The Republic of Plato

BERKELEY

LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF
CALIFORNIA

•_L

THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO,

TRANSLATED BY THOMAS TAYLOR,
EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION,

BY THEODORE WRATISLAW.

LONDON: WALTER SCOTT,
PATERNOSTER SQUARE.

INTRODUCTION.

THE Politeia — the Commonwealth, or, as it is usually translated,
the Republic of Plato — is the crowning achievement of Plato's
art and philosophy. This first human attempt at the intellectual
creation of an ideal state stands, according to one enthusiastic
commentator, on the same level in the world of speculation as
the Agamemnon or the Parthenon in the world of Art. " The
whole state is an imitation of the best and noblest life," runs
a passage in the Laws; and it may be that in expound-
ing his theory of the best state Plato was only expounding his
ideas of the noblest form of life : such a life being best visible
in the life of a community, and also being one that, although
inborn in individuals, can only be fostered by careful educa-
tion. For the idea that runs through the Republic is that the
individual presents almost the same features and qualities as
society, on a smaller scale, and in his argument Plato first
considers the state and thence makes his deductions as to
the individual. But if the Republic is also a new theory of
education, as well as a discourse on Justice and the per-

321

vi IN TROD UCTION.

feet state and the noblest life, its various ideas must be
considered, not separately, but jointly. The whole work
is an harmonious and artistic unity. It is as impossible
to split its ideas into sections as it would be to separate one
part of it from another. From the introduction — a charm-
ing picture of old-world life — from the first sentences, thought
runs into thought and argument into argument with perfect
precision and connection, artistically and logically, until the
work is ended. Nothing can be detached or omitted without
losing some of its beauty. Just as a fragment of one of
Wagner's operas may not be detached and performed without
its being half-spoilt, so cannot you detach any portion of this
close deduction without losing the artistic beauty of its logical
sequence. Plato, almost alone among philosophers, is a
literary artist as well as a philosopher, and it is to this fact
that half of his perennial popularity may be attributed.
^ The ethical doctrines of Plato are based, it is hardly neces-
sary to say, on his philosophical creed. This there is no need
to discuss here, for the motive of the Republic is almost entirely
ethical, and so much of his philosophy as appears in the book
is intelligible by itself, and needs no explanation. Plato held
with Heraclitus that the objects of the senses are unreal and
fugitive, but that we may from contemplation of them rise to
the Ideal, which is the only reality. The ethical side needs
rather more comment. Plato wrote the Republic apparently
under the sense that " the glory that was Greece " was rapidly
vanishing/ At the age of twenty-three, he had seen his country-
men beaten by the Lacedaemonians at the crushing defeat of

INTR OD UCTION. vii

yEgospotami. Lysander, the Spartan general, had blockaded
Athens, and early in the next year (B.C. 404) had taken formal
possession of it. With his help, the Committee of Manage-
ment, which was soon known by the name of the Thirty Tyrants,
was established. Murders of their political enemies became
the order of the day. Socrates himself was summoned before
them and dismissed with a warning. But towards the end of
the year, Thrasybulus, with the aid of Athenian exiles and
Theban citizens, marched into Attica, and by great good fortune
managed to defeat the Thirty. The Peloponnesians quitted
Attica, and the democracy was restored. But Athens was
now but a shadow of herself. Her fortifications, her fleet, her
revenues, and her empire had vanished. Far from ruling
others, she had now to struggle to maintain her independence.
Five years later (B.C. 399) Socrates was put to death. The
year 388 B.C. was the date of Plato's first expedition to Syracuse,
he being then forty years of age.1 The next year saw the dis-
graceful " Peace of Antalcidas " concluded between the Greeks
and Persians, owing to the machinations of Sparta ; while the next
few years of Grecian history are a record of intestine quarrels.
It was probably at this time that the Republic was written.
Hellenic politics were in a lamentable condition, and Plato
wished to create an ideal commonwealth in words as a last
protest against the increasing depravity of actual things. He
states that the ideal state was to be Hellenic, and he found

1 See the letter of Plato (of disputed authenticity, however), included
in Mr. T. W. Rolleston's Selections from Plato, in the Scott Library.

viii INTR OD UCTION.

in Sparta many of the regulations which he adopted for his
Republic. The life of Sparta was military, and was even more
rigid in peace than in time of war. The citizens of Sparta were
forbidden to trade; gold and silver were unpermitted; and if
women and children were not in common, as in the Republic,
yet the two sexes were constantly mingled in public " in a
way foreign to the habits," says Grote, " as well as repugnant
to the feelings of other Grecian states ; " the bride lived with
her family, and only visited her husband in his barrack in male
attire, and on short and stolen occasions ; the uniting of the
finest couples was regarded by the citizens as desirable, and by
the lawgiver as a duty : jealousy on the husband's part found
no sympathy, and he had to permit and encourage compliances
on the part of his wife consistent with this generally acknow-
ledged object.

The question arises whether Plato intended his ideal state
to be a Cloudcuckootown or Utopia of theory, or wished to
establish it in actuality. Plato himself says that though
difficult of creation, such a state would be by no means im-
possible, could any place be found suitable for the habitation
of philosophers and the growth of philosophy : and this place,
he says, would be found if some monarch should apply himself
to practical philosophy and find his people willing to obey. It
seems beyond doubt that Plato had hopes of founding such a
state in Syracuse, with the aid of his friend and pupil, Dion, the
brother-in-law of Dionysius the younger, the tyrant of Syracuse.
But though Dionysius for a time was glad of Plato's teaching,
and even allowed Plato to be practically master of his king-

INTR OD UCT1ON. ix

dom, he soon tired of the experiment. Dion was banished on
suspicion of conspiracy, and Plato was glad to escape with his
life.

With reference to the much-debated question of his attitude
in the Republic towards poetry and the imitative arts, it appears
that Plato was continually striving to bring art and philosophy
into alliance, upon some neutral ground where neither would
find itself in antagonism with the other. Doubtless Plato,
had he founded his perfect state, would have been com-
pelled to modify his purely philosophical view of it in accord-
ance with the eternal demands of art for the liberty without
which it must of necessity die. But in the Republic the
artist in Plato was strangled by the philosopher and social
regenerator. His condemnation, if not of useless beauty, at
least of luxury and display, is as severe as, if less violent than,
that of any demagogue : although what is known as democracy
had no more determined opponent than Plato, if we except
perhaps Aristophanes. The hatred and contempt that Aristo-
phanes poured out on such self-seeking demagogues as Cleon
is paralleled by the antagonistic criticism of a democracy to be
found in the eighth book of the Republic. By aristocracy of
birth no less than by aristocracy of intellect was he filled with
contempt for the rule of the many — the rule that murdered
Socrates and destroyed Athens. This it was that made him look
abroad, to Sparta and to Egypt, for the regulations of his state.
The legislation of Lycurgus inculcated the sacrifice of the
individual for the good of the whole. It asserted the suprem-
acy of Law : and in the brotherhood of Pythagoras Plato found

x INTRO D UCTION.

the same discipline joined, not only to the good of the actual
state, but to the perfection of human nature as displayed in its
best representatives. And Athens with its splendid artistic
past and present appealed less to him than the utilitarian states
that came under his notice. The artistic and philosophic sides of
Plato's temperament were often at variance. As an artist he
clings to art : and when as a philosopher he condemns it, it is
with a sigh, or at all events with the obvious fear of the accusa-
tion of dulness. The mourning Muse who has inspired the
sweetest poetry is, he says, unacceptable to the philosophy
which directs the soul to be as immovable as is possible. But
in considering his condemnation of the arts, it will be remem-
bered that Phidias and Zeuxis, ^Ischylus and Sophocles had
lived and worked before Plato.

Besides the enduring value of the Republic as a work of art,
its philosophical and ethical teaching is of particular interest in
the present disordered condition of social and speculative ideas,
and the conclusions of Plato as to the relative good and evil of
the five kinds of constitutions may be considered in the light of
the later theories of socialism and anarchy. His consideration
of Aristocracy, the perfect state, the rule of the few best: of
Timocracy, the rule of the wealthy or of those in good position :
of Oligarchy, that of the few worst: of Democracy, that of the
mob, and of Despotism, is of abiding value. Certainly, the con-
dition of Hellenic politics when he wrote the Republic was not
more complicated or contentious than our own at the present
time: and the philosophic student may enjoy a period of retire-
ment from external quarrels in the company of this tranquil and

INTR OD UCTION. xi

consideration of mundane complexities. One of the
greatest charms of Plato's writing is, as it seems to me, his
remoteness from temporal troubles, his avoidance of things
of ephemeral interest, his artistic and "Attic" calm.

I have carefully revised the text of Taylor's admirable trans-
lation. Faulty translation of difficult passages one expects to
find in his text, but besides amending the passages in which
he is at fault in his rendering of the Greek, I have attempted
here and there to render his English somewhat more intelligible
and smooth. I have also to a certain extent removed the
numerous and irritating phrases used by Taylor in his desire to
ake a literal translation of Greek idioms, such as "You say
ue"for "You are right," "Why not?" for "Yes." But in
pite of this revision the book remains Taylor's, and distinct
om any other translation. Indeed, I hope that, except by
careful comparison of the two texts, the difference will be
unnoticeable.

THEODORE WRATISLAW.

THE REPUBLIC.

BOOK I.

Speakers— SOCRATES, CEPHALUS, POLEMARCHUS, GLAUCO.1
ADIMANTUS, THRASYMACHUS.

whole is a recital by Socrates. The Scene is in the
house of Cephalus, at the Pirceus.

SOCRATES.

WENT down yesterday to the Piraeus, with Glauco, the son of
Aristo, to pay my devotion to the Goddess; and desirous, at
the same time, to observe in what manner they would celebrate
the festival, as they were now to do it for the first time.2 The
procession of our own countrymen seemed to me to be indeed
beautiful ; yet that of the Thracians appeared no less brilliant.
After we had paid our devotion, and seen the solemnity, we
were returning to the city; when Polemarchus, the son of
Cephalus, observing us at a distance hurrying home, ordered
his boy to run and desire us to wait for him: and the boy,
taking hold of my robe behind, Polemarchus, says he, desires
you to wait. I turned about, and asked where he was. He is
coming up, said he, after you ; but do you wait for him. We

• 1 Glauco and Adimantus were the brothers of Plato, whom, as
Plutarch justly observes in his Treatise on Brotherly Love, Plato has
rendered famous by introducing them into this dialogue. (Taylor's
Note.)

I The festival was in honour of Bendis, a Thracian goddess, usually
dentified with Artemis.

2 THE REPUBLIC.

will wait, said Glauco ; and soon afterwards came Polemarchus,
and Adimantus the brother of Glauco, and Niceratus the son of
Nicias, and some others apparently coming from the proces-
sion. Then said Polemarchus, Socrates ! you seem to me to be
hurrying to the city. You conjecture, said I, not amiss.

Do you not see, then, said he, how many there are of us ?
Undoubtedly, I do.

Therefore, now, you must either prove yourself stronger
than these, or you must stay here. Is there not, said I,
one way still remaining? May we not persuade you that
you must let us go ? Can you be able to persuade such as will
not hear ? By no means, said Glauco. So then, if we are not
to hear, determine accordingly. But do you not know, said
Adimantus, that there is to be a torch-race in the evening, on
horseback, to the goddess? On horseback ? said I. That is
new. Are they to have torches, and give them to one another,
while the horses are racing ? or how do you mean ? Just so,
replied Polemarchus. And besides, there will be a night
festival * worth seeing. For we shall rise after supper, and see
the night festival, and shall be there with many of the young
men with whom we may converse. But do you stay, and do not
refuse. It seems proper, then, said Glauco, that we should
stay. Nay, if it seem so, said I, we ought to do it

We went home therefore to Polemarchus's house ; and there
we found Lycias and Euthydemus, brothers of Polemarchus ; as
well as Thrasymachus the Chalcedonian, and Charmantides the
Pseoneian, and Clitipho the son of Aristonimus; Cephalus the
father of Polemarchus was likewise in the house ; he seemed to
me to be looking very old, for I had not seen him for a long
time. He was sitting crowned, on a certain couch and seat ; for
he had been offering sacrifice in the court. So we sat down by
him ; for some seats were placed there in a circle. Immediately,
then, when Cephalus saw me, he saluted me, and said, Socrates,
you do not often come down to us in the Pirasus ; you ought to
come often ; for, were I still able easily to go up to the city,

1 This nocturnal solemnity was the lesser Panathensea, which, as
the name implies, was sacred to Athene.

THE REPUBLIC.

you should not need to come hither, but we would be with you.
But now you should come hither more frequently ; for I assure
you that, so far as I am concerned, as the pleasures of the body
languish, the desire and pleasure of conversation increase.

Do not fail, then, to make a party often with these youths,
and come hither to us, as to your friends and intimate acquaint-
ance. In truth, said I, Cephalus, I take pleasure in conversing
with those who are very far advanced in years ; for it appears
to me proper, that we learn from them, as from persons who
have gone before us, what the road is which we have to travel ;
whether it be rough and difficult, or plain and easy. And I
would gladly learn from you, as you are now arrived at that
time of life which the poets call " the Threshold of Age," what
your opinion of it is ; whether you consider it to be a grievous
part of life, or what else you deem it to be ? I will tell you,
Socrates, said he, what is really my opinion ; for we frequently
meet together in one place, several of us who are of the same
age, observing the old proverb. Most of us, therefore, when
assembled, lament their state, when they feel a want of the
pleasures of youth, and call to their remembrance the delights of
love, of drinking, and feasting, and some others akin to these :
and they express indignation, as if they were bereaved of some
mighty things. In those days, they say, they lived well, but
now they do not live at all : some of them, too, bemoan the con-
tempt which old-age meets with from their acquaintance : and
on this account also they lament old-age, which is to them the
cause of so many ills. But these men, Socrates, seem not to me
to blame the real cause ; for, if this were the cause, I too should
have suffered the same things on account of old-age, that have
all the others, who have arrived at these years : whereas I have
met with several who are not thus affected ; and particularly
Sophocles the poet, who, when he was asked by some one,
How he was affected towards the pleasures of love ? was he still
able to enjoy them? Softly, friend, replied he; most gladly,
indeed, have I escaped from these pleasures, as from some

(urious and savage master. He seemed to me at that time
o speak wisely, and no less does he seem so now: for,

4 THE REPUBLIC.

certainly, there is in old-age abundance of peace and free-
dom from such things ; for, when the appetites cease to be
vehement, and are become easy, what Sophocles said certainly
happens; we are delivered from very many insane masters.
But with regard to these troubles, and those likewise re-
specting our acquaintance, there is one and the same cause ;
which is not our old-age, Socrates, but our temperaments ; for,
if indeed they are well-regulated and moderate, even old-age is
no great burthen ; if not, both old-age, Socrates, and youth are
grievous. Being delighted to hear him say these things, and
wishing him to discourse further, I urged him, and said, I
think, Cephalus, the multitude will not agree with you in those
things ; but will imagine that you bear old-age easily, not from
your character, but from your possessing much wealth ; for
the rich, say they, have many consolations. You speak truly,
replied he, they do not agree with me ; and there is something
in what they say ; but, however, not so much as they imagine.
For the saying of Themistocles was just ; who, when the
Seriphian reviled him, and said that he was honoured, not on
his own account, but on that of his country, replied, " / should
not have been renowned had I been a Seriphian, nor would
you had you been an Athenian." The same saying is justly
applicable to those who are not rich, and who bear old-age
with uneasiness. That neither would the worthy man, were he
poor, bear old-age quite easily ; nor would he who is unworthy,
though enriched, ever be happy in himself. But, Cephalus,
said I, was the greater part of what you possess, left you; or
have you acquired it? Somewhat, Socrates, replied he, I have
acquired: as to money-getting, I am half-way between my
grandfather and my father: for my grandfather, of the same
name with me, who was left almost as much substance as I
possess at present, made it many times as much again ; but my
father Lysanias made it yet less than it is now : I am satisfied
it I leave my sons here, no less, but some little more than I
received. I asked you, said I, for this reason, because you
seem to me to love riches moderately ; and those generally do
so who have not acquired them : but those who have acquired

THE REPUBLIC. 5

them are doubly fond of them: for, as poets love their own
poems, and as parents love their children, in the same manner,
those who have enriched themselves value their riches as being
a production of their own, as well as for the utilities they afford,
for which riches are valued by others. You speak truly, replied
he. It is entirely so, said I. But further, tell me this: What
do you think is the greatest good derived from the possession
of much substance? That, probably, said he, in which few
will agree with me. For be assured, Socrates, continued he,
that after a man begins to think he is soon to die, he feels
fear and concern about things which before gave him no
uneasiness: for those stories concerning a future state, which
represent that the man who has done injustice here must there
be punished, though formerly ridiculed, do then trouble his
soul with apprehensions that they may be true ; and the man,
either through the infirmity of old-age, or as being now more
near those things, views them more attentively: he becomes
therefore full of suspicion and dread; and he considers, and
reflects, whether he has, in any thing, injured any one. He
then who finds in his life much iniquity, and is wakened from
sleep, as children by repeated calls, is afraid, and lives in
miserable anticipation. But the man who is not conscious of
any iniquity,

" Still pleasing hope, sweet nourisher of age !
Attends-

as Pindar says. This, Socrates, he has beautifully expressed ;
that, whoever lives a life of justice and holiness,

*' Sweet hope, the nourisher of age, his heart
Delighting, with him lives ; which most of all
Governs the many veering thoughts of man."

He really speaks wisely and admirably; wherefore, from this
consideration, I deem the possession of riches to be chiefly
valuable ; not to every man perhaps, but at any rate to the

)od man : for the possession of riches contributes considerably
free us from being tempted to cheat or deceive ; and from

6 THE REPUBLIC.

being obliged to depart to the other world in terror of being
either indebted in sacrifices to the Gods, or in money to
man. It has many other advantages besides ; but, for my part,
Socrates, it is chiefly in this respect that I deem riches to be
most advantageous to a man of understanding. You speak
most admirably, Cephalus, replied I. But with respect to this
very thing, justice. Shall we call it truth, simply, and the
restoring of what one man has received from another ? or shall
we say that the very same things may sometimes be done justly,
and sometimes unjustly? My meaning is this: Every one I
suppose would admit, that if a man should receive dangerous
weapons from his friend who was of a sound mind, it would not
be proper to restore such things if he should demand them
back when mad; nor would the restorer be just: nor again
would he be just, who, to a man in such a condition, should
willingly tell all the truth. You are right, replied he. This,
then, " to speak the truth, and restore what one hath received,"
is not the definition of justice? It is not, Socrates, replied
Polemarchus, if at least we may give any credit to Simonides.
However that may be, I give up, said Cephalus, this conversa-
tion to you; for I must now go to take care of the sacred
rites. Is not Polemarchus, said I, your heir? Certainly, replied
he smiling, and at the same time departed to the sacred
rites.

Tell me, then, said I, you who are heir to the conversation,
what is the definition which, according to you, Simonides gives
of justice? That to give every one his due, is just, replied he;
in saying this, he seems to me to say well. It is, indeed, said
I, not easy to disbelieve Simonides, for he is a wise and inspired
man ; but what his meaning may be in this, you, Polemarchus,
may probably know, but I do not ; for it is plain he does not
mean what we were saying just now; that, when one deposits
with another any thing, it is to be given back to him when he
asks for it again in a state of madness: yet what has been
deposited is in some respect, at least, due; is it not? It is.
But yet, it is not by any means to be restored, when any
one asks for it back in his madness. It is not, replied he.

THE REPUBLIC.

7

Simonides then, as it should seem, says something different
from this, that to deliver up what is due, is just. Something
different truly, replied he : for he thinks that friends ought to do
their friends good, and not ill. I understand, said I. He who
restores gold deposited with him, if to restore and receive it be
hurtful, and the restorer and receiver be friends, does not give
what is due. Is not this what you allege Simonides says?
Surely. But what ? are we to give our enemies, too, what may
chance to be due to them? By all means, replied he, what is
due to them; and from an enemy, to an enemy, there is due, I
imagine, what is fitting, that is, some evil. Simonides, then, as
it should seem, replied I, expressed what is just, enigmatically,
and after the manner of the poets ; for he well understood, as it
appears, that this was just, to give every one what was fitting
for him, and this he called his due. But what, said he, is your
opinion ? Truly, replied I, if any one should ask him thus :
Simonides, what is the art, which dispensing to certain persons
something fitting and due, is called medicine ? what would he
answer us, do you think ? That art, surely, replied he, which
dispenses drugs, and prescribes regimen of meats and drinks to
bodies. And what is the art, which, dispensing to certain
things something fitting and due, is called cookery? The
art which gives seasonings to victuals. Be it so. What
then is that art, which, dispensing to certain persons some-
thing fitting and due, may be called justice? If we ought
to be any way directed, Socrates, by what is said above, it
is the art which dispenses good offices to friends, and injuries
to enemies. To do good, then, to friends, and ill to enemies,
he calls justice? It seems so. Who, then, is most able to
do good, to his friends, when they are diseased, and ill
to his enemies, with respect to sickness and health? The
physician. And who, when they sail, with respect to the
danger of the sea ? The pilot. But as to the just man, in
what business, and with respect to what action, is he most able
to serve his friends, and to hurt his enemies ? It seems to me,
in fighting in alliance with the one, and against the other. Be
it so. But, surely, the physician is useless, Polemarchus, to

8 THE REPUBLIC.

those, at least, who are not sick? It is true. And the pilot, to
those who do not sail ? He is. And is the just man, in like
manner, useless to those who are not at war? I can by no
means think that he is. Justice, then, is useful likewise in time
of peace. It is. And so is agriculture, is it not? It is. Towards
the possession of grain ? Certainly. And is not shoemaking
likewise useful ? It is. Towards the possession of shoes, you
will say, I imagine. Certainly. But for the use, or possession
of what, would you say, that justice is useful in time of peace?
For co-partnerships, Socrates. You call co-partnerships, joint
companies, or what ? Joint companies, certainly. Well, then,
is it the just man, or the dice-player, who is a good and useful
co-partner, for playing at dice ? The dice-player. But, in the
laying of tiles or stones, is the just man a more useful and a
better partner than the mason ? By no means. In what joint
company, now, is the just man a better co-partner than the
harper, as the harper is better than the just man for touching
the strings of a harp ? In a joint company about money, as I
imagine. And yet it is likely, Polemarchus, that with regard to
the making use of money, when it is necessary to buy or sell a
horse, the jockey, as I imagine, is then the better co-partner.
Is he not ? He would appear so. And with respect to a ship,
the shipwright, or ship-master? It would seem so. In what
then is it, with respect to the joint application of money, that
the just man is more useful than others ? When it is to be
deposited, and be safe, Socrates. Do you not mean, 'when
there is no need to use it, but to let it lie ? Certainly. So then
only when money is useless is justice useful with regard to it ?
It seems so. And when a pruning-hook is to be kept, justice is
useful, both for a partnership, and for a particular person : but
when it is to be used, the art of vine-dressing is useful. It
appears so. And you will say that, when a buckler, or a harp,
is to be kept, and not to be used, then justice is useful; but
when they are to be used, then the military, and the musical
art? Of necessity. And with reference to all other things,
when they are to be used, justice is useless; but when they are
not to be used, it is uselul? It seems so. Justice, then, my

THE REPUBLIC. 9

friend ! can be no very important matter, if it is useful only in
respect of things, which are not to be used. But let us consider
this matter: Is not he who is the most dexterous at striking,
whether in battle or in boxing, the same likewise in defending
himself? Certainly. And is not he who is dexterous in warding
off and shunning a distemper, most dexterous too in bringing it
on ? So I imagine. And he, too, the best guardian of a camp,
who can steal the counsels, and the other operations of the
enemy ? Certainly. Of whatever, then, any one is a good
guardian, of that likewise he may be a dexterous thief. It
seems so. If therefore the just man be dexterous in guarding
money, he is dexterous likewise in stealing? So it would
appear, said he, from this reasoning. The just man, then, has
appeared to be a sort of thief ; and you seem to have learned
this from Homer; for he admires Autolycus, the grandfather of
Ulysses by his mother, and says that he was distinguished
beyond all men for thefts and oaths.

It seems, then, according to you, and according to Homer
and Simonides, that justice is a sort of thieving, for the profit
indeed of friends, and for the hurt of enemies. Did not you
say so ? No, by no means ; nor indeed do I know any longer
what I said; yet I still think that it is justice to help one's
friends, and hurt one's enemies. But do you pronounce such
to be friends, as seem to be honest, or such as are so, though
they do not seem to be ; and in the same way with enemies ?
It is reasonable, said he, to love those whom a man deems to be
honest ; and to hate those whom he deems to be wicked. But
are not men mistaken in this ; so that many who are not honest
appear so to them, and many contrariwise ? They are mistaken.
To such, then, the good are enemies, and the bad are friends ?
Certainly. So, then, it is just for them to profit the bad ; and
to hurt the good. It appears so. But the good are likewise
just, and such as do no ill. True. But, according to your
speech, it is just to do ill to those who do no ill. By no means,
Socrates, replied he ; for the speech seems to be wicked. It is
just, then, said I, to hurt the unjust, and to profit the just.
This saying appears better than the other. Then the result

10 THE REPUBLIC.

in the case of many men, Polemarchus — as many men indeed
as have misjudged — will be that it is just for them to hurt their
friends, who are really bad ; and to profit their enemies, who are
really good ; and so we shall say the very reverse of what we
affirmed Simonides said ?

That is the result, said he. But let us define again ; for we
seem not to have rightly defined a friend and an enemy. How
were they defined, Polemarchus ? That he who seems honest
is a friend. But how shall we now define? said I. That he
who seems, replied he, and likewise is honest, is a friend ; and
he who seems honest, yet is not, is not a friend. And we must
admit the distinction about an enemy to be the very same.
The good man, according to this, will, it seems, be the friend ;
and the wicked man, the enemy. Yes. Do you now require
us to describe what is just, as we did before, when we said it
was just to do good to a friend, and ill to an enemy ? Or shall
we add to the definition, and now say, that it is just to do good
to a friend, when he is good ; and ill to an enemy, when he is
bad ? This last, said he, seems to me to be perfectly well
expressed. Is it, then, said I, the part of a just man to hurt any
man ? By all means, said he, he ought to hurt the wicked,
and his enemies. But, do horses, when they are hurt, become
better or worse ? Worse. Whether in the virtue of dogs, or of
horses ? In that of horses. And, do not dogs, when they are
hurt, become worse in the virtue of dogs, and not of horses ?
Of necessity. And shall we not, in like manner, my friend, say
that men, when they are hurt, become worse in the virtue of
a man ? Certainly.

But is not justice Jhe virtue of a man? Of necessity this
likewise. Of necessity then, friend, those men who are hurt
must become more unjust. It seems so. But can musicians,
by music, make men unmusical ? It is impossible. Or horse-
men, by horsemanship, make men unskilled in horsemanship ?
It cannot be. Or can the just, by justice, make men unjust ?
Or in general, can the good, by virtue, make men wicked ? It
is impossible. For it is not, as I imagine, the effect of heat, to
make cold, but of its contrary. Yes. Nor is the effect of drought,

THE REPUBLIC.

to make moist ; but its contrary. Certainly. Neither is it the part
of a good man to hurt ; but of his reverse. It appears so. But,
the just man is good. Certainly. Neither, then, is it the part
of a just man, Polemarchus, to hurt either friend, or any other,
but the part of his reverse, the unjust man. In all respects,
said he, you seem io me, Socrates, to be right If, then, any
one says, that it is just to give every one his due, and thinks that
hurt is due to his enemies from a just man, and profit to his
friend ; he was not wise who said so, for he spoke not the truth.
For it has nowhere appeared to us, that any just man hurts any
one. I agree, said he. Let us jointly contend, then, said I, if
any one shall say that a Simonides, a Bias, a Pittacus, said so ;
or any other of those wise and talented men. I am ready, said
he, to join in the fight. But do you know, said I, whose saying
I fancy it is, That it is just to profit friends, and hurt enemies ?
Whose? said he. I fancy it is the saying of Periander, or
Perdiccas, or Xerxes, or Ismenius the Theban ; or some other
rich man, who thought himself able to accomplish great things.
You speak rightly, said he. Be it so, said I. But as this has
not appeared to be justice, nor the just, what else may one
assert it to be ?

Frequently,1 during our reasoning, Thrasymachus had in-
terrupted to make objections to the discourse; but he was
hindered by those who sat near him, and who wanted to hear
the conversation to an end. But, when we paused, and I had
said these things, he was no longer quiet ; but, collecting him-
self as a wild beast, he sprang upon us as if he would have torn
us in pieces. Both Polemarchus and I, being frightened, were
thrown into the utmost consternation: but he, roaring out in
the midst : What nonsense, said he, Socrates, is this which has
for a long time possessed you ; and why do you thus play the fool
together, yielding mutually to one another ? But, if you truly
want to know what is just, ask not questions only, nor display
yourself by refuting the answers given you (knowing that it is

1 Thrasymachus is the typical sophist, the false philosopher, and
Plato represents him as a blusterer, full of insolence and dogmatism.
He was common in those days : and is possibly not unknown now.

i2 THE REPUBLIC.

easier to ask than to answer); but answer yourself, and say
what it is you call justice. And do not tell me that it is what is
fit ; nor what is due, nor what is profitable, nor what is gainful,
nor what is advantageous ; but, what you mean tell plainly and
accurately ; for I will not allow you to talk such nonsense as
this. When I heard this, I was astonished, and, looking at
him, was frightened; and I should have become speechless,
I imagine, if I had not perceived him before he perceived me.1
But I had observed him first, when he began to grow fierce at
our reasoning ; so that I was now able to answer him, and said,
trembling : Thrasymachus ! be not hard on us ; for, if we make
mistakes in our inquiries, Polemarchus and I, be well assured
that we do so unwittingly : for think that, if we were searching
for gold, we would never willingly yield to one another in the
search, and mar the finding it ; and that, searching for justice,
an affair far more valuable than a great deal of gold, we shall
not foolishly yield to each other, but labour, friend, with the
utmost ardour, that we may discover what it really is. But
I am afraid we are not able to discover it. It is more reason-
able, then, that we be pitied, than be used hardly by men of
your ability. Having heard this, he laughed aloud in a very coarse
manner, and said, By Hercules ! this is Socrates's wonted irony.
This I both knew and foretold to these, here, that you never
incline to answer if any one ask you anything. You are a wise
man, Thrasymachus, said I. For you knew well, that if you
asked any one, How many is twelve ? and, when you ask, should
previously tell him, You are not, friend, to tell me that twelve
is twice six; nor three times four; nor four times three; for I
will not admit your trifling in such a manner; — I fancy it is
plain to you that no man would answer one asking in such a
way. But if he should reply, Excellent Thrasymachus ! what
do you mean ? May I answer in none of those ways you
have told me ; not even though the real and true answer happen
to be one of them, am I to say something else than the truth ?
Or, what is it you mean? What would you say to him in

1 Referring to a popular belief that any one meeting a wolf would be
struck dumb, if the wolf saw him before he saw the wolf.

THE REPUBLIC.

answer to these things ? If they were alike, I should give an
answer; but how are they alike? Nothing hinders it, said I;
but, though they were not alike, but should appear so to him
who was asked, would he not give what appeared to him to be
the right answer ; whether we forbade him or not ? Will it do so
now ? said he. Will you answer with some of these things
which I forbade you to say ? I should not wonder if I did, said
I, if it should appear so to me on inquiry. What then, said he,
if I shall show you another and a better answer, besides all
these about justice? what will you deserve to suffer? What
else, said I, but what is proper for the ignorant to suffer? And
it is proper for them to learn somewhat from a wise man. I
shall therefore deserve to suffer this. You are pleasant now,
said he, but together with the instruction, you must pay me
some money. I will when I have some, said I. But it is here,
said Glauco ; so as to money, Thrasymachus, say on ; for all of
us will advance for Socrates. I truly imagine so, said he, so
that Socrates may go on in his wonted manner ; not answer
himself, but, when another answers, he may take up the
discourse, and confute. How, said I, most excellent Thrasy-
machus, can a man answer when, in the first place, he neither
knows, nor says he knows, what to answer; and who, in the
next place, if he have any opinion about these matters, is
forbidden by no dullard to advance any of his opinions. But
it is more reasonable that you speak, as you say you know, and
can tell us. Do not decline, then, but oblige me by answering,
and do not grudge instructing Glauco here, and the rest of
the company. When I had said this, both Glauco and the
rest of the company entreated him not to decline it. And
Thrasymachus appeared plainly desirous to speak, in order
to gain applause ; reckoning he had a very fine answer to make ;
yet pretended to be earnest that I should be the answerer, but
at last he agreed. And then, This, said he, is the wisdom of
Socrates : Unwilling himself to teach, he goes about learning
from others, and gives no thanks for it. That I learn from
others, said I, Thrasymachus, is true ; but in saying that I do
not give thanks for it, you are mistaken. I pay as much as

14 THE REPUBLIC.

I am able; and I can only give commendation; for money I
have not : and how readily I do this, when any one appears to
me to speak well, you will know very soon, when you make an
answer ; for I imagine you are to speak well. Hear then, said
he; for I say, that what is just, is nothing else but the advan-
tage of the more powerful. But why do not you commend ?
You are unwilling. Let me learn, first, said I, what you say;
for as yet I do not understand it. The advantage of the more
powerful, you say, is what is just. What is this which you now
say, Thrasymachus ? For you certainly do not mean such a
thing as this: If Polydamus, the wrestler, be more powerful
than we ; and if beef be beneficial for his body, that this food
is likewise both just and advantageous for us, who are weaker
than he. You are most impudent, Socrates, and lay hold of my
speech on that side where you may do it in the greatest hurt.
By no means, most excellent Thrasymachus, said I, but say more
plainly what is your meaning. Do not you then know, said
he, that, with reference to states, some are tyrannical ; others
democratic ; and others aristocratic ? Why are they not ?
And is not the governing part in each state the more
powerful ? Certainly. And every government makes laws for
its own advantage ; a democracy, democratic laws ; a tyranny,
tyrannic; and others the same way. And when they have
made them, they show that what is for their own advantage
is just for their subjects; and they punish the transgressor
of this as one acting contrary both to law and justice. This,
then, most excellent Socrates, is what I say, that, in all states,
what is just, and what is advantageous for the established
government, are the same; it hath the power. So that it
appears to him who reasons rightly, that, in all cases, what
is to the advantage of the more powerful, is just. Now I have
learned, said I, what you mean. But whether it be true, or
not, I shall endeavour to learn. What is advantageous, then,
Thrasymachus, you yourself have affirmed to be likewise just;
though you forbade me to give this answer ; but, indeed, you
have added to it that of the most powerful. Yes, said he, but
a small addition. It is not yet manifest, whether it is small or

THE REPUBLIC.

great ; but it is manifest that this is to be considered, whether
you speak the truth ; since I too acknowledge that what is just
is in some ways that which is advantageous: but you add to
it, and say, that it is that of the more powerful. This I am
uncertain of, and we will consider it. Consider then, said he.
I will, said I. And tell me, do not you say that it is just to
obey governors ? I say so. Are the governors in the several
states infallible ? or are they capable of erring ? Certainly,
said he, they are liable to err. Do they not, then, when they
attempt to make laws, make some of them rightly and others
wrongly ? I imagine so. To make them rightly, is it not to
make them advantageous for themselves; and to make them
wrongly, disadvantageous ? Or what is it you mean ? Entirely
so. And what they enact is to be observed by the governed,
and this is what is just ? Why not ? It is, then, according to
your reasoning, not only just to do what is advantageous for the
more powerful ; but also, to do the contrary, what is not advan-
tageous. What do you say? replied he. The same, I imagine,
that you say yourself. But let us consider better : have we not
acknowledged that governors, in enjoining the governed to do
certain things, may sometimes mistake what is best for them-
selves; and that what the governors enjoin is just for the
governed to do ? Have not these things been acknowledged ?
I think so, said he. Think, also, then, said I, that you have
acknowledged that it is just to do what is disadvantageous
to governors, and the more powerful; since governors un-
wittingly enjoin what is ill for themselves; and you say that
it is just for the others to do what these enjoin. Must it not
then, most wise Thrasymachus, necessarily happen, that, by
this means, it may be just to do the contrary of what you say ?
For that which is the disadvantage of the more powerful,
is sometimes enjoined the inferiors to do ? Yes, indeed,
Socrates, said Polemarchus, these things are most manifest.
Yes, if you are his witness, retorted Clitipho. What need,
said I, of a witness ? For Thrasymachus himself acknow-
ledges that governors do indeed sometimes enjoin what is
ill for themselves; but that it is just for the governed to

i6 THE REPUBLIC.

do these things. For it has, Polemarchus, been laid down
by Thrasymachus, that it is just to do what is enjoined by
the governors; and he has likewise, Clitipho, established that
what is to the advantage of the more powerful is just; and,
having laid down both these things, he has acknowledged like-
wise, that the more powerful sometimes enjoin the inferiors
and governed to do what is disadvantageous to themselves;
and, from these concessions, the advantage of the more
powerful can no more be just than the disadvantage. But,
said Clitipho, he said the advantage of the more powerful ;
that is, what the more powerful judged to be advantageous
to himself; that this was to be done by the inferior, and this
he established as just. But, said Polemarchus, it was not
said so. There is no difference, Polemarchus, said I. But, if
Thrasymachus says so now, we shall allow him to do
it. And tell me, Thrasymachus, was this what you
meant to say was just ? The advantage of the more
powerful, such as appeared so to the more powerful, whether
it is advantageous, or is not. Shall we say that you spoke
thus? By no means, said he. For, do you imagine I call
him the more powerful who misjudges, at the time he mis-
judges ? I thought, said I, you said this, when you acknow-
ledged that governors were not infallible; but that in some
things they even erred. You are a quibbler, said he, in argu-
ment, Socrates. For, do you now call him who mistakes about
the management of the sick, a physician, and refer to that very
thing in which he mistakes? or him, who mistakes in calculation,
an accountant, with reference to that very error? But, I
imagine, we say, in common language, that the physician erred ;
that the accountant erred ; and the grammarian. But, I imagine
that each of these, as far as he is what we call him, errs not
at any time. So that, according to strict terms (since you argue
in a strict sense), no artificer errs: for he who errs, errs by
departing from science ; and, in this, he is no artificer : and
no artificer, or wise man, or governor errs; so far as their
professions are concerned. Yet any one may say the physician
erred, or the governor erred. Imagine, then, it was in

r

;

THE REPUBLIC. 17

this way I just now answered you. But the most accurate
answer is this : That the governor, in as far as he is governor,
errs not ; and, as he does not err, he enacts that which is best
for himself; and this is to be observed by the governed. So
that what I said from the beginning, I maintain : that justice is
to do what is to the advantage of the more powerful. Be it so,
said I, Thrasymachus ! So I appear to you to be a quibbler ?
Yes, indeed, said he. Do you imagine that I spoke as I did,
insidiously, and to injure you ? I do, said he, but you shall gain
nothing by it ; for, whether you injure me in a concealed manner,
or otherwise, you shall not be able to overcome me by your
reasoning. I shall not attempt it, said I, excellent Thrasy-
machus ! But, that nothing of this kind may happen to us
again, state whether you speak of a governor, and the more
powerful, according to the popular sense, or according to the
strict sense in which you used the words just now when you
said that it is just for the inferior to do what is to the advantage
of the governor, as he is the more powerful. I speak of him,
said he, who, in the strictest sense, is governor. For this now,
injure me, and quibble as well as you are able. I do not shun
you; but you cannot do it. Do you imagine me, said I, to be
so mad as to attempt to shave a lion, and quibble with Thrasy-
machus? You have, said he, just attempted it, but with no
effect. Enough, said I, of this. But tell me, with reference to
him, who, accurately speaking, is a physician, whom you now
mentioned, whether is he a gainer of money, or one who takes
care of the sick ? and speak of him who is really a physician.
He is one who takes care, said he, of the sick. But what of the
pilot, who is a pilot, truly ? Whether is he the governor of the
sailors, or a sailor? The governor of the sailors. That, I
think, is not to be considered, that he sails in the sliip ; nor that
he is called a sailor ; for it is not for his sailing that he is called
pilot, but for his art, and his governing the sailors. True, said
he. Is there not then something advantageous to each of
hese? Certainly. And does not art, said I, naturally tend to
his, to seek out and afford to every thing its advantage ? It
tends to this, said he. Is there, now, anything else advan-

2

1 8 THE REPUBLIC.

tageous to each of the arts, but to be the most perfect possible ?
Why ask you this ? As, if you asked me, said I, whether it
sufficed the body to be a body, or if it stood in need of anything
— I would say, that it stood in need of something else. For
this reason is the medicinal art invented, because the body is
infirm, and is not sufficient for itself in such a state; in order
therefore to afford it things for its advantage, for this purpose
art has been provided. Do I seem to you, said I, to be right,
or not, in speaking in this manner ? Right, said he. But what
now? This medicinal art itself, or any other, is it imperfect,
and requiring a certain additional virtue — as the eyes need
sight, and the ears, hearing; and have need of a certain art, to
discover and attain what is advantageous for these purposes-
is there, then, in art itself, some imperfection ; and does every
art stand in need of another art, to perceive what is advan-
tageous to it, and this stand in need of another, and so on, to
infinity? Or does each art perceive what is advantageous to
itself; and stand in need neither of itself, nor of another, to
perceive what is for its advantage, with reference to its own
imperfection ? For there is no imperfection, nor error, in any
art. Nor is it its duty to seek what is advantageous to any
thing, but that of which it is the art. But it is, itself, infallible,
and pure, being in the right. So long as each art is an
accurate whole, whatever it is. And consider the question,
according to the strict meaning of words, whether it be thus, or
otherwise. Thus, said he, it appears. The medicinal art, then,
said I, does not consider what is advantageous to the medicinal
art, but to the body. Yes, said he. Nor the art of managing
horses, what is advantageous for that art; but what is advan-
tageous for horses. Nor does any other art consider what is
advantageous for itself (for it hath no need), but what is
advantageous to that of which it is the art ? So, replied he, it
appears. But, Thrasymachus, the arts rule and govern that of
which they are the arts.

He yielded this, but with great difficulty. No science, then,
considers the advantage of the more powerful, nor enjoins it ;
but that of the inferior, and of what is governed. He consented

•

THE REPUBLIC. 19

these things at last, though he attempted to contend about
them, but afterwards he consented. Why, then, said I, no
physician, so far as he is a physician, considers what is advan-
tageous for the physician, nor enjoins it ; but what is advan-
tageous for the sick ; for it has been agreed, that the accurate
physician is one who takes care of sick bodies, and not an
amasser of wealth. Has it not been agreed? He assented.
And likewise that the accurate pilot is the governor of the
sailors, and not a sailor? It has been agreed. Such a pilot,
then, and governor will not consider and enjoin what is the
advantage of the pilot, but what is advantageous to the sailor,
and the governed. He consented, with difficulty. And so,
Thrasymachus, said I, all who are in a position of authority,
s far as they are governors, neither consider nore njoin their
own advantage, but that of the governed, for whom they
minister; and it is with an eye to this, and to what is
advantageous and suitable to this, that they both say what they
say and do what they do.

When we were at this part of the discourse, and it was
evident to all that the definition of what was just stood now on
the contrary side, Thrasymachus, instead of replying, Tell me,
said he, Socrates, have you a nurse? What, said I, ought you
not rather to answer, than ask such things ? Because, said he,
she neglects you when your nose is stuffed, and does not wipe
it when it needs it, you who understand neither what is meant
by sheep, nor by shepherd. For what now is all this, said I.
Because you think that shepherds, and neatherds, ought to
consider the good of the sheep, or oxen, to fatten them, and to
minister to them, having in their eye, something besides their
master's good and their own. And you fancy that those who
govern in cities, those who govern truly, are somehow otherwise
affected towards the governed than one is towards sheep; and
that they are attentive, day and night, to somewhat else than
this, how they shall be gainers themselves ; and so far are you
from the notion of the just and of justice, and of the unjust and
injustice, that you do not know that both justice and the just
are, in reality, a foreign good, the advantage of the more

20 THE REPUBLIC.

powerful, and of the governor; and really, the hurt of the
subject, and the inferior; and injustice is the contrary. And
justice governs such as are truly simple and just; and the
governed do what is for the governor's advantage, he being
more powerful, and by ministering to him, promote his happi-
ness, but by no means their own. You must thus consider it,
most simple Socrates ! that, on all occasions, the just man gets
less than the unjust. First, in co-partnerships with one another,
where the one joins in company with the other, you never can
find, on the dissolving of the company, that the just man gets
more than the unjust, but less. Then, in civil affairs, where
there are taxes to be paid from equal substance, the just man
pays more, the other less. But when there is anything to be
gained, the one gains nothing, but the gain of the other is great.
For, when each of them governs in any public magistracy, if
no other loss befalls the just man, his private affairs, at least,
become disordered through his neglect ; and he gains nothing
from the public, because he is just. Add to this, that he comes
to be hated by his domestics and acquaintance, when at no
time he will serve them beyond what is just. But all these
things are quite otherwise with the unjust; such an one, I
mean, as I now mentioned ; one who has it greatly in his power
to become rich. Consider him, then, if you would judge how
much more it is to his private advantage to be unjust than
just ; and you will most easily understand it if you come to the
most consummate injustice ; such as renders the unjust man
most happy, but the injured and those who are unwilling to do
injustice, most wretched; and this form is tyranny, l which takes
away the goods of others, both by secret fraud, and by open
violence ; both things sacred and holy, both private and public,
and these not by degrees, but all at once. In all small cases of
such crimes, when one, committing injustice, is found out, he is
punished, and suffers the greatest ignominy. For according to
the several kinds of the wickedness they commit, they are
called sacrilegious, robbers, house-breakers, pilferers, thieves.

