour State.

That is most true, he said.

And now since we have reverted to the subject of poetry, let this ourdefence serve to show the reasonableness of our former judgment insending away out of our State an art having the tendencies which wehave described; for reason constrained us. But that she may impute tous any harshness or want of politeness, let us tell her that there isan ancient quarrel between philosophy and poetry; of which there aremany proofs, such as the saying of 'the yelping hound howling at herlord,' or of one 'mighty in the vain talk of fools,' and 'the mob ofsages circumventing Zeus,' and the 'subtle thinkers who are beggarsafter all'; and there are innumerable other signs of ancient enmitybetween them. Notwithstanding this, let us assure our sweet friend andthe sister arts of imitation that if she will only prove her title toexist in a well-ordered State we shall be delighted to receive her—weare very conscious of her charms; but we may not on that account betraythe truth. I dare say, Glaucon, that you are as much charmed by her asI am, especially when she appears in Homer?

Yes, indeed, I am greatly charmed.

Shall I propose, then, that she be allowed to return from exile, butupon this condition only—that she make a defence of herself in lyricalor some other metre?

Certainly.

And we may further grant to those of her defenders who are lovers ofpoetry and yet not poets the permission to speak in prose on herbehalf: let them show not only that she is pleasant but also useful toStates and to human life, and we will listen in a kindly spirit; for ifthis can be proved we shall surely be the gainers—I mean, if there isa use in poetry as well as a delight?

Certainly, he said, we shall the gainers.

If her defence fails, then, my dear friend, like other persons who areenamoured of something, but put a restraint upon themselves when theythink their desires are opposed to their interests, so too must weafter the manner of lovers give her up, though not without a struggle.We too are inspired by that love of poetry which the education of nobleStates has implanted in us, and therefore we would have her appear ather best and truest; but so long as she is unable to make good herdefence, this argument of ours shall be a charm to us, which we willrepeat to ourselves while we listen to her strains; that we may notfall away into the childish love of her which captivates the many. Atall events we are well aware that poetry being such as we havedescribed is not to be regarded seriously as attaining to the truth;and he who listens to her, fearing for the safety of the city which iswithin him, should be on his guard against her seductions and make ourwords his law.

Yes, he said, I quite agree with you.

Yes, I said, my dear Glaucon, for great is the issue at stake, greaterthan appears, whether a man is to be good or bad. And what will anyone be profited if under the influence of honour or money or power,aye, or under the excitement of poetry, he neglect justice and virtue?

Yes, he said; I have been convinced by the argument, as I believe thatany one else would have been.

And yet no mention has been made of the greatest prizes and rewardswhich await virtue.

What, are there any greater still? If there are, they must be of aninconceivable greatness.

Why, I said, what was ever great in a short time? The whole period ofthreescore years and ten is surely but a little thing in comparisonwith eternity?

Say rather 'nothing,' he replied.

And should an immortal being seriously think of this little spacerather than of the whole?

Of the whole, certainly. But why do you ask?

Are you not aware, I said, that the soul of man is immortal andimperishable?

He looked at me in astonishment, and said: No, by heaven: And are youreally prepared to maintain this?

Yes, I said, I ought to be, and you too—there is no difficulty inproving it.

I see a great difficulty; but I should like to hear you state thisargument of which you make so light.

Listen then.

I am attending.

There is a thing which you call good and another which you call evil?

Yes, he replied.

Would you agree with me in thinking that the corrupting and destroyingelement is the evil, and the saving and improving element the good?

Yes.

And you admit that every thing has a good and also an evil; asophthalmia is the evil of the eyes and disease of the whole body; asmildew is of corn, and rot of timber, or rust of copper and iron: ineverything, or in almost everything, there is an inherent evil anddisease?

Yes, he said.

And anything which is infected by any of these evils is made evil, andat last wholly dissolves and dies?

True.

