BOOK III



  SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS



  SUCH then, I said, are our principles of theology --some tales are

to be told, and others are not to be told to our disciples from

their youth upwards, if we mean them to honour the gods and their

parents, and to value friendship with one another.

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

  But if they are to be courageous, must they not learn other

lessons besides these, and lessons of such a kind as will take away

the fear of death? Can any man be courageous who has the fear of death

in him?

  Certainly not, he said.

  And can he be fearless of death, or will he choose death in battle

rather than defeat and slavery, who believes the world below to be

real and terrible?

  Impossible.

  Then we must assume a control over the narrators of this class of

tales as well as over the others, and beg them not simply to but

rather to commend the world below, intimating to them that their

descriptions are untrue, and will do harm to our future warriors.

  That will be our duty, he said.

  Then, I said, we shall have to obliterate many obnoxious passages,

beginning with the verses,



  I would rather he a serf on the land of a poor and portionless man

than rule over all the dead who have come to nought.



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



  Lest the mansions grim and squalid which the gods abhor should he

seen both of mortals and immortals.



And again:



  O heavens! verily in the house of Hades there is soul and ghostly

form but no mind at all!



Again of Tiresias: --



  [To him even after death did Persephone grant mind,] that he alone

should be wise; but the other souls are flitting shades.



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 strike

out these and similar passages, not because they are unpoetical, or

unattractive to the popular ear, but because the greater the

poetical charm of them, the less are they meet for the ears of boys

and men who are meant to be free, and who should fear slavery more

than death.

  Undoubtedly.

  Also we shall have to reject all the terrible and appalling names

describe the world below --Cocytus and Styx, ghosts under the earth,

and sapless shades, and any similar words of which the very mention

causes a shudder to pass through the inmost soul of him who hears

them. I do not say that these horrible stories may not have a use of

some kind; but there is a danger that the nerves of our guardians

may be rendered too excitable and effeminate by them.

  There is a real danger, he said.

  Then we must have no more of them.

  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

famous men?

  They will go with the rest.

  But shall we be right in getting rid of them? Reflect: our principle

is that the good man will not consider death terrible to any other

good man who is his comrade.

  Yes; that is our principle.

  And therefore he will not sorrow for his departed friend as though

he had suffered anything terrible?

  He will not.

  Such an one, as we further maintain, is sufficient for himself and

his own happiness, and therefore is least in need of other men.

  True, he said.

  And for this reason the loss of a son or brother, or the deprivation

of fortune, is to him of all men least terrible.

  Assuredly.

  And therefore he will be least likely to lament, and will bear

with the greatest equanimity any misfortune of this sort which may

befall him.

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

  Then we shall be right in getting rid of the lamentations of

famous men, and making them over to women (and not even to women who

are good for anything), or to men of a baser sort, that those who

are being educated by us to be the defenders of their country may

scorn to do the like.

  That will be very right.

  Then we will once more entreat Homer and the other poets not to

depict Achilles, who is the son of a goddess, first lying on his side,

then on his back, and then on his face; then starting up and sailing

in a frenzy along the shores of the barren sea; now taking the sooty

ashes in both his hands and pouring them over his head, or weeping and

wailing in the various modes which Homer has delineated. Nor should he

describe Priam the kinsman of the gods as praying and beseeching,



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



Still more earnestly will we beg of him at all events not to introduce

the gods lamenting and saying,



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



But if he must introduce the gods, at any rate let him not dare so

completely to misrepresent the greatest of the gods, as to make him

say --



  O heavens! with my eyes verily I behold a dear friend of mine chased

round and round the city, and my heart is sorrowful.



Or again: --



  Woe is me that I am fated to have Sarpedon, dearest of men to me,

subdued at the hands of Patroclus the son of Menoetius.



For if, my sweet Adeimantus, our youth seriously listen to such

unworthy representations of the gods, instead of laughing at them as

they ought, hardly will any of them deem that he himself, being but

a man, can be dishonoured by similar actions; neither will he rebuke

any inclination which may arise in his mind to say and do the like.

And instead of having any shame or self-control, he will be always

whining and lamenting on slight occasions.

  Yes, he said, that is most true.

  Yes, I replied; but that surely is what ought not to be, as the

argument has just proved to us; and by that proof we must abide

until it is disproved by a better.

  It ought not to be.

  Neither ought our guardians to be given to laughter. For a fit of

laughter which has been indulged to excess almost always produces a

violent reaction.

  So I believe.

  Then persons of worth, even if only mortal men, must not be

represented as overcome by laughter, and still less must such a

representation of the gods be allowed.

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

  Then we shall not suffer such an expression to be used about the

gods as that of Homer when he describes how



  Inextinguishable laughter arose among the blessed gods, when they

saw Hephaestus bustling about the mansion.



On your views, we must not admit them.

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

admit them is certain.

  Again, truth should be highly valued; if, as we were saying, a lie

is useless to the gods, and useful only as a medicine to men, then the

use of such medicines should be restricted to physicians; private

individuals have no business with them.

  Clearly not, he said.

  Then if any one at all is to have the privilege of lying, the rulers

of the State should be the persons; and they, in their dealings either

with enemies or with their own citizens, may be allowed to lie for the

public good. But nobody else should meddle with anything of the

kind; and although the rulers have this privilege, for a private man

to lie to them in return is to be deemed a more heinous fault than for

the patient or the pupil of a gymnasium not to speak the truth about

his own bodily illnesses to the physician or to the trainer, or for

a sailor not to tell the captain what is happening about the ship

and the rest of the crew, and how things are going with himself or his

fellow sailors.

  Most true, he said.

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

State,



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



he will punish him for introducing a practice which is equally

subversive and destructive of ship or State.

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

out.

  In the next place our youth must be temperate?

  Certainly.

  Are not the chief elements of temperance, speaking generally,

obedience to 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 any

similar impertinences which private individuals are supposed to

address to their rulers, whether in verse or prose, are well or ill

spoken?

  They are ill spoken.

  They may very possibly afford some amusement, but they do not

conduce to temperance. And therefore they are likely to do harm to our

young men --you would agree with me there?

  Yes.

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

opinion is more glorious than



  When the tables are full of bread and meat, and the cup-bearer

carries round wine which he draws from the bowl and pours into the

cups,



is it fit or conducive to temperance for a young man to hear such

words? Or the verse



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



What would you say again to the tale of Zeus, who, while other gods

and men were asleep and he the only person awake, lay devising

plans, but forgot them all in a moment through his lust, and was so

completely overcome at the sight of Here that he would not even go

into the hut, but wanted to lie with her on the ground, declaring that

he had never been in such a state of rapture before, even when they

first met one another



  Without the knowledge of their parents;



or that other tale of how Hephaestus, because of similar goings on,

cast a chain around Ares and Aphrodite?

  Indeed, he said, I am strongly of opinion that they ought not to

hear that sort of thing.

  But any deeds of endurance which are done or told by famous men,

these they ought to see and hear; as, for example, what is said in the

verses,



  He smote his breast, and thus reproached his heart,

  Endure, my heart; far worse hast thou endured!



  Certainly, he said.

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

lovers of money.

  Certainly not.