1 Tyranny : an absolute monarchy, despotism.

THE REPUBLIC. 21

But when any one, besides these thefts of the substance
of his citizens, steals and enslaves the citizens themselves ;
instead of those disgraceful names, he is called happy and
blest; not by his citizens alone, but likewise by as many
others as are informed that he has committed the most
consummate wickedness. For such as revile wickedness,
revile it not because they are afraid of doing, but because
they are afraid of suffering, unjust things. And thus, Socrates,
injustice, when in sufficient measure, is both more powerful,
more free, and hath more absolute command than justice:
and (as I said at the beginning), the advantage of the more
powerful, is justice ; but injustice is the profit and advantage
of oneself.

Thrasymachus, having said these things, inclined to go away;
after having, like a bathing man, poured into our ears this long
and rapid flow of words. These, however, who were present,
would not suffer him, but forced him to stay, and give an
account of what he had said. I too myself earnestly entreated
him, and said, divine Thrasymachus ! after throwing in upon us
so strange a discourse, do you intend to go away before you
teach us sufficiently, or learn yourself, whether the case be as
you say, or otherwise ? Do you imagine you attempt to
determine a small matter, and not the guide of life, by which,
each of us being conducted, may lead the most happy life?
But I imagine, said Thrasymachus, that this is otherwise.
You seem truly, said I, to care nothing for us ; nor to be any
way concerned, whether we shall live well or ill, whilst we are
ignorant of what you say you know. But, good Thrasymachus,
be readily disposed to show it also to us, nor will the favour
be ill placed, whatever you shall bestow on so many of us as
are now present. And I, for my own part, tell you, that I am
not persuaded, nor do I think that injustice is more profitable
than justice; not although it should be permitted to exert itself,
and be no way hindered from doing whatever it should incline.
But, good Thrasymachus, let a man be unjust, let him be able
to do unjustly, either in secret, or by force, yet will you not
persuade me at least that injustice is more profitable than

22 THE REPUBLIC.

justice, and probably some other of us here is of the same mind,
and I am not single. Convince us, then, blest Thrasyrnachus !
that we imagine wrong, when we value justice more than
injustice. But how, said he, shall I convince you? For, if I
have not convinced you by what I have said already, what shall
I further do for you ? shal I enter into your soul, and put my
reasoning within you ? God forbid, said I, you shall not do
that. But, first of all, whatever you have said, abide by it : or,
if you do change, change openly; and do not deceive us. For
now you see, Thrasymachus (for let us still consider what
has been said before), that when you first defined the true
physician, you did not afterwards think it needful that the true
shepherd should, strictly, upon the like principles, keep his
flock; but you fancy that, as a shepherd, he may feed his flock,
not regarding what is best for the sheep, but as some glutton,
who is going to feast on them at some entertainment ; or yet to
dispose of them as a merchant ; and not a shepherd. But the
shepherd's art hath certainly no other care, but of that for
which it is ordained, to afford it what is best : for its own affairs
are already sufficiently provided for; so as to be in the very
best state while it needs nothing of the shepherd-art. In the
same manner, I at least imagined, there was a necessity for
agreeing with us in this, that every government, in as far as it
is a government, considers what is best for nothing else but for
the governed, and those under its charge ; both in political and
private government. But do you imagine that governors in
cities, such as are truly governors, govern willingly? Truly,
said he, as for that, I not only imagine it, but am quite certain.
Why now, said I, Thrasymachus, do you not perceive, as to all
other governments, that no one undertakes them willingly, but
they ask a reward ; as the profit arising from governing is not
to be to -themselves, but to the governed ? Or, tell me this now,
do not we say that every particular art is in this distinct, in
having a distinct power? And now, good Thrasymachus,
answer not differently from your sentiments, that we may make
some progress. In this, said he, it is distinct. And does not
each of them afford us a certain distinct advantage, and not a

THE REPUBLIC. 23

common one? As the medicinal affords health, the pilot art,
preservation in sailing; and the others in like manner. Cer-
tainly. And does not the mercenary art afford a reward, for
this is its power? Or, do you call both the medicinal art, and
the pilot art, one and the same ? Again, if you will define them
accurately, as you proposed ; though one in piloting recover his
health, because sailing agrees with him, you will not the more
on this account call it the medicinal art ? No, indeed, said he.
Nor will you, I imagine, call the mercenary art the medicinal,
though one, in gaining a reward, recover his health. No,
indeed. What now? Will you call the medicinal, the mer-
cenary art, if one in performing a cure gain a reward? No,
said he. Have we not acknowledged, then, that there is a
distinct advantage in every art ? Be it so, said he. What is
that advantage, then, with which all artists are advantaged ? It
is plain it must be in using something common to all that they
are advantaged by it. It seems so, said he. Yet we say that
skilled persons are profited in receiving a reward arising to
them from the increase of a lucrative art. He .agreed with
difficulty. Has not, then, every one this advantage in his art,
the receiving a reward. Yet, if we are to consider accurately
the medicinal art produces health, and the mercenary art
a reward ; masonry, a house, and the mercenary art accom-
panying it, a reward. And all the others, in like manner,
every one produces its own work, and benefits that for which
it was ordained; but, if it meet not with a reward, is the
artist advantaged by his art? It appears not, said he. But
does he then no service when he works without reward? I
chink he does. Is not this, then, now evident, Thrasymachus,
that no art, nor government, provides what is advantageous for
itself; but, as I said long ago, provides and enjoins what is
advantageous for the governed ; having in view the profit of the
inferior, and not that of the more powerful. And, for these
reasons, friend Thrasymachus, 1 like%vise said now, that no one
is willing to govern, and to undertake to rectify the ills of others,
but asks a reward for it ; because, whoever will perform the art
handsomely, never does what is best for himself, in ruling

24 THE REPUBLIC.

according to art, but what is best for the governed ; and on this
account, it seems, a reward must be given tc those who are
willing to govern ; either money, or honour ; or punishment, if
they will not govern. How say you, Socrates? said Glauco;
two of the rewards I understand; but this punishment you
speak of, and here you mention it in place of a reward, I do
not. You know not, then, said I, the reward of the best of
men, for which the most worthy are induced to govern, when
they consent to do so. Or, do you not know, that to be
ambitious and covetous, is both deemed a reproach, and really
is so ? I know, said he. For those reasons, then, said I, good
men are not willing to govern, either for money or honour;
for they are neither willing to be called mercenary, in openly
receiving a reward for governing, nor to be called thieves, in
clandestinely receiving from those under their government ; as
little are they willing to govern for honour, for they are not
ambitious. Of necessity, then, there must be laid on them a
penalty, that they may consent to govern. And hence, it
seems, it hath been accounted dishonourable to enter on
government willingly, and not by constraint. Now the greatest
punishment is to be governed by a base person, if one himself
is not willing to govern : and the good seem to me to govern
from a fear of this, when they do govern : and then, they
enter on the government, not as on any thing good, or as
what they are to reap advantage by, but as on a necessary
task, and finding none better than or as good as them-
selves, to entrust with the government : since it would appear
that, if there was a city of good men, the contest would
be, to avoid being the governor, just as at present it is,
to obtain power. And then it would be manifest, that he
who is indeed the true governor, does not aim at his own
advantage, but at that of the governed; so that every under-
standing man would rather choose to be benefited, than to
have trouble in benefiting another. This, therefore, I, for my
part, will never yield to Thrasymachus ; that justice is the
advantage of the more powerful; but this we shall consider
afterwards. What Thrasymachus says now, seems to me of

THE REPUBLIC. 25

much more importance, when he says that the life of the unjust
man is better than that of the just. You, then, Glauco, said I,
which side do you choose; and which seems to you most
agreeable to truth ?

The life of the just, said he, I, for my part, deem to be the
more profitable. Have you heard, said I, how many good
things Thrasymachus just now enumerated in the life of the
unjust? I heard, said he, but am not persuaded. Are you
willing, then, that we should persuade him (if we be able any-
how to find arguments), that there is no truth in what he says ?
Why not ? said he. If, then, said I, pulling on the other side,
we advance argument for argument, how many good things
there are in being just, and then again, he on the other side, we
shall need a third person to compute and estimate what each
shall have said on either side ; and we shall likewise need some
judges to determine the matter. But, if, as now, assenting to
one another, we consider these things ; we shall be both judges
and pleaders ourselves. Certainly, said he. Which way, then,
said I, do you choose ? The latter, said he.

Come then, said I, Thrasymachus, answer us from the
beginning. Do you say that complete injustice is more profit-
able than complete justice ? Yes, indeed, I say so, replied he.
And the reasons for it I have enumerated. Come now, do you
ever affirm anything of this kind concerning them ? Do you
call one of them, virtue; and the other, vice? Why not? Is
not then justice, virtue; and injustice, vice? Very likely, said
he, most pleasant Socrates ! after I say that injustice is profit-
able; but justice is not; what then? The contrary, said he.
Is it justice you call vice ? No, but I call it, altogether genuine
simplicity. Do you, then, call injustice, cunning? No, said he,
but I call it sagacity. Do the unjust seem to you, Thrasy-
machus, to be both prudent and good ? Such, at least, said he,
as are able to do injustice in perfection; such as are able to
subject to themselves states and nations ; but you probably
imagine I speak of those who cut purses. Even such things as
these, he said, are profitable if concealed ; but such only as I
now mentioned are of any worth. I understand, said I, what

26 THE REPUBLIC.

you want to say. But this I have wondered at, that you should

deem injustice to be a part of virtue and wisdom, and justice

to be among their contraries. But I do deem it altogether so.

Your meaning, said I, is now more determined, friend, and it is

no longer easy for one to find what to say against it: for, if

when you had set forth injustice as profitable, you had still

allowed it to be vice or ugly, as some others do, we should have

had something to say, speaking according to the received

opinions. But now, it is plain, you will call it beautiful and

powerful; and all those other things you will attribute to it

which we attribute to the just man, since you have dared to

class it with virtue and wisdom. You conjecture, said he, most

truly. But, however, I must not grudge, said I, to pursue our

inquiry so long as I conceive you speak as you think ; for to me

you plainly seem now, Thrasymachus, not to be in irony, but

to speak what you think concerning the truth. What is the

difference to you, said he, whether I think so or not, if you do

not confute my reasoning? None at all, said I. But endeavour,

further, to answer me this likewise — Does a just man seem to

you desirous to have more than another just man ? By no

means, said he; for otherwise he would not be so delightfully

simple, as we now supposed him. But what, will he not desire

it in a just action ? Not even in a just action, said he. But,

would he deem it proper to exceed the unjust man and count it

just, or would he not ? He would, said he, both count it just

and deem it proper, but would not be able to effect it. That,

said I, I do not ask. But, whether a just man would neither

deem it proper, nor incline to exceed a just man, but would

deem it proper to exceed the unjust? This last, said he,

is what he would incline to do. But what would the unjust

man do? Would he deem it proper to exceed the just

man even in a just action? Why not, said he, he who

deems it proper to exceed all others ? Will not then the unjust

man desire to exceed the unjust man likewise, and in an unjust

action ; and contend that he himself receive more than all

others ? Certainly. Thus, we say, then, said I, the just man

does not desire to exceed one like himself, but one unlike. But

THE REPUBLIC. 27

the unjust man desires to exceed both one like, and one unlike
himself. You have spoken, said he, perfectly well. But, said
I, the unjust man is both wise and good ; but the just man is
neither. This, too, said he, is well said. Is not, then, said I,
the unjust man like the wise and the good, and the just man un-
like ? Must he not, said he, be like them, being such an one as
we have supposed ; and he who is otherwise, be unlike them ?
Excellently. Each of them is indeed such as those he resembles.
What else? said he. Be it so, Thrasymachus, call you one
man musical and another unmusical ? I do. Which of the two
call you wise and which unwise? I call the musical, wise, and
the unmusical, unwise. Is he not good in as much as he is
wise, and ill in as much as he is unwise ? Yes. And what as
to the physician ? Is not the case the same ? The same. Do
you imagine, then, most excellent Thrasymachus, that any
musician, in tuning a harp, wants to exceed, or deems it proper
to have more skill than a man who is a musician, with reference
to the tightening or loosening of the strings ? I am not of that
opinion. But what say you of exceeding a man who is no
musician ? Of necessity, said he, he will deem it proper to
exceed him. And what as to the physician? In presenting a
regimen of meats or drinks does he want to exceed another
physician in medical cases ? No, indeed. But to exceed one
who is no physician ? Yes. And as to all science and ignor-
ance does any one appear to you intelligent who wants to grasp
at or do or say more than another intelligent in the art ; and not
to do the same things, in the same affair, which one equally
intelligent with himself doth ? Probably there is a necessity,
said he, it be so. But what, as to him who is ignorant ; will not
he want to exceed the intelligent and the ignorant both alike ?
Probably. But the intelligent man is wise ? I say so. And the
wise man is good ? I say so. But the good and the wise will
not want to exceed one like himself; but the unlike and con-
trary? It seems so, said he. But the evil and the ignorant
wants to exceed both one like himself and his opposite ? It
appears so. Why, then, Thrasymachus, said I, the unjust de-
sires to exceed both one unlike, and one like himself. Do not

28 THE REPUBLIC.

you say so ? I do, said he. But the just man will not desire to
exceed one like himself, but one unlike? Yes. The just man,
then, said I, resembles the wise and the good ; and the unjust
resembles the evil and the ignorant. It appears so. But we
acknowledged that each of them was such as that which they
resembled. We acknowledged so, indeed. The just man, then,
has appeared to us to be good and wise; and the unjust to
be ignorant and depraved. Thrasymachus admitted all these
things not as easily, as I now narrate them, but reluctantly and
with much difficulty and with prodigious sweat, as it was in
the summer. And I then saw what I had never seen before,
Thrasymachus blushing. After we had acknowledged that
justice was virtue and wisdom, and injustice was vice and ignor-
ance, well, said I, let this remain so. But we said likewise that
injustice was powerful. Do not you remember, Thrasymachus ?
I remember, said he. But what you now say does not please
me; and I have somewhat to say concerning it which I well
know you would call declaiming if I should advance it ; either,
then, suffer me to say what I incline, or if you incline to ask, do
it; and I shall answer "be it so" as to old women telling
stories ; and shall nod my head or shake it. By no means, said
I, contrary to your own opinion. Just to please you, said he;
since you will not allow me to speak. But do you want any-
thing further ? Nothing, truly, said I ; but if you are to do
thus, do; I shall ask. Ask then. This, then, I ask, which
I did just now; (that we may in an orderly way see through our
discourse,) of what kind is justice, compared with injustice; for
it was surely said that injustice was more powerful and stronger
than justice. It was so said just now, replied he. But if justice
be both virtue and wisdom, it will easily, I imagine, appear to
be likewise more powerful than injustice; since injustice is
ignorance ; of this now none can be ignorant. But I am will-
ing, for my own part, Thrasymachus, to consider it not in this
absolute manner, but some how thus. Might you not say that
a state may be unjust, and may attempt to enslave other states
unjustly, and succeed in it; and, hold many states in slavery
under itself? Why not? said he: and the best state will chiefl)

THE REPUBLIC. 29

do this, and such as is most completely unjust. I understand,
said I, that this was your speech; but I consider this in it;—
Whether this state, which becomes more powerful than the
other state, shall hold this power without justice, or must it
of necessity be with justice ? With justice, said he, if indeed,
as you now said, justice be wisdom; but if, as I said, with in-
justice. I am much delighted, said I, Thrasymachus, that you
do not merely nod and shake your head, but that you answer so
handsomely. I do it, said he, to gratify you. That is obliging
in you. But gratify me in this likewise, and tell me ; do you
imagine that a city, or camp, or robbers, or thieves, or any other
community, such as jointly undertakes to do anything unjustly,
is able to effectuate anything if they injure one another? No
indeed, said he. But what, if they do not injure one another ;
will they not do better? Certainly. For injustice, somehow
Thrasymachus, brings seditions, and hatreds, and fightings
among them ; but justice affords harmony and friendship. Does
it not ? Be it so, said he, that I may not differ from you. You
are very obliging, most excellent Thrasymachus ! But tell me
this. If it be the work of injustice, wherever it is, to create
hatred, will it not then, when it occurs, whether among free
men or slaves, make them hate one another, and grow seditious,
and become impotent to do anything together in company ?
Certainly. And, in the case of injustice between any two men,
will they not differ, and hate, and become enemies both to one
another, and to just men ? They will become so, said he. If
now, wonderful Thrasymachus, injustice be in one individual, does
it lose its power, or will it retain it ? We will say. said he, that it
retains it. Does it not then appear to have such a power as this.
That wherever it is, whether in a city, or tribe, or camp, or wher-
ever else, in the first place, it renders it unable for action in itself,
through seditions and differences; and besides, makes it an
enemy to itself, and to every opponent, and to the just? Is
it not thus? Certainly. And, when injustice is in one man,
it will have, I imagine, all these effects, which it is natural
for it to produce. In the first place, it will render him
unable for action whilst he is in sedition and disagree-

THE REPUBLIC.

ment with himself; and next as he is an enemy both to
himself, and to the just. Is it not so? Yes. But the Gods,
friend, are likewise just. We will suppose them so, said he.
The unjust man, then, Thrasymachus, is an enemy also to
the Gods; and the just man, a friend. Feast yourself, said
he, with the reasoning; for I will not oppose you, that I may
not render myself odious to these Gods.1 Come then, said I,
and complete my feast ; answering as you were doing just
now : for the just already appear to be wiser, and better, and
more powerful in their acts; and the unjust are not able to
act in any thing with one another. But what we said with
reference to those who are unjust, — that they are ever at
any time able strenuously to act jointly together ; this we
said not altogether accurately, for they would not spare one
another ; being thoroughly unjust ; but it is plain that there
was in them some justice, which made them refrain from
injuring one another, and those of their party; and by this
justice they performed what they did. And they rushed on
unjust actions, through injustice; being half wicked; since
those who are completely wicked, and perfectly unjust, are
likewise perfectly unable to act. This then I understand is
the case with reference to these matters, and not as you pro-
pounded at first. But whether the just live better than the
unjust, and are more happy (which we proposed to consider
afterwards), is now to be considered; and they appear to do
so even at present, as I imagine, at least from what has been
said. Let us, however, consider it further. For the discourse
is not about a trivial thing, but about the manner in which we
ought to live. Consider then, said he. I will, said I ; tell me,
does anything seem to you to be the work of a horse ? Yes.
Would you not call that the work of a horse, or of any one else,
which one does with him only, or in the best manner ? I do not
understand, said he. Thus, then: Do you see with anything
else but the eyes? No indeed. Could you hear with anything
but the ears ? By no means. Do we not justly then call these

1 I.e., the company present.

THE REPUBLIC. 31

things the works of these ? Certainly. Could not you with
a sword, a knife, and many other things, cut off a branch of

vine ? Why not ? But with nothing, at least I imagine, so
well, as with a pruning-hook, which is made for that purpose :
shall we not then settle this to be its work? We shall then
settle it. I imagine, then, you may now understand better
what I was asking when I inquired whether the work of each
thing were not that which it alone performs, or performs in
the best manner. I understand you, said he ; and this does
seem to me to be the work of each thing. Be it so, said I.
And is there not likewise a virtue belonging to everything to
which there is a certain work assigned ? But let us go over
again the same things •. We say there is a work belonging to
the eyes ? There is. And is there not a virtue also belonging
to the eyes ? A virtue also. Well then, was there any work of
the ears ? Yes. Is there not then a virtue also ? A virtue also.
And what as to all other things ? Is it not thus ? It is. But
come, could the eyes ever well perform their work, not having
their own proper virtue ; but, instead of virtue, having vice ?
How could they, said he, for you probably mean their having
blindness instead of sight. Whatever, said I, be their virtue, for
I do not ask this ; but, whether it be with their own proper virtue
that they well perform their own proper work, whatever things
are performed, or by their vice, badly ? In this, at least, said
he, you are right. And will not the ears likewise, when deprived
of their virtue, perform their work ill ? Certainly. And do we
settle all other things according to the same reasoning ? So I
imagine. Come, then, after these things, consider this.

Is there belonging to the soul a certain work, which, with no
other being whatever, you can perform; such as this, to care
for, to govern, to consult, and all such things; is there any
thing else but the soul, to which we may justly ascribe them,
and say they properly belong to it ? Nothing. Again, shall
we say that life is the work of the soul ? Most especially, said
he. Do not we say, then, that there is some virtue of the soul
likewise ? We say so.

And shall, then, the soul, ever at all,, Thrasymachus, perform

32 THE. REPUBLIC.

her works well, whilst deprived of her proper virtue? or, is
this impossible ? It is impossible. Of necessity, then, a
depraved soul must in a bad manner govern, and take care
of things ; and a good soul perform all these things well. Of
necessity. But did not we agree that justice was the virtue
of the soul ; and injustice its vice ? We did agree. Why then,
the just soul, and the just man, shall live well ; and the unjust,
ill. It appears so, said he, according to your reasoning. But,
surely, he who lives well is both blessed and happy, and he
who does not is the opposite. Why not? The just, then,
is happy ; and the unjust miserable. We may say so, said he.
But it is not advantageous to be miserable, but to be happy.
Certainly. At no time, then, good Thrasymachus, is injustice
more advantageous than justice. Thus, now, Socrates, said
he, have you been feasted in the festival of Bendis. By you,
truly, I have, Thrasymachus, said I ; since you are grown
meek, and have ceased to be angry. I have not feasted
handsomely, but that is owing to myself, and not to you : for
as voracious guests, always taking what is brought before
them, taste of it before they have sufficiently enjoyed what
went before ; so I, as I imagine, before I have found what
we first inquired into, — what justice is — have left this, hurrying
to inquire concerning it, whether it be vice and ignorance, or
wisdom and virtue. And, as a new idea afterwards came in,
that injustice was more profitable than justice, I could not
refrain from coming to this from the other. So that, from
the dialogue, I have now come to know nothing; for whilst
I do not know what justice is, I hardly know whether it be
a virtue or not, or whether he who possesses it be unhappy
or happy.

THE REPVUUC. 33

BOOK II.

WHEN I had said these things I imagined that the debate was
at an end ; but this it seems was only the introduction : for
Glauco, as he is on all occasions most courageous, did not
approve of Thrasymachus giving up the debate ; but said,
Socrates, do you wish to seem to have persuaded us, or to have
persuaded us in reality, that in every respect it is better to be
just than unjust? I would choose, said I, to do it in reality,
if it depended on me. You do not, then, said he, do what you
desire. For, tell me, does there appear to you to be any good
thing of such a kind, that we would be glad to have it ; not as
regards its consequences, but for its own sake? as joy, and
such pleasures as are harmless; though nothing arises after-
wards from these pleasures, and the possession alone gives us
delight. There seems to me, said I, to be something of this
kind. But is there something too, which we both love for its
own sake, and also for what arises from it ? as wisdom, sight,
and health; for I think we embrace these things on both
accounts. Yes, said I. But do you perceive, said he, a third
species of good, among which are bodily labour, to be healed
when sick, to practice physic, or other lucrative employment ?
for we say that these things are troublesome, but that they
profit us ; and while we should not choose these things for their
own sake, yet on account of the rewards and other advantages
which arise from them, we accept them. There is, indeed, said
I, likewise this third kind. But in which of these, said he, do
you place justice? I imagine, said I, in the best; which, both
on its own ctecount, and for the sake of what arises from it, is
desired by the man who is in pursuit of happiness. It does not,
however, said he, seem so to the many, but to be among the
troublesome kind, which is pursued for the sake of glory, and

3

34 THE REPUBLIC.

on account of rewards and honours ; but which on its own
account is to be shunned, as being irksome. I know, said I,
that it seems so, and it was in this view that Thrasymachus
some time since despised it, and commended injustice ; but it
seems I am one of those who are dull in learning. Come then,
said he, hear me likewise, if it be agreeable to you ; for Thrasy-
machus seems to me to have been charmed by you, like an
adder, sooner than was proper : but, with respect to myself, the
proof has not yet been made to my satisfaction, in reference to
either of the two ; for I desire to hear what each is, and what
power it has by itself, when in the soul — without considering
the rewards, or the consequences arising from them. I will
proceed, therefore, in this manner, if it seem proper to you : I
will revive the speech of Thracymachus ; and, first of all, I will
tell you what men say justice is, and whence it arises ; and,
secondly, I will maintain that all those who pursue it pursue it
unwillingly, as a necessary, but not as a good thing; thirdly,
that they do this reasonably; for, as they say, the life of an
unjust man is much better than that of the just. Although, for
my own part, to me, Socrates, this does not yet appear so. I
am, however, in doubt, having my ears bedinned with what I
hear from Thracymachus and innumerable others. But I have
never, hitherto, heard from any one such a discourse as I wish
to hear concerning justice, proving it better than injustice : I
wish to hear it commended, as it is in itself, and from you if
from any one imagine I shall hear this : wherefore I shall, as
strongly as I can, speak in commendation of an unjust life;
and, in speaking, shall show you in what manner I want to hear
you condemn injustice, and commend justice. But see if what
I say be agreeable to you. Extremely so, said I ; for in what
would any man of intellect delight rather than in speaking, and
hearing of this frequently ? You speak well, said he ; so listen
^-hile I speak on my first theme; what justice is, and whence it
arises. They say that, according to its nature, to do injustice is
good; but to suffer injustice is bad; for the evil which arises
from suffering injustice is greater than the good which arises
from doing it : so that, after men had done one another injus-

THE REPUBLIC. 35

tice, and likewise suffered it, experiencing both, it seemed
proper to those who were not able to shun the one, and choose
the other, to agree neither to do injustice, nor to be injured :
and that from this laws and conventions began to be estab-
lished ; and that which was enjoined by law they denominated
lawful and just. This, men say, is the origin and essence of
justice : being in the middle between what is best, doing
injustice without punishment, and what is worst — namely,
suffering injustice, when the injured person is unable to punish ;
and that justice, being thus in the middle of both these, is
desired, not as a good thing, but because it is held in honour
from its incapacity for doing injustice : for the man who had
ability to do so would never, if really a man, agree with any one
either to injure, or to be injured ; for otherwise he were mad.
This, then, Socrates, is said to be the nature of justice and its
origin. And we shall best perceive that these who pursue
justice pursue it unwillingly, and from impotence to injure, if
we imagine such a case as this. Let us give liberty to each of
them, both to the just and to the unjust, to do whatever they
incline ; and then let us follow them, observing how their
inclination will lead each of them. We should then find the
just man, with full inclination, going the same way with the
unjust, through a desire of having more than others. This,
every nature is made to pursue as good, but by law is forcibly
led to respect equality.

And the liberty which I speak of may be better realised if
imagined to be of such a kind as once invested Gyges, the
progenitor of Lydus : for the story says that he was the hired
shepherd of the then governor of Lydia; and that a pro-
digious rain and earthquake happening, part of the earth was
rent asunder, and an opening made in the place where he
pastured his flocks; that when he beheld, and wondered, he
descended into the hollow, and saw many other wonders, which
the legend relates, and a brazen horse likewise, hollow and with
doors in it ; and, on looking in, he saw within, a dead body
arger in appearance than that of a man, which had nothing else
pon it but a gold ring on its hand ; which ring he took off.

36 THE REPUBLIC.

and came up again. That when there was a convention of the
shepherds, as usual, for reporting to the king what related to
their flocks, he also came, having the ring : and whilst he sat
with the others, he happened to turn the stone of the ring to the
inner part of his hand; and when this was done he became
invisible to those who sat by, and they talked of him as absent :
that he wondered, and, again handling his ring, turned the
stone outward, and on this became visible ; and that, having
observed this, he made trial of the ring whether it had this
power : and it happened, that on turning the stone inward he
became invisible, and on turning it outward he became visible.
That, perceiving this, he instantly managed so as to be made
one of the embassy to the king, and that on his arrival he
seduced his wife ; and, with her, assaulting the king, killed him,
and possessed the kingdom. If now, there were two such rings,
and the just man had the one, and the unjust the other, neither,
it seems, would be so adamantine as to persevere in justice, and
refrain from the things of others, and not to touch them, whilst
it was in his power to take, even from a public market, without
fear, whatever he pleased ; to enter into houses, and embrace
any one he pleased ; to kill, and to loose from chains, whom he
pleased ; and to do all other things with the same power as a
God among men : — acting in this manner, he would be in no
respect different from the other ; but both of them would go the
same road. This now, one may say, is a strong proof that no
one is just from choice, but by constraint ; as it is not a good
merely in itself, since every one does injustice wherever he
imagines he is able to do it. And every man thinks that
injustice is, to the particular person, more profitable than
justice ; and he thinks rightly, according to this way of
reasoning : since, if any one with such a liberty were never to
do any injustice, nor touch the things of others, he would be
deemed by men of sense to be a most wretched fool ; though
they would commend him before one another, to impose on
each other from a fear of being injured. This much, then,
concerning these things. But, with reference to the difference
of the lives of those we speak of, we shall be able to discern

THE REPUBLIC. 37

aright, if we contrast the most just man, and the most unjust;
and now, how are we to contrast them ? Let us take from the
unjust man nothing of injustice, nor of justice from the just
man; but let us make each of them perfect in his own pro-
fession. And first, as to the unjust man, let him act as the able
artists; as a perfect pilot, or physician, he comprehends the
possible and the impossible in the art ; the one he attempts, and
the other he relinquishes ; and, if he fail in anything, he is able
to rectify it: so, in like manner, the unjust man attempting
pieces of injustice in a dexterous manner, let him be concealed,
if he intend to be exceedingly unjust ; but, if he be caught, let
him be deemed worthless : for the most complete injustice is, to
seem just, not being so. We must give then to the completely
unjust the most complete injustice; and not take from him, but
allow him, whilst doing the greatest injustice, to procure to him-
self the highest reputation for justice; and, if in anything he
fail, let him be able to rectify it : and let him be able to speak
so as to persuade if anything of his injustice be spread abroad:
let him be able to do by force, through his courage and strength,
and by means of his friends and his wealth : and having sup-
posed him to be such an one as this, let us place the just man
beside him in our reasoning, a simple and ingenuous man,
desiring, according to y£schylus, not the appearance but the
reality of goodness: let us take from him the appearance of
goodness; for, if he shall appear to be just, he shall have
honours and rewards ; and thus it will be uncertain whether he
be just for the sake of justice, or on account of the rewards and
honours: let him be stripped of everything but justice, and be
made completely contrary to the other ; whilst he does no in-
justice, let him have the reputation of doing the greatest ; that
he may be tortured for justice, not yielding to reproach, and
such things as arise from it, but may be immovable till death;
appearing indeed to be unjust through life, yet being really just ;
that so both of them arriving at the utmost pitch, the one of
justice, and the other of injustice, we may judge which of them
is the happier. Strange ! said I, friend Glauco, how strenuously
you purify each of the men, like a statue which is to be judged

38 THE REPUBLIC.

of I As much, said he, as I am able : whilst then they continue
lo be such, there will not, as I imagine, be any further difficulty
to observe what kind of life remains to each of them. It must
therefore be told. And if it should be told too coarsely,
imagine not, Socrates, that it is I who' tell it, but those who
commend injustice preferably to justice. They will say that the
just man, being of this disposition, will be scourged, tormented,
fettered, will have his eyes burnt out, and lastly, having suffered
all manner of evils, will be crucified ; and thus you see, that he
should not desire the reality but the appearance of justice:
and that it is much more correct to pronounce that saying
of ^schylus concerning the unjust man : for they will in
reality support the unjust man as one who is in pursuit of what
is real, and lives not according to the opinion of men, and who
means not to have the appearance but the reality of injustice :

" Reaping the hollow furrow of his mind,

Whence all his glorious councils blossom forth."

In the first place, he holds the magistracy in the state, being
thought to be just ; next, he marries wherever he inclines, and
matches his children with whom he pleases ; he joins in part-
nership and company with whom he inclines ; and, besides all
this, he will succeed in all his projects for gain; as he does
not scruple to do injustice: and when he engages in compe-
titions, he will both in private and in public surpass and exceed
his adversaries ; and by this means he will be rich, and serve
his friends, and hurt his enemies: and he will amply and
magnificently render sacrifices to the Gods, and will honour
the Gods, and such men as he chooses, much better than the
just man. From whence they reckon, that it is likely he will
be more beloved of the Gods than the just man. Thus, they
say, Socrates, that both with Gods and men there is a better
life prepared for the unjust man than for the just. When
Glauco had said these things, I had a design to say something.
But before I could reply, his brother, Adimantus, said — Socrates,
you do not imagine there is yet enough said on the argu-
ment. What further then? said I. That has not yet been

REPUBLIC. 39

spokeii, said he, which ought most specially to have been
mentioned. Why then, said I, the proverb is, A brother is
help at hand. So do you assist, if he has failed in anything.
Though what has been said by him is sufficient to overthrow
me, and make me unable to succour justice. You jest, replied
he. But hear this further. For we must go through all the
arguments opposed to what he has said, which commend justice
and condemn injustice, that what Glauco seems to me to intend
may be more manifest. Now, parents surely tell and exhort
their sons, as do all those who have the care of any, that it is
necessary to be just; not commending justice in itself, but the
honours arising from it ; so that whilst a man is reputed t' be
just, he may obtain by this reputation magistracies and mar-
riages, and whatever Glauco just now enumerated as the con-
sequence of being reputed just : but these carry this matter of
reputation somewhat further ; for, throwing in the approbation
of the Gods, they have unspeakable blessings to enumerate to
holy persons ; which, they say, the Gods bestow. As the wise
Hesiod and Homer say; the former that the Gods cause the
oak trees of the just to produce to just men

" Acorns at top, and in the middle bees;
Their woolly sheep are laden with their fleece;"

and a great many other good things of the same nature. In
like manner, the other,

" The blameless king, who holds a godlike name,
Finds his black mould both wheat and barley bear ;
With fruit his trees are laden, and his flocks
Bring forth with ease; the sea affords him fish."

But Musaeus and his son tell us that the Gods give just men more
splendid blessings than these ; for, carrying them in his poem into
Hades, and placing them in company with holy men at a feast
prepared for them, they crown them, and make them pass the
whole of their time in drinking, deeming eternal inebriation the
finest reward of virtue. But some carry the rewards from the
Gods still further ; for they say that the offspring of the holy, and

40 THE REPUBLIC.

the faithful, and their children's children, still remain. With
these things, and such as these, they commend justice. But the
unholy and unjust they bury in Hades, in a swamp, and compel
them to carry water in a sieve; and make them, even whilst
alive, to live in infamy. Whatever punishments were assigned
by Glauco to the just, whilst they were reputed unjust; these
they assign to the unjust, but mention no others. This now is the
way in which they commend and discommend them severally;
but besides this, Socrates, consider another kind of reasoning
concerning justice and injustice, mentioned both in ordinary life
and by the poets : all of them with one mouth celebrate temper-
ance and justice as indeed excellent, but yet difficult and
laborious; and intemperance and injustice as indeed pleasant
and easy to attain; and only in men's opinion, and at law,
abominable : and they say that for the most part unjust actions
are more profitable than just. And they are gladly willing,
both in public and private, to play honour to wicked rich men,
and such as have power of any kind, and to pronounce them
happy, but to contemn and overlook those who are anyhow
weak and poor, even whilst they acknowledge them to be better
than the others. But, of all these speeches, the most marvel-
lous are those concerning the Gods, and virtue: according to
which even the Gods give to many good men misfortunes and
an evil life, and to persons of the other kind a different fate :
and mountebanks and prophets, frequenting the gates of the
rich, persuade them that they have a power granted them by the
Gods, of expiating by sacrifices and songs, with pleasures and
with feastings, any injustice that has been committed by them,
or their forefathers : and if one wishes to injure any enemy he
may do it at a small expense, and whether such enemy be just
or unjust; for by certain blandishments and bonds, they say
that they can persuade the Gods to succour them. And to all
these discourses they bring the poets as witnesses ; who}
mentioning the facilities of vice, say —

" How vice at once, and easily is gain'd ;
The way is smooth, and very nigh it dwells;
Sweat before virtue stands, so Ileav'n ordain'd "

THE REPUBLIC. \\

and a very long and steep road.1 Others make Homer witness
how the Gods are prevailed upon by men, because he says,

" The Gods themselves are turn'd
With sacrifices and appeasing vows;
Fat off 'rings and libation them persuade ;
And for transgressions suppliant pray'r atones."

They produce likewise many books of Musaeus and Orpheus,
the offspring, as they say, of the Moon, and of the Muses ;
according to which they perform their sacred rites, persuading
not only private persons, but states likewise, that there are
absolutions and purgations from iniquities by means of sacri-
fices, sports and pleasures; for the benefit both of the living
and of the dead : these they call the Mysteries which absolve
us from torment in the other world ; and they assert that dread-
ful things await those who do not offer sacrifice. When all this
and many things of the same kind, friend Socrates, are said of
virtue and vice, and their reward both from men and Gods ; what

»m we imagine to be the effect on the minds of our young men,
hen they hear them ; such of them as are intelligent, and able
as it were to skim like birds over all these things which are
said, and to deliberate, with what sort of character and in what
sort of road one may best pass through life? It is likely that
they will speak to themselves in the words of Pindar,

" Whether shall I the lofty wall

Of justice try to scale;
Or, hedg'd within the guileful maze
Of vice, encircled dwell ? "

For, according to what is said, though I be just, if I be not
reputed so, there shall be no profit, but manifest troubles and
punishments. But the unjust man, who procures to himself the
character of justice, is said to have a divine life. Since then the
appearance surpasses the reality, as wise men demonstrate to
me, and is the primary part of happiness, ought I not to turn

1 Hesiod, Works and Days, 287.

42 THE REPUBLIC.

wholly to it ; ant} to draw round myself as a covering, the
picture, and image of virtue ; but after me I must drag the
cunning and versatile fox mentioned by the most wise Archi-
lochus ? But perhaps some one will say, It is not easy, being
wicked, always to be concealed. Neither is anything else easy,
(will we say) which is great.

But, however, if we would be happy, let us go where the
vestiges of the reasonings lead us. For, in order to be con-
cealed, we will make secret societies and clubs ; and there are
masters of persuasion, who teach skill in popular and political
oratory ; by which means, partly by persuasion and partly by
force, when we seize more than our due, we shall not be
punished. But, surely, to be concealed from the Gods, or to
overpower them, is impossible. Still, if they do not exist, or
care not about human affairs, we need not have any concern
about being concealed : but if they really exist, and care for us,
we neither know nor have heard of them otherwise than from
traditions, and from the poets who write their genealogies ; and
these very persons tell us, that they are to be moved and per-
suaded by sacrifices, and appeasing vows, and offerings. We
must believe both of these statements, or neither. If we believe
both, we may do injustice, and of the fruits of our injustice offer
sacrifice. If we be just, we shall indeed be unpunished by the
Gods; but then we shall not have the gains of injustice. But if
we be unjust, we shall make gain ; and after we have trans-
gressed and offended, we shall appease them by offerings, and
be liberated from punishment. But we shall, it is said, be
punished in the other world for our unjust doings here ; either
we ourselves, or our children's children. But, friend, will the
reasoner say, the mysteries can do much ; the Gods are exorable,
as is said by the mightiest states, and by the children of the
Gods, the poets, who are also their prophets, and who declare
that these things are so. For what reason, then, should we
still prefer justice before the greatest injustice ? Since, if we
shall attain to it while keeping up appearances, we shall fare
to our liking, with reference both to the Gods and men,
both while alive and dead, according to the reasoning just

THE REPUBLIC. 43

mentioned of many excellent men ? From all that has been said,
for what reason, O Socrates, shall he incline to honour justice,
who has any advantages whether of fortune or of wealth, of
body or of birth, instead of laughing when he hears it com-
mended ? Indeed, though a man were able to show what we
have said to be false, and is fully convinced that justice is
better, he will, however, abundantly pardon and not be angry
with the unjust; for he knows, that unless one from a divine
nature abhor to do injustice, or from acquired knowledge
abstain from it, no one else is willingly just ; but either through
cowardice, old age, or some other weakness, condemns the
doing injustice when unable to do it. That it is so is plain.
For the first of these who arrives at powrer is the first to do
injustice, as far as he is able. And the reason of all this is
no other than that from whence all this discourse proceeded,
Socrates, because, O wonderful man ! among all those of you
that call yourselves the commenders of justice, beginning from
those ancient heroes of whom any accounts are left to the
men of the present time, no one hath at any time condemned
injustice, nor commended justice, for any other reason than
the reputation, honours and rewards arising from them: but
no one has hitherto sufficiently examined, in poetry, or in
prose, either of them in itself, as a thing subsisting by its
own power in the soul of him who possesses it, concealed
both from Gods and men : so as to show that injustice is
the greatest of all the evils which the soul hath within it,
and justice the greatest good. If it had been thus spoken
of by you all from the beginning, and you had so persuaded
us from our youth, we should not need to watch over our
neighbour lest he should do us injustice, but every man would
have been the best guardian over himself, afraid lest in doing
injustice he should dwell with the greatest evil. These things
now, Socrates, and probably much more than these, Thrasy-
machus or some other might say of justice and injustice,
inverting their powers, against my own opinion. But as I
(for I want to conceal nothing from you) am desirous of
hearing you on the oplposite side, 1 have spoken as well as

44 THE REPUBLIC.

I was able, taking the contrary view. Do not, therefore, only
show us in your reasoning that justice is better than injustice;
but in what manner as regards the mind, one of them is
evil, and the other good. And do not notice the opinion
men have of either, as Glauco likewise enjoined : for, if you
notice the false opinions on both sides, and not the true
ones, we will say you do not commend justice, but the
appearance of it; nor condemn injustice but the appearance
of it; that you advise the unjust man to conceal himself;
and that you assent to Thrasymachus that justice is a foreign
good, the profit of the more powerful; and that injustice is
the profit and advantage of oneself, and the loss of the weaker.
Since, therefore, you have acknowledged that justice is among
the greatest goods, such as are worthy to be possessed for what
arises from them, and much more in themselves, and for their
own sake (such as sight, hearing, wisdom, health, and such
other goods as are real in their own nature, and not merely
in opinion); in the same manner commend justice; how, in
itself, it profits the owner, while injustice hurts him. Leave
others to commend the rewards and opinions; for I could
bear with others in this way, commending justice, and con-
demning injustice, since they only celebrate and revile the
opinions and rewards of them; but not with you (unless
you desire me), because you have passed the whole of life
considering nothing else but this. Show us, then, in your
discourse, not only that justice is better than injustice ; but
also show us what is the effect that each has on its possessor
(whether he be concealed or not from Gods and men), by
which the one becomes a blessing and the other an evil.

Much as I have always been pleased with the talents of
Glauco and Adimantus, at that time I was perfectly delighted ;
and I replied: It was not ill said concerning you, sons of that
worthy man, by the lover of Glauco, in the beginning of his
Elegies, when, celebrating your behaviour at the battle of
Megara, he sang,

" Aristo's sons ! of an illustrious man,
The race divine . . ."

THE REPUBLIC. 45

This, friends, seems to be well said ; for you are truly affected
in a divine manner, if you are not persuaded that injustice is
better than justice, when you are able to speak thus in its
defence : and to me you seem, truly, not to be persuaded ; and
I reason from the whole of your other behaviour, since, accord-
ing to your present speeches at least, I should distrust you.
But the more I can trust you, the more I am in doubt what
argument I shall use. For I can neither think of what assist-
ance I have to give (for I seem to be unable to do anything
since you do not accept what I said to Thrasymachus when I
imagined I showed that justice was better than injustice), nor
yet can I think of giving no assistance; for I am afraid it be an
unholy thing to desert justice when I am present, and see it
accused, and not assist it whilst I breathe, and am able to
speak. It is best then to succour it in such a manner as
I can.

Hereupon Glauco and the rest entreated me, by all means, to
assist, and not relinquish the discourse ; but to search thoroughly
what each of them is, and which way the truth lies, as to their
respective advantages. I then said what I felt : That the
inquiry we were attempting was not contemptible, but required
a sharp sight, as I imagined. Since, then, said I, I am not very
expert, it seems proper to make the inquiry concerning this
matter in such a manner as if it were ordered those who are
not very sharp-sighted, to read small letters at a distance ; and
one should afterwards discover, that the same letters were
written on something else in larger characters : it would appear
eligible, I imagine, first to read these, and thus come to con-
sider the lesser, if they happen to be the same. Perfectly right,
said Adimantus. But what of this kind, Socrates, do you
perceive in the inquiry concerning justice ? I will tell you, said
I. Do not we say there is justice in one man, and there is
likewise justice in a whole state? It is certainly so, replied he.
Is not a state a greater object than one man? Yes, said he.
It is likely, then, that justice should be greater in what is
greater, and be more easy to be understood: we shall first,
then, if you incline, inquire what it is in states ; and then, after

4<5 THE REPUBLIC.

the same manner, we shall consider it in each individual, con-
templating the similitude of the greater in the idea of the lesser.
You seem to me, said he, to be right. If then, said I, we
contemplate, in our discourse, the growth of a state, shall we
not perceive the growth of its justice and injustice as well?
Perhaps, said he. And in this case, were there not ground to
hope that we shall more easily find what we seek for ? Most
certainly. It seems, then, we ought to attempt to succeed, for
I imagine this to be a work of no small importance. Consider,
then. We are considering, said Adimantus, and do you no
otherwise.