The vice and evil which is inherent in each is the destruction of each;and if this does not destroy them there is nothing else that will; forgood certainly will not destroy them, nor again, that which is neithergood nor evil.

Certainly not.

If, then, we find any nature which having this inherent corruptioncannot be dissolved or destroyed, we may be certain that of such anature there is no destruction?

That may be assumed.

Well, I said, and is there no evil which corrupts the soul?

Yes, he said, there are all the evils which we were just now passing inreview: unrighteousness, intemperance, cowardice, ignorance.

But does any of these dissolve or destroy her?—and here do not let usfall into the error of supposing that the unjust and foolish man, whenhe is detected, perishes through his own injustice, which is an evil ofthe soul. Take the analogy of the body: The evil of the body is adisease which wastes and reduces and annihilates the body; and all thethings of which we were just now speaking come to annihilation throughtheir own corruption attaching to them and inhering in them and sodestroying them. Is not this true?

Yes.

Consider the soul in like manner. Does the injustice or other evilwhich exists in the soul waste and consume her? Do they by attachingto the soul and inhering in her at last bring her to death, and soseparate her from the body?

Certainly not.

And yet, I said, it is unreasonable to suppose that anything can perishfrom without through affection of external evil which could not bedestroyed from within by a corruption of its own?

It is, he replied.

Consider, I said, Glaucon, that even the badness of food, whetherstaleness, decomposition, or any other bad quality, when confined tothe actual food, is not supposed to destroy the body; although, if thebadness of food communicates corruption to the body, then we should saythat the body has been destroyed by a corruption of itself, which isdisease, brought on by this; but that the body, being one thing, can bedestroyed by the badness of food, which is another, and which does notengender any natural infection—this we shall absolutely deny?

Very true.

And, on the same principle, unless some bodily evil can produce an evilof the soul, we must not suppose that the soul, which is one thing, canbe dissolved by any merely external evil which belongs to another?

Yes, he said, there is reason in that.

Either then, let us refute this conclusion, or, while it remainsunrefuted, let us never say that fever, or any other disease, or theknife put to the throat, or even the cutting up of the whole body intothe minutest pieces, can destroy the soul, until she herself is provedto become more unholy or unrighteous in consequence of these thingsbeing done to the body; but that the soul, or anything else if notdestroyed by an internal evil, can be destroyed by an external one, isnot to be affirmed by any man.

And surely, he replied, no one will ever prove that the souls of menbecome more unjust in consequence of death.

But if some one who would rather not admit the immortality of the soulboldly denies this, and says that the dying do really become more eviland unrighteous, then, if the speaker is right, I suppose thatinjustice, like disease, must be assumed to be fatal to the unjust, andthat those who take this disorder die by the natural inherent power ofdestruction which evil has, and which kills them sooner or later, butin quite another way from that in which, at present, the wicked receivedeath at the hands of others as the penalty of their deeds?

Nay, he said, in that case injustice, if fatal to the unjust, will notbe so very terrible to him, for he will be delivered from evil. But Irather suspect the opposite to be the truth, and that injustice which,if it have the power, will murder others, keeps the murdereralive—aye, and well awake too; so far removed is her dwelling-placefrom being a house of death.

True, I said; if the inherent natural vice or evil of the soul isunable to kill or destroy her, hardly will that which is appointed tobe the destruction of some other body, destroy a soul or anything elseexcept that of which it was appointed to be the destruction.

Yes, that can hardly be.

But the soul which cannot be destroyed by an evil, whether inherent orexternal, must exist for ever, and if existing for ever, must beimmortal?

Certainly.

That is the conclusion, I said; and, if a true conclusion, then thesouls must always be the same, for if none be destroyed they will notdiminish in number. Neither will they increase, for the increase ofthe immortal natures must come from something mortal, and all thingswould thus end in immortality.

Very true.

But this we cannot believe—reason will not allow us—any more than wecan believe the soul, in her truest nature, to be full of variety anddifference and dissimilarity.

What do you mean? he said.