  Neither must we sing to them of



  Gifts persuading gods, and persuading reverend kings.



Neither is Phoenix, the tutor of Achilles, to be approved or deemed to

have given his pupil good counsel when he told him that he should take

the gifts of the Greeks and assist them; but that without a gift he

should not lay aside his anger. Neither will we believe or acknowledge

Achilles himself to have been such a lover of money that he took

Agamemnon's or that when he had received payment he restored the

dead body of Hector, but that without payment he was unwilling to do

so.

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

approved.

  Loving Homer as I do, I hardly like to say that in attributing these

feelings to Achilles, or in believing that they are truly to him, he

is guilty of downright impiety. As little can I believe the

narrative of his insolence to Apollo, where he says,



  Thou hast wronged me, O far-darter, most abominable of deities.

Verily I would he even with thee, if I had only the power,



or his insubordination to the river-god, on whose divinity he is ready

to lay hands; or his offering to the dead Patroclus of his own hair,

which had been previously dedicated to the other river-god Spercheius,

and that he actually performed this vow; or that he dragged Hector

round the tomb of Patroclus, and slaughtered the captives at the pyre;

of all this I cannot believe that he was guilty, any more than I can

allow our citizens to believe that he, the wise Cheiron's pupil, the

son of a goddess and of Peleus who was the gentlest of men and third

in descent from Zeus, was so disordered in his wits as to be at one

time the slave of two seemingly inconsistent passions, meanness, not

untainted by avarice, combined with overweening contempt of gods and

men.

  You are quite right, he replied.

  And let us equally refuse to believe, or allow to be repeated, the

tale of Theseus son of Poseidon, or of Peirithous son of Zeus, going

forth as they did to perpetrate a horrid rape; or of any other hero or

son of a god daring to do such impious and dreadful things as they

falsely ascribe to them in our day: and let us further compel the

poets to declare either that these acts were not done by them, or that

they were not the sons of gods; --both in the same breath they shall

not be permitted to affirm. We will not have them trying to persuade

our youth that the gods are the authors of evil, and that heroes are

no better than men-sentiments which, as we were saying, are neither

pious nor true, for we have already proved that evil cannot come

from the gods.

  Assuredly not.

  And further they are likely to have a bad effect on those who hear

them; for everybody will begin to excuse his own vices when he is

convinced that similar wickednesses are always being perpetrated by --



  The kindred of the gods, the relatives of Zeus, whose ancestral

altar, the attar of Zeus, is aloft in air on the peak of Ida,



and who have



  the blood of deities yet flowing in their veins.



And therefore let us put an end to such tales, lest they engender

laxity of morals among the young.

  By all means, he replied.

  But now that we are determining what classes of subjects are or

are not to be spoken of, let us see whether any have been omitted by

us. The manner in which gods and demigods and heroes and the world

below should be treated has been already laid down.

  Very true.

  And what shall we say about men? That is clearly the remaining

portion of our subject.

  Clearly so.

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

friend.

  Why not?

  Because, if I am not mistaken, we shall have to say that about men

poets and story-tellers are guilty of making the gravest misstatements

when they tell us that wicked men are often happy, and the good

miserable; and that injustice is profitable when undetected, but

that justice is a man's own loss and another's gain --these things

we shall forbid them to utter, and command them to sing and say the

opposite.

  To be sure we shall, he replied.

  But if you admit that I am right in this, then I shall maintain that

you have implied the principle for which we have been all along

contending.

  I grant the truth of your inference.

  That such things are or are not to be said about men is a question

which we cannot determine until we have discovered what justice is,

and how naturally advantageous to the possessor, whether he seems to

be just or not.

  Most true, he said.

  Enough of the subjects of poetry: let us now speak of the style; and

when this has been considered, both matter and manner will have been

completely treated.

  I do not understand what you mean, said Adeimantus.

  Then I must make you understand; and perhaps I may be more

intelligible if I put the matter in this way. You are aware, I

suppose, that all mythology and poetry is a narration of events,

either past, present, or to come?

  Certainly, he replied.

  And narration may be either simple narration, or imitation, or a

union of the two?

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

  I fear that I must be a ridiculous teacher when I have so much

difficulty in making myself apprehended. Like a bad speaker,

therefore, I will not take the whole of the subject, but will break

a piece off in illustration of my meaning. You know the first lines of

the Iliad, in which the poet says that Chryses prayed Agamemnon to

release his daughter, and that Agamemnon flew into a passion with him;

whereupon Chryses, failing of his object, invoked the anger of the God

against the Achaeans. Now as far as these lines,



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

the chiefs of the people,



the poet is speaking in his own person; he never leads us to suppose

that he is any one else. But in what follows he takes the person of

Chryses, and then he does all that he can to make us believe that

the speaker is not Homer, but the aged priest himself. And in this

double form he has cast the entire narrative of the events which

occurred at Troy and in Ithaca and throughout the Odyssey.

  Yes.

  And a narrative it remains both in the speeches which the poet

recites from time to time and in the intermediate passages?

  Quite true.

  But when the poet speaks in the person of another, may we not say

that he assimilates his style to that of the person who, as he informs

you, is going to speak?

  Certainly.

  And this assimilation of himself to another, either by the use of

voice or gesture, is the imitation of the person whose character he

assumes?

  Of course.

  Then in this case the narrative of the poet may be said to proceed

by way of imitation?

  Very true.

  Or, if the poet everywhere appears and never conceals himself,

then again the imitation is dropped, and his poetry becomes simple

narration. However, in order that I may make my meaning quite clear,

and that you may no more say, I don't understand,' I will show how the

change might be effected. If Homer had said, 'The priest came,

having his daughter's ransom in his hands, supplicating the

Achaeans, and above all the kings;' and then if, instead of speaking

in the person of Chryses, he had continued in his own person, the

words would have been, not imitation, but simple narration. The

passage would have run as follows (I am no poet, and therefore I

drop the metre), 'The priest came and prayed the gods on behalf of the

Greeks that they might capture Troy and return safely home, but begged

that they would give him back his daughter, and take the ransom

which he brought, and respect the God. Thus he spoke, and the other

Greeks revered the priest and assented. But Agamemnon was wroth, and

bade him depart and not come again, lest the staff and chaplets of the

God should be of no avail to him --the daughter of Chryses should

not be released, he said --she should grow old with him in Argos.

And then he told him to go away and not to provoke him, if he intended

to get home unscathed. And the old man went away in fear and

silence, and, when he had left the camp, he called upon Apollo by

his many names, reminding him of everything which he had done pleasing

to him, whether in building his temples, or in offering sacrifice, and

praying that his good deeds might be returned to him, and that the

Achaeans might expiate his tears by the arrows of the god,' --and so

on. In this way the whole becomes simple narrative.

  I understand, he said.

  Or you may suppose the opposite case --that the intermediate

passages are omitted, and the dialogue only left.

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

tragedy.

  You have conceived my meaning perfectly; and if I mistake not,

what you failed to apprehend before is now made clear to you, that

poetry and mythology are, in some cases, wholly imitative

--instances of this are supplied by tragedy and comedy; there is

likewise the opposite style, in which the my poet is the only

speaker --of this the dithyramb affords the best example; and the

combination of both is found in epic, and in several other styles of

poetry. Do I take you with me?