A city, then, said I, as I imagine, takes its rise from this, that
none of us happens to be self-sufficient, but is indigent of many
things ; or, do you imagine there is any other origin of building
a city ? None other, said he. Thus it is then that because
each man requires one person for one want, and another for
another; and each stands in need of many things, there
assemble into one habitation many companions and assistants ;
and to this joint-habitation we give the name of city, do we not ?
Certainly. And they mutually exchange with one another, each
judging that, if he either gives or takes in exchange, it will be
for his advantage. Certainly. Come, then, said I, let us, in our
discourse, construct a city from the beginning. It is con-
structed, it seems, because of our natural requirements ? Yes.
But the first and the greatest of wants is the preparation of food,
in order to subsist and live. By all means. The second is of
lodging. The third of clothing ; and such like. It is so. But,
come, said I, how shall the city be able to make so great a pro-
vision ? Shall not one be a husbandman, another a mason,
some other a weaver ? or shall we add to them a shoemaker, or
some other of those who minister to the necessities of the body ?
Certainly. So that the smallest possible city must consist of
four or five men ? It seems so. But, what now ? must each of
those do his work for them all in common; so that the husband-
man, as one of them, shall prepare food for four ; and consume
quadruple time, and labour, in preparing food, and sharing it
with others? or, neglecting them, shall he for himself alone

THE REPUBLIC. 47

make the fourth part of this food, in the fourth part of the time ?
and, of the other three parts of time, shall he employ one in the
preparation of a house, the other in that of clothing, the other of
shoes, and not give himself trouble in sharing with others, but
do his own affairs by himself? Adimantus said — Probably,
Socrates, this way is more easy than the other. No, certainly,
said I ; it were absurd. For, whilst you are speaking, I con-
sider that we are born not perfectly resembling one another, but
differing in disposition ; one being fitted for doing one thing,
and another for doing another: does it not seem so to you? It
does. But, what now ? Will a man do better if he works in
many arts, or in one ? In one, said he. But this, I imagine, is
also plain; that if one miss the season of any work, it is ruined.
That is plain. For, I imagine, the work will not wait upon the
leisure of the workman ; but of necessity the workman must
attend close upon the work, and not treat it as an easy affair.
Of necessity. And hence it appears, that more will be done,
and better, and with greater ease, when every one does but one
thing, according to their genius, and in proper season, and freed
from other things. Most certainly, said he. But we need
certainly, Adimantus, more citizens than four, for those pro-
visions we mentioned : for the husbandman, it would seem, will
not make a plough for himself, if it is to be useful ; nor yet a
spade, nor other instruments of agriculture: as little will the
mason ; for he, likewise, needs many things : and in the same
w^y, the weaver and the shoemaker also. Is it not so? True.
Joiners, then, and smiths, and other such workmen, being
admitted into our little city, make it throng. Certainly. But
still it would be no very great matter, if we give them neatherds
likewise, and shepherds, and other herdsmen; in order that
both the husbandmen may have oxen for ploughing, and that the
masons, with the help of the husbandmen, may use the cattle
for their carriages ; and that the weavers likewise, and the shoe-
akers, may have hides and wool. Nor yet, said he, would it

e a very small city, having all these. But, said I, it is almost
possible to set down such a city in any place as should need

o importations. U is impossible. It will then certainly want

48 THE REPUBLIC.

others still, who may import from another state those whom it
needs. It will. And surely if the servant take with him nothing
which is wanted by these from whom is imported what is needed,
he will come away without anything. To me it seems so.
Then the city ought not only to make what is sufficient for
itself; but such things, and so many, as will recompense for
those things which they need. It ought. Our city, then, cer-
tainly wants a great many more husbandmen and other work-
men ? A great many more. And other servants besides, to
import and export the several things ; and these are merchants,
are they not ? Yes. We shall then want merchants likewise ?
Yes, indeed. And if the merchandise is by sea, it will require
many others ; such as are skilful in sea affairs. Many others
truly. But as to the city, how will the inhabitants exchange
with one another the things which they have each of them
worked ; and for the sake of which, forming a community, they
built a city ? It is plain, said he, by selling and buying. Hence
we must have a market, and money, as a symbol, for the
sake of exchange. Certainly If now, the husbandman, or
any other workman, bring any of his work to the market,
but come not at the same time with those who want to make
exchange with him, will he not be obliged to desist from
his work, and to sit there idly? By no means, said he. But
there are some who, observing this, set themselves to this
service ; and, in well-regulated cities, they are mostly such as
are weakest in their body, and unfit to do any other work.
Their business is to wait in the market and to give money in
exchange for such things as any may want to sell ; and things
in exchange for money to such as want to buy. This demand,
said I, procures our city a race of shopkeepers; for, do not we
call shopkeepers those who, fixed in the market, serve both in
selling and buying ? and such as travel to other cities we call
merchants. Certainly. There are still, as I imagine, certain
other ministers, who, though unfit to serve the public in things
which require understanding, have yet strength of body sufficient
for labour, who selling the use of their strength, and calling the
reward of it hire, are called, as I imagine, hirelings : are they

THE REPUBLIC. 49

not? Yes, indeed. Hirelings then are, it seems, the comple-
ment of the city ? It seems so. Has our city now, Adimantus,
already so increased upon us as to be complete ? Perhaps.

Where now, at all, should justice and injustice be in it ; and
in which of the things that we have considered does it appear
to exist ? I do not know, said he, Socrates, if it be not in some
relation of these things to one another. Perhaps, said I, you
are right. But we must consider it, and not shirk trouble.
First, then, let us consider after what manner those who are
thus procured will be supported. I suppose by making bread
and wine, and clothes, and shoes, and building houses ? In
summer, indeed, they will work for the most part without clothes
and shoes ; and, in winter, they will be sufficiently furnished with
clothes and shoes ; they will be nourished, partly with barley,
making meal of it, and partly with wheat, making loaves,
oiling part and toasting part, and putting fine loaves and
:akes on mats of straw, or on dried leaves, and resting them-
elves on couches, strewed with yew and myrtle leaves, they
nd their children will feast ; drinking wine, and crowned, and
inging to the Gods, they will pleasantly live together, and not
egetting children beyond their substance, guarding against
overty or war. Glauco interrupted and said, You make the
en feast, it appears, without anything but bread. You say
ue, said I ; for I forget that they will have other things,
hey will have salt, and olives, and cheese ; and they will boil
ulbous roots, and herbs of the field ; and we set before them
esserts of figs, and vetches, and beans ; and they will toast at
e fire myrtle berries, and the berries of the beech-tree ; drink-
g in moderation, and thus passing their life in peace and
ealth ; and dying, in old age, they will leave to their children
nother life, like their own. If you had been making, Socrates,
id he, a city of hogs, what else would you have fed them
ith but with these things? But what else should we do,
lauco? said I. What is usually done, said he. They must,
imagine, have their beds, and tables, and meats, and desserts,

Is we now have, if they are not to be miserable. Be it so, said
; I understand you. We are considering, it seems, not only
'

?!

50 THE REPUBLIC.

how a city, but how a luxurious city, may exist; and perhaps it
is not amiss ; for, in considering such an one, we may probably
see how justice and injustice have their origin in cities. The
true city seems to me to be such an one as we have described ;
like one who is healthy; but if you incline that we likewise
consider a city that is corpulent, nothing hinders it. For these
things will not, it seems, please some ; nor this sort of life
satisfy them ; but there shall be beds, and tables, and all other
furniture ; seasonings, ointments, and perfumes ; mistresses,
and confections, and various kinds of all these. And we must
no longer consider as alone necessary what we mentioned at
the first, houses, and clothes, and shoes ; painting too, and all
the curious arts must be set a-going, carving, and gold, and
ivory- work ; all these things must be procured, must they not ?
Yes, said he. Must not the city, then, be larger? For that
healthy one is no longer sufficient, but is already full of luxury,
and of a crowd of such as are in no way necessary to cities ;
such as all kinds of sportsmen, and the imitative artists, many
of them imitating in figures and colours, and others in music ;
poets too, and their ministers, rhapsodists, actors, dancers,
undertakers, makers of all sorts of things, including women's
ornaments, as well as other things. We shall need likewise
many more servants. Do not you think they will require
pedagogues, and nurses, and tutors, hair-dressers, barbers,
victuallers too, and cooks? And further still, we shall want
swine-herds: of these there were none in the other city (for
there was no need), but in this we shall want these, and many
other sorts of cattle likewise, for those who may wish to eat
them ; shall we not ? Yes. Shall we not then, in this manner
of life, be much more in need of physicians than formerly?
Much more. And the country, which was then sufficient to
support the inhabitants, will, instead of being sufficient, become
too little ; will it not ? Yes, said he. Must we not then encroach
upon the neighbouring country, if we want to have sufficient for
plough and pasture, and they, in like manner, on us, if they
likewise suffer themselves to accumulate wealth to infinity;
going beyond the boundary of necessaries? There is great

THE REPUBLIC. 51

necessity for it, Socrates. Shall we then go to war, Glauco,
or what shall we do ? We shall, certainly, said he. We will
not say, said I, whether war does evil, or good; but thus much
only, that we have found the origin of war : from whence, most
especially, arise the greatest mischiefs to states, both private
and public. Yes, indeed. We shall need, then, friend, still
a larger city; not for a small, but for a large army, who,
in going out, may fight with those who attack them, in
defence of their own substance, and that of all those
we have lately mentioned. What, said he, are not these
sufficient to fight? No; if you, at least, said I, and all of us,
have rightly agreed, when we formed our city : and we agreed,
if you remember, that it was impossible for one to perform
many arts well. You are right, said he. What then, said I,
as to that contest of war ; does it not appear to require art ?
Very much, said he. Ought we then to take more care of the

rt of shoemaking than of the art of making war ? By no
cans. But we charged the shoemaker neither to undertake

t the same time to be a husbandman, nor a weaver, nor a
ason, but a shoemaker; that the work of that art may be

one for us well' and, in like manner, we allotted to every one

f the rest one thing, to which the genius of each led him, and
what each took care of, freed from other things, to do it well,
applying to it the whole of his life, and not neglecting the

teasons of working. And now, as to the affairs of war, is it not
f the greatest importance, that they be well performed ? Or,
> this so easy a thing, that one may be a soldier and also a
^usbandman, a shoemaker, or be employed in any other art ?
But not even at chess, or dice, can one ever play skilfully, unless
he study this very thing from his childhood, and not make it a
by-work. Or, shall one, taking a spear, or any other of the
warlike arms and instruments, become instantly an expert com-
batant, in an encounter in arms, or in any other military service,
although the taking up of another instrument will not make
a workman, or a wrestler, nor be useful to him who has neither
the knowledge of that particular thing, nor has bestowed the
study sufficient for its attainment ? Such instruments, said he,

52 THE REPUBLIC.

would truly be very valuable. In proportion then, said I, to the
importance of this work of guarding the city, it should require
the greatest leisure from other things, and likewise the greatest
art and study. I imagine so, replied he. And will it not like-
wise require a natural genius for this profession ? Yes. It will
be our business, then, it seems, to choose the kind of genius
that is best for the guardianship of the city. Yes. We have
truly, said I, undertaken no mean business ; but, however, we
are not to despair, so long at least as we have any ability. No
indeed, said he. Do you think then, said I, that the genius of
a generous dog differs in point of guardianship from that of
a generous youth? What is it you say? It is this. Must not
each of them be acute in perception, swift to pursue what they
perceive, and strong likewise if there is need to conquer what
they shall catch ? There is need, said he, of all these. And
surely he must be brave likewise, if he fight well ? Yes. But
will any one be brave who is not spirited, whether it is a horse,
a dog, or any other animal ? Or, have you not observed, that
the spirit is irresistible and invincible ; and when it is present
every soul is, in respect of all things, fearless and unconquer-
able ? I have observed it. It is plain then what sort of a guard
we ought to have, with reference to his body. Yes, and with
reference to his soul, that he should be spirited. This likewise
is plain. How then, said I, Glauco, will they not be savage to-
wards one another and the other citizens, being of such a temper ?
No truly, said he, not easily. But yet it is necessary that
towards their friends they be meek, and fierce towards their
enemies ; for otherwise they will not wait till others destroy
them; but they will anticipate them, and do it themselves.
True, said he. What then, said I, shall we do ? Where shall
we find, at once, a gentle and a spirited temper ? For the mild
disposition is opposite to the spirited. It appears so. But,
however, if he be deprived of either of these, he cannot be
a good guardian ; and as the combination seems impossible ; so
it appears, that a good guardian is an impossible thing. It
seems so, said he. I was then at a loss, but after considering
what had passed: Justly, said I, friend, are we in doubt \ for

THE REPUBLIC. 53

we have departed from that image which we first established.
How say you ? Have we not observed, that there are truly such
tempers, though we thought there were none which have
these opposite qualities ? Where are they to be found ? One
may see it in several animals, and not a little in that one
with which we compared our guardian. For this, you know,
is the natural temper of generous dogs, to be most mild towards
their friends and their acquaintance, but the reverse to those
they know not. It is so. This then, said I, is possible; and
it is not unnatural that we require our guardian to be such
an one. It seems not. Are you further, of this opinion, that
he who is to be our guardian should, besides being spirited,
be a philosopher likewise ? How ? said he ; for I do not
understand you. This likewise, said I, you will observe in
the dogs ; and it is worthy of admiration in the brute. What ?
He is angry at whatever unknown person he sees, though he
hath never suffered any ill from him before ; but he is fond of
whatever acquaintance he sees, though he has never at any
time received any good from him. Have you not wondered at
this ? I never, said he, much attended to it before ; but, that
he does this, is plain. But, indeed, this affection of his nature
seems to be an excellent disposition, and truly philosophical ?
How? Because, said I, it distinguishes between a friendly
and unfriendly aspect, by nothing else but this, that it knows
the one, but is ignorant of the other. How, now, should not
this be deemed the love of learning, which distinguishes what
is friendly and what is foreign, by knowledge and ignorance ?
It can in no way be shown why it should not. But, however,
said I, to be a lover of learning, and a philosopher, are the
same. The same, said he. May we not then boldly lay
down, That in man too, if any one is to be of a mild
disposition towards his friends and acquaintance, he must
be a philosopher and a lover of learning ? Yes, said he.
He then who is to be a good and worthy guardian for us,
of the city, shall be of a philosophic disposition, spirited,
and swift, and strong. By all means, said he. Let then our
guardian, said I, be such »n one. But in what manner shall

54 THE REPUBLIC.

we educate them, and instruct them ? And will the considera-
tion of this be of any assistance in perceiving that for the sake
of which we consider everything else, namely, In what manner
justice and injustice arise in the city. For we should not omit
a necessary part of the discourse ; nor consider what is super-
fluous. The brother of Glauco said : I, for my part, expert
that this inquiry will be of assistance. Then, said I, friend
Adimantus, we must not omit it, though it should happen to
be somewhat tedious. No, truly. Come then, let us, as if
we were talking in the way of fable, and at our leisure,
describe the education of these men. It must be done. What
then is the education ? Is it not difficult to find a better than
that which was found long ago, which is gymnastic for the
body, and music for the mind? It is indeed. Shall we not
then, first, begin with instructing them in music, rather than
in gymnastic ? Why not ? When you say music, you mean
discourses, do you not ? I do. But of discourses there are
two kinds ; the one true, and the other false. There are. And
they must be educated in them both, and first in the false. I
do not understand, said he, what you mean. Do not you
understand, said I, that we first of all tell children fables ?
And this part of music, somehow, to speak in the general,
is false ; yet there is truth in them ; and we accustom children
to fables before their gymnastic exercises. We do so. This
then is what I meant, when I said that children were to begin
music before gymnastic. Right, said he. And do you not
know that the beginning of every work is of the greatest
importance, especially to any one young and tender ? for then
truly, in the easiest manner, is formed and taken on the
impression which one inclines to imprint on every individual.
It is entirely so. Shall we then suffer the children to hear any
kind of fables composed by any kind of persons ; and to receive,
for the most part, into their minds, opinions contrary to those
we judge they ought to have when they are grown up ? We
shall by no means suffer it. First of all, then, we must preside
over the fable-makers. And whatever beautiful fables they
make must be chosen ; and those that are otherwise must be

THE REPUBLIC. 55

rejected ; and we shall persuade the nurses and mothers to
tell the children such fables as shall be chosen ; and to fashion
their minds by fables, much more than their bodies by their
hands. But the greater part of what they tell them at present
must be rejected. What are they ? said he. In the greater
ones, said I, we shall see the lesser likewise. For the fashion
of them must be the same ; and both the greater and the lesser
must have the same kind of power. Do you not think so ? I
do, said he: but I do not at all understand which you call
the greater ones. Those, said I, which Hesiod and Homer tell
us, and the other poets. For they composed false fables to
mankind, and told them as they do still. Which, said he, do

Eou mean, and what is it you blame in them ? That, said
which first of all and most especially ought to be blamed,
hen the falsity has no beauty. What is that ? When one,
i his composition, gives ill representations of the nature of
uods and heroes : as a painter drawing a picture in no respect
resembling what he wished to paint. It is right, said he, to
blame such things as these. But how have they failed, say we,
and as to what ? First of all, that poet created an ugly story, the
greatest of lies, on a matter of the greatest importance, who told
how Uranus did what Hesiod says he did ; and then again how
Cronos punished him, and what Cronos did, and what he
suffered from his son. For though these things were true, yet I
should not imagine they ought to be so plainly told to the
unwise and the young, but ought much rather to be concealed.
But if there were a necessity to tell them, they should be
heard in secrecy, by as few as possible ; after they had sacrificed
not a hog,1 but some great and wonderful sacrifice, that thus the
fewest possible might chance to hear them. These fables, said
he, are indeed truly hurtful, and not to be mentioned, Adi-
mantus, said I, in our city. Nor is it to be said in the hearing
of a youth, that he who does the most extreme wickedness does
nothing strange; nor he who brutally punishes the crimes of his
father ; but that he does what was done by the first and the
greatest of the Gods. No truly, said he, these things do not
1 The usual sacrifice at the Mysteries. See page 41.

56 THE REPUBLIC.

seem to me proper to be said. Nor, said I, must it be told how
Gods war with Gods, and plot and fight against one another
(for such assertions are not true), — if, at least, those who are to
guard the city for us ought to account it the most shameful
thing to hate one another on slight grounds. As little ought
we to tell in fables, and embellish to them, the battles of the
giants ; and many other all-various feuds, both of the Gods and
heroes, with their own kindred and relations. But if we are at
all to persuade them that at no time should one citizen hate
another, and that it is unholy; such things as these are rather
to be said to them when they are children, by the old men and
women, and by those well advanced in life ; and the poets are
to be obliged to compose agreeably to these things. But the
tales of Here being fettered by her son, and Hephaestus being
hurled from heaven by his father for going to assist his mother
when beaten, and all those battles of the Gods which Homer has
written, must not be admitted into the city ; whether they be
composed in the way of allegory, or not ; for the young person
is not able to judge what is allegory and what is not : and what-
ever opinions he receives at such an age are with difficulty
washed away, and are generally indelible. On these accounts,
one would imagine, that, of all things, we should endeavour that
what children first hear be composed in the best manner for
exciting them to virtue. There is reason for it, said he. But,
if any one now should ask us what these tales and fables are,
what should we say ? And I said : Adimantus, you and I are
not poets at present, but founders of a city ; and it is the duty
of the founders to know the models according to which the poets
are to compose their fables ; contrary to which, if they compose,
they are not to be tolerated ; but it is not our duty to compose
the fables for them. Right, said he. But as to this very thing,
the models concerning theology, which are they ? Some such
as these, said I. God is always to be represented such as he is,
whether one represent him in epic, in lyric, or in dramatic
poetry. This ought to be done. Is not God essentially good,
and is he not to be described as such ? Without doubt. But
nothing which is good is hurtful ; is it ? It does not appear to

THE REPUBLIC. 57

me that it is. Does, then, that which is not hurtful ever do
hurt ? By no means. Does that which does no hurt do any
evil ? Nor this neither. And what does no evil cannot be the
cause of any evil ? How can it ? But what ? Good is beneficial.
Yes. It is, then, the cause of welfare ? Yes. Good, therefore, is
not the cause of all things, but the cause of those things which
are in a right state ; but it is not the cause of those things
which are in a wrong. Entirely so, said he. Neither, then,
can God, said I, since he is good, be the cause of all things, as
the many say, but he is the cause of a few things ; but of the
many evil things he is not the cause ; for our good things are
much fewer than our evil : and no other than God is the cause

Ef our good things ; but of our evils we must not make God the
ause, but seek for some other. You seem to me, said he, to
peak well. We must not, then, said I, either admit Homer or
«ny other poet trespassing so foolishly with reference to the
Gods, and saying, how

" Two vessels on Zeus' threshold ever stand,
The source of evil one, and one of good.
The man whose lot Zeus mingles out of both,
By good and ill alternately is rul'd.
But he whose portion is unmingled ill,
O'er sacred earth by famine dire is driv'n."1

or that Zeus is the dispenser of our good and evil. Nor, if
ny one say that the violation of oaths and treaties by Pandarus
was effected by Athene and Zeus, shall we commend it. Nor
:hat dissension and strife among the Gods were instigated by
Themis and Zeus. Nor yet must we suffer the youth to hear
what ^Eschylus says ; how

B" Whenever God inclines to raze
A house, himself contrives a cause. "

But, if any one compose poems like this from which these lines
are taken, about the sufferings of Niobe, of the Pelopides, or the
Trojans, or others of a like nature, we must either not suffer
them to say they are the works of God ; or, if of God, they

1 Homer, lliad^ xxiv. 527.

58 THE REPUBLIC.

must find that reason for them which we now require, and must
say that God did what was just and good ; and that the sufferers
were benefited by being chastised: but we must not suffer a
poet to say, that they are miserable who are punished; and
that it is God who does these things. But if they say that the
wicked, as being miserable, needed correction; and that, in
being punished, they were profited by God, we may suffer
the assertion. But, to say that God, who is good, is the cause
of ill to any one, this we must by all means oppose, nor suffer
any one to say so in his city ; if he wishes to have it well
regulated. Nor must we permit any one, either young or old, to
hear such things told in fable, either in verse or prose ; as they
are neither agreeable to sanctity to be told, nor profitable to us,
nor consistent with themselves. I vote along with you, said he,
for this law, which pleases me. This, then, said I, may be one
of the laws and models with reference to the Gods : by which it
shall be necessary that those who speak, and who compose,
shall compose and say that God is not the cause of all things,
but of good only. Yes, indeed, said he, it is necessary. But
what as to this second law ? Think you that God is a wizard,
and insidiously appears, at different times, in different shapes ;
sometimes like himself; and, at other times, changing his
appearance into many shapes; sometimes deceiving us, and
making us conceive false opinions of him ? Or, do you conceive
him to be simple, and not in the least likely to depart from his
proper form ? I cannot, at once replied he, answer you. Then
tell me this. If anything be changed from its proper form, is
there not a necessity that it be changed either by itself, or
by another ? Undoubtedly. Are not those things which are in
the best state, least of all changed and moved by any other
thing ? as the body, by meats and drinks, and labours : and
every vegetable by tempests and winds, and such like accidents.
Is not the most sound and vigorous least of all changed?
Certainly. And as to the soul itself, will not any perturbation
from without, least of all disorder and change the soul that is
most brave and wise ? Yes. And surely, somehow, all vessels
which are made, and buildings, and vestments, according to the

THE REPUBLIC. 59

same reasoning, such as are properly worked, and in a right
state, are least changed by time, or other accidents ? They are
so, indeed. Everything then which is in a good state, either by
nature, or art, or both, receives the smallest change from any-
thing else. It seems so. But God, and everything belonging
to divinity, are in the best state. Yes. In this way, then, God
should least of all have many shapes. Least of all, truly. But
should he change and alter himself? It is plain, said he, if he
be changed at all. Whether then will he change himself to the
better, and to the more handsome, or to the worse, and the
more deformed ? Of necessity, replied he, to the worse, if he be
changed at all ; for we shall never at any time say, that God is
any way deficient with respect to beauty or excellence. You
re right, said I. And this being so; do you imagine, Adiman-
is, that any one, whether God or man, would willingly make
limself in any way worse? It is impossible, said he. It is
ipossible then, said I, for a God to desire to change himself;
>ut each of them, being most beautiful and excellent, continues
Iways, and without variation in his own form. This appears
to me, said he, to be wholly so. Let not, then, said I, most
excellent Adimantus, any of the poets tell us, how the Gods,

"... at times resembling foreign guests,
Wander o'er cities in all various forms." *

[or let any one belie Proteus and Thetis. Nor bring in Here,
tragedies or other poems, as having transformed herself into
priestess, and collected " alms for the life-sustaining sons of
[nachus the Argive River." Nor let them tell us many other
such lies. Nor let the mothers, persuaded by them, affright
their children, telling the stories wrong ; as, that certain Gods
wander by night,

' Resembling various guests, in various forms,"

hat they may not, at one and the same time, blaspheme against
;he Gods, and render their children timid. By no means, said

1 Homer, Odyssey, xvii. 485,

60 THE REPUBLIC.

he. But do the Gods, said I, though in themselves they never
change, yet make us imagine they appear in various forms,
deceiving us, and playing at magic ? Perhaps, said he. But,
said I, can a God cheat ; holding forth a phantasm, either in
word or deed? I do not know, said he. Do not you know,
said I, that what is an actual fraud, if we may use the phrase, is
abhorred both by Gbds and men ? What do you mean ? replied
he. This, said I : That to defraud the principal part of oneself,
and one's principal interests, is what none willingly inclines to
do ; but every one is most afraid of a fraud in that particular
place. As yet, said he, I do not understand you. Because,
said I, you think I am saying something mysterious : but I am
simply saying, that to defraud the soul concerning realities, and
to be so defrauded, and to be ignorant, and in the soul to have
obtained and to keep up a fraud, is what every one would least
of all choose ; for a fraud on the soul is what men especially
hate. Especially, said he. But this, as I was now saying,
might most justly be called a true fraud — ignorance in the soul
of the defrauded person : since a fraud in words is but a kind of
imitation of what the soul feels ; an image afterwards arising,
and not altogether a pure cheat. Is it not so ? Entirely. But
this real lie is not only hated of the Gods, but of men likewise.
So it appears.

Again, with respect to the cheat in words, when is it some-
what useful, and not deserving hatred? Is it not when
employed towards our enemies ; or even those called our
friends ; when in madness, or other distemper, they attempt
to do some mischief? In that case, for a dissuasive, as a drug,
it is useful. And in those fables we were now mentioning, as
we know not how the truth stands concerning ancient things,
we treat the lie as resembling the truth, and so render it as
useful as possible. It is, said he, perfectly so. In which then,
of these cases, is a lie useful to God ? Will he lie so that his lie
resembles the truth, because he is ignorant of ancient things ?
That were ridiculous, said he. In God then is no place for the
lies of a poet ? I do not think so. But will he lie through fear
of his enemies ? Far from it. Or on account of the folly or

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61

I

madness of his friends ? No, said he, none of the foolish and
mad are the friends of God. There is then no occasion at all
for God to lie. There is none. The divine and godlike nature
then, in all respects, without a lie ? Altogether, said he.

od, then, is simple and true, both in word and deed ; neither
is he changed himself, nor does he deceive others, either by
visions, or by discourse, or by the sending of signs; whether
when we are awake, or when we sleep. So it appears, said he,
to me, at least whilst you are speaking. You agree, then, said
I, that this shall be the second model, by which we are to speak
and to compose concerning the Gods : that they neither change

emselves like wizards, nor mislead us by lies, either in word
r deed ? I agree. Whilst then we commend many other

ings in Homer, this we shall not commend, the dream sent
Zeus to Agamemnon ; neither shall we commend yEschylus,

hen he makes Thetis say that Apollo had sung at her mar-
riage, that

" A comely offspring she should raise,
From sickness free, of lengthen'd days :
Apollo, singing all my fate,
And praising high my Godlike state,
Rejoic'd my heart ; and 'twas my hope,
That all was true Apollo spoke :
But he, who, at my marriage feast,
Extoll'd me thus, and was my guest ;
He who did thus my fate explain,
Is he who now my son hath slain."

When any one says such things as these of the Gods, we
shall show displeasure, and not give him a chorus ] : nor shall
re suffer teachers to make use of such things in the education
the young; if our guardians are to be pious, and divine men,
is far as it is possible for man to be. I agree with you, said he,

irfectly, as to these models ; and we may use them as laws.

J /.e., produce his play.

62 THE REPUBLIC.

BOOK III

THESE things, then, and such as these, are, it seems, what
are to be heard, or not heard, concerning the Gods, from
childhood, by those who are to honour the Gods and their
parents, and who are not to despise friendship with one
another. I imagine, replied he, that this appears so. But,
what now ? If they are to be brave, must not these things
be narrated to them, and such other likewise as may render
them least of all afraid of death ? Or, do you imagine that
any one can ever be brave enough whilst he has this fear
within him ? Not I, truly, said he. But do you think that
any one can be without fear of death, whilst he imagines
that there is Hades, and that it is dreadful; and that in
battles he will choose death before defeat and slavery? By
no means. We ought then, as it seems, to give orders like-
wise to those who undertake to Discourse about fables of this
kind; and to entreat them not to reproach thus in general
the things in Hades, but rather to commend them; as they
say neither what is true, nor what is profitable to those who
are to be soldiers. We ought indeed, said he. Beginning
then, said I, at this verse, we shall leave out all of such kind
as this :

" I'd rather, as a rustic slave, submit
To some mean man, who had but scanty fare,
Than govern all the wretched shades below."
And, that

" The house, to mortals and immortals, seems

Dreadful and squalid ; and what Gods abhor '
And,

" O strange ! in Pluto's dreary realms to find
Soul and its image, but no spark of mind.."

THE REPUBLIC. 63

And,

" He's wise alone, the rest are fluttering shades."

And,

' ' The soul to Hades from its members fled ;

And, leaving youth and manhood, wail'd its fate."
And,

"... the soul, like smoke, down to the shades

Fled howling ..."
And,

"As in the hollow of a spacious cave,

The owls fly screaming ; if one chance to fall
Down from the rock, they all confus'dly fly;
So these together howling went."1

We shall request Homer and the other poets not to be
indignant if we erase these things, and such as these; not
that they are not poetical, and pleasant to many to be heard ;
but, the more poetical they are, the less ought they to be
heard by children, and men who ought to be free, and more
afraid of slavery than of death. By all means. Further, are
not all the dreadful and frightful names of these things
likewise to be rejected? Cocytus, and Styx, infernals and
anatomies, and such other appellations, in this form, such as
terrify all who hear them. These may, perhaps, serve some
other purpose: but we are afraid for our guardians; lest, by
such a terror, they be rendered more effeminate and soft than
they ought to be. We are rightly afraid of it, said he. Are
these then to be taken away ? They are. And they must
speak and compose on a contrary model. That is plain.
We shall take away likewise the bewailings and lamentations
of illustrious men. This is necessary, if what is above be so.
Consider then, said I, whether we rightly take away, or not.
And do not we say, that the worthy man will imagine that
to die is not a dreadful thing to the worthy man whose com-
panion he is ? We say so. Neither then will he lament over

im, at least, as if his friend suffered something dreadful. No
ndeed. And we say this likewise, that such an one is most of

11 sufficient in himself, for the purpose of living happily, and

1 Quotations from the Odyssey and Iliad*

64 THE REPUBLIC.

that he is distinguished from others because he is least of all
dependent on things outside him. True, said he. It is to
him, then, the least dreadful to be deprived of a son, a
brother, wealth, or any other of such-like things. Least of
all, indeed. So that he will least of all lament; but endure,
in the mildest manner, when any such misfortune befalls him.
Certainly. We shall rightly then take away the lamentations
of famous men, and assign them to the women (and those of
the better sort), and to such of the men as are dastardly;
so that those whom we propose to educate for the guardianship
of the country may disdain to make lamentations of this kind.
Right, said he. We shall again, then, entreat Homer, and the
other poets, not to say in their compositions, that Achilles, the
son of a Goddess,

' ' Lay sometimes on his side, and then anon
Supine ; then grov'ling ; rising then again,
Lamenting wander'd on the barren shore."
Nor how

"... With both his hands
He pour'd the burning dust upon his head."

Nor the rest of his lamentation, and bewailing; such and so
great as he has composed. Nor that Priam, so near to the
Gods, so meanly supplicated, and rolled himself in the dirt :

"Calling on every soldier by his name."

But still much more must we entreat them not to make the
Gods, at least, to bewail, and say,

" Ah wretched me ! unfortunately brave
A son I bore."

And if they are not thus to bring in the Gods, far less should
they dare to represent the greatest of the Gods in so unbecoming
a manner as this :

" How dear a man, around the town pursu'd,
Mine eyes behold ! for which my heart is griev'd :
Ah me ! 'tis fated that Patroclus kill
Sarpedon ; whom, of all men, must I love."

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For, if, friend Adimantus, our youth should serioasly hear such
things as these, and not laugh at them as spoken most unsuit-
ably, hardly would any one think it unworthy of himself, as a
man, or rebuke himself, if he should happen either to say or to
do anything of the kind; but, without shame or endurance,
would, on small sufferings, sing many lamentations and moans.
You are right, replied he. They must not, therefore, do in this
manner, as our reasoning now has evinced to us ; which we must
believe, till some one persuade us by some better. They must
not, indeed. But, surely, neither ought we to be given to
excessive laughter ; for, where a man gives himself to violent
laughter, such a disposition commonly includes a violent re-
action. It seems so, said he. Nor, if any one shall represent
worthy men as overcome by laughter, must we allow it ; much
less if he thus represent the Gods. Much less, indeed, said
he. Neither, then, shall we receive such things as these from
Homer concerning the Gods:

"Vulcan ministrant when the Gods beheld,
Amidst them laughter unextinguish'd rose."

This is not to be admitted, according to your reasoning. If you
incline, said he, to call it my reasoning ; this, indeed, is not to
be admitted. But surely the truth is much more to be valued.
For, if lately we reasoned right, and if indeed a lie be unprofit-
able to the Gods, but useful to men, in the way of a drug, it is
plain that such a thing is to be entrusted only to the physicians,
but not to be touched by private persons. It is plain, said he.
It belongs then to the governors of the city, if to any, to
invent a lie, with reference either to enemies or citizens, for
the good of the city ; but none of the rest must venture on
such a thing. But for a private person to tell a lie to such
governors ; we will call it the same offence as, or even a greater
than, for a patient to tell a lie to the physician ; or for the man
who learns his exercises, not to tell his master the truth as to
the indispositions of his body: or for one not to tell the
pilot the real state of things, respecting the ship and sailors,
in what condition himself and the other sailors are. Most

5

66 THE REPUBLIC.

true, said he. But if you find in the city any one else making a
lie,

" . . . of those who artists are,

Or prophet, or physician, or who make

The shafts of spears, ..."

you shall punish them, as introducing a practice subversive
and destructive of the city, as of a ship. We must do so;
if indeed it is upon speech that actions are completed. But
what ? Shall not our youth have need of temperance ?
Certainly. And are not such things as these the principal
parts of temperance ? that they be obedient to their governors ;
that the governors themselves be temperate in drinking, feast-
ing, and venereal pleasures. And we shall say, I imagine, that
such things as these are well spoken, which Diomed says in
Homer:

" Sit thou in silence, and obey my speech."
And what follows ; thus,

"The Greeks march'd on in silence, breathing force;
Revering their commanders;"

and such like. Well spoken. But what as to these ? " Thou
drunkard with a dog's face, and the heart of a deer;" and all
of this kind, are these, or such other juvenile things, which
any private person may say against their governors, spoken
handsomely? Not handsomely. For I do not imagine that
when they are heard they are likely to promote temperance
in youth; if they afford a pleasure of a different kind. We
need not wonder. But what do you think ? In the same way,
said he. But what of this ? To make the wisest man1 say,
that it appears to him to be the most beautiful of all things,

". . . To see the tables full
Of flesh and dainties, and the butler bear
The wine in flagons, and fill up the cup : "

is this proper for a youth to hear, in order to obtain a command
over himself? Or yet this ?

1 Odysseus,

THE REPUBLIC. 67

"... Most miserable it is,

To die of famine, and have adverse fate."

Or that Zeus, through desire of venereal pleasures, easily
forgetting all those things which he alone awake revolved in
his mind, whilst other Gods and men were asleep, was so
struck, on seeing Here, as not even to be willing to come
into the house, but wanted to embrace her on the ground;
and at the same time declaring that he was possessed with
such desire, as exceeded what he felt on their first connection
with each other,

Hid from their parents dear. "

Nor yet how Ares and Aphrodite were bound by Hephaestus,
and other such things. No, said he. These things do not seem
fit. But if any instances of self-denial, said I, with respect to
all these things be told, and practised by eminent men, these
are to be beheld and heard. Such as this :

He beat his breast, and thus reprov'd his heart :
Endure, my heart ! thou heavier fate hast borne. "

I By all means, said he, we should do thus. Neither must we
suffer men to receive bribes, nor to be covetous. By no
means. Nor must we sing to them, that

Gifts gain the Gods and venerable kings."

Nor must we commend Phoenix, the tutor of Achilles, as if
he spoke with wisdom, in counselling him to accept presents,
and assist the Greeks ; but, without presents, not to desist
from his wrath. Neither shall we commend Achilles, nor
approve of his being so covetous as to receive presents from
Agamemnon; and likewise only for a ransom to give up the
dead body of Hector. It is not right, said he, to commend
such things as these. I am unwilling, said I, for Homer's
sake, to say, That neither is it lawful that these things be
said against Achilles, nor that they be believed, when said
by others ; or, again, that he spoke thus to Apollo ;

68 THE REPUBLIC.

" Me thou hast injur'd, thou, far-darting God !
Most baneful of the powers divine ! But know,
Were I possest of power, then vengeance should be mine."

And how disobedient he was to the river, though a divinity,
and was ready to fight; and again, he says to the river
Spercheius, with his sacred locks,

" Thy locks to great Patroclus I could give,
Who now is dead. ..."

Nor are we to believe he did this. And again, the dragging
Hector round the sepulchre of Patroclus, and the slaughter-
ing the captives at his funeral pile, — that all these things
are untrue, we will not hesitate to say ; nor will we suffer our
people to be persuaded that Achilles, the son of a Goddess,
and of Peleus the most temperate of men and the third from
Zeus, and educated by the most wise Cheiron, was full of such
disorder as Ito have within him two distempers opposite to one
another, — the illiberal and covetous disposition, and a contempt
both of Gods and of men. You say rightly, replied he. Neither,
said I, let us be persuaded of these things ; nor suffer any to say
that Theseus the son of Poseidon, and Peirithous the son of
Zeus, were impelled to perpetrate such dire rapines ; nor that
any son of a deity, or any hero, would dare to do horrible and
impious deeds ; such as the lies of the poets ascribe to them :
but let us compel the poets either to say that these are not the
actions of these persons, or that these persons are not the
children of the Gods ; and not to say both. Nor let us suffer
them to attempt to persuade our youth that the Gods create
evil ; and that heroes are in no respect better than men. For,
as we said formerly, these things are neither holy nor true : for
we have elsewhere shown, that it is impossible that evil should
proceed from the Gods. Yes. And these things are truly
hurtful, to the hearers, at least. For every one will pardon
his own depravity, when he is persuaded that even the near
relations of the Gods do and have done things of the same
kind : such as are the kin of Zeus —

THE REPUBLIC. 69

"Who, on the top of Ida, have uprear'd

To parent Zeus an altar; ..."
And,

" Whose blood derived from Gods is not extinct."

On which accounts all such fables must be suppressed ; lest
they create in our youth a powerful habit of wickedness. We
must do so, replied he, by all means. What other species of
discourses, said I, have we still remaining, now whilst we are
determining what ought to be spoken, and what not ? We
have already mentioned in what manner we ought to speak

!of the Gods, and likewise the daemons and heroes ; and of
what relates to Hades. Yes, indeed. Should not that which
yet remains be concerning men ? It is plain. But it is im-
possible for us, friend, to regulate this at present. How ?
Because, I think, we shall say that the poets and orators
speak amiss concerning the greatest affairs of men : as, That
most men are unjust, and, notwithstanding this, are happy;
and that the just are miserable ; and that it is profitable for one
to do unjustly, when he is concealed ; and that justice is gain
indeed to others, but the loss of the just man himself; these, and
innumerable other such things, we will forbid them to say ; and
enjoin them to sing, and compose in fable, the contrary to these.
Do not you think so ? I do, said he. If then you acknowledge
that I am right, shall I not say that you have acknowledged
what all along we seek for ? You judge right, said he. Shall
we not then grant that such discourses are to be spoken
concerning men, whenever we shall have discovered what
justice is; and how in its nature it is profitable to the just
man to be such, whether he appear to be such or not ? Most
true, replied he. Concerning the discourses, then, let this
suffice.

We must now consider, as I imagine, the manner of discourse.
And then we shall have completely considered, both what is to
be spoken, and the manner how. Here Adimantus said, But I
do not understand what you say. But, replied I, it is needful
you should. And perhaps you will rather understand it in this
way. Is not everything told by the mythologists, or poets,

70 THE REPUBLIC.

a narrative of the past, present, or future ? What else ? replied
he. And do not they execute it, either by simple narration, or
imitation, or by both ? This too, replied he, I want to under-
stand more plainly. I seem, said I, to be a ridiculous and
obscure instructor. Therefore, like those who are unable to
speak, I will endeavour to explain, not the whole, but I will
take up a particular part, by which I can show my meaning.
Tell me, Do not you know the beginning of the Iliad? where
the poet says that Chryses entreated Agamemnon to set free
his daughter; but that he was displeased that Chryses, when
he did not succeed, prayed against the Greeks to the God.
I know. You know, then, that down to these verses,

"... The Grecians all he pray'd;
But chief the two commanders, Atreus' sons ; "

the poet himself speaks, and does not attempt to divert our
attention elsewhere; as if any other person were speaking:
but what he says after this, he says as if he himself were
Chryses, and endeavours as much as possible to make us
imagine that the speaker is not Homer, but the priest, an
old man ; and that in this manner he has composed almost
the whole narrative of what happened at Troy, and in Ithaca,
and all the adventures in the whole Odyssey. It is certainly
so, replied he. Is it not then narration, when he tells the
several speeches ? and likewise when he tells what intervenes
between the speeches ? Yes. But when he makes any speech
in the person of another, do not we say that then he assimilates
his speech, as much as possible to each person whom he intro-
duces as speaking ? We do say so. And is not the assimilating
one's self to another, either in voice or figure, the imitating him
to whom one assimilates himself? Why not ? In such a manner
as this, then, it seems, both he and the other poets perform the
narrative by means of imitation. Certainly. But if the poet
did not at all conceal himself, his whole action and narrative
would be without imitation. And that you may not say you
do not again understand how this should be, I shall tell you.
If Homer, after relating how Chryses came with his daughter's

THE REPUBLIC. 71

ransom, beseeching the Greeks, but chiefly the kings, had
spoken afterwards, not as Chryses, but still as Homer, you
know it would not have been imitation, but simple narration.
And it would have been somehow thus (I shall speak without
metre, for I am no poet): The priest came and prayed, that
the Gods might grant they should take Troy, and return safe;
and begged them to restore him his daughter, accepting the
presents, and revering the God. When he had said this, all
the rest showed respect, and consented ; but Agamemnon was
enraged, charging him to depart instantly, and not to return
again ; lest his sceptre and the garlands of the God should be
of no avail ; and told him, that before he would restore his
daughter she should grow old with him in Argos ; and ordered
him to be gone, and not to irritate him, that he might get home
in safety. The old man, upon hearing this was afraid, and went
away in silence. And when he was retired from the camp he
made many supplications to Apollo, rehearsing the names of
the God, and reminding him and beseeching him, that if
ever he had made any acceptable donation in the building of
temples, or the offering of sacrifices, — for the sake of these,
to avenge his tears upon the Greeks with his arrows. Thus,
said I, friend, the narration is simple, without imitation. I
understand, said he. Understand then, said I, that the
opposite of this happens, when one, taking away the poet's
part between the speeches, leaves the speeches themselves.
This, said he, I likewise understand, that a thing of this
kind takes place respecting tragedies. You apprehend per-
fectly well, said I. And I think that I now make plain to
you what I could not before ; that in poetry, and likewise in
mythology, one kind is wholly by imitation, such as you say
tragedy and comedy are; and another kind by the narration
of the poet himself; and you will find this kind most especially
in dithyrambic poetry : and another poet will use both ; as
in epic poetry, and in many other cases besides, if you under-
stand me. I understand now, replied he, what you meant
before. You remember that we were saying that we had
already mentioned what things were to be spoken ; but that

REPUBLIC.

it yet remained to be considered in what manner they were
to be spoken. I remember. This, then, is what I was saying,
that it were necessary we agreed whether we shall suffer the
poets to make narratives to us in the way of imitation; or,
partly in the way of imitation, and partly not ; and, what in
each way; or, if they are not to use imitation at all. I con-
jecture, said he, you are to consider whether we shall receive
tragedy and comedy into our city or not. Perhaps, replied I,
and something more too; for I do not as yet know, indeed, but
wherever our reasoning, like a gale, bears us, there we must
go. And truly, said he, you say well. Consider this now,
Adimantus, whether our guardians ought to practise imita-
tion or not. Or does it follow from what went before, That
each one may handsomely perform one business, but many
he cannot : or, if he shall attempt it, in grasping at many
things, he shall fail in all ; so as to be remarkable in none.