The soul, I said, being, as is now proven, immortal, must be thefairest of compositions and cannot be compounded of many elements?

Certainly not.

Her immortality is demonstrated by the previous argument, and there aremany other proofs; but to see her as she really is, not as we nowbehold her, marred by communion with the body and other miseries, youmust contemplate her with the eye of reason, in her original purity;and then her beauty will be revealed, and justice and injustice and allthe things which we have described will be manifested more clearly.Thus far, we have spoken the truth concerning her as she appears atpresent, but we must remember also that we have seen her only in acondition which may be compared to that of the sea-god Glaucus, whoseoriginal image can hardly be discerned because his natural members arebroken off and crushed and damaged by the waves in all sorts of ways,and incrustations have grown over them of seaweed and shells andstones, so that he is more like some monster than he is to his ownnatural form. And the soul which we behold is in a similar condition,disfigured by ten thousand ills. But not there, Glaucon, not theremust we look.

Where then?

At her love of wisdom. Let us see whom she affects, and what societyand converse she seeks in virtue of her near kindred with the immortaland eternal and divine; also how different she would become if whollyfollowing this superior principle, and borne by a divine impulse out ofthe ocean in which she now is, and disengaged from the stones andshells and things of earth and rock which in wild variety spring uparound her because she feeds upon earth, and is overgrown by the goodthings of this life as they are termed: then you would see her as sheis, and know whether she has one shape only or many, or what her natureis. Of her affections and of the forms which she takes in this presentlife I think that we have now said enough.

True, he replied.

And thus, I said, we have fulfilled the conditions of the argument; wehave not introduced the rewards and glories of justice, which, as youwere saying, are to be found in Homer and Hesiod; but justice in herown nature has been shown to be best for the soul in her own nature.Let a man do what is just, whether he have the ring of Gyges or not,and even if in addition to the ring of Gyges he put on the helmet ofHades.

Very true.

And now, Glaucon, there will be no harm in further enumerating how manyand how great are the rewards which justice and the other virtuesprocure to the soul from gods and men, both in life and after death.

Certainly not, he said.

Will you repay me, then, what you borrowed in the argument?

What did I borrow?

The assumption that the just man should appear unjust and the unjustjust: for you were of opinion that even if the true state of the casecould not possibly escape the eyes of gods and men, still thisadmission ought to be made for the sake of the argument, in order thatpure justice might be weighed against pure injustice. Do you remember?

I should be much to blame if I had forgotten.

Then, as the cause is decided, I demand on behalf of justice that theestimation in which she is held by gods and men and which weacknowledge to be her due should now be restored to her by us; sinceshe has been shown to confer reality, and not to deceive those whotruly possess her, let what has been taken from her be given back, thatso she may win that palm of appearance which is hers also, and whichshe gives to her own.

The demand, he said, is just.

In the first place, I said—and this is the first thing which you willhave to give back—the nature both of the just and unjust is trulyknown to the gods.

Granted.

And if they are both known to them, one must be the friend and theother the enemy of the gods, as we admitted from the beginning?

True.

And the friend of the gods may be supposed to receive from them allthings at their best, excepting only such evil as is the necessaryconsequence of former sins?

Certainly.

Then this must be our notion of the just man, that even when he is inpoverty or sickness, or any other seeming misfortune, all things willin the end work together for good to him in life and death: for thegods have a care of any one whose desire is to become just and to belike God, as far as man can attain the divine likeness, by the pursuitof virtue?

Yes, he said; if he is like God he will surely not be neglected by him.

And of the unjust may not the opposite be supposed?

Certainly.

Such, then, are the palms of victory which the gods give the just?

That is my conviction.

And what do they receive of men? Look at things as they really are,and you will see that the clever unjust are in the case of runners, whorun well from the starting-place to the goal but not back again fromthe goal: they go off at a great pace, but in the end only lookfoolish, slinking away with their ears draggling on their shoulders,and without a crown; but the true runner comes to the finish andreceives the prize and is crowned. And this is the way with the just;he who endures to the end of every action and occasion of his entirelife has a good report and carries off the prize which men have tobestow.