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

  I will ask you to remember also what I began by saying, that we

had done with the subject and might proceed to the style.

  Yes, I remember.

  In saying this, I intended to imply that we must come to an

understanding about the mimetic art, --whether the poets, in narrating

their stories, are to be allowed by us to imitate, and if so,

whether in whole or in part, and if the latter, in what parts; or

should all imitation be prohibited?

  You mean, I suspect, to ask whether tragedy and comedy shall be

admitted into our State?

  Yes, I said; but there may be more than this in question: I really

do not know as yet, but whither the argument may blow, thither we go.

  And go we will, he said.

  Then, Adeimantus, let me ask you whether our guardians ought to be

imitators; or rather, has not this question been decided by the rule

already laid down that one man can only do one thing well, and not

many; and that if he attempt many, he will altogether fall of

gaining much reputation in any?

  Certainly.

  And this is equally true of imitation; no one man can imitate many

things as well as he would imitate a single one?

  He cannot.

  Then the same person will hardly be able to play a serious part in

life, and at the same time to be an imitator and imitate many other

parts as well; for even when two species of imitation are nearly

allied, the same persons cannot succeed in both, as, for example,

the writers of tragedy and comedy --did you not just now call them

imitations?

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

cannot succeed in both.

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

  True.

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

are but imitations.

  They are so.

  And human nature, Adeimantus, appears to have been coined into yet

smaller pieces, and to be as incapable of imitating many things

well, as of performing well the actions of which the imitations are

copies.

  Quite true, he replied.

  If then we adhere to our original notion and bear in mind that our

guardians, setting aside every other business, are to dedicate

themselves wholly to the maintenance of freedom in the State, making

this their craft, and engaging in no work which does not bear on

this end, they ought not to practise or imitate anything else; if they

imitate at all, they should imitate from youth upward only those

characters which are suitable to their profession --the courageous,

temperate, holy, free, and the like; but they should not depict or

be skilful at imitating any kind of illiberality or baseness, lest

from imitation they should come to be what they imitate. Did you never

observe how imitations, beginning in early youth and continuing far

into life, at length grow into habits and become a second nature,

affecting body, voice, and mind?

  Yes, certainly, he said.

  Then, I said, we will not allow those for whom we profess a care and

of whom we say that they ought to be good men, to imitate a woman,

whether young or old, quarrelling with her husband, or striving and

vaunting against the gods in conceit of her happiness, or when she

is in affliction, or sorrow, or weeping; and certainly not one who

is in sickness, love, or labour.

  Very right, he said.

  Neither must they represent slaves, male or female, performing the

offices of slaves?

  They must not.

  And surely not bad men, whether cowards or any others, who do the

reverse of what we have just been prescribing, who scold or mock or

revile one another in drink or out of in drink or, or who in any other

manner sin against themselves and their neighbours in word or deed, as

the manner of such is. Neither should they be trained to imitate the

action or speech of men or women who are mad or bad; for madness, like

vice, is to be known but not to be practised or imitated.

  Very true, he replied.

  Neither may they imitate smiths or other artificers, or oarsmen,

or boatswains, or the like?

  How can they, he said, when they are not allowed to apply their

minds to the callings of any of these?

  Nor may they imitate the neighing of horses, the bellowing of bulls,

the murmur of rivers and roll of the ocean, thunder, and all that sort

of thing?

  Nay, he said, if madness be forbidden, neither may they copy the

behaviour of madmen.

  You mean, I said, if I understand you aright, that there is one sort

of narrative style which may be employed by a truly good man when he

has anything to say, and that another sort will be used by a man of an

opposite character and education.

  And which are these two sorts? he asked.

  Suppose, I answered, that a just and good man in the course of a

narration comes on some saying or action of another good man, --I

should imagine that he will like to personate him, and will not be

ashamed of this sort of imitation: he will be most ready to play the

part of the good man when he is acting firmly and wisely; in a less

degree when he is overtaken by illness or love or drink, or has met

with any other disaster. But when he comes to a character which is

unworthy of him, he will not make a study of that; he will disdain

such a person, and will assume his likeness, if at all, for a moment

only when he is performing some good action; at other times he will be

ashamed to play a part which he has never practised, nor will he

like to fashion and frame himself after the baser models; he feels the

employment of such an art, unless in jest, to be beneath him, and

his mind revolts at it.

  So I should expect, he replied.

  Then he will adopt a mode of narration such as we have illustrated

out of Homer, that is to say, his style will be both imitative and

narrative; but there will be very little of the former, and a great

deal of the latter. Do you agree?

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

necessarily take.

  But there is another sort of character who will narrate anything,

and, the worse lie is, the more unscrupulous he will be; nothing

will be too bad for him: and he will be ready to imitate anything, not

as a joke, but in right good earnest, and before a large company. As I

was just now saying, he will attempt to represent the roll of thunder,

the noise of wind and hall, or the creaking of wheels, and pulleys,

and the various sounds of flutes; pipes, trumpets, and all sorts of

instruments: he will bark like a dog, bleat like a sheep, or crow like

a cock; his entire art will consist in imitation of voice and gesture,

and there will be very little narration.

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

  These, then, are the two kinds of style?

  Yes.

  And you would agree with me in saying that one of them is simple and

has but slight changes; and if the harmony and rhythm are also

chosen for their simplicity, the result is that the speaker, if hc

speaks correctly, is always pretty much the same in style, and he will

keep within the limits of a single harmony (for the changes are not

great), and in like manner he will make use of nearly the same rhythm?

  That is quite true, he said.

  Whereas the other requires all sorts of harmonies and all sorts of

rhythms, if the music and the style are to correspond, because the

style has all sorts of changes.

  That is also perfectly true, he replied.

  And do not the two styles, or the mixture of the two, comprehend all

poetry, and every form of expression in words? No one can say anything

except in one or other of them or in both together.

  They include all, he said.

  And shall we receive into our State all the three styles, or one

only of the two unmixed styles? or would you include the mixed?

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

  Yes, I said, Adeimantus, but the mixed style is also very

charming: and indeed the pantomimic, which is the opposite of the

one chosen by you, is the most popular style with children and their

attendants, and with the world in general.

  I do not deny it.

  But I suppose you would argue that such a style is unsuitable to our

State, in which human nature is not twofold or manifold, for one man

plays one part only?

  Yes; quite unsuitable.

  And this is the reason why in our State, and in our State only, we

shall find a shoemaker to be a shoemaker and not a pilot also, and a

husbandman to be a husbandman and not a dicast also, and a soldier a

soldier and not a trader also, and the same throughout?

  True, he said.

  And therefore when any one of these pantomimic gentlemen, who are so

clever that they can imitate anything, comes to us, and makes a

proposal to exhibit himself and his poetry, we will fall down and

worship him as a sweet and holy and wonderful being; but we must

also inform him that in our State such as he are not permitted to

exist; the law will not allow them. And so when we have anointed him

with myrrh, and set a garland of wool upon his head, we shall send him

away to another city. For we mean to employ for our souls' health

the rougher and severer poet or story-teller, who will imitate the

style of the virtuous only, and will follow those models which we

prescribed at first when we began the education of our soldiers.