Certainly, it does. And is not the reason the same concern-
ing imitation ? That one man is not so able to imitate many
things well, as one. He is not. Hardly then shall he perform
any part of the more eminent employments, and at the same
time imitate many things, and be an imitator; since the same
persons are not able to perform handsomely imitations of two
different kinds, which seem to resemble each other; as, for
instance, they cannot succeed both in comedy and tragedy :
or, did you not lately call these two imitations ? I did ; and
you say truly, that the same persons cannot succeed in them.
Nor can they, at the same time, be rhapsodists and actors.
True. Nor can the same persons be actors in comedies and
in tragedies. And all these are imitations, are they not ?
Imitations. The genius of man seems to me, Adimantus, to
be shut up within still smaller bounds than these ; so that it
is unable to imitate handsomely many things, or do these
very things, of which even the imitations are resemblances.
Most true, said he. If therefore we are to hold to our first
reasoning, that our guardians, if unoccupied in any manu-
facture whatever, ought to be the best protectors of the
liberty of the city, and to mind nothing but what has some

0

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TJZE REPUBLIC, 73

reference to this ; it were surely proper, they neither did
nor imitated anything else; but, if they shall imitate at all,
to imitate immediately from their childhood whatever is proper
to their profession ; brave, temperate, holy, free men, and the
like ; — but neither to do, nor to be desirous of imitating, things
illiberal or base,, lest from imitating they come to be really
such. Or have you not observed, that imitations, if from
earliest youth they be continued onwards for a long time, are
established into the manners and natural temper, whether there
be gestures or tones of the voice or modes of thinking ? Very
much so, replied he. We will not surely allow, said I, those
we profess to take care of, and who ought to be good men,
to imitate a woman, either young or old, either reviling her
husband, or quarrelling with the Gods, or speaking boastingly
when she imagined herself happy ; nor yet to imitate her in
her misfortunes, sorrows, and lamentations, when sick, or in
love, or in child-bed. We shall be far from permitting this.
By all means, replied he. Nor to imitate man- or maid-servants
in doing what belongs to servants. Nor this either. Nor yet
o imitate depraved men, it seems, such as are dastardly, and
o the contrary of what we have now been mentioning ; reviling
,nd railing at one another; and speaking abominable things,
either intoxicated or sober, or any other things such as persons
f this sort are guilty of, either in words or actions, either with
respect to themselves or one another. Neither must they
accustom themselves to resemble madmen, in words or actions.
The mad and wicked must be known, both the men and the
women ; but none of their actions are to be done, or imitated.
Most true, said he. But what ? said I, are they to imitate
such as work in brass, or any other handicrafts, or such as
are employed in rowing boats, or such as command these ;
or anything else appertaining to these things ? How can they,
said he, as they are not to be allowed to give application to
any of those things ? But shall they imitate horses neighing,
or bulls lowing, or rivers murmuring, or the sea roaring, or
thunder, and all such-like things ? We have forbidden them,
said he, to be mad, or to resemble madmen. If then I under-

74 THE REPUBLIC.

stand, replied I, what you say, there is a certain kind of speech,
and of narration, in which he who is truly a good and worthy man
expresses himself when it is necessary for him to say anything ;
and another kind again unlike to this, which he who has been
born and educated in an opposite manner always possesses,
and in which he expresses himself. But of what kind are
these? said he. It appears to me, said I, that the worthy man,
when he comes in his narrative to any speech or action of a
good man, will willingly tell it as if he were himself the man,
and will not be ashamed of such an imitation ; most especially
when he imitates a good man acting prudently and without
error, one who seldom, and but little, through diseases, or love,
intoxication, or any other misfortune. But when he comes to
anything unworthy of himself, he will not be studious to resemble
himself to that which is worse, unless for a short time when it
produces some good ; but will be ashamed to do so, both as he
is unpractised in the imitation of such characters as these, and
likewise as he is unwilling to degrade himself and stand among
the models of baser characters, disdaining it from intelligence,
or doing it only for amusement. It is likely, said he. He will
not then make use of such a narrative as we lately mentioned,
with reference to the compositions of Homer: but his composi-
tion will participate of both imitation and the other narrative;
and but a small part of it will be imitation, in a great quantity of
plain narrative. Do I seem to be right or entirely wrong?

You express, replied he, perfectly well what ought to be the
model of such an orator. And, on the other hand, will not the
man, said I, who is not such an one, the more depraved he is,
be the readier to rehearse everything whatever ; and not think
anything unworthy of him ? so that he will undertake to imitate
everything in earnest, and likewise in the presence of many;
and such things also as we now mentioned ; thunderings, and
noises of winds and tempests, of axles, and wheels, and trumpets,
and pipes, and whistles, the sounds of all manner of instruments,
the voices of dogs, and of sheep, and of birds. And his whole
style will consist in the expression of these things, by imitation
of voices and gestures, having but a small part of it narration.

THE REPUBLIC. 75

This too, said he, must happen of necessity. These now, said I,
I called the two kinds of diction. They are so, replied he. But
has not the one of these small variations ? And if the orator
afford the becoming harmony and rhythm to the diction, where
he speaks with propriety, the discourse will be almost after one
and the same manner, and in one harmony; for the variations
are but small, and in a measure which accordingly is similar.
It is indeed, replied he, entirely so. But what as to the other
kind ? Does it not require the contrary, all kinds of harmony,
all kinds of rhythm, if it is to be naturally expressed, as it has
all sorts of variations ? It is perfectly so. Do not now all the
poets, and such as speak in any kind, make use of either one or
other of these models of diction, or of one compounded of both ?
Of necessity, replied he. What then shall we do? said I.
Shall we admit into our city all of these ; or one of the unmixed,
or the one compounded? If my opinion, replied he, prevail,
that uncompounded one, which is imitative of what i's worthy.
But surely, Adimantus, the mixed is pleasant, at least. And
the opposite of what you choose is by far the most pleasant to
children and pedagogues, and the crowd. It is most pleasant.
But you will not, probably, said I, think it suitable to our
government, because with us no man is to attend to two or more
employments, but to be quite simple, as every one does one
thing. It is not indeed suitable. Shall we not then find that in
such a city alone, a shoemaker is only a shoemaker, and not
a pilot along with shoemaking, and that the husbandman is
only a husbandman, and not a judge along with husbandry; and
that the soldier is a soldier, and not a money-maker besides :
and all others in the same way? True, replied he. And it
would appear, that if a man, who, through wisdom, were able to
become everything, and to imitate everything, should come int(
our city, and should wish to show us his poems, we shouk
revere him as a sacred, admirable, and pleasant person : but we
should tell him, that there is no such person with us, in our city
nor is there any such allowed to be : and we should send him tc
some other city, pouring oil on his head, and crowning him with
wool : but we should use a more austere poet, and mythologist, for

76 THE REPUBLIC.

our advantage, who may imitate to us the diction of the worthy
manner; and may say whatever he says, according to those
models which we established by law, at first, when we undertook
the education of our soldiers. So we should do, replied he, if it
depended on us. It appears, said I, friend, that we have now
thoroughly discussed that part of music respecting oratory and
fable ; for we have already said what is to be spoken, and in
what manner. It appears so to me likewise, said he.

Does it not yet remain, said I, for us to speak of the manner
of song, and of melodies? It is plain. May not any one dis-
cover what we must say of these things ; and of what kind these
things ought to be, if we are to be consistent with what is above
mentioned ? Here Glauco, laughing, said : Then I appear,
Socrates, to be no one, for I am not able at present to guess at
what we ought to say: though perhaps I suspect. You are
certainly, said I, fully able to say this in the first place, that
song is composed of three things; the words, the harmony, and
the rhythm. Yes, replied he, this I can say. And that the
words differ in nothing from the words which are not sung, in
the respect, that they ought to be upon the same models we
spoke of just now, and in the same manner. True, said he.
And surely, then, the harmony and rhythm ought to correspond
to the words. Why not. But we observed there was no occasion
for wailings and lamentations in compositions. No occasion,
truly.

Which then are the sad harmonies ? Tell me, for you are
a musician. The mixed Lydian, replied he, and the Hyper-
Lydian; and some others of this kind. Are not these, then,
said I, to be rejected ? for they are unprofitable even to women,
such as are worthy, and much more to men. Certainly. But
intoxication is most unbecoming our guardians ; and effeminacy
and idleness. Yes. Which then are the effeminate and con-
vivial harmonies? The Ionic, replied he, and the Lydian,
which are called relaxing. Can you make any use of these, my
friend, for military men ? By no means, replied he. Then, it
seems, you have only yet remaining the Doric, and the Phrygian.
1 do not know, said I, the harmonies; but leave me that

THE REPUBLIC. 77

harmony, which may, in a becoming- manner, imitate the voice
and accents of a truly brave man, going on in a military action,
and every rough adventure ; and bearing his fortune in a de-
terminate and persevering manner, when he fails of success,
who rushes on wounds, or death, or falls into any other distress ;
and leave me that kind of harmony likewise which is suited to
what is peaceable ; where there is no violence, but everything is
voluntary ; where a man either persuades or beseeches any one,
about anything, either God by prayer, or man by instruction and
admonition : or, on the other hand, where one submits himself
to another, who beseeches, instructs, and persuades ; and, in all
these things, acts according to intellect, and does not behave
haughtily ; demeaning himself soberly and moderately ; gladly
embracing whatever may happen : leave then these two har-
onies, the vehement and the calm ; which, in the best manner,
itate the voice of the unfortunate and of the fortunate, of the
oderate and of the brave. You desire me, replied he, to leave
ou nothing else but those I now mentioned. We shall not
en, said I, have any need of a great many strings, nor of a
nharmonion in our songs and melodies. It appears not,
plied he. We shall not nourish, then, such workmen as make
arps and spinets,1 and all those instruments which consist of
any strings, and produce a variety of harmony. We shall not,
appears. But what? Will you admit into your city such
orkmen as make pipes, or pipers ? for, are not the instruments
hich consist of the greatest number of strings, and those that
reduce all kinds of harmony, imitations of the pipe ? It is
lain, replied he. There are left you still, said I, the lyre and
.he zither, as useful for your city, and there might likewise be
some reed for shepherds in the fields. Thus reason, said he,
shows us. We then, replied I, do nothing dire, if we prefer
Apollo, and Apollo's instruments, to Marsyas, and the instru-
ments of that eminent musician. Truly, replied he, we do not.

1 It is not easy to translate the terms of Greek music. The word
"harmony," it will be seen, does not correspond with the modern sense
of it. I leave Taylor's anachronistic "spinet," in default of a better
word.

78 THE REPUBLIC.

And by the dog, said I, we have unawares cleansed our city,
which we said was become luxurious. And we have wisely done,
replied he. Come then, said I, and let us cleanse what remains ;
for what concerns rhythm should be suitable to our harmonies ;
that our citizens pursue not such rhythms as are diversified, and
have a variety of cadences ; but observe what are the rhythms
of a decent and manly life, and, whilst they observe these, make
the foot J and the melody subservient to the sentiment of such a
life ; and not the sentiment subservient to the foot and melody.

But what these rhythms are, is your business to tell, as you
have done the harmonies. But by Zeus, replied he, I cannot
tell. That there are three kinds into which all movements fall,
as there are four in sounds, into which fall all harmonies, I can
say, as I have observed it : but which kinds of rhythm are the
imitations of one kind of life, and which of another, I am not
able to tell. But these things, said I, we must consider with
Damon's assistance : what movements are suitable to illiberality
and insolence, to madness, or other ill disposition ; and what are
proper for their opposites. And I remember, but not distinctly,
to have heard him speaking of a certain complex warlike
rhythm, of another that was dactylic, and another heroic;
arranging them, I do not know how, making foot balance foot
in its rise and fall, some syllables being short and some long :
and he called one fcot, I believe, an iambus, and another a
trochee, affixing to them long or short marks ; and, in some of
these, I believe, he blamed or commended the measure of
the foot, no less than the rhythm itself, or something com-
pounded of both ; for I cannot speak of these things ; because,
as I said, they are to be thrown upon Damon. To speak
distinctly, indeed, on these matters, would require no small
discourse : do not you think so ? Not a small one, truly. But
can you admit this, that grace or clumsiness go with good
or ill rhythms ? Yes. But, with respect to the good or
ill rhythm, the good comes from a good style, conforming
itself to it: and the other from the reverse. And, in the

1 The metrical foot, that is, and not the foot which is wont to beat
time on the ground to a march, say, of Wagner's.

THE REPUBLIC. 79

same way, as to the harmonious, and the discordant: since
the rhythm and harmony are subservient to the sentiment,
as we just now said ; and not the words to these. These,
indeed, said he, are to be subservient to the words. But what ?
said I. Do not the manner of expression, and the words, corre-
spond with the character of the soul? Yes. And all other
things correspond to the expression. Yes. So that the beauty
of expression, fine consonancy, and propriety, and excellence
of numbers, depend on a good disposition — not that stupidity,
which in complaisant language we call good nature, but the
moral character, truly adorned with excellent and beautiful
manners. By all means, replied he. Must not these things
e always pursued by the youth, if they are to perform their
ork ? They are indeed. But painting too is somewhat full
f these things; and every other workmanship of the kind;
nd weaving is full of these, and carving, and architecture,
d all workmanship of every kind of vessels : as is more-
ver the nature of bodies, and of all vegetables: for in all
hese there is grace and awkwardness ; and the want of grace,
iscord, and dissonance, are the sisters of a bad style and
epraved manners ; and their opposites are the sisters and
mitations of sober and worthy manners. 'Tis entirely so,
eplied he. Are we then to give injunctions to the poets
one, and oblige them to work into their poems the image
f the worthy manners, or not to compose at all with us ? or
re we to enjoin all other workmen likewise; and forbid this
1, undisciplined, illiberal, ungraceful manner, and allow them
exhibit it neither in the representations of animals, in build-
gs, nor in any other workmanship, and, he who is not able
o do this, be not suffered to work with us ? lest our guardians,
being educated in the midst of ill representations, as in an
ill pasture, by every day plucking and eating much of different
things, by little and little, contract, imperceptibly, a great mass
of evil in their souls. But we must seek for such workmen as
are able, by the help of a good natural genius, to investigate the
nature of the beautiful and the graceful . that our youth, dwell-
ing as it were in a healthful place, may be profited on all sides \

8o THE REPUBLIC.

whence, from the beautiful works, something will be conveyed
to the sight and hearing, as by a breeze bringing health from
salutary lands ; imperceptibly leading them on directly from
childhood, to the resemblance, friendship, and harmony with
right reason. They should thus, said he, be educated. On these
accounts, therefore, Glauco, said I, is not education in music
of the greatest importance, because rhythm and harmony enter
in the strongest manner into the inward part of the soul, and
most powerfully affect it, introducing at the same time upright-
ness, and making every one upright if he is properly educated,
and the reverse if he is not ? And moreover, because the man
who has here been educated as he ought perceives in the
quickest manner whatever workmanship is defective, and what-
ever execution is bad, or whatever productions are of that kind;
and being rightly disgusted, he will praise what is beautiful,
rejoicing in it; and, receiving it into his soul, be nourished by
it, and become a worthy and good man : but whatever is base,
he will rightly despise, and hate, whilst yet he is young, and
before he is able to be a partaker of reason ; and when reason
comes, such an one as has been thus educated will embrace
it, recognising it perfectly well, from its intimate familiarity
with him. It appears to me, replied he, that education in
music is for the sake of such things as these. Just as when
we learnt to read, said I, we were fairly perfect when we were
not ignorant of the letters, which are but few in number, wher-
ever they were in the words ; and when we did not despise them
more or less as unnecessary to be observed, but by all means
endeavoured to distinguish them, as it was impossible for us
to be scholars till we did thus. True. And if the images of
letters appeared anywhere, either in water or in mirrors,
should we know them before we knew the letters themselves,
since the understanding of the reflections and the originals
belongs to the same art and study? By no means. Is it
indeed then according as I say, that we shall never become
musicians, either we ourselves, or those guardians we say we
are to educate, before we understand the forms of temperance,
fortitude, liberality, and magnificence, and the other sister

n
h

i

THE REPUBLIC. 81

virtues ; and, on the other hand again, the contraries of
these, which are everywhere to be met with ; and observe
them wheresoever they are, both the virtues themselves, and
the images of them, and despise them neither in small nor in
great instances; but let us believe that this belongs to the
same art and study. There is, said he, great necessity for it.
Can there be then, said I, to any one who has eyes to see,
anything more beautiful than the sight of a man whose beauty
of soul is combined with outward beauty of form, the latter
corresponding and harmonising with the former because it
>artakes of the same impression ? Nothing. But what is
ost beautiful is most lovely ? Yes. Then he who is musical
ill surely love those men who are most eminently of this kind ;
ut if one be inharmonious he will not love him. He will
not, replied he, if the person be in any way defective as to
is soul: if indeed the defect were in his body, he would
bear with it, so as to be willing to associate with him. I
understand, said I, that your favourite is or was of this kind;
so I agree to it. But tell me this, Is there any communion
between temperance and excessive pleasure ? How can there,
aid he, for such pleasure causes a privation of intellect no less
han pain. But has it communion with any other virtue ? By
o means. But what has it in common with insolence and
ntemperance? Everything. Can you mention a greater and
more acute pleasure than that respecting indulgence in love?
cannot, said he, nor yet one that is more insane. But the
est love is of such a nature as to love the beautiful, and the
emperate, in a temperate and harmonious manner ? Certainly.
Nothing then which is insane, or allied to intemperance, is
to approach the best love. Neither must pleasure approach
to it; nor must the lover, and the person he loves, have
communion with it, where they love and are beloved in a
right manner. No truly, said he; they must not, Socrates,
approach to these. Thus then, as appears, you will establish
by law, in the city which is to be established, that the lover
may love, and converse, and associate with the object of his
love, and embrace him as a son, for the sake of his beauty,

6

82 THE REPUBLIC.

if he gain consent : and in other ways, that every one so con-
verse with him whose love he solicits, as never to appear to
associate with him for anything beyond what is now mentioned ;
and that otherwise he shall undergo the reproach of being un-
musical, and unacquainted with the beautiful. It must be thus,
replied he. Does then, said I, the discourse concerning music
seem to you to be finished ? For it has terminated where it
ought to terminate, as the affairs of music ought, somehow,
to terminate in the love of the beautiful. I agree, said he.

But, after music, our youth are to be educated in gymnastic.
It is surely necessary that in this likewise they be accurately
disciplined, from their infancy through the whole of life. For
the matter, as I imagine, is somehow thus : but do you also con-
sider. For it does not appear to me that whatever body is
found, doth, by its own virtue, render the soul good ; but con-
trariwise, that a good soul, by its virtue, renders the body as
perfect as may be: but how does it appear to you? In the
same manner to me likewise, replied he. If, then, we have
sufficiently cultivated the dianoetic [thinking] part, we shall
commit to it the accurate management of the concerns of the
body ; shall not we, as we are only laying down models (that we
may not be too long), act in a right manner ? Entirely so. We
say then, that they are to abstain from intoxication ; for it is
more allowable to any, than to a guardian, to be intoxicated,
and not to know where he is. It were ridiculous, said he, that
the guardian should stand in need of a guardian.

But what as to meats ? For these men are wrestlers in the
noblest combat: are they not? They are. Would not then
the bodily habit of the wrestlers be proper for such as these ?
Probably. But, said I, it is a drowsy kind of regimen, and
dubious as to health : or, do you not observe, that they sleep out
their life ? and, if they depart but a little from their appointed
diet, such wrestlers become greatly and extremely diseased.
I perceive it. But some more elegant exercise, said I, is
requisite for our military wrestlers ; who, as dogs, ought to be
wakeful, and to see, and to hear in the most acute manner; and,
in their expeditions, to endure many changes of water and of

THE REPUBLIC. 83

food, of heat and of cold, that so they may not have a precarious
state of health. To me it appears so. Is not then the best
gymnastic a kind of sister to the simple music, which we a little
before described ? What do you mean ? That the gymnastic
is to be simple and moderate, and of that kind most especially
which pertains to war.

Of what kind ? Even from Homer, said I, one may learn
these things : for you know, that in their warlike expeditions,
at the entertainments of their heroes, he never feasts them with
fishes, even whilst they were by the sea at the Hellespont, nor
yet with boiled flesh, but only with roast, as what soldiers can
most easily procure: for, in short, one can everywhere more
easily make use of fire, than carry vessels about. Yes, indeed.
Neither does Homer, as I imagine, anywhere make mention of
seasonings : and this is what the other wrestlers understand,
that the body which is to be in good habit must abstain from all
these things. They rightly understand, said he, and abstain.
You do not then, friend, as appears, approve of the Syracusan
table, and the Sicilian variety of meats, since this other appears
to you to be right ? I do not, as appears. You will likewise
disapprove of a Corinthian girl, as a mistress, for those who are
to be of a good habit of body. By all means, truly. And like-
wise of those delicacies, as they are reckoned, of Attic confec-
tions. Of necessity. As to feeding and dieting of this kind,
if we compare it to the melody and song produced in the
panharmonion, and in all rhythms, shall not the comparison be
just ? Yes. And does not diversity in music create intemper-
ance, and in gymnastic disease, while simplicity in music creates
in the soul temperance ; and, in gymnastic, health in the body.
Most true, said he. And when intemperance and diseases
multiply in the city, shall we not have many halls of justice and
of medicine opened? And will not the arts of justice and of
medicine be in esteem, when many well-born persons earnestly
apply themselves to them ? Certainly. But can you adduce
any greater argument of an ill and base education in a city, than
that there should be need of physicians and supreme magistrates,
and that not only for the contemptible and low handicrafts, but

84 THE REPUBLIC.

for those who boast of having been educated in a liberal manner ?
Or, does it not appear to be base, and a great sign of want of
education, to be obliged to observe justice pronounced on us
by others, as our masters and judges, and to have no sense of it
in ourselves ?

Of all things, this, replied he, is the most base. And do you
not, said I, deem this to be more base still; when one not only
spends a great part of life in courts of justice, as defendant and
plaintiff; but, from his ignorance of the beautiful, imagines that
he becomes renowned for this very thing ; as being dexterous in
doing injustice, and able to turn himself through all sorts of
windings, and, using every kind of subterfuge, thinks to escape
so as to evade justice ; and all this for the sake of small and
contemptible things ; being ignorant how much better and more
handsome it were so to regulate his life as not to stand in need
of a sleepy judge ? This, replied he, is still more base than the
other. And to stand in need of the medicinal art, said I, not on
account of wounds, or some incidental epidemic distempers, but
through sloth, and such a diet as we mentioned, being filled
with rheums and wind, like lakes ; obliging the skilful sons of
./Escuiapius to invent new names for diseases, such as dropsies
and catarrhs. Do not you think this abominable ? These are
truly, replied he, very new and strange names of diseases. Such,
said I, as were not, I imagine, in the days of .^sculapius : and
I conjecture so from this, that when Eurypylus was wounded at
Troy, and was getting Pramnian wine to drink with much flour
in it, with the addition of cheese (all which seem to be in-
flammatory); the sons of-^sculapius neither blamed the woman
who presented it, nor reprehended Patroclus, who had presented
the cure. And surely the potion, said he, is absurd for one in
such a case. No, said I, if you consider, that, as they tell us,
the descendants of ^Esculapius did not, before the days of
Herodicus, practise this method of cure now in use, which puts
the patient on a regimen : but one Herodicus who was a teacher
of youth, and at the same time infirm in his health, mixing
gymnastic and medicine together, made himself most uneasy in
the first place, and afterwards many others besides. After what

THE REPUBLIC. 85

manner? said he. In procuring to himself, said I, a lingering
death; for, whilst he was constantly attentive to his disease,
which was mortal, he was not able, as I imagine, to cure him-
self; though, neglecting everything besides, he was still using
medicines ; and thus he passed his life, still in the greatest un-
easiness if he departed in the least from his accustomed diet ;
and through this wisdom of his, struggling long with death, he
arrived at old age.

A mighty reward, said he, he reaped of his art I Such as
became one, said I, who did not understand that it was not from
ignorance or inexperience of this method of cure that ^sculapius
did not discover it to his descendants; but because he knew
that, in all well-regulated states, there was some certain work
enjoined every one in the city, which was necessary to be done,
and that no one was to be allowed to have the leisure of being
sick through the whole of life, and to be attentive only to the
taking of medicines. This we may well observe in the case of
labouring people ; but we do not observe it in the case of the
rich, and such as are counted happy. How ? said he.

A smith, replied I, when he falls sick, thinks it fit to take from
the physician some potion, to throw up his disease, or purge
it downwards, or, by means of burning or amputation, to be
freed from the trouble : but if any one prescribe for him a long
regimen, putting caps on his head, and other such things, he
quickly tells him that he has not leisure to lie sick, nor does
it avail him to live in this manner, attentive to his trouble, and
negligent of his proper work ; and so, bidding such a physician
farewell, he returns to his ordinary diet ; and, if he recovers his
health, he continues to manage his own affairs ; but if his body
be not able to support the disease, he dies, and is freed from
troubles. It seems proper, said he, for such an one to use
the medicinal art in this manner. Is it not, said I, because
he has a certain business, which if he does not perform,
it is not for his advantage to live ? It is plain, replied
he. But the rich man, as we say, has no such work allotted
him, from which if he be obliged to refrain, life is not
worth the having. He is surely said at least to have

86 THE REPUBLIC

none. For you do not, said I. attend to what Phocylides says ;

that one ought as soon as he has enough whereon to live, to

practise virtue. I think so, replied he, and before that, too.

Let us by no means, said I, differ from him in this. But let

us inform ourselves whether attention to virtue be the business

of the rich ; so that their life is not worth keeping, if they do

not give this attention ; or if such a life of valetudinarianism,

though indeed a hindrance of the mind's application to

masonry and other arts, yet is no hindrance with respect

to the exhortation of Phocylides. Yes, by Zeus, said he, it

is, and that in the greatest degree when this excessive care

of the body goes beyond gymnastic. Neither does it agree

with attention to private economy, or military expeditions, or

sedentary magistracies in the city. But what is of the greatest

moment is, that such application to health is ill fitted for any

sort of learning, and inquiry, and study, by one's self, whilst

one is always dreading certain pains and swimmings of the

head, and blaming philosophy as occasioning them ; so that

where there is this attention to health it is a great obstacle

to the practice of virtue and improvement in it; for it makes

us always imagine that we are ill, and always complain of the

body. That is likely, said he. And shall we not say that

vEsculapius too understood these things, when to persons of

a healthful constitution, and such as used a wholesome diet,

but were afflicted by some particular disease, to these and

to such a constitution he prescribed medicine, repelling their

diseases by drugs and incisions, and enjoined them their

accustomed diet, that the public might suffer no damage ?

But he did not attempt, by extenuating or nourishing diet,

to cure such constitutions as were wholly diseased within ;

as it would but afford a long and miserable life to the man

himself, and the descendants which would spring from him

would probably be of the same kind : for he did not imagine

the man ought to be cured who could not live in the ordinary

course, as he would be neither profitable to himself nor to the

state. You make ./Esculapius, said he, a politician. It is plain,

said I. And his sons may show that he was so. Or do you

THE REPUBLIC. 87

not see, that at Troy they excelled in war, and likewise
practised medicine in the way I mention ? Or do not you
remember, that when Menelaus was wounded by Pandarus,

they

" Wash'cl off the blood, and soft'ning drugs applied?'

But, as to what was necessary for him to eat or drink after-
wards, they prescribed for him no more than for Eurypylus ;
deeming external applications sufficient to heal men, who,
before they were wounded, were healthful and moderate in
their diet, whatever mixture they happened to have drunk at
that time. But they judged, that to have a diseased con-
stitution, and to live an intemperate life, was neither profit-
able to the men themselves nor to others; and that their
art ought not to be employed on these, nor to minister to
them, not even though they were richer than Midas. You
make, said he, the sons of ^sculapius truly ingenious. It
is proper, replied I ; though in opposition to us the writers
of tragedy, and Pindar, call indeed ^Esculapius the son of
Apollo, but say that he was prevailed on by gold to raise to
life a rich man, who was already dead ; for which, truly, he
was struck with a thunderbolt : but we, agreeably to what
has been formerly said, will not believe tliem as to both
these things; but will aver, that if he was the son of the
God, he was not given to filthy lucre ; or, if he were given
to filthy lucre, he was not a son of the God. These things,
said he, are most right. But what do you say, Socrates, as
to this ? Is it not necessary to provide good physicians for the
state? and must not these, most likely, be such as have been
conversant with the greatest number of healthy and of sickly
people? just as the best judges will be those who have been
conversant with all sorts of dispositions ? Yes, said I, I should
choose those who are very good. But 'do you know whom I
deem to be such ? If you tell me, replied he. I shall endeavour
to do it, said I ; but you inquire in one question about two differ-
ent things. How ? said he. Physicians, replied I, would become
most expert, if, beginning from their infancy, they would, in
learning the art, be conversant with the greatest number of

88 THE REPUBLIC.

cases, and these of the worst kind; and laboured themselves
under all manner of diseases, and by natural constitution were
not quite healthful ; for it is not by their own bodies, I imagine,
that they cure the body (else their own bodies could at no time
be admitted to be of an ill constitution) ; but they cure the body
by the mind ; which, whilst it is of an ill constitution, is not
capable to perform well any cure. Right, said he. But the
judge, friend, governs the mind by the mind ; which, if from
its childhood it has been educated among depraved minds,
and has been conversant with them, and has itself done all
manner of evil, is not able to come out from among them,
so as accurately, by itself, to judge of the evils of others, as
happens in the diseases of the body ; but it must in its youth
be unexperienced and unpolluted with evil manners, if it is
to be good and beautiful itself, and to judge soundly of what
is just. And hence the virtuous, in their youth, appear simple,
and easily deceived by the unjust, as they have not within them-
selves dispositions similar to those of the wicked. And this,
said he, they do often suffer extremely. For which reason,
said I, the good judge is not to be a young man, but an old,
having been late in learning wickedness, what it is ; perceiving
it not as a kindred possession, residing in his own soul, but
as a foreign one, in the souls of others, which he has for a
long time studied, and has understood what sort of an evil it
is, by the help of knowledge rather than by proper experience.
Such an one, said he, is like to be the most noble judge. And
likewise a good one, said I ; which was what you required.
For he who has a good soul is good. But the other clever
and suspicious man, who has committed much iniquity himself,
when indeed he converses with his like, being thought subtle
and wise, he appears a notable man, being extremely cautious,
having an eye to those models which he has within himself; but
when he approaches the good, and the more aged, he appears
foolish, suspicious out of season, and ignorant of integrity of
manners, as having within no models of such a kind : but being
more frequently conversant with the wicked than with the wise,
he appears, both to himself and others, to be more wise, rather

\

THE REPUBLIC. 8q

than more ignorant. This, said he, is perfectly true. We must
not, therefore, said I, look for such an one to be a wise and
good judge, but the former one; for indeed vice can never at
all know both itself and virtue.

But virtue, where the temper is instructed by time, shall attain
both to the knowledge of itself and depravity. The virtuous
man, then, and not the wicked, it appears to me, is the wise
man. And I, replied he, am of the same opinion. Will you not
then establish in the city such a method of medicine as we have
mentioned, along with such a method of judicature as shall care-

"ully preserve for you those of your citizens who are naturally
well disposed both in mind and in body ? and those who are
otherwise in their bodies, they shall suffer to die ; but such as
are of an evil nature, and incurable with respect to their soul,
these they shall themselves put to death. This, said he, has

ppeared to be best, both for those who suffer it, and for the

ity. And it is plain, said I, that your youth will not need this
justiciary, whilst they are employed in that simple music which,
we say, generates temperance. Certainly not, said he. And,

ccording to the very same steps of reasoning, the musician who
is willing to pursue gymnastic will choose to do it so as not to
require any medicine unless there be necessity. . It appears so
to me. And he will perform his exercises, and his labours,
rather looking to the spirited part of his nature, and exciting it
by labour, than attempting to gain strength ; and not as the
wrestlers, who eat and drink and engage in labours for the sake
of bodily strength. Most right, said he. Why then, said I,
Glauco, they who propose to teach music and gymnastic, do not
propose these things for what some imagine, to cure the body
by the one, and the soul by the other.

What then ? replied he. They seem, said I, to propose them

oth chiefly on the soul's account. How ? Do you not perceive,
said I, how those are affected as to their intellectual part, who
have all their life been conversant with gymnastic, and have
never applied themselves to music ? or how those are affected
who have lived in a method the reverse of this ? What, said he,
do you speak of? Of rusticity, said I, and fierceness, and again

90 THE REPUBLIC,

of softness and mildness. I know, said he, that those who
apply themselves immoderately to gymnastic, become more
rustic than is proper; and those again who attend to music
alone, are more soft than is becoming for them to be. And
surely, said I, this rusticity, at least, may impart spirited nature,
which, when rightly disciplined, may become fortitude; but,
when carried further than is becoming, will probably be fierce
and troublesome. So it appears to me, said he. But what?
does not the philosophic temper partake of gentleness? And
when this disposition is carried too far, may it not prove more
soft than is becoming ; but, when rightly disciplined, be really
mild and comely ? These things are so. But we say that our
guardians ought to have both these dispositions. They ought.
Ought not then these to be adapted to one another ? Why not ?
And the soul in which they are thus adapted is temperate and
brave. Certainly. But the soul in which they are not adapted
is cowardly and savage. Extremely so. And when one yields
up himself to be soothed with the charms of music, and pours
into his soul through his ears, as through a pipe, those we
denominated the soft, effeminate, and plaintive harmonies, and
spends the whole of his life chanting and ravished with melody;
such an one, at the first, if he has anything irascible, tempers it
like steel, and, from being useless and fierce, renders it profit-
able. But when still persisting he does not desist, but enchants
his soul, after this, it melts and dissolves him, till it liquefies his
anger, and cuts out, as it were, the nerves of his soul, and
renders him an effeminate warrior. It is certainly so, said he.
And if, said I, he had from the beginning a temper void of
irascibility, this he quickly effectuates; but, if irascible, he
renders the mind weak, and easily turned, so as instantly to be
enraged at trifles, and again the rage is extinguished; so that,
from being irascible, they become outrageous and passionate,
and full of the morose. So indeed it happens. But what now ?
If he labour much in gymnastic, and feast extremely well, but
apply not to music and philosophy ; shall he not, in the first
place, having his body in a good condition, be filled with
prudence and courage, and become more brave than he was

THE REPUBLIC. 91

before ? Certainly so. But when he does nothing else, nor
participates in anything which is musical, though there were
any love of learning in his soul, yet as it neither tastes of any
study, nor bears a share in any inquiry nor reasoning, nor any-
thing which is musical, .must it not become feeble, and deaf, and
blind, since his perceptions are neither awakened, nor nourished,
nor refined ? Just so. Such an one then becomes, as I imagine,
a reason-hater, and unmusical, and by no means can be
persuaded to anything by reasoning, but is carried to every-
thing by force and savageness, as a wild beast ; and lives in
ignorance and barbarity, out of symmetry, and unpolished. It
s, said he, entirely so. In order then to correct these two
empers, I would say, that some God has given men two arts,
hose of music and gymnastic, with reference to the spirited and
he philosophic temper ; not for the soul and body, separately,
xcept as a by-work, but for that other purpose, that those two
tempers may be adapted to one another ; being stretched and
slackened (like strings) as far as is fit. So indeed it appears.
Whoever then shall in the best way mingle gymnastic with
music, and have these in the justest measure in his soul, him we
shall most properly call the most completely musical, and of
the best harmony; far more so than the man who tunes the
strings of a lyre. Most reasonably, said he, Socrates. Shall
we not then, Glauco, always have need of such a president for
our state, if our government is to be preserved ? We shall most
especially have need of this.

Those then may be the models of education and discipline.
For why should one go over the dances, the huntings of wild
beasts, both with dogs and with nets, the wrestlings and the
horse-races proper for such persons ? for it is fairly manifest
that these will naturally follow, and it is no difficult matter
to find them. It is indeed, said he, not difficult. Be it so,
said I. But what follows next ? What was next to be deter-
mined by us. Was it, which of these shall govern, and be
governed? What else? Is it not plain that the elder ought
to be governors, and the younger to be the governed? It is
plain. And is it not likewise plain, that the best of them are

02 THE REPUBLIC.

to govern ? This too is plain. But are not the best husband-
men the most assiduous in agriculture ? They are. If now our
guardians are the best, will they not be most vigilant over the
city ? They will. Must we not for this purpose choose the
prudent, and able, and those careful likewise of the city ? We
must do so. But one would seem to be most careful of that
which he happens to love. Undoubtedly. And one shall most
especially love that to which he thinks the same things are
profitable which are so to himself, and with whose good
estate he thinks his own connected ; and where he is of a
contrary opinion, he will be contrariwise affected. Just so.
We must choose then from the other guardians such men as
shall most of all appear to us, on observation, to do with the
greatest cheerfulness, through the whole of life, whatever
they think advantageous for the state, and what appears to
be disadvantageous will not do by any means. These are
the most proper, said he. It truly appears to me, that they
ought to be observed through every stage of their life, if they
be tenacious of this opinion, so as that neither fraud nor force
make them inconsiderately throw away this opinion, that they
ought to do what is best for the state. What throwing away
do you mean? said he. I will tell you, said I. An opinion
seems 'to me to depart from the mind voluntarily or involun-
tarily. A false opinion departs voluntarily from him who
unlearns it-; but every true opinion departs involuntarily. The
case of the voluntary one, replied he, I understand; but that
of the involuntary I want to learn. What now ? Do not you
think, said I, that men are involuntarily deprived of good
things ; but voluntarily of evil things ? And is it not an evil
to deviate from the truth, and a good thing to form a true
opinion ? And does it not appear to you, that to conceive of
things as they really are, is to form a true opinion ? You say
rightly indeed, replied he They do seem to me to be deprived
unwillingly of true opinion. Do they not then suffer this, either
through theft, enchantment, or force ? I do not now, said he,
understand you. I seem, said I, to speak theatrically. But, I
say, those have their opinions stolen away, who are persuaded

THE REPUBLIC. 93

to change their opinions, and also those who forget them ; in
the one case, they are imperceptibly taken away by time, and
in the other by reasoning. Do you now understand in any
measure ? Yes. And those, I say, have their opinions forced
from them, whom grief or agony obliges to change them.
This, said he, I understand, and you say rightly. And those,
I imagine, you will say, are enchanted out of their opinions,
who change them, being bewitched by pleasure, or seduced
by fear, being afraid of something. It seems, said he, that
everything magically beguiles which deceives us. That then
which I was now mentioning must be sought for : who are the
best guardians of this opinion; that that may be done which
best for the state : and they must be observed immediately
rom their childhood, setting before them such pieces of work
which they may most readily forget a thing of this kind,
md be deluded ; and he who is mindful, and hard to be
leluded, is to be chosen, and he who is otherwise is to be
rejected. Is it not so ? Yes. And we must appoint them
trials of labours and of pains, in which we must observe the
mie things. Right, said he. Must we not, said I, appoint
lem a third contest, that of the enchanting kind ; and observe
them as those do, who, when they lead on young horses against
loises and tumults, observe whether they are frightened ? So
mst they, whilst young, be led into dreadful things, and
igain be thrown into pleasures, trying them more than gold
in the fire, whether one is hard to be beguiled with mountebank
ricks, and appears composed amidst all, being a good guardian
)f himself, and of that music which he learned, showing himself
in all these things to be in just measure and harmony. Being-
of such a kind as this, he would truly be of the greatest advan-
tage both to himself, and to the state. And the man who in
childhood, in youth, and in manhood, has been thus tried, and
has come out pure, is to be appointed governor and guardian
of the state ; and honours are to be paid him whilst alive, and
rtien dead he should receive the highest rewards of public
funeral and other memorials. And he who is not such an one
is to be rejected. Of such a kind, Glauco, said I, as it appears

94 THE REPUBLIC.

to me, is to be the choice and establishment of our governors
and guardians, in outline, and not accurately detailed. And I,
said he, am of the same opinion. Is it not then truly most
just, to call these the most complete guardians, both with refer-
ence to enemies abroad, and to friends at home ; so that the
one shall not have the will, nor the other have the power to
do any mischief? And the youth (whom we now called
guardians) will be allies and auxiliaries to the decrees of
the governors. I imagine so, replied he. What fiction, said
I, may we contrive in the way of those lies, which are made
on occasion, and of which we were lately speaking, saying
that it is an ingenious task, in making lies, to persuade
the governors themselves; or, if not these, the rest of the
state ? What sort do you mean ? Nothing new, said I, but
a Phoenician story, which has frequently happened heretofore,
as the poets tell us, and have persuaded men, but which has
not happened in our times, nor do I know if ever it shall
happen : and to obtain credit for it requires a subtile persuasion.
How like you are, said he, to one who is averse to speak ! I
ohall appear, said I, to be averse with very good reason, after
I tell it. Speak, said he, and do not fear. I speak, then,
though I know not with what courage, and using what expres-
sions, I shall tell it. I shall attempt, first of all, to persuade
the governors themselves, and the soldiers, and afterwards the
rest of the state, that, whatever we educated and instructed
them in, all these particulars seemed to happen to them and
to befall them as dreams; and that they were in truth at
that time being formed and educated within the earth ; they
themselves, and their armour and their other utensils being
there likewise fabricated And after they were completely
fashioned, that the earth, who is their mother, brought them
forth ; and now they ought to be affected towards the country
where they are, as to their mother and nurse ; to defend her,
if any invade her; and to consider the rest of the citizens
as being their brothers, and sprung from their mother earth.
It was not without reason, said he, that some time since you
were ashamed to tell this falsehood. I had truly reason, said

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I. But hear, however, the rest of the fable. All of you now in
the state are brothers (as we shall tell them in way of fable) ;
but the God, when he formed you, mixed gold in the formation
of such of you as are able to govern ; therefore are they the most
honourable. And silver, in such as are auxiliaries ; and iron
and brass in the husbandmen and other handicrafts. There-
fore, as you are all of the same kind, you for the most part
resemble one another: yet it sometimes happens, that of a
gold parent is generated a silver child, and of a silver parent
a golden descendant ; and thus in every different way are they
generated of one another. The governors then receive this in
charge, first and above all, from the Gods, that of nothing are
they to be so good guardians, nor are they so strongly to keep
watch over anything, as over their children ; to know which of
those principles is mixed in their souls ; and if a descendant of
theirs shall be of the brazen or iron kind, they shall by no means
have compassion ; but assigning him honour proportioned to his
natural temper they shall push him down to the craftsmen or
husbandmen. And if again any from among these shall be born
of a golden or silver kind, they shall pay them honour, and
refer them; those to the guardianship, and these to the
.uxiliary rank : it being pronounced by an oracle, that the state

to perish when iron or brass shall have the guardianship of it.

ave you now any contrivance to persuade them of this fable ?
None, said he, to persuade the present race of men ; but I can
contrive how that their sons and posterity, and all mankind
afterwards, shall believe it. Even this, said I, would do well
towards making them more concerned about the state, and one
another ; for I think I understand what you say. Still we will
let the fiction go the same way as the oracle.

But let us, having armed these earth-born sons, lead them
forwards under their leaders ; and when they are come to the
city, let them consider where it is best to place their camp, so
as best to keep in order those who are within, if any one should
want to disobey the laws; and likewise defend against those
without, if any enemy, as a wolf, should come upon the fold.
And when they have marked out their camp, and performed

96 THE REPUBLIC.

sacrifices to the proper divinities, let them erect their tents : or,
what are they to do ? Just so, said he. Shall the tents not be
such as may be sufficient to defend them, both from winter and
summer ? Why not ? for you seem, said he, to mean houses.
Yes, said I, but military ones; not such as are costly. What do
you say, replied he, is the difference between the one and the
other? I will endeavour, said I, to tell you; for, of all things,
it is the most dreadful, and the most shameful to shepherds, to
breed such kind of dogs, and in such a manner, as auxiliaries of
the flocks, that either through intemperance or famine, or some
other ill disposition, the dogs themselves should attempt to hurt
the sheep ; and, instead of dogs, resemble wolves. That is
dreadful, said he, certainly. Must we not then, by all means,
take care lest our allies do such a thing towards our citizens,
as they are more powerful ; and, instead of generous allies,
resemble savage lords ? We must take care, said he. Would
they not be prepared with the best safeguards, if they were
really well educated? But they are so, replied he. I said: It
is not worth while to affirm that confidently now, friend Glauco ;
but it is to maintain what we were now saying, that they ought
to have good education, whatever it is, if they are to have what
is of the greatest consequence towards rendering them mild,
both among themselves and towards those who are guarded by
them. Very right, said he. Besides then this education, any
one of understanding would say, that their houses, and all their
other substance, ought to be so contrived, as not to hinder their
guardians from being the very best of men, and not to stir them
up to injure the other citizens. They will say truly. If then
they intend to be such, consider, said I, whether they ought to
live and dwell in some such manner as this : First, then, let
none possess any substance privately, unless there be the greatest
necessity for it ; next, let none have any dwelling, or storehouse,
into which whoever inclines may not enter : as for necessaries,
let them be such as temperate and brave warriors may require ;
and as they are instituted by the other citizens, let them receive
such a reward of their guardianship, as to have neither overplus
nor deficiency at the year's end. Let them have public meals,

THE REPUBLIC. 97

as in encampments, and live in common. They must be told,
that they have from the Gods a divine gold and silver at all
times in their souls ; and have no need of the earthy ore,
and that ever it were profane to pollute the possession of the
divine kind, by mixing it with the possession of this mortal
gold; because the money of the vulgar has produced many
impious deeds, but that of these men is incorruptible. And of
all the men in the city, they alone are not allowed to handle or
touch gold and silver; nor to bring it under their roof; nor
carry it about with them ; nor to drink out of silver or gold : and
that thus they are to preserve themselves and the state. But
whenever they shall possess lands, and houses, and money, in a
private way, they shall become householders and farmers in-
stead of guardians, and hateful lords instead of allies to the other
citizens: hating and being hated, plotting and being plotted
against, they shall pass the whole of their life ; much oftener and
more afraid of the enemies from within than from without, by
which time they and the rest of the state will be hastening
speedily to destruction. For all which reasons, said I, let us
affirm, that our guardians are thus to be constituted with refer-
ence both to their houses and to other things. And let us
settle these things by law. Shall we? By all means, said
Giauco.