True.

And now you must allow me to repeat of the just the blessings which youwere attributing to the fortunate unjust. I shall say of them, whatyou were saying of the others, that as they grow older, they becomerulers in their own city if they care to be; they marry whom they likeand give in marriage to whom they will; all that you said of the othersI now say of these. And, on the other hand, of the unjust I say thatthe greater number, even though they escape in their youth, are foundout at last and look foolish at the end of their course, and when theycome to be old and miserable are flouted alike by stranger and citizen;they are beaten and then come those things unfit for ears polite, asyou truly term them; they will be racked and have their eyes burnedout, as you were saying. And you may suppose that I have repeated theremainder of your tale of horrors. But will you let me assume, withoutreciting them, that these things are true?

Certainly, he said, what you say is true.

These, then, are the prizes and rewards and gifts which are bestowedupon the just by gods and men in this present life, in addition to theother good things which justice of herself provides.

Yes, he said; and they are fair and lasting.

And yet, I said, all these are as nothing, either in number orgreatness in comparison with those other recompenses which await bothjust and unjust after death. And you ought to hear them, and then bothjust and unjust will have received from us a full payment of the debtwhich the argument owes to them.

Speak, he said; there are few things which I would more gladly hear.

SOCRATES

Well, I said, I will tell you a tale; not one of the tales whichOdysseus tells to the hero Alcinous, yet this too is a tale of a hero,Er the son of Armenius, a Pamphylian by birth. He was slain in battle,and ten days afterwards, when the bodies of the dead were taken upalready in a state of corruption, his body was found unaffected bydecay, and carried away home to be buried. And on the twelfth day, ashe was lying on the funeral pile, he returned to life and told themwhat he had seen in the other world. He said that when his soul leftthe body he went on a journey with a great company, and that they cameto a mysterious place at which there were two openings in the earth;they were near together, and over against them were two other openingsin the heaven above. In the intermediate space there were judgesseated, who commanded the just, after they had given judgment on themand had bound their sentences in front of them, to ascend by theheavenly way on the right hand; and in like manner the unjust werebidden by them to descend by the lower way on the left hand; these alsobore the symbols of their deeds, but fastened on their backs. He drewnear, and they told him that he was to be the messenger who would carrythe report of the other world to men, and they bade him hear and seeall that was to be heard and seen in that place. Then he beheld andsaw on one side the souls departing at either opening of heaven andearth when sentence had been given on them; and at the two otheropenings other souls, some ascending out of the earth dusty and wornwith travel, some descending out of heaven clean and bright. Andarriving ever and anon they seemed to have come from a long journey,and they went forth with gladness into the meadow, where they encampedas at a festival; and those who knew one another embraced andconversed, the souls which came from earth curiously enquiring aboutthe things above, and the souls which came from heaven about the thingsbeneath. And they told one another of what had happened by the way,those from below weeping and sorrowing at the remembrance of the thingswhich they had endured and seen in their journey beneath the earth (nowthe journey lasted a thousand years), while those from above weredescribing heavenly delights and visions of inconceivable beauty. TheStory, Glaucon, would take too long to tell; but the sum was this:—Hesaid that for every wrong which they had done to any one they sufferedtenfold; or once in a hundred years—such being reckoned to be thelength of man's life, and the penalty being thus paid ten times in athousand years. If, for example, there were any who had been the causeof many deaths, or had betrayed or enslaved cities or armies, or beenguilty of any other evil behaviour, for each and all of their offencesthey received punishment ten times over, and the rewards of beneficenceand justice and holiness were in the same proportion. I need hardlyrepeat what he said concerning young children dying almost as soon asthey were born. Of piety and impiety to gods and parents, and ofmurderers, there were retributions other and greater far which hedescribed. He mentioned that he was present when one of the spiritsasked another, 'Where is Ardiaeus the Great?' (Now this Ardiaeus liveda thousand years before the time of Er: he had been the tyrant of somecity of Pamphylia, and had murdered his aged father and his elderbrother, and was said to have committed many other abominable crimes.)The answer of the other spirit was: 'He comes not hither and will nevercome. And this,' said he, 'was one of the dreadful sights which weourselves witnessed. We were at the mouth of the cavern, and, havingcompleted all our experiences, were about to reascend, when of a suddenArdiaeus appeared and several others, most of whom were tyrants; andthere were also besides the tyrants private individuals who had beengreat criminals: they were just, as they fancied, about to return intothe upper world, but the mouth, instead of admitting them, gave a roar,whenever any of these incurable sinners or some one who had not beensufficiently punished tried to ascend; and then wild men of fieryaspect, who were standing by and heard the sound, seized and carriedthem off; and Ardiaeus and others they bound head and foot and hand,and threw them down and flayed them with scourges, and dragged themalong the road at the side, carding them on thorns like wool, anddeclaring to the passers-by what were their crimes, and that they werebeing taken away to be cast into hell.' And of all the many terrorswhich they had endured, he said that there was none like the terrorwhich each of them felt at that moment, lest they should hear thevoice; and when there was silence, one by one they ascended withexceeding joy. These, said Er, were the penalties and retributions,and there were blessings as great.