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

  Then now, my friend, I said, that part of music or literary

education which relates to the story or myth may be considered to be

finished; for the matter and manner have both been discussed.

  I think so too, he said.

  Next in order will follow melody and song.

  That is obvious.

  Every one can see already what we ought to say about them, if we are

to be consistent with ourselves.



  SOCRATES - GLAUCON



  I fear, said Glaucon, laughing, that the words 'every one' hardly

includes me, for I cannot at the moment say what they should be;

though I may guess.

  At any rate you can tell that a song or ode has three parts --the

words, the melody, and the rhythm; that degree of knowledge I may

presuppose?

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

  And as for the words, there surely be no difference words between

words which are and which are not set to music; both will conform to

the same laws, and these have been already determined by us?

  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

no need of lamentations and strains of sorrow?

  True.

  And which are the harmonies expressive of sorrow? You are musical,

and can tell me.

  The harmonies which you mean are the mixed or tenor Lydian, and

the full-toned or bass Lydian, and such like.

  These then, I said, must be banished; even to women who have a

character to maintain they are of no use, and much less to men.

Certainly.

  In the next place, drunkenness and softness and indolence are

utterly unbecoming the character of our guardians.

  Utterly unbecoming.

  And which are the soft or drinking harmonies?

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

  Well, and are these of any military use?

  Quite the reverse, he replied; and if so the Dorian and the Phrygian

are the only ones which you have left.

  I answered: Of the harmonies I know nothing, but I want to have

one warlike, to sound the note or accent which a brave man utters in

the hour of danger and stern resolve, or when his cause is failing,

and he is going to wounds or death or is overtaken by some other evil,

and at every such crisis meets the blows of fortune with firm step and

a determination to endure; and another to be used by him in times of

peace and freedom of action, when there is no pressure of necessity,

and he is seeking to persuade God by prayer, or man by instruction and

admonition, or on the other hand, when he is expressing his

willingness to yield to persuasion or entreaty or admonition, and

which represents him when by prudent conduct he has attained his

end, not carried away by his success, but acting moderately and wisely

under the circumstances, and acquiescing in the event. These two

harmonies I ask you to leave; the strain of necessity and the strain

of freedom, the strain of the unfortunate and the strain of the

fortunate, the strain of courage, and the strain of temperance; these,

I say, leave.

  And these, he replied, are the Dorian and Phrygian harmonies of

which I was just now speaking.

  Then, I said, if these and these only are to be used in our songs

and melodies, we shall not want multiplicity of notes or a panharmonic

scale?

  I suppose not.

  Then we shall not maintain the artificers of lyres with three

corners and complex scales, or the makers of any other many-stringed

curiously-harmonised instruments?

  Certainly not.

  But what do you say to flute-makers and flute-players? Would you

admit them into our State when you reflect that in this composite

use of harmony the flute is worse than all the stringed instruments

put together; even the panharmonic music is only an imitation of the

flute?

  Clearly not.

  There remain then only the lyre and the harp for use in the city,

and the shepherds may have a pipe in the country.

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

  The preferring of Apollo and his instruments to Marsyas and his

instruments is not at all strange, I said.

  Not at all, he replied.

  And so, by the dog of Egypt, we have been unconsciously purging

the State, which not long ago we termed luxurious.

  And we have done wisely, he replied.

  Then let us now finish the purgation, I said. Next in order to

harmonies, rhythms will naturally follow, and they should be subject

to the same rules, for we ought not to seek out complex systems of

metre, or metres of every kind, but rather to discover what rhythms

are the expressions of a courageous and harmonious life; and when we

have found them, we shall adapt the foot and the melody to words

having a like spirit, not the words to the foot and melody. To say

what these rhythms are will be your duty --you must teach me them,

as you have already taught me the harmonies.

  But, indeed, he replied, I cannot tell you. I only know that there

are some three principles of rhythm out of which metrical systems

are framed, just as in sounds there are four notes out of which all

the harmonies are composed; that is an observation which I have

made. But of what sort of lives they are severally the imitations I am

unable to say.

  Then, I said, we must take Damon into our counsels; and he will tell

us what rhythms are expressive of meanness, or insolence, or fury,

or other unworthiness, and what are to be reserved for the

expression of opposite feelings. And I think that I have an indistinct

recollection of his mentioning a complex Cretic rhythm; also a

dactylic or heroic, and he arranged them in some manner which I do not

quite understand, making the rhythms equal in the rise and fall of the

foot, long and short alternating; and, unless I am mistaken, he

spoke of an iambic as well as of a trochaic rhythm, and assigned to

them short and long quantities. Also in some cases he appeared to

praise or censure the movement of the foot quite as much as the

rhythm; or perhaps a combination of the two; for I am not certain what

he meant. These matters, however, as I was saying, had better be

referred to Damon himself, for the analysis of the subject would be

difficult, you know.

  Rather so, I should say.

  But there is no difficulty in seeing that grace or the absence of

grace is an effect of good or bad rhythm.

  None at all.

  And also that good and bad rhythm naturally assimilate to a good and

bad style; and that harmony and discord in like manner follow style;

for our principle is that rhythm and harmony are regulated by the

words, and not the words by them.

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

  And will not the words and the character of the style depend on

the temper of the soul?

  Yes.

  And everything else on the style?

  Yes.

  Then beauty of style and harmony and grace and good rhythm depend on

simplicity, --I mean the true simplicity of a rightly and nobly

ordered mind and character, not that other simplicity which is only an

euphemism for folly?

  Very true, he replied.

  And if our youth are to do their work in life, must they not make

these graces and harmonies their perpetual aim?

  They must.

  And surely the art of the painter and every other creative and

constructive art are full of them, --weaving, embroidery,

architecture, and every kind of manufacture; also nature, animal and

vegetable, --in all of them there is grace or the absence of grace.

And ugliness and discord and inharmonious motion are nearly allied

to ill words and ill nature, as grace and harmony are the twin sisters

of goodness and virtue and bear their likeness.

  That is quite true, he said.

  But shall our superintendence go no further, and are the poets

only to be required by us to express the image of the good in their

works, on pain, if they do anything else, of expulsion from our State?

Or is the same control to be extended to other artists, and are they

also to be prohibited from exhibiting the opposite forms of vice and

intemperance and meanness and indecency in sculpture and building

and the other creative arts; and is he who cannot conform to this rule

of ours to be prevented from practising his art in our State, lest the

taste of our citizens be corrupted by him? We would not have our

guardians grow up amid images of moral deformity, as in some noxious

pasture, and there browse and feed upon many a baneful herb and flower

day by day, little by little, until they silently gather a festering

mass of corruption in their own soul. Let our artists rather be

those who are gifted to discern the true nature of the beautiful and

graceful; then will our youth dwell in a land of health, amid fair

sights and sounds, and receive the good in everything; and beauty, the

effluence of fair works, shall flow into the eye and ear, like a

health-giving breeze from a purer region, and insensibly draw the soul

from earliest years into likeness and sympathy with the beauty of

reason.