98 THE REPUBLIC.

BOOK IV.

ADIMANTUS hereupon replying, What, Socrates, said he, will
you say in your own defence, if any one shall say that you
do not make these men quite happy? for, though it is owing
to these men that the city really exists, yet they enjoy no
advantage in the city, such as others do who possess lands,
build beautiful and large houses, purchase suitable furniture,
offer sacrifices at their own expense, give public entertain-
ments to strangers, and possess what you were now mention-
ing, gold and silver, and everything which is reckoned to
contribute towards the rendering men happy. But one may
readily say, that, like hired auxiliaries, they seem to possess
nothing in the city but the employment of keeping guard.
Yes, said I ; and that too only for their maintenance, without
receiving, as all others do, any reward besides. So that
they are not allowed so much as to travel privately any-
where abroad, though they should incline to it ; nor to
bestow money on women, nor to spend it in such other
methods as those do who are counted happy. These and
many such things you leave out of the accusation. But let
these things too, said he, be charged against them. You
ask then, what we shall do in our defence? I do. If we
go on in the same road as before, we shall find, I imagine,
what may be said : for we shall say, that it were nothing strange
if these men, even in these circumstances, should be the happiest
possible. Yet it was not with an eye to this that we established
the city ; to have any one tribe in it remarkably happy beyond
the rest; but that the whole city might be in the happiest
condition; for we judged, that in such an one we should most
especially find justice, and injustice in the city the worst

THE REPUBLIC. 99

established: and that, upon thoroughly examining these, we
should determine what we have for some time been in search
of. Now then, as I imagine, we are forming a happy state,
not selecting some few persons to make them alone happy ;
but we are establishing the universal happiness of the whole :
and we shall next consider a state which is the reverse. As
if then we were painting human figures, and one approaching
should blame us, saying, that we do not place the most beautiful
colours on the most beautiful parts of the creature ; for that the
eyes, the most beautiful part, were not painted with purple, but
with black ; should we not seem to apologise sufficiently to him
by saying, Wonderful critic ! do not imagine that we ought to
paint the eyes so beautifully that they would not appear to be
eyes; and so with reference to all other parts. But consider,
whether, in giving each particular part its due, we make the
whole beautiful. And so now, do not oblige us to confer such a
happiness on our guardians as shall make them anything but
guardians : and do not let us array the husbandmen in rich and
costly robes, and enjoin them to cultivate the ground only
with a view to pleasure ; nor, in like manner, those who make
earthenware, lie at their ease by the fire, drinking and feasting,
neglecting the wheel, and working only so much as they incline:
nor confer felicity of this nature on every individual, in order to
render the whole state happy. Do not advise us to act after
this manner ; since, if we obey you, neither would the husband-
man really be a husbandman, nor would any other really be of
any of those professions of which the city is composed. As to
others, it is of less consequence ; for, when shoemakers become
bad, and are degenerate, and profess to be shoemakers when
they are not, no great mischief happens to the state : but when
the guardians of the law and of the state are not so in reality,
but only in appearance, you see how they entirely destroy the
whole constitution, as they alone can confer on the rest the
privilege of an affluent and happy life. If we then are for
appointing men who shall be really guardians of the city, the
least of all hurtful to it ; he who makes the supposed objection
and is for having them rather as farmers, and as if in a festival-

loo THE REPUBLIC.

meeting, public entertainers, indulging in jollity and not citizens
of a state, he must mean something else than a city. We must
then consider whether we establish guardians with this view,
that they may have the greatest happiness ; or if we establish
them with a view to the happiness of the whole city, compelling
these allies and guardians to become the best performers of
their own particular work ; and we must act towards all others
in the same manner. And thus as the whole city increases,
and becomes well constituted, let us allow the several classes
to participate of as much happiness as their natures admit.
You seem to me, said he, to say well Shall I appear to you,
said I, to speak right in what is akin to this ? What is that ?
Consider whether the other artificers are corrupted by these
things, so as to be made bad workmen. What things do you
mean? Riches, said I, and poverty. As how? Thus: Does
the potter, after he becomes rich, seem still to mind his art ?
By no means, said he. But will he not become more idle and
careless than formerly ? Much more so. Will he not then
become a more unskilful potter ? Much more so, said he.
And surely, if he is unable through poverty to furnish himself
with tools, or anything else requisite to his art, his work-
manship will be more imperfectly executed, and his sons, or
those others whom he instructs, will be inferior artists. Yes.
Through both these, now, poverty and riches, the workmanship
in the arts is rendered less perfect, and the artists themselves
become less expert. It appears so. We have then, it seems,
discovered other things, which our guardians must by all means
watch against, that they may in no respect escape their notice,
and steal into the city. What kind of things are these ? Riches,
said I, and poverty: as the one is productive of luxury, idleness,
and a love of novelty; and the other, besides a love of novelty,
is illiberal, and productive of mischief. They are entirely so,
said he. But consider this, Socrates. How shall our city be
able to engage in war, if it is possessed of no money, especially
if it be obliged to wage war against a great and opulent state ?
It is plain, said I, that to fight against one of this kind is some-
what difficult ; but to fight against two is a more easy matter.

THE REPUBLIC. 101

How say you ? replied he. First of all, now, said I, if they
have at all occasion to fight, will they not, being expert in
the art of war, fight against rich men ? They will, said he.
What then, said I, Adimantus, do you think that one boxer,
who is fitted out in the best manner possible for this exercise,
is easily able to fight against two who are not expert boxers,
but, on the contrary, are rich and unwieldy ? He would not
perhaps easily fight with both at once, said he. Would he not,
said I, though he had it in his power to retire a little, and then
turn on the one who should be furthest advanced towards him,
and strike him, and doing this frequently in the sun and heat ?
Alight not a person of this kind easily defeat many such as
these ? Certainly, said he ; that would be no great wonder.
But do not you think that the rich have more knowledge and
experience of boxing than of the military art? I do, said he.
Easily then, as it plainly appears, will our athletes combat with
double and triple their number. I will agree with you, said he ;
for you seem to me to say right. But what if they should send
an embassy to another state, informing them of the true situa-
tion of the affair, telling them, WTe make no use of gold or
silver, neither is it lawful for us to use them, but with you it is
lawful; if then you become our allies in the war, you will
receive the spoils of all the other states : do you imagine that
any, on hearing these things, would choose to fight against
strong and resolute dogs, rather than in alliance with the dogs
to fight against fat and tender sheep? I do not; but, if the
riches of others be amassed into one state, see that it does not
endanger that which is poor. You are happy, said I, in that
you imagine any constitution deserves to be called a state save
such an one as we have established. Why not ? said he. We
must give others, said I, a more magnificent appellation; for
each of them consists of many states, and is not one, as is said
in the game : l for there are always in them two states at war
with each other, the poor and the rich ; and in each of these
again there are very many states : which if you treat as one

1 Referring to a game played with counters and called " Cities." Ii
is not known what the game was.

102 THE REPUBLIC.

state, you will be mistaken entirely ; but if, as many, and you
put one part in possession of the goods and power, or even the
bodies of the others, you shall always have the many for your
allies, and the few for enemies ; and, so long as your state shall
continue temperately, as now established, it shall be the greatest.
I do not say it shall be accounted so, but shall be really the
greatest, though its defenders were no more than one thousand ;
for one state so great you will not easily find, either among the
Greeks or Barbarians, though you may find many which are
accounted many times larger than such an one as this. Are
you of a different opinion ? No, truly, said he. Might not this,
then, said I, be the best standard for our rulers how large to
make the city, and what extent of ground to mark off for it in
proportion to its bulk, without attending to anything further?
What standard? said he. I imagine, said I, this: So long as
the city, as it increases, continues to be one, so long it may be
increased, but not beyond it. Very right, said he. Shall we
not then lay this further injunction on our guardians, to take
care that the city be neither small nor great, but of moderate
extent, and be one city ? We shall probably, said he, enjoin
them a trifling affair. A more trifling affair still than this, said
I, is that we mentioned above, when we observed, that if any
descendant of the guardians be depraved, he ought to be
dismissed to the other classes; and if any descendant of the
others be worthy, he is to be raised to the rank of the guardians ;
and this was intended to show that all the other citizens ought
to apply themselves each to that particular art for which he has
a natural genius, that so every one minding his own proper
work may not be many, but be one ; and so likewise the whole
state may become one, and not be many. This indeed, said he,
is still a more trifling matter than the other. We do not here,
said I, good Adimantus, as one may imagine, enjoin them many
and great matters, but such as are all trifling, if they take care
of one grand point, as the saying is, or rather that which is
sufficient rather than great. What is that? said he. Educa-
tion, said I, and nurture; for if, being well educated, they
become temperate men, they will easily See through all these

THE REPUBLIC. 103

things, and such other things as we omit at present, respecting
women, marriages, and the propagation of the species. For
these things ought all, according to the proverb, to be made
entirely common among friends. That, said he, would be most
right. And surely, said I, if once a republic is set a-going, it
proceeds happily, increasing as a circle. And whilst good
education and nurture are preserved, they produce good
natures ; and good natures, partaking of such education, pro-
duce still better than the former, as well in other respects as
with reference to propagation, as in the case of other animals.
It is likely, said he. To speak then briefly, this the guardians
of the state must hold fast to, that it may not, escaping their
notice, hurt the constitution ; nay, above all things, they must
guard against the making pf any innovations in gymnastic and
music, contrary to the established order of the state, but they
must maintain this order as much as possible ; being afraid lest,
whilst a man adopts that poetical expression,

"... Men most admire that song,
Which most partakes of novelty,"

he should imagine, that the poet means not new songs, but

I a new method of song, and should commend this. Such a thing
is neither to be commended nor admitted; for, to receive a new
kind of music is to be guarded against, as endangering the
whole of the constitution : for never are the measures of music
altered without altering the greatest political laws, according to
Damon, with whom I agree. You may place me likewise, said
Adimantus, among those who are of that opinion. We must
erect then, said I, some barrier, as would seem, somewhere
here, for our guardians themselves, with regard to music. A
transgression here, said he, easily indeed steals in imperceptibly.
It does, said I, in the way of diversion, and as if productive of
no mischief. Neither indeed does it produce any, said he, but
becoming familiar by degrees it insensibly runs into the manners
and pursuits; and from thence, in intercourse of dealings one
with another, it becomes greater ; and from this intercourse it
enters into laws and policies with much impudence, Socrates,

ic>4 THE REPUBLIC.

till at last it overturns all things, both private and public. Well,
said I, let it be allowed to be so. It appears so to me, replied
he. Ought not then our children, as I said at the beginning, to
receive directly from their infancy an education more agreeable
to the laws of the constitution ? because, if their education be
such as is contrary to law, and the children be of such a nature
themselves, it is impossible that they should ever grow up to be
worthy men, and observant of the laws. Undoubtedly, said he.
But when excellent amusements are appointed them from their
infancy, and when, by means of the music, they embrace that
amusement which is according to law (contrariwise to those
others), this music attends them in everything else, and grows
with them, and raises up in the city whatever formerly was
fallen down. It is true, indeed, said' he. And these men, said
I, discover those regulations which appear trifling, and which
those others destroyed altogether. What are they ? Such as
these: Silence of the younger before the elder, which is proper;
and the giving them place, and rising up before them, and
reverence of parents; likewise regulations as to wearing the
hair, what clothes and shoes are proper, the whole dress of the
body, and everything else of the kind. Are you not of this
opinion ? I am. But to establish these things by law, would, I
imagine, be a silly thing, nor is it done anywhere ; nor would it
stand, though established both by word and writing. How is
it possible? It seems then, said I, Adimantus, that a man's
character and conduct will always be according to his education,
let him apply himself afterwards to what he will : or, does not
the like always produce the like ? Why not ? And we may
say, I imagine, that at last the system will arrive at something
complete and vigorous, whether it be good, or the reverse.
Why not? said he. I would not then, said I, for these reasons,
as yet, undertake to settle by law such things as these. Right,
said he. But what now, by the gods, said I, as to those laws
relative to matters of exchange, and to their traffic one with
another in the market, and, if you please, their traffic like-
wise among their handicrafts, their scandals, bodily hurt,
and raising of law-s'uits ; their institution of judges, and like-

THE REPUBLIC. 105

wise such imposts and payments of taxes as may be necessary
either in the market or on the shores ; or in general whatever
laws are municipal, civil, or marine, or what other laws there
may be of this kind ; shall we need to establish any of these ?
It is improper, said he, to prescribe these to good and worthy
men ; for they will easily find out the most of them, such as
ought to be established by law. Yes, said I, friend, if at least
God grant them the preservation of the laws we formerly
explained. And if not, said he, they will spend the whole
of their life making and amending many such laws as these,
imagining that they shall thus attain to that which is best.
You say that such as these shall lead a life, said I, like those
who are sick, and at the same time unwilling, through intemper-
ance, to quit an unwholesome mode of life. Entirely so. And
these truly must live very pleasantly ; for, though they deal with
physicians, they gain nothing, but render their diseases greater
and more complex; and they still hope, that when any one
recommends any new medicine to them, they shall, by means
of it, be made whole. This is entirely the situation of such
diseased persons as these. But what, said I, is not this
pleasant in them, to count that man the most hateful of all,
who tells them the truth; that, till they give over drunken-
ness and gluttony, and unchaste pleasure, and laziness, neither
I drugs nor caustics, nor amputations, nor charms, nor applica-
tions, nor any other such things as these, will be of any avail.
I That, said he, is not quite pleasant ; for to be enraged at one
who tells us what is right, has nothing pleasant in it. You are
no admirer, said I, as it would seem, of this sort of men. No,
truly. Neither then, though the whole of the city (as we were
lately saying) should do such a thing, would you commend
them : or, is not the same thing which is done by these people,
done by all those cities, which, being ill-governed, enjoin their
citizens not to alter any part of the constitution, for that who-
ever shall do such a thing is to be put to death ; but, that
whoever shall with the greatest cheerfulness reverence those
who govern in this fashion, and shall gratify them in the most
obsequious manner; and, anticipating their desires, be most

io6 THE REPUBLIC.

dexterous in satisfying them, shall be reckoned both worthy
and wise in matters of highest importance ; and be held by
them in the greatest honour? They seem to me, at least,
said he, to do the very same thing, and by no means do I
commend them. But what again as to those who desire to
have the management of such states, and are even fond of it,
are you not delighted with their courage and dexterity ? I am,
said he ; excepting such as are imposed on, and fancy that they
are really politicians, because they are commended as such by
the multitude. How do you mean ? Do you not pardon those
men? said I. Or do you even think it is possible for a man
who cannot measure himself, when he hears many other such
men telling him that he is six feet high, not to believe this
of himself? It is impossible, said he. Then be not angry
in this case ; for such men as these are of all the most
ridiculous, since, always making laws about such things as
we now mentioned, and always amending, they imagine that
they shall find some way of stopping these frauds respecting
commerce, and those other things I now spoke of, being
ignorant that they are in reality attempting to destroy a
hydra. They are surely, said he, doing nothing else. I
imagine then, said I, that a true lawgiver ought not to give
himself much trouble about such a species of laws and police,
either in an ill or well-regulated state; in the one, because
it is unprofitable and of no avail; in the other, because any
one can find out some of the laws, and others of them flow
of course from the habits arising from their early education.

What part then of the institutions of law, said he, have we
yet remaining? And I said, to us indeed there is nothing
remaining; but to the Delphian Apollo there remains the
greatest, noblest, and most important of legal institutions.
Of what kind ? said he. The institution of temples, sacrifices,
and other worship of the Gods, daemons, and heroes ; likewise
the burning of the dead, and what other rites ought to be
performed to them, so as to make them propitious. For truly
such things as these, we ourselves neither know ; nor, in found-
ing the state, will we entrust them to any other, if we be wise j

THE REPUBLIC. 107

nor will we make use of any other interpreter, except the God
of the country. For this God is the interpreter in every country
to all men in these things, who interprets to them sitting in the
middle of the earth. It is well established, said he, and we
must do accordingly.

Thus now, son of Aristo, said I, is the city established for
you. And, in the next place, having procured somehow
sufficient light, do you yourself observe, and call on your
brother and on Polemarchus and these others to assist us, if

iby any means we may perceive where justice is, and where
injustice; and in what respect they differ from each other; and
which of them the man ought to acquire, who proposes to him-
self to be happy, whether he be concealed or not concealed
both from Gods and men. But you say nothing to the purpose,
replied Glauco ; for you yourself promised to inquire into this,
deeming it impious for you not to assist the cause of justice by
every possible means. It is true, said I, what you remind me
of, and I must do accordingly. But it is proper that you too
should assist in the inquiry. We shall do so, said he. I hope
then, said I, to discover it in this manner. I think that our
city, if it be rightly established, is perfectly good. Of necessity,
said he. Then it is plain, that it is wise, and brave, and temper-
ate, and just. It manifestly is so. Whichever then of these we
shall find in it, shall there not remain behind that which is not
found ? Why not ? For supposing there were any four things
in any subject whatever, if we were in quest of one of them and
discovered this one at the first, we would be satisfied ; but if we
should first discover the other three, the one which we were
inquiring after would be known from this; for it is plain it
would be no other but that which remained. You say right,
said he. Since then there are in our state those four above
mentioned, shall we not inquire about them, according to the
same manner? It is plain we ought. First of all, then, to me
at least, wisdom appears to be conspicuous in it : and concerning
it there appears something paradoxical. What is that? said
he. Surely this city which we have described appears to me to
tye wise, for its councils are wise ; are they not ? They are. And

io8 THE REPUBLIC.

surely this very thing, the ability of counselling well, is plainly
a certain science; for men nowhere counsel well through
ignorance, but through science. It is plain. But there are
many and various species of science in the state. Why, are
there not ? Is it then from the science of the carpenters,
that the state is to be denominated wise and well-counselled ?
By no means from this, said he, is it said to be wise, but to be
mechanical. Is then the state to be denominated wise, when it
consults wisely through its knowledge in utensils of wood, how
to have these in the best manner possible ? Nor this either.
But is it for its knowledge of working in brass, or for anything
else of this kind ? For none of these, said he. Nor yet for its
knowledge of the fruits of the earth is it said to be wise, but
to be skilled in agriculture. It seems so to me. But, said I, is
there any science among any of the citizens in this city which we
have founded, which deliberates, not about any particular thing
in the city, but about the whole, how it may, in the best manner,
behave towards itself, and towards other cities? There is truly.
What is it, said I, and among whom is it to be found ? This very
guardianship, said he, is it, and it is among these governors,
whom we lately denominated complete guardians. What now
do you denominate the state on account of this knowledge?
Well-counselled, said he, and really wise. Whether then,
said I, do you imagine the brass-smiths, or these tine guard-
ians, will be most numerous in the state ? The brass-smiths,
said he, will be much more numerous. And of all classes, said
I, that have any knowledge, and bear a name on that account,
will not these guardians be the fewest in number ? By much.
Then it is from this smallest tribe, or part of the state, and from
that presiding and governing science in it, that the whole city is
wisely established according to nature ; and this tribe, whose
duty it is to share in this science (which of all others ought
alone to be denominated wisdom), as it appears, is by nature
the smallest in the state. You are, replied he, perfectly right.
This one, then, of the four, we have somehow found, and in
what part of the state it resides. It seems to me, said he, to be
sufficiently made out. But surely as to fortitude, at least, it is

THE REPUBLIC. 109

no difficult matter, both to find out itself, and the particular part
of the city in which it resides, on account of which virtue the
city is denominated brave. How? Doth anyone, said I, call
a city brave or cowardly, with reference to any other than that
particular part of it which makes war and fights in its defence ?
No one, said he, calls it such, with reference to any other part.
For I do not think, said I, that the other classes who are in it,
whether they be cowardly or brave, have power to render the
city either the one or the other. No, indeed. The city then is
brave likewise in one particular part of itself, because it has
ithin it a power of such a nature as shall always preserve their
pinions about things which are to be dreaded, teaching that
:hey are of such a kind as the lawgiver inculcated on them in
their education ? Do not you call this fortitude ? I have not,
said he, entirely comprehended what you say ; but tell it over
again. I call fortitude, said I, a certain preservative. What
sort of preservative ? A preservative of opinion formed by law
n a course of education about things which are to be feared,
teaching what these are, and of what kind: I called it a preserva-
tive at all times, because they were to retain it in pains and in
leasures, in desires and fears, and never to cast it off; and, if
ou are willing, I shall liken it to what in my opinion it bears
near resemblance. I am willing. Do not you know then,
id I, that the dyers, when they want to dye their wool, so as
o be of a purple colour, out of all the colours first make choice
f the white; and then, with no trifling care, they prepare and
manage it, so as best of all to take on the purest colour, and

»*hen they dye it ; and whatever is tinged in this manner is of an
ndelible dye; and no washing, either without or with soap,
s able to take away the pure colour : but such wool as is not
managed in this manner, you know what sort it proves, whether
one is dyeing other colours, or this, without the due preparation
beforehand. I know, said he, that they are easily washen out,
and are ridiculous. Imagine then, that we too, according to
our ability, were aiming at such a thing as this, when we were
choosing out our soldiers, and were instructing them in music
and gymnastic : and do not imagine we had anything else in

no THE REPUBLIC.

view, but that, in obedience to us, they should in the best
manner imbibe the laws as a colour ; in order that their opinion
about what is dreadful, and about other things, might be indel-
ible, both by means of natural temper and suitable education :
and that these detergents, however powerful in effacing, may not
be able to wash away their dye, pleasure to wit, which is more
powerful in effecting this than all soap and ashes, pain and fear,
and desire, which exceed every other solvent. Such a power
which is a perpetual preservation of right and lawful opinion,
about things which are to be feared or not, I call and define as
fortitude, unless you offer something else. I offer, said he,
nothing else: for you seem to me to reckon that such right
opinion of these things, if it arises without education, among
beasts and slaves, is not at all according to law, and you would
call it something else than fortitude. You are right, said I. I
admit then, that this is fortitude. Admit it further, said I, to be
political fortitude, and you shall admit rightly : but, if you please,
we shall inquire about it more perfectly another time ; for, at
present, it is not this, but justice we were seeking ; and with
regard to the inquiry concerning this, it has, in my opinion,
been carried far enough. You speak very well, said he.

There yet remain, said I, two things in the city which we
must search out : both temperance, and justice. By all means.
How now can we find out justice, that we may not be further
troubled about temperance ? I neither know, said he, nor do I
wish to know, if we are to dismiss altogether the consideration
of temperance; so, if you please to gratify me, consider this
before the other. I am indeed pleased, said I, as I am an
honest man. Consider then, said he.

We must consider, replied I; and as it appears from this
point of view, it seems to resemble concord and harmony more
than those things formerly mentioned. How? Temperance,
said I, is, I think, a kind of order, and a government, so men say,
of certain pleasures and desires. We say that a man appears a
master of himself, in some way or other: and we say other
things of this kind, in which we see vestiges of it, is it not so ?
These are the principal vestiges of it, said he.

THE REPUBLIC. 1 1 1

Is not then the expression, "Master of oneself," ridiculous?
For he who is superior to himself must be likewise inferior to
himself, and the inferior be the superior; for the same person
is spoken of in all these cases. Why not? But to me, said I,
the expression seems to denote, that in the same man, with
respect to his soul, there is one part better, and another worse ;
and that when the part more excellent in his nature is that
which governs the inferior part, this is called being master of
himself, and expresses a commendation ; but when through ill
education, or any kind of converse, that better part, which is
smaller, is conquered by the crowd, the worse part, we say, by
way of reproach and blame, that the person thus affected is a
slave to himself, and altogether licentious.

So it appears, said he. Observe then, said I, our new city,
and you shall find one of these in it : for you will own, it may
justly be said to be master of itself, if a state in which the better
part governs the worse may be said to be temperate, and
master of itself. I observe, said he, and you are right. And
surely one may chiefly find a great many various desires and
pleasures and pains among children and women and domestics,
and amongst the vulgar crowd of those who are called freed
men. It is perfectly so. But the simple and moderate desires,
and such as are led by intellect, and the judgment of right
opinion, you will meet with amongst the few, that is those of
the best natural temper, and of the best education. True,
said he.

And do not you see those things in our city, that there too
the desires of the many, and of the baser part, are governed
by the desires and by the prudence of the smaller and more
moderate part? I see it, said he. If then any city ought to
be called superior to pleasures and desires, and to itself, this
one is to be called so. By all means, said he. And is it
not on all these accounts temperate ? Very much so, said
he. And if, in any other city, there is the same opinion in
the governors and the governed about this point, who ought to
govern, it is to be found in this, do not you think so ? I am
strongly of that opinion. In whom then of the citizens will you

1 1 2 THE REPUBLIC.

say that temperance resides, when they are thus affected, in the
governors, or the governed? In both of them somehow, said
he. You see then, said I, that we justly conjectured of late, that
temperance resembles a kind of harmony. Why ? Because not
as fortitude and wisdom, which reside each of them in a certain
part, the one of them making the city wise, and the other
courageous, not after this manner doth it render the city tem-
perate ; but it is naturally diffused through the whole, producing
an unison between the weakest and the strongest, and those in
the middle, all in one concord — either as to wisdom if you will,
or, if you will, in strength, or in substance, or in any other of
those things ; so that most justly may we say that this unanimity
is temperance : a concord of that which is naturally the worse
and the better part, whether in a state or an individual, as
to which of them ought to govern. I am entirely, said he,
of the same opinion. Be it so, then, said I , There are
now three things in the city, it would seem, clearly dis-
covered : but with respect to that other species which remains,
by which the city partakes of virtue; what at all can it be? Is
it not plain that it is justice? It is plain. Ought we not now,
Glauco, like huntsmen, to surround the thicket, carefully attend-
ing lest justice somehow escape, and, disappearing, remain
undiscovered ? For it is plain that she is somewhere here.
Look, therefore, and be eager to perceive her, if anyhow you
see her sooner than I, and point her out to me. I wish I
could, said he ; but if you employ me as an attendant rather,
and one who is able to perceive what is pointed out to him, you
will treat me perfectly well. Follow, said I, after you have
offered prayers along with me. I will do so ; only, said he, lead
you the way. To me this seems, said I, to be a place somehow
of difficult access, and woody: it is at all events dark, and
difficult to be scrutinised ; we must, however, go on. We must,
said he. I then perceiving, said 16 ! 16 ! Glauco, we seem to
have somewhat which appears to be a footstep; and I imagine
that something shall not very long escape us. You tell good
news, said he. We are truly, said I, of a slow disposition. As
how ? It appears, O blessed man ! to have been long since

i j

i

4-^w

W

THE REPUBLIC. 113

rolling at our feet, from the beginning, and we perceived it not,
but made the most ridiculous figure, like those who seek some-
times for what they have in their hand ; so we did not perceive
it, but were looking somewhere off at a distance,. and in this
way perhaps it escaped us. What do you mean? replied he.
This, said I, that we seem to me to have been speaking and
;aring of it long since, and not understanding that in some
easure we ourselves expressed it. A long preamble, said he,
one who is eager to hear. Hear then, said I, and tell me if I
am right or not. For that which we at first established, when
e regulated the city, as what ought always to be done, that,
s it appears to me, or a species of it, is justice. For we
omewhere established it, and often spoke of it, if you
emember ; that every one ought to apply himself to one
thing, relating to the city, to which his genius was natur-
ally most adapted. We did speak of it. And that to mind
one's own affairs, and not to be pragmatical, is justice. This
e have both heard from many others, and have often said
it ourselves. We have. This then, friend, said I, appears to
e in a certain manner justice ; to do one's own affairs. Do
you know whence I conjecture this? No; but tell, said he.
esides those things we have already considered in the city —
iz., temperance, fortitude, and wisdom ; this, said I, seems to
main, which enables these to have a being in the state, and,
hilst they exist in it, to afford it safety ; and we said too, that
ustice would be that which would remain, if we found the other
:hree. There is necessity for it, said he. But if, said I, it be
ecessary to judge which of these, when subsisting in the city,
hall in the greatest measure render it good, it would be
ifficult to determine: whether the agreement between the
overnors and the governed ; or the maintaining of sound
pinion by the soldiers about what things are to be feared, and
hat are not; or wisdom and guardianship in the rulers; or
hether this, when it exists in the city, renders it in the greatest
easure good, namely, when child and woman, bond and free,
rtificer, magistrate, and subject, when every one does their own
ffairs, and is not pragmatical. It is difficult to determine, said

8

i T 4 THE REP US LIC.

he : How should it not be so ? This power then, by which
every one in the city performs his own office, is co-rival it seems
for the perfection of the city, along with its wisdom, temperance,
and fortitude.

Extremely so, said he. Will you not then constitute justice
to be this co-rival with these, for the perfection of the city ? By
all means. Consider it likewise in this manner, whether it shall
thus appear to you. Will you enjoin the rulers to give just
decisions in judgment ? Why not ? But will they give just
judgment, if they aim at anything preferable to this, that no one
shall have what belongs to others, nor be deprived of his own ?
No ; they can only give just judgment, when they aim at this.
And do they not aim at this as being just ? Yes. And thus
justice is acknowledged to be the habitual practice of one's own
proper and natural work. It is so. See then if you agree with
me. If a carpenter take in hand to do the work of a shoemaker,
or a shoemaker the work of a carpenter, or exchange either
their utensils or grades ; or if the same man take in hand to do
both, and all else be exchanged; do you imagine the state
would be greatly injured ? Not very much, said he. But I
imagine, that when one who is a craftsman, or who is born to
any lucrative employment, shall afterwards, being puffed up by
riches, by the mob, or by strength, or any other such thing,
attempt to go into the rank of counsellor and guardian, when
unworthy of it; and when these shall exchange utensils and
rewards with one another ; or when the same man shall take in
hand to do all these things at once ; then I imagine you will be
of opinion that this interchange of these things, and this variety
of employments practised by one, will be the destruction of the
statfe. By all means.

Intermeddling then in these three species, and their change
into one another, is the greatest hurt to the state, and may most
justly be called its depravity. It may so truly. But will not
you say that injustice is the greatest ill of the state ? Why not ?
This then is injustice. But let us again speak of it in this man-
ner. When the craftsman, the auxiliary, and the guardian-band
do their proper work, each of them doing their own work in the

THE REPUBLIC. 115

city ; this is the contrary of the other ; that is to say, it is
justice, and renders the city just. It seems so, said he. Let us
not, said I, affirm it very strongly : but if it shall be allowed us
that this idea, when applied to an individual, is likewise justice
in him, we shall then be agreed (for what more can we say ?);
if not, we shall try a new consideration. But now let us finish
that speculation, which we thought proper, when we judged that,
if we attempted first to contemplate justice in some of the greater
objects which possess it, it would more easily be seen in one
man ; and a city appeared to us to be the most proper object of
this kind. And so we established the very best we could, well
knowing that justice would be in a good one. Let us now
transfer and apply to a single person what has there appeared
to us with respect to a whole city : and, if the same things cor-
respond, it shall be well ; but, if anything different appear in the
individual, going back again to the city, we shall put it to the
proof; and, by considering them, when placed side by side, and
striking them together, we shall make justice flash out as from
flints ; and, when it is become manifest, we shall firmly establish
it among ourselves. You speak quite in the right way, said he,
and we must do so.

Well, said I, when we denominate two things of different
sizes in the same way, are they dissimilar so far as the same
name applies, or similar? Similar, said he. The just man
then, said I, will differ nothing from the just city, so far as
the idea of justice is concerned, but will be similar to it. He
will be similar to it, said he. But with respect to this inquiry,
the city appeared to be just, when the three species of dis-
positions in it did each of them its own work — viz., the temper-
ate, the brave, and the wise, by virtue of their own proper
natures, and not according to any other affections and habits.
True, said he. And shall we not, friend, judge it proper, that
the individual, who has in his soul the same principles (viz.,
temperance, fortitude, wisdom), shall, from having the same
affections with those in the city, be called by the same names ?
By all means, said he. We have again, my dear friend ! fallen
across no easy question concerning the soul ; whether it contain

n6 THE REPUBLIC.

in itself those three principles or not. Into no easy one, I
imagine, said he. And it is likely, Socrates, that the common
saying is true, that things excellent are difficult. It appears so,
said I. But know well, Glauco, that, according to my opinion,
we shall never comprehend this matter accurately, in the
methods we are now using in these reasonings. Still the
road leading to that is more toilsome and longer, and we
may, however, it is likely, speak of it in a manner worthy
of our former disquisitions and speculations. Is not that
allowable ? said he. This would satisfy me for my own
part, at present, at least. This, said I, shall to me too be
quite sufficient. Do not then give over, said he, but pursue
your inquiry. Are we not, then, under a necessity, said I,
of acknowledging that there are in every one of us the same
forms and manners which are in the city? for from no other
source could they come to it. It were ridiculous if one should
imagine that the irascible disposition did not arise from the
individuals in cities, which have this blemish, as those of
Thrace, Scythia, and in some measure, almost all the northern
region ; and the same thing may be said with respect to the
love of learning, which one may chiefly ascribe to this country ;
or with reference to the love of riches, which we may say
prevailed especially among the Phoenicians and the inhabitants
of Egypt. Very much so, said he. This then is so, said I ;
nor is it difficult to learn. No, indeed. But here is a difficulty.
Do we perform all our actions by the same power ; or are there
three powers, and do we perform one thing by one power, and
another by another ; that is, do we learn by one, and be angry
by another, and by a third desire those pleasures relating to
nutrition and propagation, and the other pleasures akin to
these? Or do we, in each of these, when we apply to them,
act with the whole soul ? These things are difficult to be deter-
mined in a manner worthy of the subject. So it seems to me,
said he. Let us then, in this manner, attempt to determine
these things, whether they are the same with one another, or
different. How are we to do it? It is plain, that one and the
same thing cannot, at one and the same time, do or suffer

THE REPUBLIC. IT?

contrary things in the same respect, and with reference to the
same object ; so that, if we anywhere find these circumstances
existing among them, we shall know that it was not one and the
same thing, but several. Be it so. Consider then what I am
saying. Proceed, replied he. Is it possible for the same thing
to stand and to be moved at once in the same respect ? By no
means. Let us determine this more accurately still ; lest, as we
proceed, we be any way uncertain about it If one should say
that when a man stands, yet moves his hands and his head,
that the same person at once stands and is moved, we should
not, I imagine, think it proper to speak in this manner; but
that one part of him stood, and another part was moved.
Should we not? Yes. But if one who says these things
should, in a more jocose humour still, and facetiously cavil-
ling, allege that tops stand wholly, and are at the same time
moved, when their pegs are fixed on one point, and yet they
are whirled about, — or that anything else going round in a
circle in the same position doth this, — we should not admit
it, as it is not in the same respect that they stand still and
are moved: but we should say, that they have in them an
axis and a circumference; and that, as regards the axis they
stood (for towards no side they declined) ; but as regards the
circumference, they moved in a circle. But when its perpen-
dicularity declines either to the right or left hand, forwards
or backwards, whilst it is at the same time whirling round;
then in no respect doth it stand. Very right, said he.
Nothing then of this kind shall move us, when it is said:
nor shall any one persuade us, as if anything, being
one and the same thing, could do and suffer contraries
at one and the same time, with reference to the same
object, and in the same respect. He shall not persuade me,
said he. But however, said I, that we may not be obliged to be
tedious in going over all these quibbles, and in evincing them
to be false, let us proceed on this supposition, that so it is ; after
we have agreed that, if at any time these things appear other-
wise than as we now settle them, we shall yield up again all we
shall have assumed by it. It is necessary, said he, to do so.

n8 THE REPUBLIC,

Would not you, then, said I, deem these things to be among
those which are opposite to one another (whether they be active
or passive, for in this there is no difference) ; to assent, to wit,
and to dissent, to desire to obtain a thing, and to reject it ; to
bring towards oneself, and to push away ? I would deem these,
said he, among the things which are opposite to each other.
What then, said I, with respect to thirsting, to hungering, and
in general with respect to all the passions ; and further, to
desire, to will, and all these, may they not somehow be placed
among those species which have now been mentioned ? As for
example, will you not always say that the soul of one who has
desire goes out after that which it desires, or brings near to it
that which it wishes to have ? Or again, in so far as it wants
something to be afforded it, like one who only sees an object,
that it intimates by signs to have it brought near, desiring the
actual possession of it ? I would say so. But to be unwilling,
not to wish, nor to desire, shall we not deem these of the same
kind, as to push away, and drive off, and everything else, which
is opposite to the former? Why not? This being the case,
shall we say there is a certain species of the desires ? and that
the most conspicuous are those which we call thirst and hunger ?
We shall say so, replied he. Is not the one the desire of drink-
ing, and the other of eating? Yes. Is thirst then, when con-
sidered as thirst, a desire in the soul of something more than
drink? It is according to the nature of the thirst. Is there
then a thirst of a hot drink, or of a cold, of much or of little, or
in short, of some particular kind of drink? for, if there be any
heat accompanying the thirst, it readily occasions a desire of a
cold drink; but if cold accompanies it, then there is excited a
desire of a warm drink: if the thirst be great, through many
circumstances, it occasions a desire of much drink, but if small,
a desire of a little drink : but the thirst itself never creates the
desire of anything else, but drink, as its nature prompts ; and in
like manner the appetite of hunger with relation to meat. Thus
every desire, said he, in itself, is for that alone for which it is
the desire ; but the desire of such or such a particular thing is
adventitious. Let not then any one, said I, create any trouble,

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as if we were inadvertent ; saying that no one desired drink, but
good drink ; or meat, but good meat ; for indeed all men desire
that which is good. If then thirst be a desire, it is of what is
good ; whether it be of drink, or of whatever else it is the desire.
And in the same way of all the other desires. Perhaps, replied
he, the man who should mention these things would seem to
say something material. But however, said I, whatever things
are of such a nature as to belong to any genus, have a general
reference to the genus ; but each particular of these refers to a
articular species of that genus. I have not understood you,
id he. Have you not understood, said I, that "greater" is
elative, and implies that it is greater than something ? Yes,
deed. Is it not greater than the less ? Yes. And that which
considerably greater than that which is considerably less ; is
not ? Yes. And that which was formerly greater than that
hich was formerly less ; and that which is to be greater than
at which is to be less ? What else ? said he. And after the
me manner, what is more numerous with respect to what is
ess numerous, and what is double with reference to what is
half, and all such-like things; and further, what is "heavier"
with respect to " lighter," and " swifter" to " slower," and further
till, "hot" to "cold"; and all such-like things, are they not
ter this manner ? Entirely so. But what as to the sciences ?
s not the case the same ? For science itself is the science of
e knovvable, or of whatever else you think proper to call the
bject of science : but a certain particular science, and of such
particular kind, refers to a certain particular object, and of
such a kind. What I mean is this. After the science of build-
ing houses arose, did it not separate from other sciences, so as
to be called architecture? What else? Was it not from its
being of such a kind as none of others were ? Yes. Was it not
hen from its being the art of such a particular thing, that itself
ecame such a particular art ? And all other arts and sciences
like manner ? They are so. Allow then, said I, that this is
.'hat I wanted to express, if you have now understood it ; where
hings are considered as having reference to other things, the
bstract alone refer to the abstract, and the particular to the

120 THE REPUBLIC.

particular. I do not, however, say that the science altogether
resembles that of which it is the science (as if, for example, the
sciences of health and disease were respectively healthy and
sickly; or that the sciences of good and evil were good and
evil). But as soon as science becomes not the science of that
abstract thing of which it is the science, but only of a particular
kind of it (to wit, of its healthy and sickly state), it comes to
be a particular science; and this causes it to be called no
onger simply a science, but the medicinal science ; the particular
species to which it belongs being superadded. I have under-
stood you, said he, and it appears to me to be so. But will not
you, said I, consider thirst, whatever it be, to be one of those
things which respect something else, supposing that there is
such a thing as thirst? I do, said he, and it respects drink.
Then a particular thirst desires a particular drink. But thirst
in the abstract is neither of much nor of little, nor of good nor
bad, nor, in one word, of any particular kind ; but of drink in
general alone is thirst in general naturally the desire. Entirely
so, indeed. The soul of the man then who thirsts, so far as he
thirsts, inclines for nothing further than to drink; this he
desires, to this he hastens. It is plain. If then at any time
anything draw back the thirsting soul, it must be some different
part of it from that which thirsts, and leads it as a wild beast to
drink; for, have we not said that it is impossible for the same
thing, in the same respects, and with the same parts of it, to do
at once contrary things ? It is indeed impossible. In the same
manner, I imagine, as it is not proper to say of an archer, that
his hands at once push out and likewise pull in the bow ; but
that the one hand is that which pushes out, and the other that
which pulls in. Entirely so, said he. But may we say, that
there are some who when athirst are not willing to drink ? Yes,
indeed, said he, there are many, and many times that is the
case. What now, said I, may one say of these persons ? Might
it not be said, that there was in their soul somewhat prompting
them to drink, and likewise something hindering them, different
from the other, and superior to the prompting principle? It
seems so to me, said he. Does not then the restraining

THE REPUBLIC. 121

principle, when it arises, arise from reason; but those which
push, and drive forwards, proceed from passions and diseases ?
It appears so. We shall then, said I, not unreasonably assume
that there are two principles, different from one another; and
call the one part which reasons, the rational part of the soul;
but that part with which it loves, and hungers, and thirsts, and
those other appetites, the irrational and concupiscible part, the
ally of certain gratifications and pleasures. We shall not, said
he ; but we may most reasonably consider them in this light.
Let these then, said I, be allowed to be distinct parts in the soul.
But as to that of anger, is it a third principle, or has it affinity
to one of those two ? Perhaps it has, said he, to the concupis-
cible part. I believe, said I, what I have somewhere heard,
how that Leontius, the son of Aglaion, as he returned from the
Pyrasus, perceived some dead bodies lying in the sewer, below
the outside of the north wall, and had both a desire to look at
them, and at the same time was averse from it, and turned him-
self away ; and for a while he struggled with his desire, and
covered his eyes ; but, at last, being overcome by his appetite,
he opened his eyes widely with his fingers, and running towards
the dead bodies, " Lo, now," said he, " you wretched eyes ! glut
yourselves with this fine spectacle." I too, said he, have heard it.
This speech now, said I, shows that anger sometimes opposes
the appetites, showing them to be different one from another.
It shows it, indeed, said he. And do not we often perceive, said
I, when the appetites compel any one contrary to reason, that
he reproaches himself, and is angry at the compelling principle
within him? And when the rational and concupiscible parts are
in a state of sedition, anger in such a person becomes as it were
an ally to reason : but when the appetite goes along with reason,
then anger gives no opposition. You will say, I imagine, that you
have perceived nothing of this kind in yourself at any time, nor
yet in another. No, by Zeus, said he. What now, said I, when
one imagines he does an injury, the more generous he is, is he
not so much the less apt to be angry, when he suffers hunger
and cold, or any other such things, from one who inflicts, as he
imagines, these things with justice? And, as I have said, his

122 THE REPUBLIC.

anger will not incline him to rise up against such an one.
True, said he. But what ? when a man imagines he is injured,
does not anger in such an one burn ? is he not indignant ? and
does he not fight, as an ally, on the side of what appears to be
just ? and under all the sufferings of hunger, cold, and such like,
does he not bear up and conquer; and cease not from his
generous toils, till either he accomplish them, or die, or be
restrained by the rational principle within him, like a dog by
the shepherd, and is rendered mild? It perfectly resembles,
said he, what you say; for, in our city, we appointed the
auxiliaries to be obedient to the rulers of the city, as dogs to
shepherds. You rightly understand, said I, what I would say.
But have you besides considered this ? What ? That what we
say now concerning the irascible is the reverse of that in the
former case ; for there we were deeming it the same with the
concupiscible ; but now we say it is so far from it that, in the
sedition of the soul, it sides with the rational part. Entirely so,
said he. Is it then as something different from it, or only a
modification of the rational principle? so that there are not
three species, but only two in the soul, the rational and concu-
piscible. Or, as there were three species which completed the
city, the productive, the auxiliary, the legislative; so, in the
soul, this irascible principle is a third thing, naturally an
auxiliary to the rational, if it be not corrupted by bad educa-
tion ? Of necessity it is, said he, a third. Yes, said I, if at
least it appear to be any way different from the rational, as it
appeared to be distinct from the concupiscible principle. That
is not difficult, said he, to be seen. For one may see this, even
in little children, who from their infancy are full of anger;
while some appear, to me at least, never at all to participate of
reason; and the most arrive at it but late. Yes,f truly, said I,
you are right. And one may yet further observe in the brute
creatures, that what you say is really the case: and besides
this, it is likewise attested by what we formerly mentioned from

Homer,

"His breast he struck, and thus his heart reproved."

For, in that passage, Homer has plainly made one part

THE REPUBLIC. 123

reprehend another; the part which reasons about good and
evil, reprehend the part which is unreasonably angry. You are
perfectly right, said he.