Now when the spirits which were in the meadow had tarried seven days,on the eighth they were obliged to proceed on their journey, and, onthe fourth day after, he said that they came to a place where theycould see from above a line of light, straight as a column, extendingright through the whole heaven and through the earth, in colourresembling the rainbow, only brighter and purer; another day's journeybrought them to the place, and there, in the midst of the light, theysaw the ends of the chains of heaven let down from above: for thislight is the belt of heaven, and holds together the circle of theuniverse, like the under-girders of a trireme. From these ends isextended the spindle of Necessity, on which all the revolutions turn.The shaft and hook of this spindle are made of steel, and the whorl ismade partly of steel and also partly of other materials. Now the whorlis in form like the whorl used on earth; and the description of itimplied that there is one large hollow whorl which is quite scoopedout, and into this is fitted another lesser one, and another, andanother, and four others, making eight in all, like vessels which fitinto one another; the whorls show their edges on the upper side, and ontheir lower side all together form one continuous whorl. This ispierced by the spindle, which is driven home through the centre of theeighth. The first and outermost whorl has the rim broadest, and theseven inner whorls are narrower, in the following proportions—thesixth is next to the first in size, the fourth next to the sixth; thencomes the eighth; the seventh is fifth, the fifth is sixth, the thirdis seventh, last and eighth comes the second. The largest (of fixedstars) is spangled, and the seventh (or sun) is brightest; the eighth(or moon) coloured by the reflected light of the seventh; the secondand fifth (Saturn and Mercury) are in colour like one another, andyellower than the preceding; the third (Venus) has the whitest light;the fourth (Mars) is reddish; the sixth (Jupiter) is in whitenesssecond. Now the whole spindle has the same motion; but, as the wholerevolves in one direction, the seven inner circles move slowly in theother, and of these the swiftest is the eighth; next in swiftness arethe seventh, sixth, and fifth, which move together; third in swiftnessappeared to move according to the law of this reversed motion thefourth; the third appeared fourth and the second fifth. The spindleturns on the knees of Necessity; and on the upper surface of eachcircle is a siren, who goes round with them, hymning a single tone ornote. The eight together form one harmony; and round about, at equalintervals, there is another band, three in number, each sitting uponher throne: these are the Fates, daughters of Necessity, who areclothed in white robes and have chaplets upon their heads, Lachesis andClotho and Atropos, who accompany with their voices the harmony of thesirens—Lachesis singing of the past, Clotho of the present, Atropos ofthe future; Clotho from time to time assisting with a touch of herright hand the revolution of the outer circle of the whorl or spindle,and Atropos with her left hand touching and guiding the inner ones, andLachesis laying hold of either in turn, first with one hand and thenwith the other.