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

  And therefore, I said, Glaucon, musical training is a more potent

instrument than any other, because rhythm and harmony find their way

into the inward places of the soul, on which they mightily fasten,

imparting grace, and making the soul of him who is rightly educated

graceful, or of him who is ill-educated ungraceful; and also because

he who has received this true education of the inner being will most

shrewdly perceive omissions or faults in art and nature, and with a

true taste, while he praises and rejoices over and receives into his

soul the good, and becomes noble and good, he will justly blame and

hate the bad, now in the days of his youth, even before he is able

to know the reason why; and when reason comes he will recognise and

salute the friend with whom his education has made him long familiar.

  Yes, he said, I quite agree with you in thinking that our youth

should be trained in music and on the grounds which you mention.

  Just as in learning to read, I said, we were satisfied when we

knew the letters of the alphabet, which are very few, in all their

recurring sizes and combinations; not slighting them as unimportant

whether they occupy a space large or small, but everywhere eager to

make them out; and not thinking ourselves perfect in the art of

reading until we recognise them wherever they are found:

  True --

  Or, as we recognise the reflection of letters in the water, or in

a mirror, only when we know the letters themselves; the same art and

study giving us the knowledge of both:

  Exactly --

  Even so, as I maintain, neither we nor our guardians, whom we have

to educate, can ever become musical until we and they know the

essential forms, in all their combinations, and can recognise them and

their images wherever they are found, not slighting them either in

small things or great, but believing them all to be within the

sphere of one art and study.

  Most assuredly.

  And when a beautiful soul harmonises with a beautiful form, and

the two are cast in one mould, that will be the fairest of sights to

him who has an eye to see it?

  The fairest indeed.

  And the fairest is also the loveliest?

  That may be assumed.

  And the man who has the spirit of harmony will be most in love

with the loveliest; but he will not love him who is of an inharmonious

soul?

  That is true, he replied, if the deficiency be in his soul; but if

there be any merely bodily defect in another he will be patient of it,

and will love all the same.

  I perceive, I said, that you have or have had experiences of this

sort, and I agree. But let me ask you another question: Has excess

of pleasure any affinity to temperance?

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

his faculties quite as much as pain.

  Or any affinity to virtue in general?

  None whatever.

  Any affinity to wantonness and intemperance?

  Yes, the greatest.

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

love?

  No, nor a madder.

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

harmonious?

  Quite true, he said.

  Then no intemperance or madness should be allowed to approach true

love?

  Certainly not.

  Then mad or intemperate pleasure must never be allowed to come

near the lover and his beloved; neither of them can have any part in

it if their love is of the right sort?

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

  Then I suppose that in the city which we are founding you would make

a law to the effect that a friend should use no other familiarity to

his love than a father would use to his son, and then only for a noble

purpose, and he must first have the other's consent; and this rule

is to limit him in all his intercourse, and he is never to be seen

going further, or, if he exceeds, he is to be deemed guilty of

coarseness and bad taste.

  I quite agree, he said.

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

the end of music if not the love of beauty?

  I agree, he said.

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

trained.

  Certainly.

  Gymnastic as well as music should begin in early years; the training

in it should be careful and should continue through life. Now my

belief is, --and this is a matter upon which I should like to have

your opinion in confirmation of my own, but my own belief is, --not

that the good body by any bodily excellence improves the soul, but, on

the contrary, that the good soul, by her own excellence, improves

the body as far as this may be possible. What do you say?

  Yes, I agree.

  Then, to the mind when adequately trained, we shall be right in

handing over the more particular care of the body; and in order to

avoid prolixity we will now only give the general outlines of the

subject.

  Very good.

  That they must abstain from intoxication has been already remarked

by us; for of all persons a guardian should be the last to get drunk

and not know where in the world he is.

  Yes, he said; that a guardian should require another guardian to

take care of him is ridiculous indeed.

  But next, what shall we say of their food; for the men are in

training for the great contest of all --are they not?

  Yes, he said.

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

them?

  Why not?

  I am afraid, I said, that a habit of body such as they have is but a

sleepy sort of thing, and rather perilous to health. Do you not

observe that these athletes sleep away their lives, and are liable

to most dangerous illnesses if they depart, in ever so slight a

degree, from their customary regimen?

  Yes, I do.

  Then, I said, a finer sort of training will be required for our

warrior athletes, who are to be like wakeful dogs, and to see and hear

with the utmost keenness; amid the many changes of water and also of

food, of summer heat and winter cold, which they will have to endure

when on a campaign, they must not be liable to break down in health.

  That is my view.

  The really excellent gymnastic is twin sister of that simple music

which we were just now describing.

  How so?

  Why, I conceive that there is a gymnastic which, like our music,

is simple and good; and especially the military gymnastic.

  What do you mean?

  My meaning may be learned from Homer; he, you know, feeds his heroes

at their feasts, when they are campaigning, on soldiers' fare; they

have no fish, although they are on the shores of the Hellespont, and

they are not allowed boiled meats but only roast, which is the food

most convenient for soldiers, requiring only that they should light

a fire, and not involving the trouble of carrying about pots and pans.

  True.

  And I can hardly be mistaken in saying that sweet sauces are nowhere

mentioned in Homer. In proscribing them, however, he is not

singular; all professional athletes are well aware that a man who is

to be in good condition should take nothing of the kind.

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

them.

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

of Sicilian cookery?

  I think not.

  Nor, if a man is to be in condition, would you allow him to have a

Corinthian girl as his fair friend?

  Certainly not.

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

Athenian confectionery?

  Certainly not.

  All such feeding and living may be rightly compared by us to

melody and song composed in the panharmonic style, and in all the

rhythms. Exactly.

  There complexity engendered license, and here disease; whereas

simplicity in music was the parent of temperance in the soul; and

simplicity in gymnastic of health in the body.

  Most true, he said.

  But when intemperance and disease multiply in a State, halls of

justice and medicine are always being opened; and the arts of the

doctor and the lawyer give themselves airs, finding how keen is the

interest which not only the slaves but the freemen of a city take

about them.

  Of course.

  And yet what greater proof can there be of a bad and disgraceful

state of education than this, that not only artisans and the meaner

sort of people need the skill of first-rate physicians and judges, but

also those who would profess to have had a liberal education? Is it

not disgraceful, and a great sign of want of good-breeding, that a man

should have to go abroad for his law and physic because he has none of

his own at home, and must therefore surrender himself into the hands

of other men whom he makes lords and judges over him?

  Of all things, he said, the most disgraceful.

  Would you say 'most,' I replied, when you consider that there is a

further stage of the evil in which a man is not only a life-long

litigant, passing all his days in the courts, either as plaintiff or

defendant, but is actually led by his bad taste to pride himself on

his litigiousness; he imagines that he is a master in dishonesty; able

to take every crooked turn, and wriggle into and out of every hole,

bending like a withy and getting out of the way of justice: and all

for what? --in order to gain small points not worth mentioning, he not

knowing that so to order his life as to be able to do without a

napping judge is a far higher and nobler sort of thing. Is not that

still more disgraceful?

  Yes, he said, that is still more disgraceful.