These things, said I, we have with difficulty agreed to ; and
it is now sufficiently acknowledged, that the same species of
principles as are in a city are in every individual, and to the
same number. They are so. Must it not, therefore, of neces-
sity follow, that after what manner the city was wise, and in
what respect, after the same manner, and in the same respect,
is the individual wise also ? Why not ? And in what respects,
and after what manner, the individual is brave, in the same
respect, and after the same manner, is a city brave. And so in
all other respects, both of them are the same as to virtue. Of
necessity. And I think, Glauco, we shall say that a man is
just, in the same way as we said a city was so ? This likewise
is quite necessary. But we have not surely forgot this, that the
city was just, when every one of the three species in it did each
its own work. We do not appear to me, said he, to have
forgotten it.

We must then remember likewise, that each one of us will be
just, and do his own work, when he doth his own affairs within
himself. We must, said he, carefully remember it. Is it not
then proper that the rational part should govern, as it is wise,
and hath the care of the whole soul ? and that the irascible part
should be obedient, and an auxiliary of the other ? Certainly.
Shall not then the mixture, as we observed, of music and
gymnastic make these two harmonious, raising and nourishing
the one with beautiful reasonings and disciplines, and unbend-
ing the other, soothing and rendering it mild by harmony
and rhythm ? Most perfectly, said he. And when those two
are in this manner nourished, and have been truly taught,
and instructed in their own affairs, let them be set over
the concupiscible part, which in every one is the greater part of
the soul, and in its nature most insatiably desirous of being
gratified : and let them take care of this part, lest, being filled
with these bodily pleasures, as they are called, it become great
and vigorous, and do not its own work, but attempt to enslave

124 THE REPUBLIC.

and rule over those it ought not, and overturn the whole life of
all. Entirely so, said he. And might he not, said I, by this
principle, guard likewise in the best manner against enemies
from without, by its influence over the whole soul and body, the
one deliberating, and the other fighting in obedience to its
leader, and executing with fortitude the things deliberated ? It
is so. And I think that we call a man brave, when, through all
the pains and pleasures of life, the irascible part preserves the
opinion dictated by reason concerning what is terrible, and what
is not. Right, said he. And we call him wise, from that small
part which governs in him, and dictates these things, having in
it the knowledge of what is advantageous for each one, and for
the whole community of the three, and for each of them separ-
ately. Perfectly so. But, do we not call him temperate, more-
over, from the friendship and harmony of these very things,
when the governing and governed agree, that reason ought to
govern, and when they do not raise sedition? Temperance,
said he, is no other than this, both as to the city and the
individual. But, as we have often said, he shall be just, by
these things, and in this manner. It is quite necessary.
What then, said I, has anything dulled us, that we should
think justice to be anything else than what it has appeared to
be in a state? Nothing appears to me at least, said he, to
have done it. But, let us, by all means, confirm ourselves, if
there yet remain any doubt or objection to this principle, by
bringing the man into difficult circumstances. What ? Such
as this : if we were obliged to declare concerning such a city,
and concerning a man born and educated conformably to it,
whether we thought such an one, when intrusted with gold or
silver, would embezzle it ; do you imagine that any one would
think such an one would do it sooner than those who are not
of such a kind ? No one, said he. Will not such an one then
be free of sacrilege, theft, or treachery, towards his own friends
or the city? He will. Nor will he ever, in any shape, be faith-
less, either as to his oaths, or other declarations. How can
he ? Adulteries, and neglect of parents, impiety Sgainst the
Gods, will belong to every one else, sooner than to such an

THE REPUBLIC. 125

one. They will, truly, said he. And is not this the cause of
all these things, that, of all the parts within him, each one
thing does its own work, as to governing and being governed ?
This is it, and nothing else. Do you desire justice to be any-
thing else, but such a power as produces such men and cities ?
Not I, truly, said he, for my part. Our dream, then, is at last
accomplished ; or the conjecture we expressed before, that when
we first began to build our city, we seemed, by some divine
assistance, to have got to a beginning and type of justice.
Entirely so. And that, Glauco, was a rough* image of justice,
according to which, it behoved the man who was fitted by
nature for the office of a shoemaker, to perform properly that
office, and to do nothing else, and he who is a carpenter to
perform that office, and all others in the same way. It appears
so. And of such a kind truly was justice, as it appeared to us.
I do not mean as to external action, but concerning that which
is really internal, relating to the man himself, and those things
which are properly his own ; not allowing any principle in him-
self to attempt to do what belongs to others, nor the principles
to be pragmatical, engaging in one another's affairs ; but in
reality well establishing his own proper affairs, and holding the
government of himself, adorning himself, and becoming his own
friend, and attuning those three principles in the most natural
manner, as three musical strings, base, tenor, and treble, or
whatever others may chance to intervene. Thus he will be led
to combine all these together, and become of many an entire
one, temperate and attuned, and in that manner perform what-
ever is done, either in the way of acquiring wealth, or concerning
the management of the body, or any public affair or private
bargain ; and in all these cases account and call that action just
and handsome, which always sustains and promotes this habit ;
and call the knowledge which presides over this action, wisdom ;
but to call that an unjust action which dissolves this habit, and
the opinion which presides over this, folly. You say perfectly
true, Socrates, said he. Be it so, said I. If then we should say
that we have found out a just man and city, and what justice is
in them, I do not think we should seem to be altogether telling

126 THE REPUBLIC.

a lie. No, by Zeus, said he. May we say so? We may say it.
Be it so, said I. But we were next, I think, to consider injus-
tice. That is plain. Must it not then be some sedition among
the three principles, some interfering and intermeddling in
things foreign to their proper business, and an insurrection of
some one principle against the whole soul, to govern in it when
it does not belong to it, but which is of such a nature as that it
really ought to be in subjection to the governing principle ? I
imagine then we shall call their tumult and confusion by such
names as injustice, intemperance, cowardice and folly, and in
short all vice. These things, said he, are so. To do injustice
then, said I, and to be injurious, and likewise to do justly, all
these must be very manifest, if, to wit, injustice and justice are
so. How ? Because they are no way different from what is
salutary or noxious : as these are in the body, so are the others
in the soul ? How, said he. Such things as are healthy con-
stitute health, and such as are noxious produce disease. Yes.
And must not the doing justly produce justice, and doing un-
justly produce injustice? Of necessity. But to produce health,
is to establish the body so that one part governs, or is governed
by, another according to nature ; and to produce disease, is to
govern and be governed, one part by another, contrary to nature.
It is indeed. Then again, to produce justice, is it not to establish
the soul, so that one part governs and is governed by another,
according to nature, and to produce injustice is to make them
govern and be governed by one another contrary to nature.
Plainly so, said he. Virtue then, it seems, is a sort of health,
and beauty, and good habit of the soul ; and vice the disease,
and deformity, and infirmity. It is so. Do not then honourable
pursuits lead to the acquisition of virtue, and dishonourable
ones to that of vice ? Of necessity.

What remains then for us, it seems, to consider, is, whether
it be profitable to do justly, and to pursue what is honourable,
and to be just (whether a man of such a character be unknown
or not), or to do unjustly, and to be unjust, though one be
never punished, nor by chastisement become better? But, said
he, Socrates, this speculation seems now, to me at least, to be

THE REPUBLIC. 127

ridiculous. For if, when the nature of the body is corrupted, it
be thought that life is not worth having, though one has all
kinds of meats and drinks, all kind of wealth, all kind of
dominion; when the nature of that by which we live is dis-
ordered, and thoroughly corrupted, shall life then be worth
having, though one can do everything else which he inclines,
except ascertaining how he shall be liberated from vice and
injustice, and acquire justice and virtue, since, to wit, both these
things have appeared as we have represented them ? It would
be truly ridiculous, said I. But, however, as we have arrived at
such a point as enables us most distinctly to perceive that these
things are so, we must not be weary. We must not, by Zeus,
said he. Come then, said I, that you may likewise see how
many principles vice possesses, principles which, as I imagine,
are worthy of attention. I attend, said he, only tell me. And
truly now, said I, since we have reached this part of our dis-
course, it appears to me as from a lofty place of survey, that
there is one principle of virtue, but those of vice are infinite, and
of these there are four which deserve to be mentioned. How do
you say? replied he. There seem to be as many species of
soul as there are of governments. How many, then ? There
are five kinds, said I, of governments, and five of the soul.
Tell, said he, what these are. I say, replied I, that this, which
we have gone through, is one species of a republic ; and it may
have a twofold appellation; for, if among the rulers there be
one surpassing the rest, it may be called a Monarchy ; if there
be several, an Aristocracy. True, said he. I call this, then,
one species ; for, whether they be several, or but one, who
govern, they will never alter the principal laws of the city ; if
they observe the nurture and education we have described. It
is not likely, said he.

128 THE REPUBLIC.

BOOK V.

SUCH then is the city or republic, and such the man we have
described, that we denominate good and upright : and if this
republic be an upright one, I must deem the others bad and
erroneous, both as to the regulations in cities, and the formation
of the temper of individual souls : and there are four species
of depravity. Of what kind are these? said he. I was then
proceeding to mention them in order, as they appeared to me
to rise out of one another: but Polemarchus stretching out his
hand (for he sat a little further off than Adimantus) caught
him by the robe at his shoulder, and drew him near; and,
bending himself towards him, spoke something in a whisper,
of which we heard nothing but this : Shall we let him pass
then ? said he, or what shall we do ? Not at all, said Adi-
mantus, speaking now aloud. And I replied, What will not
you let pass ? You, said he, for it was to you I alluded. You
seem to us to be growing negligent, and to steal a whole branch
of the discourse, and that not the least considerable, that you
may not have the trouble of going through it ; and you imagine
that you escaped our notice, when you made this speech so
simply, viz., that, both as to wives and children, it is manifest
to every one that these things will be common among friends.
Do I not say right, Adimantus ? Yes, said he ; for this, which
was rightly said, like other parts of your discourse, requires
explanation ; and you must show what is the manner of their
being common ; for there may be many kinds of it. Do not
omit then to tell which is the method you spoke of ; for we
have been in expectation for some time past, imagining you
would, on some occasion, make mention of the propagation
of children, in what way they should be propagated : and, when

THE REPUBLIC. 129

they are born, how they should be nurtured; and everything
relative to what you spoke concerning wives and children being
in common ; for we imagine, that it is of considerable, nay, of
the utmost importance to the state, when this is rightly per-
formed, or otherwise. But now when you are entering on
the consideration of another constitution, before you have
sufficiently discussed these things, we determined on what
you over-heard, not to let you pass, before you went over all
these things, as you did the others. And you may count me
too, said Glauco, as joining in this vote. You may easily
judge, Socrates, said Thrasymachus, that this is the opinion
of us all. What a deed, said I, you have done in laying hold
of me ! What a mighty discourse do you again raise, as if
we were only beginning to speak about a republic. I was
rejoicing at having now completed it, being pleased if any
one would have let these things pass, and been content with
what was said ! But you know not what a swarm of reason-
ings you raise by what you now challenge, which I foreseeing
passed by at that time, lest it should occasion great disturbance.
What, said Thrasymachus, do you imagine that these are now
come hither to smelt gold,1 and not to hear a discussion ? Yes,
said I, but in measure. The whole of life, Socrates, said
Glauco, is, with the wise, the measure of hearing such reason-
ings as these. But pass what relates to us, and do not at
all grudge to explain your opinions concerning the object of
our inquiry, — What sort of community of wives and children
is to be observed by our guardians, and concerning the nurture
of the latter while very young, in the period between their
generation and their education, which seems to be the most
troublesome of all. Endeavour then to tell us in what manner
it should be done. It is not easy, happy Glauco, said I, to
go through these things; for there are many of them which
can hardly be believed to be possible; and even though they
could easily be effected, whether they would be for the best
might still be doubted: wherefore, dear companion, I grudge

1 To smelt gold seems to have been a proverbial expression for
attending to anything but the right thing.

9

i.3o THE REPUBLIC.

somewhat to touch on these things, lest our reasonings appear
to be rather what were to be wished for, than what could take
place. Do not at all grudge, said he; for your hearers are
neither stupid, nor incredulous, nor ill-affected towards you.
Then I said, Do you say this, most excellent Glauco, with
a desire to encourage me ? I do, said he. Then your dis-
course has a quite contrary effect, said I ; for, if I trusted
myself, that I understood what I am to say, your encouragement
would do well. For one who understands the truth, about the
greatest and the most interesting affairs, speaks with safety
and confidence when among wise friends; but to be diffident
of oneself, and doubtful of the truth, and at the same time
to be haranguing as I do now, is both dreadful and dangerous :
not only lest he should be exposed to ridicule (for that is but a
trifling thing), but lest that, mistaking the truth, I not only fall
myself, but draw my friends along with me into an error about
things in which we ought least of all to be mistaken. I pray
therefore that I may not be punished for what, Glauco, I am
going to say. For I believe it is a smaller offence to be a man-
slayer without intention, than to be an impostor with regard
to what is good and excellent, just and lawful : and it were
better to hazard such a thing among enemies than friends;
so that you must give me better encouragement. Then Glauco,
laughing: But, Socrates, said he, if we suffer anything amiss
from your discourse, we shall acquit you as guiltless of man-
slaughter, or imposture: so proceed boldly. Indeed, said I,
he who is acquitted at a court of justice, the law says, is
also deemed clear of the crime in the next world, and so
'tis reasonable he should be so in this. For this reason then,
said he, proceed. We must now, said I, return again to what
it seems should, according to method, have been recited
before ; and perhaps it is right to proceed in this manner,
that, after having entirely finished the drama respecting the
men, we go over that which concerns the women ; especially
since you challenge me to proceed in this manner.

In my opinion, men who have been born and educated in
such a manner as we have described, can have no right posses-

THE REPUBLIC. T3i

sion and enjoyment of children and wives, save in pursuing the
same track in which we have proceeded from the beginning:
for we have endeavoured, in our reasoning, to make our men as
it were the guardians of a flock. We have. Let us proceed
then, and establish likewise rules relating to propagation and
education in a manner similar to that of the males ; and let us
consider whether they will be suitable or not. How do you
mean ? replied he. Thus : shall we judge it proper for the
females of our guardian dogs, to watch likewise in the same
manner as the males do, and hunt along with them, and do
everything else in common ? Or shall we judge it proper for
them to manage domestic affairs within doors, as being unable
for the other exercises, because of the bringing forth and the
nursing the whelps ; and only for the males to labour, and to
have the whole care of the flocks ? They are to do all, said he,
in common. Only we are to employ the females as the weaker,
and the males as the stronger. Is it possible, said I, to employ
any creature for the same purposes with another, unless you
give it the same nurture and education as you give the other ?
It is not possible. If then we shall employ women for the same
purposes as we do the men, must we not likewise teach them
the same things? We must. Were not both music and
gymnastic bestowed on the males ? They were. These two
arts, therefore, and those likewise relating to war, must be
bestowed also on the women, and they must be employed about
the same things. It is reasonable, said he, from what you say.
Yet as these things, said I, are contrary perhaps to custom,
many of these things we are now speaking of may appear
ridiculous, if practised in the way we mention. Extremely so,
replied he. What, said I, do you consider the most ridiculous
part? Is it not plainly the idea of the women, naked in the
Palaestra, wrestling with the men, and not only the young
women, but even the more advanced in years, in the same
manner as old men in the wrestling-schools, when they are
wrinkled and ugly, yet are still fond of the exercises ? Yes, by
Zeus, said he. Because it might indeed appear ridiculous, at
least as matters stand at present. Therefore, said I, since we

132 THE REPUBLIC.

have entered upon this discourse, we must not be afraid of the
railleries of the men of pleasantry, whatever things they may
say with regard to such a revolution being introduced, as well
in gymnastic as in music, and particularly in the use of arms,
and the management of horses ? You say right, replied he.
But since we have entered on this discourse, we must go to
the rigour of the law, and beg these men not to follow their
usual custom, but to think seriously, and remember, that it is not
long ago since it appeared base and ridiculous to the Greeks
(as it is now to most of the barbarians) for men to be seen
naked. And when first the Cretans, and afterwards the Lace-
daemonians, began their exercises, it was in the power of the
men of humour of that time to turn all these things into ridicule.
Do not you think so ? I do. And I imagine, that when upon
experience it appeared better to strip themselves, than to be
wrapped up, if it seemed ridiculous indeed to the eye, the ob-
jection was removed by the argument that it was best, and it
was also proved manifestly that he is a fool who deems anything
ridiculous but what is bad, and who attempts to jest upon any
other idea of the ridiculous but that which is the foolish and
the vicious, or who is serious in any other pursuit but that of
the good. By all means, said he. Is not this then first of all to
be agreed on, whether these things be possible or not ? And
we must allow it to be a matter of dispute, if any one, either in
jest or earnest, incline to doubt, whether the human nature in
the female sex be able, in everything, to bear a share with the
male, or if not, then in any one thing, or in some things, but not
in others, and among which of these are the affairs of war?
Would not the man who thus sets out also conclude in the best
way ? By far, said he. Are you willing then, said I, that we
ourselves, instead of others, dispute about these things, that the
opposite side may not be destitute of a defence ?

Nothing hinders, said he. Let us then say this for them :
There is no need, Socrates and Glauco, of others to dispute
with you about this matter ; for yourselves in the beginning of
your scheme, when you established your city, agreed, that it
was necessary for each individual to practise one business

THE REPUBLIC. 133

according to their several geniuses. I think we acknowledged
it; for why should they not ? Does not then the genius of the
male differ widely from that of the female ? Yes. And is it not
fit to enjoin each a different work, according to their genius?
Why not ? Are not you then in the wrong now, and contradict
yourselves, when you say that men and women ought to do the
same things, whilst their nature is extremely different ? Can
you in answer to these objections, admirable Glauco, make
any defence. It is not quite an easy matter, said he, to do it
immediately ; but I will entreat you, and do now entreat you, to
go through the arguments on our side, whatever they may be.
These are the things, Glauco, replied I, and many other such
like, which I long ago foresaw, and was afraid and backward to
touch on the law concerning the possession of wives, and the
education of children. It is not easy, by Zeus, replied he. It
is not, said I. But the case is thus : If a man fall into a small
fish-pond, or into the middle of the greatest sea, he must still
wim in the one no less than in the other. Entirely so. Must
ot we swim then, and endeavour to emerge from this reason-
ing, expecting that either some dolphin l will carry us out, or
that we shall have some other remarkable deliverance? It
seems we must do so, replied he. Come then, said T, let us
see if we can anywhere find an out-gate ; for we did acknow-
ledge that different natures ought to study different things ; but
the nature of man and woman is different ; yet now we say that
different natures ought to study the same things : these are the
things which you accuse us of. Certainly. How generous,
Glauco, said I, is the power of the art of contradicting ! How ?
Because, replied I, many seem to fall into it unwillingly, and
imagine that they are not cavilling, but reasoning truly, when
and because they are not able to understand the meaning of
a thing they are investigating ; but simply oppose what is said
by attacking the mere words, using cavilling instead of reason-
ing. This is indeed, said he, the case with many ; but does it
at present extend likewise to us? Entirely so, said I. We
seem unwillingly to have fallen into a contradiction. How?

1 Alluding, of course, to the story of Ar ion.

134 THE REPUBLIC.

Because we have very strenuously and very keenly asserted,
that when natures are not the same, they ought not to have the
same employments ; but we have not in any respect considered
what is the characteristic of the sameness or diversity of nature,
nor to what it points : we stopped then, when we had assigned
different pursuits to different natures, and to the same natures
the same pursuits. We have never indeed, said he, con-
sidered it.

It is therefore, replied I, still in our power, as appears, to
question ourselves, whether the nature of bald or long-haired
men be the same, and not different ? And after we should agree
that it was different, whether, if the bald made shoes, we should
allow those who wear long hair to make them, or, if those who
wear long hair made them, whether we should allow the others ?
That were ridiculous, replied he. Is it in any other respect,
said I, ridiculous then, that we did not wholly determine the
sameness and diversity of nature, but attended only to that
species of diversity and sameness which respects the employ-
ments themselves; just as we say that the physician, and
the man who has a medical talent, have one and the
same nature? Do not you think so? I do. But that the
physician and architect have a different nature. Entirely. And
so, replied I, of the nature of men and of women, if it appear
different, in respect to any art, or other employment, we shall
say that this different employment is to be assigned to each
separately. But if their nature appear different only in this,
that the female brings forth, and the male begets, we shall not
say that this has at all shown the man to be different from the
woman in the respect we speak of. But we shall still be of
opinion, that both our guardians and their wives ought to
pursue the same employments. And with reason, said he.
Shall we not then henceforth desire any one who says the con-
trary, to instruct us in this point, what is that art or study
respecting the establishment of a city, where the nature of the
man and woman is not the same, but different? It is reason-
able, truly. Possibly some one may say, as you were saying
some time since, that it is not easy to answer sufficiently on the

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sudden, but that it is not difficult to one who has considered it.
One might indeed say so. Are you willing then that we desire
such an opponent to listen to us, if by any means we shall show
him that there is in the administration of the city no employ-
ment peculiar to women ? By all means. Come on then (shall
we say to him), answer us. Is not this your meaning? That
one man has a genius for anything, and another has not, in this
respect, that the one learns the thing easily, and the other with
difficulty; and the one with a little instruction discovers much
in what he learns; but the other, when he obtains much instruc-
tion and care, does not retain even what he has learned : with
the one, the body is duly subservient to the mind; with the
other, it opposes its improvement : are there any other marks
than these by which you would determine one to have a genius
for anything, and another to have none ? No one, said he,
would mention any other. Know you then any human art
which men do not better manage than women ? Or, should we
not be tedious, if we mentioned particularly the weaving art,
and the dressing pot-herbs and victuals, in which women are
supposed to excel, and in which their failure is most laughed
at ? You say true, said he, that in general, in everything the
one genius is superior to the other, yet there are many women
who in many things excel many men : but, on the whole, it is as
you say. There is not then, my friend, any office among the
whole inhabitants of the city peculiar to woman, considered as
woman, nor to man, considered as man ; but natural talents are
indiscriminately diffused through both : the woman is naturally
fitted for sharing in all offices, and so is the man ; but in all the
woman is weaker than the man. Perfectly so. Shall we then
commit everything to the care of men, and nothing to the care
of women ?

How can we do so ? I is therefore, I imagine, as we say,
that one woman is fitted by natural genius for being a physician,
and another is not ; one is naturally a musician, and another is
not ? What else ? And one is naturally fitted for gymnastic,
and another is not ; one is fitted for war, and another is not. I
at least am of this opinion. And is not one likewise a lover of

136 THE REPUBLIC.

philosophy, and another averse to it; one high-spirited, and
another not ? This likewise is true. And has not one woman
a natural genius for being a guardian, and another not ? And
have not we made choice of such a genius as this for our
guardian men ? Of such a genius as this. The nature then of
the woman and of the man for the guardianship of the city is
the same, only that the one is weaker, and the other stronger.
It appears so. And such women as these are to be chosen to
dwell with these men, and be guardians along with them, as
they are naturally fit for them, and of a kindred genius. Entirely
so. And must not the same employments be assigned to the
same natures ? The same. We have now arrived by a circular
progression at what we formerly mentioned; and we allow that
it is not contrary to nature, to assign music and gymnastic to
the wives of our guardians. By all means. We are not then
establishing things impossible, or such as can only be wished
for, since we establish the law according to nature; and what is
at present contrary to these things, is contrary to nature, it
appears. It seems so. Was not our inquiry to hear of what
was possible and best? It was. And we have agreed, that
these things are possible. We have. And we must next
agree, that they are best. It is plain we must. In order
therefore to make a guardian of a woman, at least the
education will not be different from that of the men, espe-
cially as she has received the same natural genius. It will
not be different. What is your opinion of this? Of what?
That one man is better, or worse, than another — or do you
deem them to be all alike ? By no means. In the city now
which we have established, do you think that our guardians
educated as we have described, or shoemakers with their
education in their art, will be the better men ? The question,
replied he, is ridiculous. I understand you, said I. But what?
Of all the citizens, are not they the best? By far. But what?
Will not these women too be the best of women ? They will be
so, replied he, by far. Is there anything better in a city than
that both the women and the men be rendered the very
best ? There is not. This then will be effected by music and

THE REPUBLIC. 137

gymnastic, being afforded them according as we have de-
scribed ? Yes. We have then established a law which is not
only possible, but moreover best for the state. We have. The
wives, then, of our guardians must be unclothed, since they will
put on virtue for clothes ; and they must bear a part in war, and
the other guardianship of the city, and do nothing else. But
the lightest part of these services is to be allotted to the women
rather than to the men, on account of the weakness of their
sex. And the ridicule of the man who laughs at naked women,

(whilst they are performing exercises for the sake of what is
best, reaps only "the unripe fruit of the tree of wisdom,"1 and
in no respect knows, it appears, at what he laughs, nor why he
does it. For that ever was and will be deemed a noble saying.
That what is profitable is beautiful, and what is hurtful is base.
By all means.

Let us say then, that we have escaped one wave, as it were,
[ ! in our discussion of the law with respect to women, without

(being wholly overwhelmed in ordaining that our male and
female guardians are to manage all things in common : but our
reasoning has been consistent with itself, as it respects both
what is possible and likewise advantageous. It is truly no
small wave you have escaped, said he. You will not, replied I,
call it a great one, when you see what follows. Mention it,
said he, that I may see. That law, replied I, and those others
formerly mentioned, involve, as I imagine, the following.
Which ? That these women must all be common to all these
men, and that no one woman dwell with any man privately,
and that their children likewise be common ; that neither the
parent know his own children, nor the children their parent.
This is much more likely than the other, to be distrusted, both
as to its being possible, and at the same time advantageous. I
do not believe, replied I, that any one will doubt the utility, at
least, of having the women and children in common, if it were
but possible. But I think the greatest question will be, whether
it be possible or not ? One may very readily, said he, dispute
as to both. You mention, replied I, a crowd of disputes. But

1 This is said to be a quotation from i'inclar.

138 THE REPUBLIC.

I thought that I should at least have escaped from the one, if
its utility had been agreed on, and that it should have only
remained to consider its possibility. But you have not, said he,
escaped unobserved ; give us then an account of both. I must
then, said I, submit to a trial. But, however, indulge me thus
far; allow me to feast myself, as those who are sluggish in
their minds are wont to feast themselves when they walk
alone. Men of this sort, sometimes before they find out how
they shall attain what they desire (waiving that inquiry, that
they may not fatigue themselves in deliberating about the
possibility or impossibility of it), suppose they have obtained
what they desire, and then go through what remains. And
they delight in running over what they will do when their desire
is obtained, rendering their soul, otherwise indolent, more
indolent still. I am now effeminate after this manner, and
wish to defer those debates, and to inquire afterwards whether
these things be possible. But at present, holding them possible,
if you allow me, I will consider in what manner our rulers shall
regulate these things, when they take place, that they may be
done in the most advantageous manner, both to the state and
the guardians.

These things I shall endeavour, in the first place, to go over
with your assistance, and the others afterwards, if you allow
me. I allow it, said he ; proceed with the inquiry accordingly.
I imagine, said I, that if our rulers, and those who are their
auxiliaries, their ministers in the government, are worthy of the
name, the latter will be disposed to do whatever is enjoined
them, and the former will be ready to command; enjoining
them some things in direct obedience to the law, and imitating
the law in whatever things are entrusted to them.

It is likely, said he. Do you now, said I, since you are their
lawgiver, in the same manner as you have chosen out the men,
choose out likewise the women, taking care that their natures
shall be as similar as possible : and since they dwell and eat to-
gether in common, and as no one possesses any of these things
privately, both sexes will live together, and being mingled in
their exercises and other actions, will be led from an innate

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139

lecessity, as I imagine, to mutual embraces. Do not I seem
to say what will necessarily happen ? Not, replied he, by any
geometrical necessity, but by an amatory one, which seems to
be more powerful than the other in persuading and drawing the
bulk of mankind. Much more, said I. But after this, Glauco,
to mix together in a disorderly manner, or to do anything else,
irregularly, is neither holy in a city of happy persons, nor will
the rulers permit it. It were not just, said he. It is plain then
that after this we must make marriages as much as possible
sacred ; and the most advantageous marriages would be those
that are sacred. By all means. How then shall they be most
advantageous ? Tell me this, Glauco ; I see in your house dogs
of chase, and a great many game birds. Have you ever
attended, in any respect, to their marriages, and the propaga-
tion of their species ? How ? said he. First of all, among
these, although they be excellent themselves, are there not some
who are most excellent ? There are. Then do you breed from
all of them alike ? or are you careful to breed chiefly from the
best ? From the best. But how ? From the youngest or from
the oldest, or from those who are in their prime ? From those
in their prime. And if the breed be not of this kind, you reckon
that the race of birds and dogs greatly degenerates. I reckon
so, replied he. And what think you as to horses, said I, and
other animals ? is the case any otherwise with respect to these ?
That, said he, were absurd. Strange, said I, my friend ! What
extremely perfect governors must we have, if the case be the
same with respect to the human race ! However, it is so, replied
he ; but why perfect ? Because there is a necessity, said I, for
their using many medicines : for where bodies have no occasion
for medicines, but are ready to subject themselves to a regimen
of diet, we reckon that a weaker physician may suffice; but
when there is a necessity for medicines, we know that a more
able physician is then requisite. True, but with what view do
you say this ? With this view, replied I. It appears that our
rulers are obliged to use much fiction and deceit for the advan-
tage of the governed ; and we said somewhere, that all these
things were useful in the way of medicines. And rightly, said he,

140 THE REPUBLIC.

This piece of right now seems to apply to the question of mar-
riages, and the propagation of children. How ? It is proper,
said I, from what we have acknowledged, that the best men
embrace for the most part the best women ; and the most de-
praved men, on the contrary, the most depraved women ; and
the offspring of the former is to be educated, but not that of the
latter, if you desire to have the flock of the most perfect kind ;
and this must be performed in such a manner as to escape the
notice of all but the governors themselves, if you would have the
whole herd of the guardians as free from sedition as possible.
Most right, said he. Shall there not then be some festivals by
law established, in which we shall bring together the brides and
bridegrooms ? Sacrifices too must be performed, and hymns
composed by our poets suitable to the marriages which are
making. But the number of the marriages we shall commit to
the rulers, that as much as possible they may preserve the
same number of men, having an eye to the wars, diseases,
and everything else of this kind, and that as far as possible
our city may be neither too great nor too little. Right, said
he. And an ingenious system of lots, I imagine, should
be made, that the inferior man may accuse his fortune,
and not the governors, of the manner in which the couples
are joined. By all means, said he. And those of the
youth who distinguish themselves, in war or anywhere else,
ought to have rewards and prizes given them, and the most
ample liberty of embracing women, that so, under this pretext
likewise, the greatest number of children may be generated by
such persons. Right. And shall the children as soon as they
are born be received by magistrates appointed for these pur-
poses, whether men or women, or both ? for the magistracies
are in common to women as to men. They are so. And when
they receive the children of worthy persons, they will carry
them, I imagine, to the nursery, to certain nurses dwelling
apart in a certain place of the city. But the children of the
more depraved, and such others as are any way imperfect,
they will hide in some secret and obscure place, as is proper.
If they want, said he, the race of guardians to be pure. And

THE REPUBLIC. 141

shall not these take care likewise of their nursing, in bringing
to the nursery the mothers when their breasts are full, practising
every art that no one know her own child, and in providing
others who have milk, if these shall prove insufficient? And
they shall likewise take care that these nurses suckle only for a
proper time : and appoint nurses and keepers to sit up at night,
and take every other necessary toil. You make, said he, the breed-
ing of children an easy matter for the wives of our guardians.
It is fit, replied I. But let us in the next place discuss that
ivhich we chiefly intended. We said that true offspring ought to
be generated of persons in their prime. Are you then of opinion
vith me, that the proper season of vigour is twenty years to a
woman, and thirty to a man ? Of what continuance are these
seasons ? said he. The woman, replied I, beginning at twenty,
is to bear children to the state until the age of forty ; and the
man, after he has past the most raging part of his course, from
that period, is to beget children to the state until the age of
fifty-five. This indeed is the acme, replied he, in both sexes,
both of body and of mind. If then any one who is older or
younger than these shall meddle in generating for the public,
t?e shall say the trespass is neither holy nor just, as he begets
to the state a child, which, if it be concealed, is born and grows
up unattended with the sacrifices and prayers (which, upon
every marriage, the priestesses and priests, and the whole of
the city, shall offer, that the descendants of the good may be still
more good, and from useful descendants still more useful may
arise); but is born in darkness, and from a dreadful intemper-
ance. Right, said he. And the law, said I, must be the same.
If any of those men, who are of the age for generating, shall
touch women of a proper age, without the concurrence of the
magistrate, we shall consider him as having raised to the state
a bastardly, illegitimate, and unhallowed child. Most right,
said he. And I imagine, that when the women and men
exceed the age of generating, we shall permit the men to
cohabit with any woman they incline, except their daughter and
mother, and those who are the children of their daughters, or
those upwards from their mother ; and so likewise the women

142 THE REPUBLIC.

to embrace any but a son and father, and the children of these,
either downwards or upwards : all this liberty we will allow
them, after we have enjoined them to attend carefully, in the
first place, if anything should be conceived, not to bring it to
the light ; but if, by any accident, it should be brought forth,
to expose it as a creature for which no provision is made.
All these things, said he, are reasonably said. But how
shall fathers and daughters, and those other relations you
now mentioned, be known to one another? They shall not be
known at all, said I. But from the day on which any one is a
bridegroom, whatever children are born between the seventh
and the tenth month after it, all these he shall call, the male his
sons, and the female his daughters, and they shall call him
father. And in the same way again, he shall call the children
of these, grandchildren, and they again shall call them grand-
fathers and grandmothers : and those who were born in that
period in which their fathers and mothers were begetting
children, they shall call sisters and brothers, so as not to touch
each other, as I just now said. But the law shall allow brothers
and sisters to live together, if their lot so fall out, and the
Pythian oracle give consent. Most right, said he.

This, Glauco, and such as this, is the community of women
and children, among your city guardians : and that it is both
consonant to the other parts of our polity, and by far the best,
we must, in the next place, establish from argument; or how
shall we do ? Just so, by Zeus, said he. Will this not be for us
the best beginning; to inquire what we can mention as the
greatest good in the establishment of a state, with an eye to
which the lawgiver ought to enact the laws, and what is the
greatest evil ; and then to inquire, whether what we have
hitherto gone over contributes towards leading us in the steps
of this good, and away from that evil ? By all means, said he.
Is there, then, any greater ill to a city than that which lacerates
it; and instead of one, makes it many? Or, is there any greater
good than that which binds it together, and makes it one?
There is not. Does not then the communion of pleasure and
pain bind them together, when the whole of the citizens as

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much as possible rejoice and mourn in the same manner, for
the same things when they are obtained, and when they are
lost ? By all means so, replied he. But a separate feeling of
these things destroys it, when some of the citizens are extremely
grieved, and others extremely glad, at the same sufferings of
the city, or of those who are in it. Why not? Does not then
such an evil as the following arise from this, when they do not
all jointly in the state use the words " mine," and " not mine,"
with regard to the same objects ? And will not that city be
best regulated, when every individual, with regard to the con-
cerns of another, in the same way with him, pronounces these
words, mine, and not mine ? By far. And it is such as comes
nearest to the condition of an individual man. As when one of
our fingers is anyhow hurt ; the whole common feeling spreads
through the body to the soul, with one co-ordination of its
governing part, perceives it, and the entire whole mourns along
with the distressed part: and so we say that the man is dis-
tressed in his finger : and the reasoning is the same as to any
other part of a man, both with respect to grief, when any part is
in pain ; or with respect to pleasure, when any part is at ease.
It is the same, said he. And to return to your question, the
city which comes nearest to this is governed in the best manner.
Then when any one of the citizens receives any good or ill, such
a city, I imagine, will most especially say, that she herself
receives it, and the whole city rejoice or mourn together. Of
necessity, said he, this must prevail in a city governed by good
laws.

It is now time for us to go back to our city, and consider how
those things are in it which we have agreed on in our reasoning,
whether they prevail most in our city, or more in some other.
We must do so, replied he. What now? Are there not, in
other cities, governors and people ? And are there not likewise
in this ? There are. And will not all these call one another
citizens ? Why not ? But besides this name of citizens, what
does the people call its governors in other states? Masters
or lords in most states, and, in democracies, this very name,
governors. But in our city, besides that of citizens, by what

144 THE REPUBLIC.

name does the people call its governors ? Their preservers,
said he, and helpers. And what do they call the people?
Rewarders, replied he, and nourishers. And in other cities,
what do the governors call their people ? Slaves, replied he.
And what do the governors call one another? Fellow-rulers,
said he. And ours, what? Fellow-guardians. Can you tell,
whether any one of the governors in other cities can address
one of his fellow-governors as his kinsman, and another as a
stranger? Very many do so. Does he not then regard and
call the kindred one his own, and the stranger as not his own ?
Just so. But with your guardians, is there one of them who
can deem and call any one of their fellow-guardians a stranger?
By no means, replied he ; for, with whomsoever any one meets,
he reckons he meets with a brother or sister, a father or mother,
a son or daughter, or the descendants or ancestors of these.
You speak most beautifully, replied I. But further, tell me
this likewise, whether will you only establish among them,
by law, these kindred names, or will you also enjoin them to
perform all their actions in conformity to these names, enjoin-
ing with respect to parents whatever the law enjoins to be
performed to parents, such as reverence, and care, and obedi-
ence, or that otherwise it will not be for the child's advantage,
either in the sight of Gods or of men, as he does what is
neither holy nor just, if he do other things than these ? Shall
these, or any other rules from all our citizens, resound directly
in the ears of our children, both concerning their parents,
whom any one shall point out to them, and concerning other
relations ? These things shall be said, replied he ; for it were
ridiculous, if friendly names alone resounded, without any
actions accompanying them. Of all cities, then, there will
be the greatest harmony in this, in which when any individual
is either well or ill, every one will use the expression we lately
mentioned — viz., "mine is well," or "mine is ill." Most true,
said he. Did not we say too, that their common pleasures
and pains will accompany this opinion and expression ? And
we said rightly. Will not then our citizens most especially
have the same interest in common and call it " my own " ; and,

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having- this in common, will of all others most especially have
in common pleasure and pain ? Extremely So. And along
with the other parts of the constitution, is not the community
of women and children among the guardians the cause of these
things ? This it is most especially, replied he. But we agreed,
that this was the greatest good of a city, likening a well-
established city to a body, in its being affected with the
pleasure and pain of any part. And we rightly, said he,
agreed on this. This community, then, of women and children
among our auxiliaries, has appeared to us to be the cause of
the greatest good to the city. Extremely so, replied he. And
surely this agrees with what went before ; for we somewhere
said, that they ought neither to have houses of their own,
nor land, nor any possession; but, receiving their subsistence
from others, as a reward for their guardianship, they should
all spend it in common, if they intended really to be guardians.
Right, said he. Do not therefore, as I say, both these things
which were formerly mentioned, and still more what we now
speak of, render them real guardians, and prevent the city
from being lacerated, by their not calling one and the same
thing their own (instead of calling all the same); and not
drawing to their own houses whatever each can possess,
separately from the others; and by not having different wives
and children which occasion different pleasures and pains,
which are private, as belonging to private persons : but being
of one opinion concerning their home, and all of them point-
ing towards the same thing, as far as possible, to have one
common feeling of pleasure and pain ? Extremely so, replted
he. And will not law-suits and accusations against one another
be banished from among them, so to speak, by their possessing
nothing as private property, but their body, and everything else
being common, from whence they shall be liberated from all
those disturbances which men raise about money, children, or
relations ? They will of necessity be liberated from these.
Neither indeed can there be reasonably among them any
actions raised for violence or unseemly treatment. For,
making the protection of their persons a necessary thing, we

10

146 THE REPUBLIC.

will own it to be right and just for those of equal age to
dei'end themselves against each other. Right, said he. And
this law, said I, hath this in it likewise: that if any one be
in a passion, and gratify his passion in this manner by fight-
ing, he is less apt to raise greater seditions. It is entirely
so. The elder shall be enjoined both to govern and chastise
the younger. That is plain. And surely the younger, as
becomes them, shall never attempt to beat the elder, or in
any other way to offer violence to him, unless appointed by
the governors ; nor will they, I imagine, in any sort, dishonour
them; for there are sufficient guardians to hinder it — namely,
fear and reverence ; reverence on the one hand restraining them
from assaulting, as it were, their parents ; and fear on the other
hand, lest others shall assist the sufferer; sons, brothers, and
fathers. It happens so, said he. In every respect then,
according to this law, the men shall live peaceably with one
another. Very much so. And while these have no seditions
among themselves, there is no danger of the other citizens
raising disturbance against these, or that they shall split into
factions. There is not. As for the lesser evils, from which
surely they will be freed, I do not choose, because of the small-
ness of them, so much as to mention them : the flattery of the
rich ; that indigence and trouble in the education of their child-
ren, and in procuring money for the necessary support of
their family, which is the portion of the poor, — sometimes
borrowing, and sometimes hiring, and sometimes using all
manner of shifts to procure the provisions which they give to the
management of their wives and domestics, all the slavish and
mean things, my friend, they suffer in all these respects, are not
even worthy to be mentioned. And they are manifest, said he,
even to the blind. They will be delivered from all these things,
and will live more blessedly than that most blessed life which
those live who gain the prize in the Olympic games. How ?
Those are esteemed happy, on account of a small part of what
these enjoy. But the victory of these is more noble, and their
maintenance from the public is more complete ; for the victory
they gam is the safety of the whole city ; and both they and

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their children receive crowns and laurels in the shape of their
maintenance, and all the other necessaries of life, and receive
honour from their city while alive, and at their death an honour-
able funeral. The most noble rewards ! said he. Do you re-
member then, said I, that in our former reasonings, some one l
objected that we were not making our guardians happy, who,
though they had it in their power to have the whole wealth of
their citizens, had nevertheless nothing at all? and we pro-
posed to consider this afterwards, if it fell in our way ; but that
at the present we were making our guardians only guardians,
and the city itself as happy as possible, but without regarding
one particular tribe in it, with a view to make it happy. I
remember it, said he. What think you now of the life of our
auxiliaries, which appears far more noble and happy than that
of those who gain the prize at the Olympic games ? It does not
at all appear to resemble the life of the leather-cutter, the handi-
craft, or farmer. 1 do not think it, said he. But, however, it is
proper that I mention here what I likewise said on a former
occasion, that if the guardian shall attempt to be happy in such
a way as to be no longer a guardian, nor be content with this
moderate, and steady, and, as we say, best life ; but, being seized
with a foolish and youthful2 opinion about happiness, shall,
because he has it in his power, be driven to make himself the
master of everything in the city, he shall know that Hesiod was
truly wise, in saying that the half is greater than the whole. If
he take me, said he, for his counsellor, he will remain in such a
life. You allow then, said I, that the women are to act in
common with the men, as we have explained, with respect to
education and the breeding of children, and the guardianship
of the other citizens ; and whether they remain in the city, or
go forth to war, they ought to keep guard, and to hunt as dogs
do along with the men, and in every case to take a share in all
things as far as they can ; and that while they do these things
they will do what is best, and no way contrary to the nature of

1 Adimantus, at the commencement of the Fourth Book.

2 Compare Schopenhauer, who says that happiness is only a delusion
of youth and childhood.

148 THE REPUBLIC.

the female, with respect to the male, by which nature they are
made to act jointly with one another. I agree, said he. Does
not then this, said I, remain to be discussed, whether it be
possible that this community take place among men ; as among
other animals? and how far it is possible. You have antici-
pated me, said he, in mentioning what I was going to ask.
With relation to warlike affairs, it is plain, I imagine, said I,
how they will fight. How ? said he. That they will jointly go
out on their military expeditions, and besides will carry along
with them such of their children as are grown up, that, like
those of other craftsmen, they may see what it will be necessary
for them to practise when they are grown up; and, besides
seeing, that they may serve and administer in everything with
relation to the war, and assist both their fathers and mothers.
Or, have you not observed what happens in the common arts ?
as, for instance, that the children of the potters, ministering to
them for a long time, look on before they apply themselves to
the making of earthen ware ? Yes, indeed. Now are such as
these or our guardians to instruct their children with greater
care, by the practice and view of what belongs to their office ?
To suppose those, replied he, should take greater care than our
guardians, were ridiculous. Again, every creature fights more
remarkably in the presence of its offspring. The case is so;
but there is no small danger, Socrates, when they are defeated,
as is often the case in war, that when their children, as well as
themselves, are cut off, it shall be impossible to raise another
city. You say true, replied I ; but do you imagine we ought,
first of all, to take care never to run any risk. No, by no
means. What then, if they are at all to hazard themselves in
any case, is it not where, if they succeed, they shall become
better men ? That is plain. But do you imagine it a small
matter, and not worthy of the risk, whether children, who are
destined to be military men, see affairs relating to war, or not ?
No ; it is a matter of consequence with respect to what you
mention. We must, then, first endeavour to make our children
spectators of the war, but contrive for them a place of safety—
and then it will be well, will it not ? Yes. Will not, said I,

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the fathers, in the first place, as being men, not be ignorant, but
understand which of the campaigns are, and which are not,
dangerous? It is likely, said he. And they will bring the
children into the one, but with respect to the other they will be
on their guard. Right. And they will probably set governors
over them, said I ; not such as are the most depraved, but such
as by experience and year:: are able leaders and pedagogues.
It is very proper. But we may say that many things have
happened contrary to expectation. Very many. With reference
therefore to such events as these, it is proper that whilst they
are children they procure wings, that so, in any necessity, they
may escape by flight. How do you mean ? said he. They
must, when extremely young, be mounted on horses, and taught
to ride on horseback, and brought to see the battle, not on
high-mettled and warlike horses, but on the fleetest, and those
that are the most obedient to the rein ; for thus they shall, in
the best manner, observe their proper work, and, on any
necessity, shall escape with the greatest safety, following the
aged leaders. You seem to me, said he, to say right.