When Er and the spirits arrived, their duty was to go at once toLachesis; but first of all there came a prophet who arranged them inorder; then he took from the knees of Lachesis lots and samples oflives, and having mounted a high pulpit, spoke as follows: 'Hear theword of Lachesis, the daughter of Necessity. Mortal souls, behold anew cycle of life and mortality. Your genius will not be allotted toyou, but you choose your genius; and let him who draws the first lothave the first choice, and the life which he chooses shall be hisdestiny. Virtue is free, and as a man honours or dishonours her hewill have more or less of her; the responsibility is with thechooser—God is justified.' When the Interpreter had thus spoken hescattered lots indifferently among them all, and each of them took upthe lot which fell near him, all but Er himself (he was not allowed),and each as he took his lot perceived the number which he had obtained.Then the Interpreter placed on the ground before them the samples oflives; and there were many more lives than the souls present, and theywere of all sorts. There were lives of every animal and of man inevery condition. And there were tyrannies among them, some lasting outthe tyrant's life, others which broke off in the middle and came to anend in poverty and exile and beggary; and there were lives of famousmen, some who were famous for their form and beauty as well as fortheir strength and success in games, or, again, for their birth and thequalities of their ancestors; and some who were the reverse of famousfor the opposite qualities. And of women likewise; there was not,however, any definite character them, because the soul, when choosing anew life, must of necessity become different. But there was everyother quality, and the all mingled with one another, and also withelements of wealth and poverty, and disease and health; and there weremean states also. And here, my dear Glaucon, is the supreme peril ofour human state; and therefore the utmost care should be taken. Leteach one of us leave every other kind of knowledge and seek and followone thing only, if peradventure he may be able to learn and may findsome one who will make him able to learn and discern between good andevil, and so to choose always and everywhere the better life as he hasopportunity. He should consider the bearing of all these things whichhave been mentioned severally and collectively upon virtue; he shouldknow what the effect of beauty is when combined with poverty or wealthin a particular soul, and what are the good and evil consequences ofnoble and humble birth, of private and public station, of strength andweakness, of cleverness and dullness, and of all the soul, and theoperation of them when conjoined; he will then look at the nature ofthe soul, and from the consideration of all these qualities he will beable to determine which is the better and which is the worse; and so hewill choose, giving the name of evil to the life which will make hissoul more unjust, and good to the life which will make his soul morejust; all else he will disregard. For we have seen and know that thisis the best choice both in life and after death. A man must take withhim into the world below an adamantine faith in truth and right, thatthere too he may be undazzled by the desire of wealth or the otherallurements of evil, lest, coming upon tyrannies and similarvillainies, he do irremediable wrongs to others and suffer yet worsehimself; but let him know how to choose the mean and avoid the extremeson either side, as far as possible, not only in this life but in allthat which is to come. For this is the way of happiness.