  Well, I said, and to require the help of medicine, not when a

wound has to be cured, or on occasion of an epidemic, but just

because, by indolence and a habit of life such as we have been

describing, men fill themselves with waters and winds, as if their

bodies were a marsh, compelling the ingenious sons of Asclepius to

find more names for diseases, such as flatulence and catarrh; is not

this, too, a disgrace?

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

names to diseases.

  Yes, I said, and I do not believe that there were any such

diseases in the days of Asclepius; and this I infer from the

circumstance that the hero Eurypylus, after he has been wounded in

Homer, drinks a posset of Pramnian wine well besprinkled with

barley-meal and grated cheese, which are certainly inflammatory, and

yet the sons of Asclepius who were at the Trojan war do not blame

the damsel who gives him the drink, or rebuke Patroclus, who is

treating his case.

  Well, he said, that was surely an extraordinary drink to be given to

a person in his condition.

  Not so extraordinary, I replied, if you bear in mind that in

former days, as is commonly said, before the time of Herodicus, the

guild of Asclepius did not practise our present system of medicine,

which may be said to educate diseases. But Herodicus, being a trainer,

and himself of a sickly constitution, by a combination of training and

doctoring found out a way of torturing first and chiefly himself,

and secondly the rest of the world.

  How was that? he said.

  By the invention of lingering death; for he had a mortal disease

which he perpetually tended, and as recovery was out of the

question, he passed his entire life as a valetudinarian; he could do

nothing but attend upon himself, and he was in constant torment

whenever he departed in anything from his usual regimen, and so

dying hard, by the help of science he struggled on to old age.

  A rare reward of his skill!

  Yes, I said; a reward which a man might fairly expect who never

understood that, if Asclepius did not instruct his descendants in

valetudinarian arts, the omission arose, not from ignorance or

inexperience of such a branch of medicine, but because he knew that in

all well-ordered states every individual has an occupation to which he

must attend, and has therefore no leisure to spend in continually

being ill. This we remark in the case of the artisan, but, ludicrously

enough, do not apply the same rule to people of the richer sort.

  How do you mean? he said.

  I mean this: When a carpenter is ill he asks the physician for a

rough and ready cure; an emetic or a purge or a cautery or the

knife, --these are his remedies. And if some one prescribes for him

a course of dietetics, and tells him that he must swathe and swaddle

his head, and all that sort of thing, he replies at once that he has

no time to be ill, and that he sees no good in a life which is spent

in nursing his disease to the neglect of his customary employment; and

therefore bidding good-bye to this sort of physician, he resumes his

ordinary habits, and either gets well and lives and does his business,

or, if his constitution falls, he dies and has no more trouble.

  Yes, he said, and a man in his condition of life ought to use the

art of medicine thus far only.

  Has he not, I said, an occupation; and what profit would there be in

his life if he were deprived of his occupation?

  Quite true, he said.

  But with the rich man this is otherwise; of him we do not say that

he has any specially appointed work which he must perform, if he would

live.

  He is generally supposed to have nothing to do.

  Then you never heard of the saying of Phocylides, that as soon as

a man has a livelihood he should practise virtue?

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

  Let us not have a dispute with him about this, I said; but rather

ask ourselves: Is the practice of virtue obligatory on the rich man,

or can he live without it? And if obligatory on him, then let us raise

a further question, whether this dieting of disorders which is an

impediment to the application of the mind t in carpentering and the

mechanical arts, does not equally stand in the way of the sentiment of

Phocylides?

  Of that, he replied, there can be no doubt; such excessive care of

the body, when carried beyond the rules of gymnastic, is most inimical

to the practice of virtue.

  Yes, indeed, I replied, and equally incompatible with the management

of a house, an army, or an office of state; and, what is most

important of all, irreconcilable with any kind of study or thought

or self-reflection --there is a constant suspicion that headache and

giddiness are to be ascribed to philosophy, and hence all practising

or making trial of virtue in the higher sense is absolutely stopped;

for a man is always fancying that he is being made ill, and is in

constant anxiety about the state of his body.

  Yes, likely enough.

  And therefore our politic Asclepius may be supposed to have

exhibited the power of his art only to persons who, being generally of

healthy constitution and habits of life, had a definite ailment;

such as these he cured by purges and operations, and bade them live as

usual, herein consulting the interests of the State; but bodies

which disease had penetrated through and through he would not have

attempted to cure by gradual processes of evacuation and infusion:

he did not want to lengthen out good-for-nothing lives, or to have

weak fathers begetting weaker sons; --if a man was not able to live in

the ordinary way he had no business to cure him; for such a cure would

have been of no use either to himself, or to the State.

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

  Clearly; and his character is further illustrated by his sons.

Note that they were heroes in the days of old and practised the

medicines of which I am speaking at the siege of Troy: You will

remember how, when Pandarus wounded Menelaus, they



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



but they never prescribed what the patient was afterwards to eat or

drink in the case of Menelaus, any more than in the case of Eurypylus;

the remedies, as they conceived, were enough to heal any man who

before he was wounded was healthy and regular in habits; and even

though he did happen to drink a posset of Pramnian wine, he might

get well all the same. But they would have nothing to do with

unhealthy and intemperate subjects, whose lives were of no use

either to themselves or others; the art of medicine was not designed

for their good, and though they were as rich as Midas, the sons of

Asclepius would have declined to attend them.

  They were very acute persons, those sons of Asclepius.

  Naturally so, I replied. Nevertheless, the tragedians and Pindar

disobeying our behests, although they acknowledge that Asclepius was

the son of Apollo, say also that he was bribed into healing a rich man

who was at the point of death, and for this reason he was struck by

lightning. But we, in accordance with the principle already affirmed

by us, will not believe them when they tell us both; --if he was the

son of a god, we maintain that hd was not avaricious; or, if he was

avaricious he was not the son of a god.

  All that, Socrates, is excellent; but I should like to put a

question to you: Ought there not to be good physicians in a State, and

are not the best those who have treated the greatest number of

constitutions good and bad? and are not the best judges in like manner

those who are acquainted with all sorts of moral natures?

  Yes, I said, I too would have good judges and good physicians. But

do you know whom I think good?

  Will you tell me?

  I will, if I can. Let me however note that in the same question

you join two things which are not the same.

  How so? he asked.

  Why, I said, you join physicians and judges. Now the most skilful

physicians are those who, from their youth upwards, have combined with

the knowledge of their art the greatest experience of disease; they

had better not be robust in health, and should have had all manner

of diseases in their own persons. For the body, as I conceive, is

not the instrument with which they cure the body; in that case we

could not allow them ever to be or to have been sickly; but they

cure the body with the mind, and the mind which has become and is sick

can cure nothing.

  That is very true, he said.

  But with the judge it is otherwise; since he governs mind by mind;

he ought not therefore to have been trained among vicious minds, and

to have associated with them from youth upwards, and to have gone

through the whole calendar of crime, only in order that he may quickly

infer the crimes of others as he might their bodily diseases from

his own self-consciousness; the honourable mind which is to form a

healthy judgment should have had no experience or contamination of

evil habits when young. And this is the reason why in youth good men

often appear to be simple, and are easily practised upon by the

dishonest, because they have no examples of what evil is in their

own souls.

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

  Therefore, I said, the judge should not be young; he should have

learned to know evil, not from his own soul, but from late and long

observation of the nature of evil in others: knowledge should be his

guide, not personal experience.