But what, said I, as to the affairs of war? how are you to
manage your soldiers, both with respect to one another and
their enemies ? have I imagined rightly or not ? As to what ?
said he. That whoever of them, said I, leaves his rank, throws
away his arms, or does any such thing from cowardice, must he
not be made an artisan or land-labourer ? By all means. And
shall not the man who is taken alive by the enemy be given
gratis to any who incline to employ him in the country just as
they please ? By all means. And are you of opinion that he
who gains a character, and excels, ought, in the first place, in
the expedition itself, to be crowned in some measure by every
one of the youths and boys who are his fellow-soldiers ? or think
you otherwise ? I am of opinion, for my part, they ought to be
crowned. And be shaken by the right hand likewise ? This
likewise. But this further, I imagine, said I, you will not be
satisfied about. What? That they should embrace and be
embraced by every one. They should most of all, said he: and
I would add to this law, that whilst they are upon this expedi-

THE REPUBLIC.

tton no one shall be allowed to refuse them, whoever they in-
cline to embrace, so that if any happen to be in love with any
one, male or female, he may be the more eager to win the
prizes. Very well, said I; for we already said that there are
more marriages provided for the good citizen than for others,
and more frequent choice in such matters allowed them than
others, that the descendants of such an one may be as numerous
as possible.

We have already said so, replied he. But surely, even
according to Homer's opinion, it is just that such of the youth
as are brave be honoured in this way. For Homer says that
Ajax, who excelled in war, was rewarded with " whole sides of
beef," this being the most natural reward to a brave man in the
bloom of youth, by which he at the same time acquired honour
and strength. Most right, said he. We shall then obey
Homer, said I, at least, in these things. And we shall honour
the good, both at our sacrifices, and on all such occasions, in as
far as they appear to be deserving, with hymns likewise, and
with those things we lately mentioned ; and besides these things,
with seats, and dishes, and full cups ; that at the same time we
may both honour and exercise the virtue of worthy men and
women. You say well, replied he. Be it so. If any one of
those who die in the army shall have distinguished himself,
shall we not, in the first place, say that he is of the golden race ?
Most especially. And shall we not believe Hesiod, telling us,
that when any of these die,

" Good, holy, earthly daemons, they become,
Expelling evils, guardians of mankind ? "

We shall believe him. And we shall ask the oracle in what
manner we ought to bury superhuman and divine men, and with
what marks of distinction ; and thus shall we bury them in that
very manner which shall be explained. Why shall we not?
And we shall in all after time reverence and worship their
tombs as those of daemons. And we shall enact by law, that
the same things be performed, and in the same manner, to any
who shall have been deemed to have remarkably distinguished

THE REPUBLIC. 151

themselves in life, when they die of old age, or anything else ?
It is right, said he.

But what now ? How shall our soldiers behave towards their
enemies ? As to what? First, as to the custom of slavery. Do
you think it just that Greeks should enslave Greek cities? or
rather, as far as they are able, not suffer any other to do it, and
accustom themselves to spare the Grecian tribes, and so be on
their guard against being enslaved by the Barbarians? It is,
said he, in general, and in every particular case, best to be
sparing. Are they not to acquire any Grecian slave themselves,
and to counsel the other Greeks to act in the same manner ?
By all means, said he. They will the more, at least, by such a
conduct, turn themselves against the Barbarians, and abstain
from one another. Again, to strip the dead, said I, of anything
ut their arms after they conquer them, is it noble or not ? It
gives a pretence to cowards not to go against the enemy who is
alive, as being necessarily occupied when they are thus employed
about the one who is dead ; and many armies have been lost by
this plundering. Very many. And does it not appear to you to
be illiberal and sordid, and the part of a womanish and little
mind, to strip the dead body, and deem the body of the deceased
an enemy, when the real enemy is fled away, and there is only left
behind that with which he fought ? Or, do you imagine that they
who act in this manner are in any way different from dogs, who
are in a rage at the stones which are thrown at them, not touch-
ing the man who throws them ? Not in the least, said he. We
must let alone then this stripping the dead, and these hind-
rances arising from the carrying off booty. Truly, said he,
these must be banished. Nor shall we at any time bring their
arms into the temples, to dedicate them ; at least not the arms
of Grecians, if we have any concern to obtain the benevolence
of the other Greeks : but we shall rather be afraid, lest it should
be a kind of profanation to bring into the temple such things as
these from our own kinsman, unless the oracle shall say other-
wise. Most right, replied he. But, with reference to the laying
waste Grecian lands, and burning of houses, how shall your
soldiers behave towards their enemies ? I should be glad, said

152 THE REPUBLIC.

he, to hear you signifying your opinion. Truly then, said I, in
my opinion, neither of these ought to be done, but only one
year's produce to be carried off. And would you have me tell
you the reason why this should be done ? By all means. It
appears to me, that as these two words, war and sedition, are
different, so they are two different things which are signified by
them: I call them two different things, because the one is
domestic and against relations, the other foreign and against
strangers. When hatred is among ourselves, it is called sedi-
tion; when it respects foreigners, it is called war. What you
say, replied he, is no way unreasonable. But consider now, if I
say this likewise reasonably : for I aver that the Greek nation is
friendly and akin to itself, but is foreign and strange to the
Barbarian. That too is right. When then the Greeks fight
with the Barbarians, and the Barbarians with the Greeks, we
shall say they wage war, and are naturally enemies ; and this
hatred is to be called war. But when Greeks do any such
thing to Greeks, we shall say that they are friends by nature,
and that Greece in such a case is distempered, and in sedition ;
and such a hatred is to be called a sedition. I agree, said he,
to account for it in the same manner. Consider then, said I,
that in the sedition now mentioned, wherever such a thing
happens, and the city is disjointed, if they lay waste the lands,
and burn the houses of one another, how destructive the sedition
appears, and neither of them seem to be lovers of their country :
for otherwise they would never dare to lay waste their nurse
and mother; but it would suffice the victors to carry off the
fruits of the vanquished, and to consider they are to be recon-
ciled, and not perpetually to be at war. This indeed is by much
a more mild sentiment than the other.

But what now? said I. Is not this city you are establishing a
Greek one? It should be so, replied he. And shall not they
be good and mild ? By all means. And shall they not be
lovers of Greeks ? And shall they not account Greece akin to
them ? And shall they not have the same religious rites with
the rest of the Greeks ? By all means. A difference then with
Greeks, as with kinsmen, will they not denominate a sedition,

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and not a war ? They will. And they will behave as those who
are to be reconciled ? By all means. They shall then be mild
and moderate, not punishing so far as to enslave or destroy,
since they are moderate, and not hostile. Just so, said he.
Neither then, as they are Greeks, will they lay waste Grecian
lands, nor burn their houses ; nor will they allow that in every
city all are their enemies, men, women, and children ; but that
always a few only are enemies, the authors of the quarrel : and
on all these accounts they will neither choose to lay waste
lands, as the greatest number are their friends ; nor will they
overturn the houses, but will only carry on the war till the
guilty be obliged by the innocent, whom they distress, to make
reparation. I agree, said he, that we ought to behave so towards
our own citizens when we are set against one another; and to
behave so towards the Barbarians as the Greeks at present do
to one another. Let us then likewise establish this law for our
guardians, — neither to lay waste the lands, nor burn the houses.
Let us establish it, said he, and this further, that these things,
and those too you mentioned formerly, are right.

But it appears to me, Socrates, if we allow you to speak in
this manner, that you will never remember what you formerly
passed by, when you entered on all that you have now said;
viz., how far such a government is possible ? and in what way
it is at all possible ? For, if it be at all possible, I will allow
that all these good things will belong to that city, and the
following likewise which you have omitted ; — that they will, in
the best manner, fight against their enemies, and of all others
least abandon one another, recognising these names, and
calling one another by these, — fathers, sons, and brothers;
and if the females shall encamp along with them, whether
in the same rank, or drawn up behind them, that they will
strike terror into their enemies, and at the same time assist,
if ever there be necessity for it. I know that in this way they
will entirely be invincible. And I plainly see too what advan-
tages they have at home, which we have omitted. But speak no
more about this government, as I admit that all these, and ten
thousand other things, will belong to it, if it actually exist. But

154 THE REPUBLIC.

let us endeavour to persuade one another of this itself, whether
it be possible, and in what respect it is so ; and let us omit those
other things. You have suddenly, said I, made an assault on
my reasoning, and make no allowance for one who is fighting ;
for perhaps you do not advert, that, with difficulty, I am escaped
from two waves, and now you are bringing upon me the greatest
and most dangerous of the three. After you have seen and
heard this, you will entirely forgive me; allowing, that I with
reason grudged, and was afraid to mention so great a theory,
and undertake to examine it. The more, said he, you mention
these things, the less you will be freed from explaining in what
respect this government is possible. Proceed then, and do not
delay. Must not this then, said I, in the first place, be remem-
bered, that we are come hither in search of justice, what it is ?
and what injustice is ? It must, said he. But what is this to
the purpose ? Nothing. But if we discover what justice is,
shall we then judge that the just man ought in no respect to
differ from it, but in every respect to be such as justice is?
or shall we be satisfied if he approach the nearest to it, and,
of all, partake of it the most ? We shall, said he, be satisfied
with this. Our design, said I, was to inquire into what kind of
thing justice is ; and we likewise were in quest of a just man ;
and consider what sort of man he should be, if he did exist.
We likewise inquired what injustice is, and what too was
the most unjust man — in order that, looking into these two
models, what kind of men they appeared with respect to
happiness and its opposite, we might be obliged to acknowledge
concerning ourselves, that whoever should most resemble them
in character shall have a fortune the most resembling theirs;
and it was not to this end, to show that these things are possible
or not. In this, said he, you say true. Do you imagine then
that the painter is in any degree the less excellent, who having
painted a model of the most beautiful man, and brought every-
thing fully into his piece, is yet unable to show that such a man
does really exist ? No, said he, I do not. What then, have we
not made in our reasonings (shall we say) a model of a good
city ? Yes, indeed. Have we then spoken anything the worse,

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do you imagine, on this account, that we are not able to show,
that it is possible for such a city as we have described to be
established ? No, indeed, said he. This then, said I, is the
truth of the case. But if I must now likewise, on your account,
hasten to show how especially, and in what respects, it is most
possible, then in order to forward this discovery, you must again
grant the same things as formerly. What things ? Is it possible
for anything to be executed so perfectly as it is described ? or,
is it the nature of practice, to approach as near the truth as
theory. Though some may think otherwise, do you say if you
will admit this or not ? I allow it, said he. Do not then oblige
me to show you that all these things, in every respect, exist in
fact as perfectly as we have described in our reasoning ; but if
we be able to find out how a city may be established as nearly
as possible like what we have mentioned, you will say we have
discovered that these things which you require are possible ? Or
will you not even be satisfied if this be obtained ? For my own
part, I should be satisfied. And I too, said he. We are now,
it seems, in the next place, to endeavour to find out and to show
what is the evil which is now practised in cities through which
they are not established in this manner we have described ;
and what is that smallest change, which, if made, would
bring the city to this model of government ; and let us
chiefly see, if this can be effected by the change of one
thing; if not, by the change of two; and if not then, by the
change of the fewest things in number, and the smallest in
power. By all means, said he. Upon the change then of
one thing, said I, I am able, I think, to show that the state
can fall into this model of government. But the change is
not indeed small nor easy, yet it is possible. What is it ? said
he. I am now come, said I, to what I compared to the greatest
wave : and it shall now be mentioned, though, like a breaking
wave, it should overwhelm us, with excessive laughter and
unbelief. Consider what I am going to say. Proceed, replied
he. Unless either philosophers, said I, govern in cities, or those
who are at present called kings and governors philosophise
genuinely and sufficiently, and these two, the political power

156 THE REPUBLIC.

and philosophy, unite in one; and unless the bulk of those
who at present pursue each of these separately are of necessity
excluded from either, there shall be no end, Glauco, to the
miseries of cities, nor yet, as I imagine, to those of the human
race; nor till then, shall ever this republic, which we have
gone over in our reasonings, spring up to a possibility, and
behold the light of the sun. But this is that which all along
made me grudge to mention it, for I saw what a paradox I
was to utter: for it is difficult to be convinced that in no
other way but this can a republic enjoy happiness, whether
in public or private. You have thrown out, Socrates, said he,
such an expression and argument, as, you may imagine, will
bring on you a great many opponents, and these desperate
enough to throw off their clothes, and, naked, to snatch what-
ever weapon fortune affords each of them ; and, as if they were
to perform prodigies, rush upon you in battle array. And
unless, mowing them down with argument, you make your
escape, you will pay for it by suffering most severe ridicule.
Are not you the cause of all this ? said I. Yes, and rightly,
replied he. However, in this affair, I will not betray you,
but defend you with such things as I am able. And perhaps
both by my goodwill and by encouraging you, I may answer
your questions more carefully than any other; only do you
endeavour, with the help of such an assistant, to show those
who are backward to believe these things, that the case really
is as you represent it.

I must endeavour, said I, since even you afford so great
an alliance. And here it seems to me to be necessary, if we
are anyhow to make our escape from those you mention,
accurately to define to them what kind of men these are
whom we call philosophers, when we dare to assert that
they alone ought to govern; in order that, when they are
made perfectly manifest, any one may be able to defend
himself, when he asserts that to these it naturally belongs
both to apply themselves to philosophy, and likewise to take
upon them the government of the state: while the duty of
others is to apply themselves neither to philosophy nor

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government, but to obey their leaders. It is proper, said
he, to define them. Come, then, follow me this way,
and see if together we shall sufficiently explain this matter.
Lead on then, said he. Will it then be needful, said I,
to remind you, or do you remember it, that when we say
of any one, that he loves anything, when we speak with pro-
priety, he must not appear to love one part of it, and not
another, but to have an affection for the whole ? I need, it
seems, replied he, to be put in mind ; for I do not understand it
erfectly. It might become another, Glauco, replied I, to say
hat you say ; but it does not become a man like you to forget
hat a susceptible lover of boys is charmed by all those who are
in their bloom, and thinks that they are all worthy of attentions
and addresses. Or do you not behave in this manner towards
those you love ? One, although flat-nosed, you will commend
s appearing pleasant ; and the hook-nose of another, you say,
s princely ; and a nose which is between these is according to
the exactest symmetry : the dark you say to be manly to behold ;
and the fair to be the children of the Gods : and the appellation
of olive-pale, do you imagine it is the invention of any other
than of a flattering lover, and one who easily bears with the
paleness, provided it is in the bloom of youth ? And, in a word,
you make all kinds of pretences, and say everything so as never
to reject any one who is of the flowering age ? If you incline,
said he, to judge by me of other lovers, that they act in this
manner, I agree to it for the sake of the argument. And, said
I, with respect to the lovers of wine ; do you not observe them
acting in the same manner, cheerfully drinking every kind of
wine upon every pretext ? Yes, indeed. And you have per-
ceived, I imagine, that the ambitious likewise, if they cannot
obtain the command of a whole army, will take the third com-
mand ; and, if they cannot be honoured by greater and better
men, are content if they be honoured by the lower and more
contemptible, being desirous of honour at any rate? It is
perfectly so. Agree to this or not : if we say, one is desirous of
anything, shall we say that he desires the whole species, or that
he desires one part of it, but not another ? The whole, replied

158 THE REPUBLIC.

he. Shall we not then likewise say, that the philosopher is
desirous of wisdom, and that not of one part only, but of the
whole ? True. He then who is averse to disciplines, especially
if he be young, and has not at all understanding to discern what
is good, and what is otherwise, shall not be called a lover of
learning, nor a philosopher ; in the same manner as we say of
one who is disgusted with meats, that he neither hungers after
nor desires meats, nor is a lover but a hater of them. And we
shall say right. But the man who readily inclines to taste of
every discipline, and with pleasure enters on the study of it,
and is insatiable of it, this man we shall with pleasure call a
philosopher; shall we not ? On this Glauco said, There will be
many such philosophers as those very absurd ; for all your
lovers of shows appear to me, to be of this kind, from their
taking a pleasure in learning: and those who love to hear
stories are the most curious of all to be reckoned among philo-
sophers. These indeed would not unwillingly attend such
reasonings, and such a disquisition as this. But yet, as if they
had hired out their ears to listen to every chorus, they run about
to the Bacchanalia, omitting neither those of cities nor villages.
Shall all these then, and others studious of such things, and
those who apply to the inferior arts, be called by us philosophers?
By no means, said I, but sham philosophers. But whom, said
he, do you call the true ones ? Those, said I, who are desirous
of discerning the truth. This, likewise, said he, is right. But how
do you mean ? It is not easy, said I, to tell it to another; but
you, I imagine, will agree with me in this. In what ? That since
the beautiful is opposite to the deformed, these are two things.
Why are they not? And if they are two, then each of them is
one. This also is granted. And the reasoning is the same
concerning justice and injustice, good and evil. And con-
cerning every other species of things the argument is the
same — that each of them is one in itself, but appears to be
many, being everywhere diversified by their communication
with action and body, and with one another. You say right,
said he. In this manner then, said I, I separate these, and set
apart those you now mentioned, the lovers of public shows, of

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handicrafts, and mechanics; and then apart from these I set
those of whom we discourse at present, whom alone we may
properly call philosophers. What do you mean? replied he.

PThe lovers of common stories and of spectacles delight in fine
sounds, colours, and figures, and everything which is com-
pounded of these ; but the nature of beauty itself their dianoetic
part [mind] is unable to discern and admire. Indeed the case
is so, said he. But as to those then who are able to approach
this beauty itself, and to behold it as it is in itself, must they
not be few in number ? Extremely so. He then who accounts
some things beautiful, but neither knows beauty itself, nor is
able to follow if one were to lead him to the knowledge of it,
does he seem to you to live in a dream, or to be awake?

• Consider now, what is it to dream ? Is it not this, when a man,
whether asleep or awake, imagines the similitude of a thing is
not the similitude, but really the thing itself which it resembles?
I for my part would say, replied he, that such a person is really
in a dream. But what now as to him who judges opposite to
this, who understands what beauty is itself, and is able to
discern both it and such things as participate of it, and neither
deems the participants to be beauty, nor beauty to be the
participants ? does such an one seem to you to live awake, or
in a dream? Perfectly awake, said he. May we not then
properly call this man's dianoetic perception, as he really
knows, knowledge, but that of the other, opinion, as he only
opines ?

By all means. But what if the person who we say only
opines things, but does not really know them, be enraged at us,
and dispute with us, alleging that what we say is not true;
shall we have any method of soothing and persuading him, in a
gentle manner, by concealing that he is not in a sound state ?
At least there is need of it, replied he. Come now, consider
what we shall say to him. Do you incline we shall interrogate
him, telling him, that if he knows anything, no one will grudge
it to him, but we shall gladly see him possessed of some know-
ledge; but only let him tell us this, does the man who has
knowledge, know something or nothing ? Do you now answer

160 THE REPUBLIC.

me for him. I will answer, said he, that he knows something.
Something which really exists, or which does not ? What
does really exist: for how can that be known which has no
real existence ? We have then examined this sufficiently,
though we might have considered it more fully; that what
really is, may be really known ; but what does not at all exist,
cannot at all be known. We have examined it most sufficiently.
Be it so. But if there be anything of such a kind, as both to
be and not to be, must it not lie between that which perfectly
is, and that which is not at all ? Between them. As to what
really is, then, is there not knowledge ? and as to that which is
not at all, is there not of necessity ignorance? And for that
which is between these, we must seek for something between
ignorance and science, if there be any such thing. By all
means. Do we say then that opinion is anything ? Why not ?
Is it a different power from science, or the same ? Different.
Is opinion then conversant about one thing, and science about
another, by virtue of the same power, or each of them by
virtue of a power of its own ? This last. Is not the power of
science conversant about what really exists, to know that it
exists ? Or rather it seems to me to be necessary to distinguish
in this manner. How? We shall say, that powers are a
certain species of real existences, by which we and everything
else do whatever we can do. Thus, I say, that seeing and
hearing are among these powers, if you understand what I
mean to call a species. I understand, said he.

Hear then what appears to me concerning them. For in a
power I do not see any colour, or figure, or any of such quali-
ties, as in many other things, by considering which I can
distinguish that some things are different from one another.
But as to a power, I regard that alone about which it is con-
versant, and what it effects ; and on this account I have called
each of these a power. And the power which is conversant
about and effects one and the same thing, I call the same
power, but that conversant about and effecting a different
thing, I call a different power: but what say you? In what
manner do you call it ? Just so, replied he. But come again,

THE REPUBLIC. 161

excellent Glauco, do you say that science is itself a certain power,
or to what class do you refer it ? I call it a power, said he, as
it is of all powers the most strong. But what now ? Shall we
call opinion a power, or refer it to some other species? By
no means a power, said he ; for that by which we form opinions
is nothing else but opinion. But you owned, some time since,
that science and opinion were not the same. How, said he,
can ever any one who possesses intellect reduce under one,
that which is infallible, and that which is not infallible ? You
say right, said I. And it is plain that we have allowed opinion
to be a different thing from science. We have. Each of
them then has naturally a different power over a different
thing. Of necessity. Science has a power over being itself, in
knowing real existence, how it exists. Yes. But we say that
opinion opines. Yes. Does it know the same thing which
science knows, and shall that which is known, and that which
is opined, be the same? or is this impossible? Impossible,
said he, from what we have allowed : since they are naturally
powers of different things, and both of them are powers,
opinion and science, and each of them different from the other,
as we have said; from these things it cannot be, that what is
opined is the same with that which is known. If then being
itself be known, must it not be different from the being which
is perceived by opinion ? Different. Does he then who
opines, opine that which has no existence ? Or is it impossible
to opine that which doth not exist at all ? Consider now, does
not the man who opines, refer his opinion to somewhat ? Or
is it possible to opine, and yet opine nothing at all? Impos-
sible. But whoever opines, opines some one thing. Yes.
But surely that which does not exist, cannot be called any one
thing, but most properly nothing at all. Certainly so. But we
necessarily referred ignorance to that which does not exist, but
knowledge to real existence. Right, said he. Neither there-
fore does he opine being, nor yet that which is not. He does
not. Opinion then is neither knowledge, nor is it ignorance.
It appears it is not. Does it then exceed these, either
knowledge in perspicuity, or ignorance in obscurity? It does

II

1 62 THE REPUBLIC.

neither. Does opinion, said I, seem to you to be more
obscure than knowledge, but more perspicuous than ignorance ?
By much, said he. Does it lie between them both then?
It does. Opinion then is in the middle of these two. Entirely
so. And have we not already said, that if anything appeared of
such a kind, as at the same time to be, and yet not to be, such
a thing would lie between that which has really an existence,
and that which does not at all exist, and that neither science nor
ignorance would be conversant about it, but that which appeared
to be between ignorance and science ? Right. And now that
which we call opinion, has appeared to be between them. It has
appeared. It yet remains for us, it seems, to discover that which
participates of both these, of being, and of non-being, and which
with propriety cannot be called either ; so that if it appear to be
that which is opined, we may justly call it so, assigning to the
extremes what is extreme, and to the middle what is in the middle.
Shall we not do thus ? Thus. These things being determined,
1 will question this worthy man, who reckons that beauty does not
exist, nor an abstract idea of beauty, which is always the same,
although this lover of beautiful objects reckons there are many
beautiful things, but can never endure to be told that there is
one beautiful, and one just, and so on. Of all these many
beautiful things, excellent man ! shall we say to him, is there
any which may not appear deformed, and of those just things
one which may not appear unjust, or of those holy things
one which may not appear profane ? No ; but of necessity,
said he, the beautiful things themselves must in some respects
appear even deformed, and the others in like manner. But
may not things which are double, really be halves as well as
doubles? Yes. And may things great and small, light and
heavy, be denominated what we call them, with more reason
than the opposite? No; but each of them, said he, always
participates of both. Then is each of these many things that
which it is said to be, or is it not? This is like the riddles at
feasts, said he, or the riddle of children about the eunuch's strik-
ing the bat, puzzling one another in what manner and how far
he strikes it. For all these things have a double meaning, and it

THE REPUBLIC, 163

is impossible to know accurately whether they are, or are not,
or both, or neither. What can you do with them then ? said I,
or have you a better class for them than a medium between
being and non-being ? For they cannot seem more obscure
than non-being, and so be more than not being, nor more per-
spicuous than being, and therefore more than being. Most
true, said he. We have then discovered, it seems, that most of
the maxims of the multitude concerning the beautiful, and those
other things, roll somehow between being and non-being. We
have accurately discovered it. But we formerly agreed, that if
any such thing should appear, it ought to be called that which
is opined, and not what is known ; and that which fluctuates
between the two is to be perceived by the power between the
two. We did. Those then who contemplate many beautiful
things, but who never perceive beauty itself; nor are able to
follow another leading them to it ; and many just things, but
never justice itself, and all other things in like manner, we will
say that they opine all things, but know none of the things
which they opine. Of necessity, said he. But what now?
Those who perceive each of the things themselves, always
existing in the same manner, and in the same respect, shall we
not say that they know, and do not opine ? Of necessity this
likewise. And shall we not say, that these embrace and love
the things of which they have knowledge, and the others the
things of which they have opinion ? For we remember, that we
said they beheld and loved fine sounds and colours, and such
things ; but that beauty itself they do not admit of as any real
being? We remember. Shall we then act wrong in calling
them lovers of opinion, rather than philosophers? And yet
they will be greatly enraged at us if we call them so. Not if
they be persuaded by me, said he; for it is not lawful to be
enraged at the truth. Those then who admire everything which
has a real being, are to be called philosophers, and not lovers
of opinion. By all means.

164 THE REPUBLIC,

BOOK VI.

THOSE now who are philosophers, said I, Glauco, and those
who are not, have, through a long compass of discourse, we
have with difficulty discovered, and what they severally are.
Because, perhaps, it was not easy, said he, in a short one. So
it appears, said I. But I still think we should have better
discovered them if it had been requisite to speak concerning
this alone, and not to have discussed that multitude of other
things, when we were to consider what difference there is
between a just life and an unjust. What then, said he, are we
to treat of next ? What else, said I, but of that which is next in
order ? Since those are philosophers who are able to pass into
contact with that which always subsists unchanging and always
the same ; and those who are not able to accomplish this, but
who wander amidst many things, and such as are every way
shifting, are not philosophers : which of these ought to be the
governors of the city ? Which way, said he, shall we determine
in this, and determine reasonably? Whichever of them, said I,
appear capable of preserving the laws and institutions of cities,
these are to be made guardians. Right, said he. This now,
said I, is certainly plain; whether a blind or quick-sighted
guardian be proper for guarding anything. It is plain, said he.
Do those appear to you to differ from the blind, those who are
deprived of the knowledge of each particular being, and have
neither a clear paradigm (example) in their soul, nor are able
(like painters, looking up to the truest paradigm, and always
referring themselves thither, and contemplating it in the most
accurate manner possible) to establish on earth just maxims of
the beautiful and just and good, if there be occasion to establish

THE REPUBLIC. 165

them, and to guard and preserve such as are already estab-
lished? No, by Zeus, said he. They do not differ much.
Shall we then appoint these to be guardians, or those who
know each being, and who in experience are nothing behind
those others, nor inferior to them in any other part of virtue ?
It were absurd, said he, to choose others, at least if these are
not deficient in other things ; for in this, which is almost the
greatest, they excel. Shall we not then speak as to this point, -
In what manner the same persons shall be able to possess both
of those things? By all means. It is then first of all necessary,
as we observed in the beginning of this discourse, thoroughly
to understand their genius ; and I think if we sufficiently agree
respecting it, we shall likewise agree that the same persons are
able to possess both these things, and that no others but these
ought to be the governors of cities. How so ? Let this now be
agreed among us concerning the philosophic geniuses, that they
are always desirous of such learning as may discover to them
that essence which always is, and is not changed by generation
or corruption. Let it be agreed. And likewise, said I, that
they are desirous of the whole of such learning, and that they
will not willingly omit any part of it, neither small nor great,
honourable or despised, as we formerly observed concerning
the ambitious, and concerning lovers. You say right, said he.
Consider then, in the next place, if, besides what we have
mentioned, it be necessary that this also should subsist in the
genius of those who are to be such as we have described. What?
That they be void of falsehood, nor willingly at any time
receive a lie; but hate it, and love the truth. It is likely, said
he. It is not only likely, my friend, but is perfectly necessary,
that one who is naturally in love with anything should love
everything allied and belonging to the objects of his affection.
Right, said he. Can you then find anything more allied to
wisdom than truth ? How can we ? said he. Is it possible then
that the same genius can be philosophic, and at the same time
a lover of falsehood ? By no means. He then who is in reality
a lover of learning, ought immediately from his infancy to be in
the greatest measure desirous of all truth. By all means. But

1 66 THE REPUBLIC.

we know that whoever has his desires vehemently flowing to
one thing, has them upon this very account running more
weakly in other directions, as a current diverted from its
channel. Yes. But whosoever hath his desires running towards
learning, and everything of this kind, would be eager, I think,
for pleasures of the mind, and would forsake bodily pleasures-
provided he be not a counterfeit, but a real philosopher. This
follows by a mighty necessity. And such an one is moderate,
and by no means a lover of money. For the reasons why
money is with so much trouble anxiously sought after, have
least weight with such an one, and cannot make him solicitous.
Certainly. And surely somehow you must likewise consider
this when you are to judge what is a philosophic genius, and
what is not. What ? That it do not without your knowledge
partake of an illiberal turn * for, pusillanimity is most opposite to
a soul which is always to pursue earnestly the whole and every-
thing of that which is divine and human. Most true, said he.
Do you then suppose that he who possesses magnificent con-
ceptions in his dianoetic part, and a contemplation of the whole
of time, and the whole of being, can possibly consider human
life as a thing of great consequence ? It is impossible, said he.
Such an one then will not account death anything terrible.
Least of all. A cowardly and illiberal genius, then, will not,
it seems, readily participate of true philosophy. It does not
appear to me that it will. What now, can the moderate man,
and one who is not a lover of money, nor illiberal, nor arrogant,
nor cowardly, ever possibly be an ill co-partner, or unjust ? It
is impossible. And you will likewise consider this, when you
are viewing from its infancy what is the philosophic soul, and
what is not, whether it be just and mild, or unsocial and savage.
By all means. Neither indeed, as I think, will you omit this.
What ? Whether it learn with facility or difficulty. Or do you
expect that ever .any one will love anything sufficiently, in per-
forming which he performs with uneasiness and with difficulty,
making small progress. It cannot be. But what if he can
retain nothing of what he learns, being quite forgetful, is it
possible for him not to be void of science ? How is it possible ?

THE REPUBLIC. 167

And when he labours unprofitably, do you not imagine he will
be obliged at last to hate both himself and such practice ? Why
must he not ? We shall never then reckon a forgetful soul
among those who are thoroughly philosophic, but we shall
require it to be of a good memory. By all means. But never
shall we say this at least, that an unmusical and indecent genius
leads anywhere else but towards intemperance. Where else?
But whether do you reckon truth allied to intemperance or to
temperance ? To temperance. Let us require then among
other things a dianoetic part naturally temperate and graceful,
as a proper guide towards spontaneously attaining the idea of
each particular being ? Why not ? What now ? Do we not in

I some measure seem to you to have discussed the necessary
qualifications, and such as are consequent to each other, in a
soul which is to apprehend being sufficiently, and in perfection ?
The most necessary, said he. Is it possible then for you in any
measure to blame such a study as this, which a man can never
be able sufficiently to apply to, unless he be naturally possessed
of a good memory, learn with facility, be magnificent, graceful,
and the friend and ally of truth, justice, fortitude, and temper-
ance ? Not even Momus himself, said he, could find fault with
such a study. But, said I, will it not be to these alone, when
they are perfected by education and age, that you will entrust
the city ?

I Here Adimantus said, Indeed, Socrates, no one is able to
contradict you as to these things; but all who hear you at
any time advancing what you do at present, are somehow
affected in this manner. Being led off a little by your
reasoning on each question, through their inexperience in this
method of question and answer, when all these littles are
collected together, at the close of your reasonings, they
reckon that the mistake appears considerable, and the con-
trary of their first concessions ; and like those who play at
talus with such as are dexterous, but are themselves unskilful,
they are in the end shut up, and can do no more; so your
hearers have nothing to say, being shut up by this other
kind of game, not with pieceSj but with your reasonings,

1 68 THE. REPUBLIC.

though the truth at least is not by this any way advanced.
I say this with reference to the present inquiry; for one may
tell you that he has nothing to oppose to each of your questions
by way of argument, but that in fact he sees that all those who
plunge into philosophy, applying to it not with this view, that
being early instructed they may be liberated from it when in
their prime, but that they may continue in it much longer,
become the most of them eccentric, not to say altogether
depraved; and those of them who appear the most worthy,
do yet suffer thus much from this study you so much com-
mend, that they become useless to the public. When I had
heard this, Do you imagine then, said I, that such as say
these things are telling a falsehood? I do not know, said he,
but would gladly hear your opinion. You would then hear that
they appear to me to say true. How then, replied he, is it
right to say that the miseries of cities shall never have an
end till they be governed by philosophers, whom we are now
acknowledging to be useless to them? You ask a question,
said I, which needs an answer through an image. And you,
said I, are not wont, I think, to speak through images. Be
it so, said I. You jest now, when you have brought me on
a subject which is so difficult to be explained. But attend
to the image, that you may see further with what difficulty I
work; for the sufferings of the most worthy philosophers in
the management of public affairs are so grievous, that there
is not any one other suffering so severe: but in making our
simile, and in apologising for them, we must collect from many
particulars, in the same manner as painters mix the figures of
two different animals together and paint a creature which is
both goat and stag in one, and others of this kind. Conceive
now that such a man as this is the pilot of a fleet, or of a
single ship; one who exceeds all in the ship, both in bulk
and in strength, but is somewhat deaf, and sees in like manner
but a short way, and whose skill in sea affairs is much of the
same kind. Conceive likewise that the sailors are all in
sedition among themselves, contending for the pilotship, each
imagining he ought to be pilot, though he never learned the

THE REPUBLIC. 169

art, nor is able to show who was his master, nor at what
time he learned it. That besides this, all of them say that
the art itself cannot be taught, and are ready to cut in
pieces any who says that it can. Imagine further, that
they continually surround the pilot himself, begging, and
doing everything that he may put the helm into their hands ;
and that even sometimes when they are not so successful
in persuading him as others are, they either kill these others,
or throw them overboard ; and after they have by mandra-
gora, or wine, or some other thing, rendered the noble pilot
incapable, they become masters of the ship and appropriate its
contents, and whilst they drink and feast, they sail as may be
expected of such people. And besides these things, if any one
be dexterous in assisting them to get the government into their
own hands, and in setting aside the pilot, either by persuasion
or force, they commend such an one, calling him sailor and
pilot, and intelligent in navigation ; but they contemn as useless
every one who is not of this kind, whilst they never in the least
think that the true pilot must necessarily pay attention to the
year, the seasons, the heavens, and stars, and winds, and every-
thing belonging to the art, if he intends to be a governor of a
ship in reality: but the art and practice of governing men,
whether some be willing or not, they think impossible for a man
to attain in conjunction with the art of navigation. Whilst
affairs are in this situation with regard to the ships, do you not
think that the true pilot will be called by the sailors aboard of
ships fitted out in this manner, a star-gazer, insignificant, and
unprofitable to them ? Undoubtedly, said Adimantus. I think
then, said I, that you will not want any explanation of the
image, to see that it represents how cities are affected towards
true philosophers, but that you understand what I mean.
Perfectly, said he. First of ail then, if any one wonders that
philosophers are not honoured in cities, tell him our image, and
endeavour to persuade him that it would be much more wonder-
ful if they were honoured, I will, replied he. And further, that
it is indeed true, what you were lately observing, that the best
of those who apply to philosophy are useless to the bulk of man-

THE REPUBLIC.

kind ; but however, bid them blame such as make no use of
these philosophers, and not these philosophers themselves. For
it is not natural for the pilot to entreat the sailors to allow him
to govern them, nor for the wise to wait at the gates of the rich.
But whoever pleasantly said this, was mistaken ; for this is truly
the natural method, that whoever is sick, whether rich or poor,
must of necessity go to the gates of the physician, and who-
ever wants to be governed must wait on him who is able to
govern ; for it is not natural that the governed who is really
of any value should entreat the governed to subject themselves
to his government. But you will not greatly err, when you com-
pare our present political governors to those sailors we now
mentioned, and those who are called by them insignificant and
star-gazers to those who are truly pilots. Most right, said he.
From hence then it would seem that the best pursuit is not
likely to be held in esteem among those who pursue studies of
an opposite nature; but by far the greatest and most violent
accusation of philosophy is occasioned by means of those who
profess to study it ; the most of whom, you say, your accuser
of philosophy calls altogether depraved, and the very best of
them of no advantage to the state ; and I admitted that you
were right, did I not ? You did. And have we not fully ex-
plained the cause why the best of them are of no advantage ?
We have. Would you choose then, that we should in the next
place explain the reason why the most of them must of
necessity be depraved, and endeavour to demonstrate, that
of this, philosophy is by no means the cause. Entirely so.
Let us attend then, and begin our reasoning, calling to mind
what we formerly observed concerning the natural genius
which necessarily belongs to the good and worthy. And what
was a leading part in it, if you remember, was truth, which he
must by all means wholly pursue, or else be a vain boaster, and
never partake of true philosophy. It was so said. Is not this
one part of his character perfectly contrary to the present
opinions of him? It is very much so, replied he. Will it not
then be a good defence, if we be able to show that the true
lover of learning naturally aspires to the knowledge of real

THE REPUBLIC. 171

being, and so far from resting in the many particular things
which are the objects of opinion, goes on, and is not dis-
couraged, nor ceases from his love of truth till he comes into
contact with the nature of everything which /!?, by that part of
the soul whose office it is to come into contact with a thing of
this kind : and when this true lover of learning approaches, and
is mingled with this he generates wisdom and truth, and then
he will have true knowledge, and truly live and be nourished,
and liberated from the pains of parturition, but not before.
This, said he, will be a most reasonable defence. What now,
will it be the part of such an one to love falsehood, or, entirely
the contrary, to hate it ? To hate it, said he. But whilst truth
indeed leads the way, we can never, I think, say that any band
of evils follows in her train. How can we? But, on the
contrary, we may aver that she is followed by sound and
moderate manners, and that these in their turn are accom-
panied by temperance. Right, said he. Need we go over
again and range in order the whole qualities of the philosophic
genius ? for you no doubt remember that there belong to men
of this character fortitude, magnanimity, facility of learning,
and memory: and when you replied that every one would be
obliged to agree to what we said, we quitted that subject, and
turned to that which is the subject of discourse at present, on
your saying that you observed some of the philosophers were
insignificant, and many of them altogether depraved. And
while we were examining into the cause of that calumny, we
are now come to this, whence it is that many of them are
depraved. And on this account we have gone over again the
genius of true philosophers, and have necessarily defined what
it is. It is so, said he. It is necessary, said I, that we now
consider the corruptions of this genius, which destroy it in
many men, and from which few escape, those who are called
not depraved, but useless. And next, what those geniuses are
which counterfeit the philosophic nature, and pretend to its
pursuit : and what is the nature of those souls who aspire to a
pursuit which does not belong to them, and is above their reach :
for these, by their manifold errors, have everywhere, and among

172 THE REPUBLIC.

all men, introduced this opinion of philosophy which you
mention. What sort of corruptions, said he, do you mean ? I
shall endeavour to rehearse them, said I, if I be able. And
this now, I think, every one will allow us, that such a genius,
with all those qualifications we have enjoined one who is to be
a perfect philosopher, rarely arises among men, and that there
are but few of them : do not you think so ? Entirely so. And
for those few, consider how many and how great are the causes
of corruption. What are they? That which is most of all
wonderful to hear, that each of those things we commended in
the genius of a philosopher, corrupts the soul which possesses
them, and withdraws it from philosophy; fortitude, I mean,
and temperance, and all those other qualifications which we
have discussed. That is strange to hear, said he. And further
still, said I, besides these things, all those which are commonly
called good, such as beauty, riches, strength of body, a powerful
alliance in the city, and everything akin to these, corrupt and
withdraw it from philosophy ; for you have now an outline of
what I mean. I have, replied he, and would gladly understand
more accurately what you say. Understand, then, said I, the
whole of it aright, and it will appear manifest, and what we
formerly said will not seem to be absurd. How, then, said he,
do you bid me act ? With respect to every kind of seed, or
plant, said I, whether of vegetables or animals, we know, that
whatever does not meet with the proper nourishment, nor
season, nor place belonging to it, the more vigorous it is by
nature, the more it is defective in the excellencies of its kind;
for evil is more opposed to good, than to that which is not
good. Why is it not? It is then reasonable, I think, to say
that the best genius, when meeting with nourishment foreign to
it, shall be more changed to what is evil, than a bad genius.
It is. And shall we not, Adimantus, said I, in the same
manner, say that souls naturally the best, when they meet with
bad education, become remarkably depraved? Or do you
think that great iniquity, and the extremest wickedness, arise
from a weak genius, and not from a vigorous one ruined in its
education ; and that weak nature will ever be the cause either

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of mighty good or evil ? I do not think it will, said he, but the
case is as you say. If then this philosophic genius, which we
have established, meet with suitable instruction, it will, I think,
necessarily grow up, and attain to every virtue; but if, when
sown in an improper soil, it grow up and be nourished accord-

Iingly, it will on the other hand become perfectly the reverse,
unless some one of the Gods afford it assistance. Or do you
think, with the multitude, that certain of the youth are corrupted
by the sophists, and that certain sophists corrupt them by private
teaching to a considerable extent ? Or think you rather, that
the persons who say these things are themselves the greatest
of sophists, conveying their instruction in the most powerful
manner, and rendering young and old, men and women, such
as they wish them to be ? When do they effect this ? replied
he. When many of them, said I, are set down, crowded
together in an assembly, in their courts of justice, the theatre,
or the camp, or any other public meeting of the people, with
much tumult they blame some of the speeches and actions,
and commend others, hooting or applauding the one and the
other beyond measure, until the rocks and the place where
they are resound, and the tumult is redoubled, whilst they thus
blame and applaud. In such a situation now, what kind of
self-possession, as we say, do you think the youth can have ?
Or what private instruction can make him withstand, so as not
to be perfectly overwhelmed by such blame or applause, and,
giving way, be borne along the stream wherever it carries him,
and say that things are beautiful and base, according as these
people say, and pursue the things they pursue, and become
of the very same kind himself? This, said he, must by an
abundant necessity happen, Socrates. But, said I, we have not
yet mentioned, what must of the greatest necessity be the case.
What is that ? said he. Thai which these instructors and
sophists superadd by action, not being able to persuade by
speech : or, do you not know, that they punish with disgraces,
and fines, and deaths, the man whom they cannot persuade ? I
know that, said he, extremely well. What other sophist then,
or what private reasonings do you think capable, drawing

174 THE REPUBLIC.

opposite to these, to overpower them ? I know none, said he.
But is it not besides, said I, great folly even to attempt it ? For
there neither is, nor was, nor ever can be, a different method
from this of regarding virtue, if the character has been thus
educated by these sophists. I mean a human method, my
friend : for a divine one, according to the proverb, I keep out of
the question: for you must know well, that you will not be
amiss in saying that whatever has been preserved, and made
such as it ought to be, in such a constitution of states, has been
preserved by a divine destiny. Nor am I, said he, of a different
opinion. But further now, besides these things, said I, you
must likewise be of this opinion. Of what ? That each of
these adventurers whom these men call sophists, and deem the
rivals of their art, teach no other things but those dogmas of the
vulgar, which they approve when they are assembled together,
and call it wisdom. Just as if a man had learned what were the
wrathful emotions and desires of a great and strong animal he
were nourishing, how it must be approached, how touched, and
when it is most fierce or most mild ; and from what causes, and
the sounds which on these several occasions it was wont to
utter, and at what sounds uttered by another, the animal is
rendered both mild and savage; and, having learned all these
things by associating with the animal for a long time, should
call this wisdom ; and, as if he had established an art, should
apply himself to the teaching it ; whilst yet, with reference to
these dogmas and desires, he knows not in reality what is
beautiful, or base, or good, or ill, or just, or unjust, but should
pronounce all these according to the opinions of the great
animal, calling those things good in which it delighted, and
that evil with which it was vexed, and should have no other
measure as to these things. Let us likewise suppose that he
calls those things which are necessary, beautiful and just, but
that he hath never discovered himself, nor is able to show to
another, the nature of the necessary and the good, how much
they really differ from each other. Whilst he is such an one,
does he not indeed appear to you a most absurd teacher? To
me he appears so, said he. And, think you, that this man does

THE REPUBLIC. 175

•

in any way differ from him who deems it wisdom to have under-
stood the anger and the pleasures of the assembled multitude,
whether with relation to painting, music, or politics ? For, if
any one converses with these, and shows them either a poem, or
any other production of art, or piece of ,'idministration respect-
ing the city, and makes the multitude the judges of it, he is under
what is called a Diomedean necessity, which is above all other
necessities, of doing whatever they commend. But have you at
any time heard any of them advance a reason that was not quite
ridiculous, to show that these things are in reality good and beauti-
ful? Nor do I think, said he, I ever shall. Whilst you attend then
to all these things, bear this in mind, that the multitude never
will admit or reckon that there is the one beautiful itself, and not
many beautifuls ; one thing itself which has a single subsistence,
and not many such things. They will be the last to do so,
replied he. It is impossible then for the multitude to be philoso-
phers. Impossible. And those who philosophise must of neces-
sity be reproached by them. Of necessity. And likewise by those
private persons, who associate with the multitude, and desire to
please them. It is plain. From this state of things now, what
safety do you see for the philosophic genius to continue in its
pursuit, and arrive at perfection ? And consider from what was
formerly said, for we have allowed that facility in learning,
memory, fortitude, and magnanimity belong to this genius.
We have. And shall not such an one, of all men, immediately
be the first in every thing, especially if he has a body naturally
adapted to the soul ? Why shall he not ? said he. And when
he becomes more advanced in age, his kindred and citizens,
I think, will incline to employ him in their affairs. WThy will
they not? And making supplications to him, and paying him
homage, they will submit to him, and anticipate and flatter
beforehand his growing power. Thus, said he, it usually
happens. What now, said I, do you think such an one will do,
in such a case, especially if he happen to belong to a great city,
and be rich, and of a noble descent, and withal beautiful and of
a large stature ? Will he not be fitted with extravagant hopes,
deeming himself capable of managing both the affairs of Greeks

176 THE REPUBLIC.

and Barbarians, and on these accounts carry himself loftily,
without any solid judgment, full of ostentation and vain conceit ?
Extremely so, replied he. If one should gently approach a man
of this disposition, and tell him the truth, that he has no judg-
ment, yet needs it ; and that it is not to be acquired but by one
who subjects himself to this acquisition, do you think that, with
all these evils about him, he would be ready to hearken ? Far
from it, said he. If now, said I, through a good natural temper,
and an innate disposition to reason, such an one should be made
sensible, and be bent and drawn towards philosophy, what do
we imagine those others will do, when they reckon they shall
lose his company, and the benefit which they are to receive from
him ? Will they not by every action, and every speech, say and do
everything that the man do not suffer himself to be persuaded ;
and to his adviser, to render him incapable by ensnaring him in
private, and bringing him to public trial ? This, said he, must
of necessity happen. Is it likely now such an one will philoso-
phise ? By no means. You see then, said I, that we were not
wrong when we said that even the very parts of the philosophic
genius, when they meet with bad education, are in some
measure the cause of a falling-off from this pursuit, as well as
those vulgarly reputed benefits of riches, and all pomp of this
kind. We were not, replied he, but it was rightly said. Such
then, said I, admirable friend ! is the ruin, such and so great
the corruption of the best genius for the noblest pursuit, a
genius which besides is but rarely found, as we observed;
and from among such as these come the men, who do the
greatest mischiefs to cities, and to private persons, and
likewise they who do the greatest good, such as happen to
be drawn to this side. But a little genius never did any-
thing remarkable to any one, neither to a private person nor
to a city. Most true, said he. These indeed, then, whose
business it chiefly was to apply to philosophy, having thus
fallen off, leaving her desolate and imperfect, lead themselves
a life neither becoming nor genuine; whilst other unworthy
persons, intruding themselves on philosophy, abandoned so
to say by her kindred, have disgraced her, and loaded her

THE REPUBLIC. 177

with reproaches, such as these you say her reproachers
reproach her with — viz., that of those who converse with
her, some are of no value, and most of them worthy of the
greatest punishments. These things, replied he, are com-
monly said. And with reason, replied I, they are said. For
other contemptible men seeing the field unoccupied, and that
the possession of it is attended with dignities and honourable
names, like persons who make their escape for refuge from
prisons to temples, these likewise gladly leap from their
handicrafts to philosophy; I mean such of them as are of
the greatest address in their own little art. For, even in
this situation of philosophy, her remaining dignity, in com-
parison with all the other arts, still surpasses in magnificence ;
of which dignity many are desirous, who by natural disposition
are unfit for it, and whose bodies are not only deformed by their
arts and handicrafts, but whose souls also are in like manner
confused, and crushed by their life of labour. Must it not of
necessity be so ? Undoubtedly, said he. Does it then appear
to you, said I, that they are any way different in appearance
from a bald and puny blacksmith, who has made a little money,
has been recently liberated from chains, and washed in the
bath, with a new robe on him, just decked out as a bride-
groom, presuming to marry the daughter of his master,
encouraged by the poverty and forlorn circumstances with
which he sees him oppressed? There is, said he, no great
difference. What sort of a race must such as these
produce? Must it not be bastardly and abject? By an
abundant necessity. But what now? When men who are
unworthy of instruction apply to it, and are conversant in
it, in an unworthy manner, what kind of sentiments and
opinions shall we say are produced ? Must they not be
such as ought properly to be termed sophisms, a bastard
crew that possess nothing genuine, or worthy of true con-
sideration?1 By all means so, replied he. A very small
number now, said I, Adimantus, remains of those who
worthily are conversant in philosophy, who happen either to
1 Perhaps the reading should be, " possess no genuine insight."