And according to the report of the messenger from the other world thiswas what the prophet said at the time: 'Even for the last comer, if hechooses wisely and will live diligently, there is appointed a happy andnot undesirable existence. Let not him who chooses first be careless,and let not the last despair.' And when he had spoken, he who had thefirst choice came forward and in a moment chose the greatest tyranny;his mind having been darkened by folly and sensuality, he had notthought out the whole matter before he chose, and did not at firstsight perceive that he was fated, among other evils, to devour his ownchildren. But when he had time to reflect, and saw what was in thelot, he began to beat his breast and lament over his choice, forgettingthe proclamation of the prophet; for, instead of throwing the blame ofhis misfortune on himself, he accused chance and the gods, andeverything rather than himself. Now he was one of those who came fromheaven, and in a former life had dwelt in a well-ordered State, but hisvirtue was a matter of habit only, and he had no philosophy. And itwas true of others who were similarly overtaken, that the greaternumber of them came from heaven and therefore they had never beenschooled by trial, whereas the pilgrims who came from earth, havingthemselves suffered and seen others suffer, were not in a hurry tochoose. And owing to this inexperience of theirs, and also because thelot was a chance, many of the souls exchanged a good destiny for anevil or an evil for a good. For if a man had always on his arrival inthis world dedicated himself from the first to sound philosophy, andhad been moderately fortunate in the number of the lot, he might, asthe messenger reported, be happy here, and also his journey to anotherlife and return to this, instead of being rough and underground, wouldbe smooth and heavenly. Most curious, he said, was the spectacle—sadand laughable and strange; for the choice of the souls was in mostcases based on their experience of a previous life. There he saw thesoul which had once been Orpheus choosing the life of a swan out ofenmity to the race of women, hating to be born of a woman because theyhad been his murderers; he beheld also the soul of Thamyras choosingthe life of a nightingale; birds, on the other hand, like the swan andother musicians, wanting to be men. The soul which obtained thetwentieth lot chose the life of a lion, and this was the soul of Ajaxthe son of Telamon, who would not be a man, remembering the injusticewhich was done him the judgment about the arms. The next wasAgamemnon, who took the life of an eagle, because, like Ajax, he hatedhuman nature by reason of his sufferings. About the middle came thelot of Atalanta; she, seeing the great fame of an athlete, was unableto resist the temptation: and after her there followed the soul ofEpeus the son of Panopeus passing into the nature of a woman cunning inthe arts; and far away among the last who chose, the soul of the jesterThersites was putting on the form of a monkey. There came also thesoul of Odysseus having yet to make a choice, and his lot happened tobe the last of them all. Now the recollection of former tolls haddisenchanted him of ambition, and he went about for a considerable timein search of the life of a private man who had no cares; he had somedifficulty in finding this, which was lying about and had beenneglected by everybody else; and when he saw it, he said that he wouldhave done the had his lot been first instead of last, and that he wasdelighted to have it. And not only did men pass into animals, but Imust also mention that there were animals tame and wild who changedinto one another and into corresponding human natures—the good intothe gentle and the evil into the savage, in all sorts of combinations.

All the souls had now chosen their lives, and they went in the order oftheir choice to Lachesis, who sent with them the genius whom they hadseverally chosen, to be the guardian of their lives and the fulfillerof the choice: this genius led the souls first to Clotho, and drewthem within the revolution of the spindle impelled by her hand, thusratifying the destiny of each; and then, when they were fastened tothis, carried them to Atropos, who spun the threads and made themirreversible, whence without turning round they passed beneath thethrone of Necessity; and when they had all passed, they marched on in ascorching heat to the plain of Forgetfulness, which was a barren wastedestitute of trees and verdure; and then towards evening they encampedby the river of Unmindfulness, whose water no vessel can hold; of thisthey were all obliged to drink a certain quantity, and those who werenot saved by wisdom drank more than was necessary; and each one as hedrank forgot all things. Now after they had gone to rest, about themiddle of the night there was a thunderstorm and earthquake, and thenin an instant they were driven upwards in all manner of ways to theirbirth, like stars shooting. He himself was hindered from drinking thewater. But in what manner or by what means he returned to the body hecould not say; only, in the morning, awaking suddenly, he found himselflying on the pyre.

And thus, Glaucon, the tale has been saved and has not perished, andwill save us if we are obedient to the word spoken; and we shall passsafely over the river of Forgetfulness and our soul will not bedefiled. Wherefore my counsel is that we hold fast ever to theheavenly way and follow after justice and virtue always, consideringthat the soul is immortal and able to endure every sort of good andevery sort of evil. Thus shall we live dear to one another and to thegods, both while remaining here and when, like conquerors in the gameswho go round to gather gifts, we receive our reward. And it shall bewell with us both in this life and in the pilgrimage of a thousandyears which we have been describing.

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