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

  Yes, I replied, and he will be a good man (which is my answer to

your question); for he is good who has a good soul. But the cunning

and suspicious nature of which we spoke, --he who has committed many

crimes, and fancies himself to be a master in wickedness, when he is

amongst his fellows, is wonderful in the precautions which he takes,

because he judges of them by himself: but when he gets into the

company of men of virtue, who have the experience of age, he appears

to be a fool again, owing to his unseasonable suspicions; he cannot

recognise an honest man, because he has no pattern of honesty in

himself; at the same time, as the bad are more numerous than the good,

and he meets with them oftener, he thinks himself, and is by others

thought to be, rather wise than foolish.

  Most true, he said.

  Then the good and wise judge whom we are seeking is not this man,

but the other; for vice cannot know virtue too, but a virtuous nature,

educated by time, will acquire a knowledge both of virtue and vice:

the virtuous, and not the vicious, man has wisdom --in my opinion.

  And in mine also.

  This is the sort of medicine, and this is the sort of law, which you

sanction in your State. They will minister to better natures, giving

health both of soul and of body; but those who are diseased in their

bodies they will leave to die, and the corrupt and incurable souls

they will put an end to themselves.

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

State.

  And thus our youth, having been educated only in that simple music

which, as we said, inspires temperance, will be reluctant to go to

law.

  Clearly.

  And the musician, who, keeping to the same track, is content to

practise the simple gymnastic, will have nothing to do with medicine

unless in some extreme case.

  That I quite believe.

  The very exercises and tolls which he undergoes are intended to

stimulate the spirited element of his nature, and not to increase

his strength; he will not, like common athletes, use exercise and

regimen to develop his muscles.

  Very right, he said.

  Neither are the two arts of music and gymnastic really designed,

as is often supposed, the one for the training of the soul, the

other fir the training of the body.

  What then is the real object of them?

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

the improvement of the soul.

  How can that be? he asked.

  Did you never observe, I said, the effect on the mind itself of

exclusive devotion to gymnastic, or the opposite effect of an

exclusive devotion to music?

  In what way shown? he said.

  The one producing a temper of hardness and ferocity, the other of

softness and effeminacy, I replied.

  Yes, he said, I am quite aware that the mere athlete becomes too

much of a savage, and that the mere musician is melted and softened

beyond what is good for him.

  Yet surely, I said, this ferocity only comes from spirit, which,

if rightly educated, would give courage, but, if too much intensified,

is liable to become hard and brutal.

  That I quite think.

  On the other hand the philosopher will have the quality of

gentleness. And this also, when too much indulged, will turn to

softness, but, if educated rightly, will be gentle and moderate.

  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

soul through the funnel of his ears those sweet and soft and

melancholy airs of which we were just now speaking, and his whole life

is passed in warbling and the delights of song; in the first stage

of the process the passion or spirit which is in him is tempered

like iron, and made useful, instead of brittle and useless. But, if he

carries on the softening and soothing process, in the next stage he

begins to melt and waste, until he has wasted away his spirit and

cut out the sinews of his soul; and he becomes a feeble warrior.

  Very true.

  If the element of spirit is naturally weak in him the change is

speedily accomplished, but if he have a good deal, then the power of

music weakening the spirit renders him excitable; --on the least

provocation he flames up at once, and is speedily extinguished;

instead of having spirit he grows irritable and passionate and is

quite impracticable.

  Exactly.

  And so in gymnastics, if a man takes violent exercise and is a great

feeder, and the reverse of a great student of music and philosophy, at

first the high condition of his body fills him with pride and

spirit, and lie becomes twice the man that he was.

  Certainly.

  And what happens? if he do nothing else, and holds no con-a verse

with the Muses, does not even that intelligence which there may be

in him, having no taste of any sort of learning or enquiry or

thought or culture, grow feeble and dull and blind, his mind never

waking up or receiving nourishment, and his senses not being purged of

their mists?

  True, he said.

  And he ends by becoming a hater of philosophy, uncivilized, never

using the weapon of persuasion, --he is like a wild beast, all

violence and fierceness, and knows no other way of dealing; and he

lives in all ignorance and evil conditions, and has no sense of

propriety and grace.

  That is quite true, he said.

  And as there are two principles of human nature, one the spirited

and the other the philosophical, some God, as I should say, has

given mankind two arts answering to them (and only indirectly to the

soul and body), in order that these two principles (like the strings

of an instrument) may be relaxed or drawn tighter until they are

duly harmonised.

  That appears to be the intention.

  And he who mingles music with gymnastic in the fairest

proportions, and best attempers them to the soul, may be rightly

called the true musician and harmonist in a far higher sense than

the tuner of the strings.

  You are quite right, Socrates.

  And such a presiding genius will be always required in our State

if the government is to last.

  Yes, he will be absolutely necessary.

  Such, then, are our principles of nurture and education: Where would

be the use of going into further details about the dances of our

citizens, or about their hunting and coursing, their gymnastic and

equestrian contests? For these all follow the general principle, and

having found that, we shall have no difficulty in discovering them.

  I dare say that there will be no difficulty.

  Very good, I said; then what is the next question? Must we not ask

who are to be rulers and who subjects?

  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 to

husbandry?

  Yes.

  And as we are to have the best of guardians for our city, must

they not be those who have most the character of guardians?

  Yes.

  And to this end they ought to be wise and efficient, and to have a

special 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

the same interests with himself, and that of which the good or evil

fortune is supposed by him at any time most to affect his own?

  Very true, he replied.

  Then there must be a selection. Let us note among the guardians

those who in their whole life show the greatest eagerness to do what

is for the good of their country, and the greatest repugnance to do

what is against her interests.

  Those are the right men.

  And they will have to be watched at every age, in order that we

may see whether they preserve their resolution, and never, under the

influence either of force or enchantment, forget or cast off their

sense of duty to the State.

  How cast off? he said.

  I will explain to you, I replied. A resolution may go out of a man's

mind either with his will or against his will; with his will when he

gets rid of a falsehood and learns better, against his will whenever

he is deprived of a truth.

  I understand, he said, the willing loss of a resolution; the meaning

of the unwilling I have yet to learn.

  Why, I said, do you not see that men are unwillingly deprived of

good, and willingly of evil? Is not to have lost the truth an evil,

and to possess the truth a good? and you would agree that to

conceive things as they are is to possess the truth?

  Yes, he replied; I agree with you in thinking that mankind are

deprived of truth against their will.

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

force, or enchantment?

  Still, he replied, I do not understand you.

  I fear that I must have been talking darkly, like the tragedians.

I only mean that some men are changed by persuasion and that others

forget; argument steals away the hearts of one class, and time of

the other; and this I call theft. Now you understand me?

  Yes.

  Those again who are forced are those whom the violence of some

pain or grief compels to change their opinion.

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

  And you would also acknowledge that the enchanted are those who

change their minds either under the softer influence of pleasure, or

the sterner influence of fear?

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

  Therefore, as I was just now saying, we must enquire who are the

best guardians of their own conviction that what they think the

interest of the State is to be the rule of their lives. We must

watch them from their youth upwards, and make them perform actions

in which they are most likely to forget or to be deceived, and he

who remembers and is not deceived is to be selected, and he who

falls in the trial is to be rejected. That will be the way?

  Yes.

  And there should also be toils and pains and conflicts prescribed

for them, in which they will be made to give further proof of the same

qualities.

  Very right, he replied.

  And then, I said, we must try them with enchantments that is the

third sort of test --and see what will be their behaviour: like

those who take colts amid noise and tumult to see if they are of a

timid nature, so must we take our youth amid terrors of some kind, and

again pass them into pleasures, and prove them more thoroughly than

gold is proved in the furnace, that we may discover whether they are

armed against all enchantments, and of a noble bearing always, good

guardians of themselves and of the music which they have learned,

and retaining under all circumstances a rhythmical and harmonious

nature, such as will be most serviceable to the individual and to

the State. And he who at every age, as boy and youth and in mature

life, has come out of the trial victorious and pure, shall be

appointed a ruler and guardian of the State; he shall be honoured in

life and death, and shall receive sepulture and other memorials of

honour, the greatest that we have to give. But him who fails, we

must reject. I am inclined to think that this is the sort of way in

which our rulers and guardians should be chosen and appointed. I speak

generally, and not with any pretension to exactness.

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

  And perhaps the word 'guardian' in the fullest sense ought to be

applied to this higher class only who preserve us against foreign

enemies and maintain peace among our citizens at home, that the one

may not have the will, or the others the power, to harm us. The

young men whom we before called guardians may be more properly

designated auxiliaries and supporters of the principles of the rulers.

  I agree with you, he said.

  How then may we devise one of those needful falsehoods of which we

lately spoke --just one royal lie which may deceive the rulers, if

that be possible, and at any rate the rest of the city?

  What sort of lie? he said.

  Nothing new, I replied; only an old Phoenician tale of what has

often occurred before now in other places, (as the poets say, and have

made the world believe,) though not in our time, and I do not know

whether such an event could ever happen again, or could now even be

made probable, if it did.

  How your words seem to hesitate on your lips!

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

heard.

  Speak, he said, and fear not.

  Well then, I will speak, although I really know not how to look

you in the face, or in what words to utter the audacious fiction,

which I propose to communicate gradually, first to the rulers, then to

the soldiers, and lastly to the people. They are to be told that their

youth was a dream, and the education and training which they

received from us, an appearance only; in reality during all that

time they were being formed and fed in the womb of the earth, where

they themselves and their arms and appurtenances were manufactured;

when they were completed, the earth, their mother, sent them up; and

so, their country being their mother and also their nurse, they are

bound to advise for her good, and to defend her against attacks, and

her citizens they are to regard as children of the earth and their own

brothers.

  You had good reason, he said, to be ashamed of the lie which you

were going to tell.

  True, I replied, but there is more coming; I have only told you

half. Citizens, we shall say to them in our tale, you are brothers,

yet God has framed you differently. Some of you have the power of

command, and in the composition of these he has mingled gold,

wherefore also they have the greatest honour; others he has made of

silver, to be auxillaries; others again who are to be husbandmen and

craftsmen he has composed of brass and iron; and the species will

generally be preserved in the children. But as all are of the same

original stock, a golden parent will sometimes have a silver son, or a

silver parent a golden son. And God proclaims as a first principle

to the rulers, and above all else, that there is nothing which

should so anxiously guard, or of which they are to be such good

guardians, as of the purity of the race. They should observe what

elements mingle in their off spring; for if the son of a golden or

silver parent has an admixture of brass and iron, then nature orders a

transposition of ranks, and the eye of the ruler must not be pitiful

towards the child because he has to descend in the scale and become

a husbandman or artisan, just as there may be sons of artisans who

having an admixture of gold or silver in them are raised to honour,

and become guardians or auxiliaries. For an oracle says that when a

man of brass or iron guards the State, it will be destroyed. Such is

the tale; is there any possibility of making our citizens believe in

it?

  Not in the present generation, he replied; there is no way of

accomplishing this; but their sons may be made to believe in the tale,

and their sons' sons, and posterity after them.

  I see the difficulty, I replied; yet the fostering of such a

belief will make them care more for the city and for one another.

Enough, however, of the fiction, which may now fly abroad upon the

wings of rumour, while we arm our earth-born heroes, and lead them

forth under the command of their rulers. Let them look round and

select a spot whence they can best suppress insurrection, if any prove

refractory within, and also defend themselves against enemies, who

like wolves may come down on the fold from without; there let them

encamp, and when they have encamped, let them sacrifice to the

proper Gods and prepare their dwellings.

  Just so, he said.

  And their dwellings must be such as will shield them against the

cold of winter and the heat of summer.

  I suppose that you mean houses, he replied.

  Yes, I said; but they must be the houses of soldiers, and not of

shop-keepers.

  What is the difference? he said.

  That I will endeavour to explain, I replied. To keep watchdogs, who,

from want of discipline or hunger, or some evil habit, or evil habit

or other, would turn upon the sheep and worry them, and behave not

like dogs but wolves, would be a foul and monstrous thing in a

shepherd?

  Truly monstrous, he said.

  And therefore every care must be taken that our auxiliaries, being

stronger than our citizens, may not grow to be too much for them and

become savage tyrants instead of friends and allies?

  Yes, great care should be taken.

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

  But they are well-educated already, he replied.

  I cannot be so confident, my dear Glaucon, I said; I am much certain

that they ought to be, and that true education, whatever that may

be, will have the greatest tendency to civilize and humanize them in

their relations to one another, and to those who are under their

protection.

  Very true, he replied.

  And not only their education, but their habitations, and all that

belongs to them, should be such as will neither impair their virtue as

guardians, nor tempt them to prey upon the other citizens. Any man

of sense must acknowledge that.

  He must.

  Then let us consider what will be their way of life, if they are

to realize our idea of them. In the first place, none of them should

have any property of his own beyond what is absolutely necessary;

neither should they have a private house or store closed against any

one who has a mind to enter; their provisions should be only such as

are required by trained warriors, who are men of temperance and

courage; they should agree to receive from the citizens a fixed rate

of pay, enough to meet the expenses of the year and no more; and

they will go and live together like soldiers in a camp. Gold and

silver we will tell them that they have from God; the diviner metal is

within them, and they have therefore no need of the dross which is

current among men, and ought not to pollute the divine by any such

earthly admixture; for that commoner metal has been the source of many

unholy deeds, but their own is undefiled. And they alone of all the

citizens may not touch or handle silver or gold, or be under the

same roof with them, or wear them, or drink from them. And this will

be their salvation, and they will be the saviours of the State. But

should they ever acquire homes or lands or moneys of their own, they

will become housekeepers and husbandmen instead of guardians,

enemies and tyrants instead of allies of the other citizens; hating

and being hated, plotting and being plotted against, they will pass

their whole life in much greater terror of internal than of external

enemies, and the hour of ruin, both to themselves and to the rest of

the State, will be at hand. For all which reasons may we not say

that thus shall our State be ordered, and that these shall be the

regulations appointed by us for guardians concerning their houses

and all other matters? other

  Yes, said Glaucon.