178 THE REPUBLIC.

be detained somehow in banishment, and whose generous and
well-cultivated disposition persists in the study of philosophy,
being removed from everything which tends to corrupt it;
or else when, in a small city, a mighty soul arises, who
despises the honours of the state, entirely neglects them,
and likewise with justice despises any small thing arising
from the other arts.1 Some of these the bridle of our
friend Theages will be sufficient to restrain; for Theages is
restrained by his health, which excludes him from public
life, though all other things would induce him to leave
philosophy alone. As to my own genius, it is not worth
while to mention the daemonical sign ; for certainly it has
happened heretofore to few, or none. And even of these few,
such as are tasting, and have tasted, how sweet and blessed
is the acquisition of philosophy; and have withal sufficiently
seen the madness of the multitude, and how none of them, as I
may say, effects anytiiing salutary in the affairs of cities, and
that there is no ally with whom he might go to the assist-
ance of the just and be safe; and that he is like one falling
among wild beasts — being neither willing to join them in
injustice, nor able, as he is but one, to oppose the whole savage
crew, and who, before he can benefit the city or his friends, is
destroyed, and is unprofitable both to himself and others: —
reasoning on all these things, lying quiet, and attending to his
own affairs, as in a tempest, when the dust is driven, and the
sea agitated by winds, standing under a wall, beholding others
overwhelmed in iniquity, he is satisfied if he shall himself
anyhow pass his life here pure from injustice and unholy deeds,
and make his exit hence in good hopes cheerful and benignant.
And he shall make his exit, said he, after having done not the
least important matters. Nor the greatest either, said I, whilst
he has not met with a republic that is suitable to him ; for, in a
suitable one, he shall both make a greater proficiency himself, and
shall preserve the affairs of private persons as well as of the public.
It appears then, to me, that we have now sufficiently told
whence it happens that philosophy is accused, and unjustly so,
* This is Taylor's rendering of this passage, slightly altered.

II
II

THE REPUBLIC. 179

unless you have something else to offer. No, said he, I say
nothing further about this point. But which of the present
republics do you say is adapted to philosophy? Not one
indeed, said I, but this is what I complain of, that there is no
constitution of a city at present worthy of the philosophic genius,
which is therefore turned and altered, as a rare seed sown in an
improper soil, which degenerates to what is usually produced in
that soil. After the same manner this race, as it has not at
present its proper power, degenerates to a foreign species : but
should it meet with the best republic, which therefore corre-
sponds with the best individual type, then shall it indeed
discover that it is really divine, and that all besides are human,
both as to their genius and their pursuits. But now you seem
plainly to be going to ask which is this republic. You are
mistaken, said he ; for this I was not going to ask : but whether
it was this which we have described in establishing our city, or
another. In all things, said I, except one, and this very thing
was formerly mentioned, that there must always be in the city
something which shall have the same regard for the republic
which you the legislator have when you establish the laws.
It was mentioned, said he. But it was not, said I, made
sufficiently plain, through fears which preoccupied you, when
you signified that the illustration of the thing would be both
tedious and difficult; and it is not indeed altogether easy to
discuss this remaining part. What is that ? In what manner a
city shall attempt philosophy and not be destroyed; for all
grand things are dangerous, and, as the saying is, fine things
are truly difficult. But however, said he, let our disquisition be
completed in making this evident. Want of inclination, said I,
shall not hinder, though want of ability may. And being
present, you shall know my alacrity, and consider now how
eadily and adventurously I am going to say, that a city
ought to attempt this study in a way opposite to that present.
How? At present, said I, those who engage in it are
striplings, who immediately from their childhood, amidst
their domestic affairs and lucrative employments, apply them-
selves for a moment to the most abstruse parts of philosophy

i So THE REPUBLIC.

(that is Dialectic), and then throw it up, thinking- themselves
consummate philosophers. And in after time, if, when they are
invited by others who practise this art, they are pleased to
become hearers, they think it a great condescension, reckoning
they ought to do it as a by-work : — but when they approach to
old age, besides some few, they are extinguished much more
' than the Heraclitean sun, because they are never again re-
kindled. l But how should they act ? said he. Quite the
reverse. Whilst they are lads and boys they should apply to
juvenile instruction and philosophy, and take proper care of
their body, whilst it shoots and grows to firmness, thus pro-
viding for philosophy a proper assistant : and then, as that age
advances in which the soul begins to be perfected, they ought
vigorously to apply to her exercises; and when strength decays,
and is no longer adapted for civil and military employments,
they should then be dismissed, and live at pleasure, and except-
ing a by-work, do nothing else but philosophise, if they propose
to live happy, and, when they die, to possess in the other world
a destiny adapted to the life they have led in this. How truly,
said he, Socrates, do you seem to me to speak with zeal ! Yet,
I think, the greater part of your hearers will still more zealously
oppose you, and by no means be persuaded, and that Thrasy-
machus will be the first of them. Do not divide, said I,
Thrasymachus and me, who are now become friends ; nor were
we enemies heretofore. For we shall no way desist from our
attempts, till we either persuade both him and the rest, or make
some advances towards that life at which when they arrive they
shall again meet with such discourses as these. You have
spoken, said he, but a short time. None at all, said I, with
respect at least to the whole of time : but that the multitude are
not persuaded by what is said, is not wonderful ; for they have
never at any time seen existing what has now been mentioned,
but rather such discourses as have been industriously composed,
and have not fallen in spontaneously as these do at present.

1 Heracleitus (the " weeping " or "obscure " philosopher : B.C. 510)
taught that the sun was extinguished every evening and relit each
morning.

THE REPUBLIC. 181

But as for the man who has arrived at the model of virtue, and
is rendered similar to it in the most perfect manner possible
both in word and in deed, they have never at any time seen
such a man, neither one nor more of the kind. Or do you
think they have? By no means. Neither yet, O blessed man 1
have they sufficiently attended to beautiful and liberal reasonings,
so as ardently to investigate the truth, by every method, for the
sake of knowing it, saluting only at a distance such intricate
and contentious debates, as tend to nothing else but to opinion
and strife, both in their courts of justice and in their private
meetings. The case is just so, replied he. On these accounts
then, said I. and foreseeing these things, we were formerly
afraid. However, being compelled by the truth, we did assert,
that neither city nor republic, nor even a man in the same way,
would ever become perfect, till some necessity of fortune oblige
these new philosophers, who are at present called not depraved,
but useless, to take the government of the city whether they
will or not, and compel the city to be obedient to them ; or till
the sons of those who are now in the offices of power and
magistracies, or they themselves, by some divine inspiration, be
possessed with a genuine love of genuine philosophy : and I
aver that no one has reason to think that either of these, or
both, are impossible ; for thus might we justly be laughed at, as
saying things which are otherwise only similar to wishes. Is it
not so? It is. If then, in the infinite series of past ages, the
greatest necessity has obliged men that have arrived at the
summit of philosophy to take the government of a state, or such
men now govern in some barbarous region, remote from our
observation, or shall hereafter, we are ready in that case to
contend in our reasoning, that this republic we have described
has existed and subsists, and shall arise at least when this our
muse has obtained the government of the state : for this is
neither impossible to happen, nor do we speak of impossibilities,
though we ourselves confess that they are difficult. I am like-
wise, said he, of the same opinion. But you will say, replied I,
that the multitude do not think so too. It is likely, said he. O
blessed man ! said 1, do not thus altogether accuse the multi-

182 THE REPUBLIC.

tude ; but, whatever opinion they may have, without upbraiding
them, but rather encouraging them, and removing the reproach
thrown on philosophy, point out to them the persons you call
philosophers, and define distinctly, as at present, both their
genius and their pursuits, that they may not think you speak of
such as they call philosophers ; or if they mean the same men,
you will tell them they have conceived a different opinion of the
men from what you have, and give very different answers about
them from yours. Or, do you think that a gentle and quiet
man can be enraged at another, who is not in a passion? or
that a man shall envy the envious, who is himself both void of
envy, and is of a mild disposition ? — I will prevent you, and say
that I think there is in some few such a naturally bad temper,
but hot in the greater part of mankind. I likewise, said he,
think so. Are you not then of the same opinion with me in
this ? That these men are the cause of the multitude being ill
affected towards philosophy, men who openly revile what is
no way becoming them, behaving in a scoffing and distasteful
manner towards the multitude, always making discourses about
particular men, and doing what is least of all becoming
philosophy. Certainly, said he. For somehow, Adimantus,
the man at least who really applies his dianoetic part to true
being has not leisure to look down to the little affairs of
mankind, and, in fighting with them, to be filled with envy and
ill-nature. On the contrary, beholding and contemplating such
objects as are orderly, and always subsist in the same manner,
such as neither injure nor are injured by each other, but are
in all respects beautiful, and according to reason, these he
imitates and resembles as far as possible; or, do you think it
possible by any contrivance that a man should not imitate that,
in conversing [associating] with which he is filled with admira-
tion ? It is impossible, replied he. The philosopher then who
converses with that which is decorous and divine, as far as is
possible for man, becomes himself decorous and divine. But
calumny is powerful in everything. It is. If then, said I, he be
under any necessity, not merely of forming himself alone, but
likewise of endeavouring to introduce anything he beholds there

THE REPUBLIC. 183

among mankind, in order to form their manners, both in private
and in public life, would he prove, think you, a bad artist of
temperance and of justice, and of every social virtue ? Not at
all, said he. But if now the multitude perceive that we speak
the truth of such an one, will they be angry at philosophers,
and disbelieve us when we say. that the city can never other-
wise be happy unless it be drawn by those painters who follow
a divine original ? They will not be angry, said he, if they
perceive it : but what method of painting do you mean ? When
they have obtained, said I, the city and the manners of men as
their canvas, they would first make it pure [white] ; which is not
Itogether an easy matter. But in this, you know, they differ
rom other artists, that they are unwilling to meddle either with
private man or city, or to prescribe laws, till they either
eceive a pure canvas, or purify it themselves. And rightly,
said he. And after this, do not you think they will draw a
sketch of the republic? Why not? Afterwards, I think, as
they proceed in their work, they will frequently look both ways,
both to what is naturally just and beautiful, and temperate and
the like; and likewise again to that which they can establish
among mankind, blending and compounding their human form
from different human characters and pursuits, drawing from
this which Homer calls the divine likeness, and the divine
resemblance subsisting among men. Right, said he. They

K-vill then, I think, strike out one thing and insert another, till
hey have rendered human manners, as far as is possible, dear
-o the Gods. It will thus, said he, be the most beautiful picture.
Do we now then, said I, any way persuade these men, who, you
said, were coming upon us in battle array, that such a painter
of republics is the man we then recommended to them, and on
whose account they were enraged at us, that we committed
cities to him, and will they now be more mild when they hear
us mentioning it ? Certainly, said he, if they be wise : for what
is there now they can further question? Will they say that
philosophers are not lovers of real being and of truth ? That,
said he, were absurd. Or that their genius, as we described it,
is not allied to that which is best? Nor this neither. What

184 THE REPUBLIC.

then? Whilst their genius is such as this, and meets with
suitable exercises, shall it not become as perfectly good and
philosophic, as any can be? or, will they say those are more
so whom we set aside? Not at all. Will they still then be
enraged at us when we say that till the philosophic race have
the government of the city, neither the miseries of the city nor
of the citizens shall have an end, nor shall this republic, which
we speak of in the way of fable, arrive in reality at perfection ?
Perhaps, said he, they will be less enraged. Are you willing,
said I, that we say of them, not that they are less enraged at
us, but that they are altogether appeased, and persuaded, by
our shaming them into consent, if by nothing else? By all
means, said he. We will then, said I, consider them persuaded
of this. But is there any one who will call this into question,
that those of the philosophic genius can spring from kings and
sovereigns? Not one, said he, would allege that. Or though
such were born with a philosophic genius, may one say they
are under a great necessity of being corrupted? — for indeed
that it is a difficult matter for these geniuses to be preserved
untainted, even we ourselves agree. But is there any one who
will contend that in the infinite series of time, of the whole of
the human race, there should never be so much as a' single one
preserved pure and untainted ? How can there be any one ?
But surely, said I, a single one is sufficient, if he exists, and has
a city subject to him, to accomplish everything now so much
disbelieved. He is sufficient, said he. And when the governor,
said I, has established the laws and customs we have recited,
it is not at all impossible that the citizens should be willing to
obey him. Not at all. But is it wonderful or impossible, that
what appears to us should also appear to others ? I do not
think it, said he. And that these things are best, if they be
possible, we have sufficiently, as I think, explained in the pre-
ceding part of our discourse. Sufficiently indeed. So then it
seems we are agreed about our legislation; that the laws we
mention are the best, if they could exist ; and that though it is
difficult to establish them, it is not, however, impossible. We
are agreed, said he.

THE REPUBLIC. 185

After this has with difficulty been brought to a conclusion,
shall we not in the next place consider what follows ? In what
manner, and from what disciplines and studies, they shall
become the preservers of our republic ? and in what periods of
life they shall each of them apply to the several branches of
education ? We must indeed consider that, said he. I acted
not wisely, said I, when in the former part of our discourse
I left untouched the difficulty attending the possession of
women, and the propagation of the species, and the establish-
ing governors, knowing with what odium and difficulty they
must be introduced, or be carried no further than theory. For
now we are under no less a necessity of discussing these things
at present. What relates to women and children is already
finished ; and we must now go over again, as from the begin-
ning, what refers to governors. We said, if you remember, that
if they were to appear to be real lovers of the city, they must be
tried both by pleasures and by pains, and quit these principles
neither through toils nor fears, nor any other change; and
that he who was not able to do this was to be rejected ; but
he who came forth altogether pure, as gold tried in the fire, was
to be appointed ruler, and to have honours and rewards paid
him both alive and dead.

Such were the things we said whilst our reasoning passed
over, and concealed itself, as afraid to rouse the present
argument. You say most truly, said he, for I . remember it.
For I was averse, my friend, to say, what I must now venture
to assert ; but now we must even dare to assert this : that
the most complete philosophers must be made guardians.
Let this be agreed upon, replied he. But consider that you
will probably have but few of them : for such a genius as we
said :they must of necessity have, is wont but seldom in all
its parts to meet in one man ; but its different parts generally
spring up in different persons. How do you say ? replied he.
That such as learn with facility, have a good memory, are
sagacious and acute, and endued with whatever qualifications
are allied to these, are not at the same time so strenuous
and great-souled as to live orderly, with quietness and stability,

1 86 THE REPUBLIC.

but such are carried hither and thither by their acuteness, and
everything that is stable departs from them. You say true,
replied he. With regard then to these firm habits of the
mind, which are not at all versatile, and which one might
rather employ as trusty, and which are difficult to be moved
at dangers in war, are they not of the same temper with refer-
ence to learning? They move heavily, and with difficulty
learn, as if they were benumbed, and are oppressed with
sleep and yawning, when they are obliged to labour at any-
thing of this kind. It is so, replied he. But we said that
he must partake of both these to a large extent, or else he
ought not to share in the most accurate education, nor
magistracy, nor honours of the state. Right, said he. Do
not you think this character will but rarely be found ? How
should it not ? They must be tried then both in the things
we formerly mentioned, in labours, in fears, and in pleasures ;
and likewise in what we then passed over, and are now
mentioning ; we must exercise them in various kinds of learn-
ing, whilst we consider whether their genius be capable of
sustaining the greatest disciplines, or whether it fails, as those
who fail in the other things. It is proper now, said he, to
consider this question at least in this manner. But what do
you call the greatest disciplines? You remember in some
measure, said I, that when we had distinguished the soul
into three parts, we determined concerning justice, temper-
ance, fortitude, and wisdom, what each of them is. If I did
not remember, said he, it were just I should not hear what
remains. Do you likewise remember what was said before
that ? What was it ? We somewhere said, that it was
possible to behold these in their most beautiful forms, but
that the journey would be tedious which he must make,
who would see them conspicuously ; that it was possible, how-
ever, to approach towards them in the way of our demonstra-
tions which would follow; and you said that these were
sufficient; so what was then advanced came to be spoken
far short, in my own opinion, of accuracy; but, if it was
sufficient for you, you may say so. To me, at least, said

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he, they seemed to be discussed in measure; and the rest
seemed to think so too. But friend, said I, in speaking of
things of this kind, such a measure as leaves out any part
whatever of the truth is not altogether in measure. For nothing
that is imperfect is the measure of anything. Though some
at times are of opinion, that things are sufficiently well when
thus circumstanced, and that there is no necessity for further
inquiry. Very many, said he, are thus affected through indo-
lence. But the guardian of the city, and of the laws, said I, has
least of all need of that passion. It appears so, replied he.
Such an one, then, my friend, said I, must make the more ample
circuit, and labour no less in learning than in the exercises :
otherwise, as we were now saying, he will never arrive at the
perfection of the greatest and most suitable learning. But are
not these, said he, the greatest ? Or is there yet anything
greater than justice, and those virtues which we discussed ?
There is something greater, said I. And even of these we must
not contemplate only the rude description, but we must not
omit the highest finishing. Or is it not ridiculous in other
things of small account to employ our whole labour, and strive
to have them the most accurate and perfect, and not deem the
highest and most important affairs worthy of our highest atten-
tion, in order to render them the most perfect. The sentiment,
said he, is very just. But, however, do you think, said he, that
any one will let you go without asking you, what indeed is this
greatest discipline, and about what is it conversant, when you
call it so? Not at all, said I, but do you yourself ask me; for
assuredly you have not seldom heard it, though at present you
either do not remember it, or you intend to occasion me trouble
in raising opposition. This I rather think, since you have often
heard at least, that the idea of the good is the greatest discip-
line: which idea when justice and the other virtues employ,
they become useful and advantageous. You now almost know
that this is what I mean to say, and besides this, that we do not
sufficiently know that idea, and that without this knowledge,
though we understood everything else in the highest degree,
you know that it is of no advantage to us : in the same manner

1 88 THE REPUBLIC.

as it would avail us nothing though we possessed all things
except the good, or knew all things except the good, knowing
nothing at all that is beautiful and good ? By Zeus, not I, said
he. But surely this too at least you know, that to the multitude
pleasure seems to be the greatest good; and to the more
intelligent it seems to be practical wisdom. And very ridicu-
lously, said he. How indeed can it be otherwise ? replied I, if,
when they upbraid us that we know not what is the good, they
tell us that they know, and call it the insight into what is good,
as if we understood what they say when they pronounce the
word good. Most true, said he. But what? those who define
pleasure to be good, do they less err than the others ? or are not
these too obliged to confess that certain pleasures are evil?
Extremely so. It happens then, I think, that they acknowledge
the same things are both good and evil, do they not ? Un-
doubtedly. Is it not evident, then, that there are great and
manifold doubts about it ? Why are there not ? But what ? is
it not also evident, that with reference to things just and beauti-
ful, the multitude choose the apparent, even though they be not
really so, and they do or seem to do them, and possess, or
appear to possess them ; but the acquisition of good, that were
only the apparent, never yet satisfied any one ; but in this they
seek what is real, and here every one despises what is only
the apparent. Extremely so, said he. This good then is that
which every soul pursues, and for the sake of this it does every-
thing, guessing at its existence, but being dubious, and unable
to. comprehend sufficiently what it is, or possess the same stable
belief respecting it as towards other things ; and thus are they
unsuccessful also in other things, if there be in them any profit.
About a thing now of such a kind, and of such mighty conse-
quence, shall we say that even these our best men in the city,
and to whom we commit the management of everything, shall
be thus in the dark ? As little as possible, said he. I think
then, said I, that whilst it is unknown in what manner the just
and beautiful are good, they are not of any great value to a
guardian to possess, if it be likely he shall know these, whilst
he is ignorant of this : but I prophesy that no one will arrive at

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the knowledge of these before he sufficiently knows what the
good is. You prophesy well, said he. Shall not then our
republic be complete, if a guardian be placed over it who
scientifically knows these things? It must of necessity, said
he. But with respect to yourself, Socrates, do you say that the
good is science, or pleasure, or something else besides these ?
You were ever, said I, a worthy man, and manifestly showed of
old that you were not to be satisfied with the opinions of others
about these things. Still it does not appear to me to be right,
Socrates, said he, that a man should be able to relate the
dogmas of others, but not his own, after having spent so much
time in inquiring about these particulars. But what, said I,
does it then appear to you just for a man to speak of things of
which he is ignorant, as if he knew them? By no means, said
he, as if he knew them; yet however, according as he thinks,
those things which he thinks he should be willing to tell us.

But, said I, have you not observed of opinions void of science
how deformed they all are, and that the best of them are blind ?
Or do those who without intellect form right opinion seem to
you, in any respect, to differ from those who are blind and at
the same time walk straight on the road ? In no respect, said
he. Are you willing, then, that we should examine things
deformed, blind, and crooked, having it in our power to hear
from others what is clear and beautiful ? Do not by Zeus,
Socrates, said Glauco, desist at the end ; for it will suffice us, if
in the same way as you have spoken of justice and temperance,
and those other virtues, you likewise discourse concerning the
good. And I too shall be very well satisfied, my friend, said
I ; but I am afraid I shall not be able ; and, by appearing
readily disposed, I shall incur the ridicule of the unmannerly.
But, O blessed man ! let us at present dismiss this inquiry,
what the good is (for it appears to me a greater thing than we
can arrive at, according to our present impulse); but I am
willing to tell you what the offspring of the good appears to be,
and what most resembles it, if this be agreeable to you ; and if
not, I shall dismiss it.

Tell us, said he; for you shall owe us the explanation of

190 THE REPUBLIC.

what the father is. I could wish, said I, both that I were able
to pay the principal debt, and you to receive it, and not as now
the interest only. Receive now then this child and offspring of
the good itself. Yet take care however that unwillingly I
deceive you not, in any respect, giving an adulterated account
of this offspring. We shall take care, said he, to the best of
our ability; only tell us. I shall tell, then, said I, after we
have thoroughly assented, and I have reminded you of what
was mentioned in our preceding discourse, and has been
frequently said on other occasions. What is it? said he.
That there are many things, said I, beautiful, and many good,
and each of these we say is so, and we distinguish them in our
reasoning. We said so. And that there is one essential beauty
and one essential good, and so on, reducing all those things
which we then considered as many, into one idea of each
particular thing, and assigning to each that appellation which
belongs to it ; and the former we say are seen by the eye, but
are not objects of intellectual perception ; but that the ideas are
perceived by the intellect, but are not seen by the eye. Per-
fectly so. By what part then of ourselves do we see things
visible? By the sight, said he. And is it not, said I, by
hearing, that we perceive what is heard; and by the other
senses, all the other objects of sense ? Why not ? But have
you not observed, said I, with regard to the artificer of the
senses, how he has formed the power of sight, and of being
visible, in the most perfect manner? I have not entirely
perceived it, replied he.

But consider it in this manner.

Is there any other species, which hearing and sound require,
in order that the one may hear, and the other be heard, which
third thing, if it be not present, the one shall not hear, and the
other not be heard? There is nothing, said he. Imagine
then, said I, that neither do many others (that I may not say
none) require any such thing ; or can you mention any one that
does require it ? Not I, replied he. But with reference to the
sense of seeing, and the object of sight, do not you perceive
that they require something? How? When there is sight in

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the eyes, and when he who has it attempts to use it, and when
there is colour in the objects before him, unless there concur
some third genus, naturally formed for the purpose, you know
that the sight will see nothing, and the colours will be invisible.
What is that you speak of? said he. What you call light, said
I. You say true, replied he. This species then is not despic-
able; and by no small phenomenon are the sense of seeing,
and the power of being seen, connected together; but by a
bond the most honourable of all bonds, if light be not dis-
honourable. Whom then of the Gods in heaven can you
assign as the cause of this, that light makes our sight to see,
and visible objects to be seen, in the best manner ? The same
that you, said he, and others do; for it is evident that you
mean the sun. Is not the sight then naturally formed in this
manner with reference to this God ? How ? The sight itself is not
the sun, nor is the eyes in which sight is ingenerated. It is not.
But yet I think that of all the organs of sense it is most solar-form.
Very much so. And the power which it possesses, does it not
possess as dispensed by and flowing from the sun ? Perfectly
so. Is not then the sun, which indeed is not sight itself, yet the
cause of it, and seen by sight itself? It is so, said he. Con-
ceive then, said I, that the sun is what I called the offspring
of the good, which the good generates, analogous to itself;
and that what the sun is in the visible world with respect
to sight and visible things, this is in the intellectual world,
with respect to pure wisdom, and the objects of wisdom.
How is it? said he: explain to me yet further. You know
that the eyes, said I, when they are no longer directed towards
objects whose colours are shone upon by the light of day,
but by the lights of the night, grow dim, and appear almost
blind, as if they had in them no pure sight. Just so, said he.
But when they turn to objects which the sun illuminates, then I
think they see clearly, and in those very eyes there appears
now to be sight. There does. Understand then, in the same
manner, with reference to the soul. When it firmly adheres to
that which truth and real being enlighten, then it understands
and knows it, and appears to possess intellect: but when it

192 THE REPUBLIC.

adheres to that which is blended with darkness, which is
generated, and which perishes, it is then conversant with opinion
only, its vision becomes blunted, it wanders from one opinion to
another, and resembles one without intellect. It has such a
resemblance. That therefore which imparts truth to what is
known and dispenses the power of knowing" to him who knows,
you may call the idea of the good, being the cause of science
and of truth, as being known through intellect. And though
both knowledge and truth are beautiful, when you think that
the good is something different, and still more beautiful than
these, you shall think aright. Science and truth here are as
light and sight there, which we rightly judged to be solar-form,
but that we were not to think they were the sun. So here it is
right to judge, that both these partake of the form of the good;
but to suppose that either of them is the good, is not right, for
the good itself vs worthy of still greater honour.

You speak, said he, of an inestimable beauty, since it affords
science and truth, but is itself superior to these in beauty. And
you never anywhere said that it was pleasure. Predict better
things, said I, and in this manner rather consider its image yet
further. How ? You will say, I think, that the sun imparts to
things which are seen, not only their visibility, but likewise their
generation, growth, and nourishment, not being itself generation.
Why not ? We may say, therefore, that things which are known
have derived not only this from the good^ that they are known,
but likewise that their being and essence are thence derived,
whilst the good itself is not essence, but beyond essence, tran-
scending it both in dignity and power. Here Glauco, laughing
very much, said, By Apollo, this is a divine transcendency
indeed ! You yourself, replied I, are the cause, having obliged
me to relate what appears to me respecting it. And by no
means, said he, stop, if something does not hinder you, but
again discuss the resemblance relating to the sun, if you have
omitted anything. But I omit, said I, many things. Do not
omit, replied he, the smallest particular. I think, said I, that
much will be omitted : however, as far as I am able at present,
I shall not willingly omit anything. Po not, said he. Under-

THE REPUBLIC. 193

stand then, said I, that we say these are two things ; of which
the one reigns over the intellectual class and world, and the
other over the visible, not to say the heavens, lest I should seem
to you to employ a pun in the expression : you understand then
these two species, the visible and the intellectual ? I do. As if
then you took a line cut into unequal parts, one representing
the visible species, the other the intellectual, and again divided
each section according to the same ratio, you will then have
perspicuity and obscurity placed by each other. In the visible
species you will have in one section images : by images, in the
first place, I mean shadows, and in the next, the reflections in
water, and such as subsist in bodies which are dense, polished,
and bright, and everything of this kind, if you understand
me. I do. Suppose now the other section to be the visible
things of which these are the reflections, such as the animals
around us, and the world of art and nature. I suppose
it, said he. Are you willing then that this section appear
to be divided into true and untrue? And that the same
difference there is between a matter of opinion and a matter of
knowledge, is also between the resemblance and that of which
it is the resemblance ? I am, indeed, said he, extremely willing.
But consider now again the section of the intellectual, how
it was divided. How ? That with respect to one part of it,
the soul uses the former sections as images; and is obliged
to investigate from hypotheses, not proceeding to the beginning,
but to the conclusion : and the other part, again, is that where
*he soul proceeds from hypothesis to an unhypothetical first
principle, without the aid of those images about it, but by the
help of the forms themselves makes its way through them. I
have not, said he, sufficiently understood you in these things.
We will start again, said I, for you will more easily understand
me, these things having been premised. For I think you are
not ignorant, that those who are conversant in geometry, and
computations, and such like, after they have laid down hypo-
theses of the odd and the even, and figures, and three species c*
angles, and other things the sisters of these, according to each
method, they then proceed upon these things as known, having

13

194 THE REPUBLIC.

laid down all these as hypotheses, and do not give any further
reason about them, neither to themselves nor others, as being
things obvious to all. But, beginning from these, they directly
discuss the rest, and with full consent end at that which their
inquiry pursued. I know this, said he, perfectly well. And do
you not likewise know, that when they use visible forms, and
reason about them, their dianoetic power is not employed about
these forms, but about those of which they are the resemblances,
employing their reasonings about the absolute square, or
diameter, and not about those which they draw ? And, in the
same manner, with reference to other particulars, those very
things which they form and describe, in which number, shadows,
and images in water are to be reckoned, these they use as
images, seeking to behold those very things, which a man can
no otherwise see than by his dianoetic part. You say true,
replied he. This then I called a species of the intelligible ; but
observed that the soul was obliged to use hypotheses in the
investigation of it, not going back to the principle, as not being
able to ascend higher than hypotheses, but made use of images
formed from things below, to lead to those above, as perspicu-
ous, as objects of opinion, and distinct from the things them-
selves. I understand, said he, that you speak of things per-
taining to the geometrical and other sister arts. Understand
now, that by the other section of the intelligible, I mean that
which reason itself attains, making hypotheses by its own
reasoning power, not as principles, but really hypotheses, as
steps and handles, that, proceeding as far as to that which is
unhypothetical, viz., the principle of the universe, and coming
into contact with it, again adhering to those things which
adhere to the principle, it may thus descend to the end ; using
nowhere anything which is sensible, but forms themselves,
proceeding through some to others, and at length ki forms
terminating its progression. I understand, said he, but not
sufficiently. For you seem to me to speak of an arduous under-
taking : but you want, however, to determine that the perception
of real being, and that which is intelligible, by the science
of reasoning, are more conspicuous than the discoveries made

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'95

y the arts, as they are called, which have hypotheses for their
rst principles; and that those who behold these are obliged
to behold them with their dianoetic power, and not with their
enses. But as they are not able to perceive, by ascending to
the principle, but from hypotheses, they appear to you not to
possess pure reason respecting them, though they are intelli-
ible in conjunction with the principle. You also appear to me
o call the habit of geometrical and such-like concerns, the
ianoetic part, and not intellect ; the dianoetic part subsisting
etween opinion and pure reason. You have comprehended,
said I, most sufficiently: and conceive now, that corresponding
to the four sections there are these four passions in the soul ;
pure reason answering to the highest, the dianoetic part (intel-
ligence) to the second; faith to the third; and to the last
conjecture. Arrange them likewise analogously; conceiving
that as their objects participate of truth, so these participate
of perspicuity. I understand, said he, and assent, and 1
arrange them as you say.

1 96 THE REPUBLIC.

BOOK VII.

AFTER these things now, said I, compare, with reference to
erudition, and the want of erudition, our natural condition with
such a condition as this. Imagine men living in a kind of
subterraneous cave, with its entrance expanding to the light,
and answering to the whole extent of the cave. Suppose them
to have been in this cave from their childhood, with chains both
on their legs and necks, obliged to remain there, and only able
to look before them, as owing to the chains they are incapable
of turning their heads round. Suppose there be likewise the
light of a fire, burning far above and behind them ; and that
between the fire and the fettered men there is a raised road.
Along this road, observe a low wall built, like that which hedges
in the stage of mountebanks and above which they exhibit their
wonderful tricks. I observe it, said he. Behold now, along
this wall, men bearing all sorts of utensils, raised above the
wall, and human statues, and other animals, in wood and stone,
and furniture of every kind. And, as is likely, some of those
who are carrying these are speaking, and others silent. You
use, said he, a curious comparison, and curious prisoners. But
such, however, as resemble us, said I ; for, in the first place, do
you think that such as these see anything of themselves, or of
one another, but the shadows formed by the fire, falling on the
opposite part of the cave ? How can they, said he, if through
the whole of life they be under a necessity, at least, of having
their heads unmoved ? But what do they see of the things that
are carried by? Is it not the very same ? Why not ? If then
they were able to converse with one another, do not you think
they would deem it proper to give names to those very things
which they saw before them ? Of necessity they must. And

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what if the opposite part of this prison had an echo, when any
of those who passed along spake, do you imagine they would
reckon that whatever spake was anything else than the passing
shadow ? I do not, said he. Such as these then, said I, will
entirely judge that there is nothing true but the shadows of
utensils. By an abundant necessity, replied he. With refer-
ence then, both to their freedom from these chains, and their
cure of this ignorance, consider the nature of it, if such a thing
as this should happen to them. When any one should be
loosed, and obliged on a sudden to rise up, turn round his neck,
and walk and look up towards the light ; and in doing all these
things, should be pained, and unable, from the splendour, to
behold the things of which he formerly saw the shadows, what
do you think he would say, if one should tell him that formerly
he had seen phantoms, but that now, being somewhat nearer to
reality, and turned toward what was more real, he saw with
more rectitude ; and so, pointing out to him each of the things
passing along, should question him, and oblige him to tell what
it were ; do not you think he would be both in doubt, and would
deem what he had formerly seen to be more true than what was
now pointed out to him ? By far, said he. And if he should
oblige him to look to the light itself, would he not find pain in
his eyes, and shun it ; and, turning to such things as he is able
to behold, reckon that these are really more clear than those
pointed out ? Just so, replied he. But if one, said I, should
drag him from thence violently through a rough and steep
ascent, and never stop till he drew him up to the light of the
sun, would he not, whilst he was thus drawn, both be in tor-
ment, and be filled with indignation ? And after he had come
to the light, having his eyes filled with splendour, he would be
able to see none of these things now called true. He would
not, said he, at first. But he would require, I think, to be
accustomed to it some time, if he were to perceive things above.
And first of all, he would most easily perceive shadows, after-
wards the images of men and of other things in water, and
after that the things themselves. And, with reference to these,
he would more easily see the things in the heavens, and the

198 THE REPUBLIC.

heavens themselves, by looking in the night to the light of the
stars, and the moon, than by day looking on the sun, and the
light of the sun. How can it be otherwise ? And, last of all,
he will be able, I think, to perceive and contemplate the sun
himself, not in water, nor resemblances of him, in a foreign
seat, but himself by himself, in his own proper region. Of
necessity, said he. And after this, he would now reason with
himself concerning him, that it is he who gives the seasons, and
years, and governs all things in the visible world ; and that of
all those things which he formerly saw, he is in a certain
manner the cause. It is evident, said he, that after these
things he may arrive at such reasonings as these. But when
he remembers his first habitation, and the wisdom which was
there, and those who were then his companions in bonds, do
you not think he will esteem himself happy by the change, and
pity them ? Greatly. And if there were there any honours and
encomiums and rewards among themselves, for him who most
acutely perceived what passed along, and best remembered
which of them were wont to pass foremost, which latest, and
which of them went together ; and from these observations
were most able to presage what was to happen ; does it appear
to you that he will be desirous of such honours, or envy those
who among these are honoured, and in power? Or, will he
not rather wish to suffer as is described by Homer, and desire

" As labourer to some ignoble man
To work for hire ..."

and rather suffer anything than to possess such opinions,
and live after such a manner? I think so, replied he, that
he would suffer, and embrace anything rather than live in
that manner. But consider this further, said I : If such an
one should descend again, and sit down again in the same
seat, would not his eyes be filled with darkness, in conse-
quence of coming suddenly from the sun? Very much so,
replied he. And should he now again be obliged to give
his opinions of those shadows, and to dispute about them
with those who are there eternally chained, whilst yet his

THE REPUBLIC. 199

eyes were dazzled, and before they recovered their former
state (which would not be effected in a short time), would he
not afford them laughter? and would it not be said of him,
that, having ascended, he was returned with vitiated eyes?
And if any one attempted to liberate them, and lead them
up, would they not put him to death if ever they were able
to get him into their hands? They would by all means, said
he, put him to death. The whole of this image now, said I,
friend Glauco, is to be applied to our preceding discourse ; for,
if you compare this region, which is seen by the sight, to the
habitation of the prison ; and the light of the fire in it, to the
power of the sun ; and the ascent above, and the vision of
things above, to the soul's ascent into the intellectual world;
you will apprehend my meaning, since you want to hear it,
though God alone knows whether it be true. Appearances
then present themselves to my view as follows. In the world
of pure reason, the idea of the good is the last object of vision,
and is scarcely to be seen ; but if it be seen, we must conclude
by reasoning that it is the cause to all of everything right and
beautiful, generating in the visible world, light, and its lord,
the sun; and in the intellectual world, it is itself the lord,
producing truth and intellect; and this must be beheld by
him who is to act wisely, either privately or in public. I
agree with you, said he, as far as I am able. Come now,
said I, and agree with me likewise in this. You will not
wonder that such as arrive hither are unwilling to act in
human affairs, but their souls are always unwilling to desert
the things above ; for it is reasonable it should be so, if these
things take place according to our above-mentioned image.
It is indeed reasonable, replied he. But what ? Do you
think that this is anything wonderful, that when a man
comes from divine contemplations to human evils, he should
behave awkwardly and appear extremely ridiculous, whilst he
is yet dazzled, and is obliged, before he is sufficiently accus-
tomed to the present darkness, to contend in courts of justice,
or elsewhere, about the shadows of justice, or those statues
which occasion the shadows ; and to dispute about this point

200 THE REPUBLIC.

how these things are apprehended by those who have never
at any time beheld justice itself? This is not at all
wonderful, said he. But if a man possesses intellect, said I,
he must remember, that there is a twofold disturbance of
the sight, and arising from two causes, when we betake our-
selves from light to darkness, and from darkness to light:
and when a man considers that these very things happen
with reference also to the soul, whenever he sees any one
disturbed, and unable to perceive anything, he will not laugh
in an unreasonable manner, but will consider, whether the
soul, coming from a more splendid life, be darkened
by ignorance, or, going from abundant ignorance to one
more luminous, be filled with the dazzling splendour, and
so will congratulate the one on its fate and life, and
compassionate the life and fate of the other. And if he
wishes to laugh at the soul that goes from darkness to
light, his laughter would be less improper, than if he were to
laugh at the soul which descends from the light to darkness.
You say very reasonably, replied he. It is proper then, said I,
if those things be true, that we come to such a conclusion as
this, namely — That education is not such a thing as some
announce it to be ; for they say, that whilst there is no science
in the soul, they will insert it, as if they were inserting sight in
blind eyes. They say so, replied he. But our present reason-
ing, said I, now shows, that this power is in the soul of every
one, and is the organ by which every one learns ; and it is in
the same condition as the eye, if it were unable otherwise than
by moving the whole body to turn from darkness to light, and
it must, in like manner, with the whole soul, be turned from the
world of death and generation, till it be able to endure the
contemplation of being itself, and the most splendid of being;
and this we call the good. Do we not? We do. This then,
said I, would appear to be the art of conversion, in what
manner a man shall, with greatest ease and advantage, be
turned. Not the implanting in him of the power of seeing, but
the considering him as possessed of it, and only improperly
situated, and not looking at what he ought, and the contrivance

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of some method by which this may be accomplished. It
seems so, replied he. The virtues then of the soul, as they are
called, seem to be somewhat resembling those of the body (for
when, in reality, they were not in it formerly, they are after-
wards produced in it by habits and exercises) ; but the virtue of
wisdom, as it seems, happens to be of a nature somewhat more
divine than any other; as it never loses its power, but, accord-
ing as it is turned, is useful and advantageous, or useless and
hurtful. Or have you not observed of those who are said to be
wicked, yet wise, how sharply the little soul sees, and how
acutely it comprehends everything to which it is turned, as
having no contemptible sight, though compelled to be sub-
servient to wickedness: so that the more acutely it sees, so
much the more productive is it of wickedness? Entirely so,
replied he. But, however, said I, with reference to this part of
such a genius ; if, from childhood, it should be stripped of all
those leaden weights, and of all those pleasures and lusts which
relate to feastings and such like, which turn the sight of the
soul to things downwards ; from all these, if the soul, being
freed, should turn itself towards truth, the very same principle
in the same men would most acutely see those things as it now
does these to which it is turned. It is likely, replied he. But
what ? is not this likely, said I, and necessarily deduced from
what has been mentioned? that neither those who are un-
instructed and unacquainted with truth can ever sufficiently
take care of the city; nor yet those who allow themselves to
spend the whole of their time in learning. The former, because
they have no one scope in life, aiming at which they ought to
do whatever they do, both in private and in public; and the
latter, because they are not willing to manage civil affairs,
thinking that whilst they are yet alive, they inhabit the islands
of the blessed. True, said he. It is our business then, said 1,
to oblige those of the inhabitants who have the best geniuses,
to apply to that learning which we formerly said was the
greatest, both to view the good, and to ascend that ascent ; and
when they have ascended, and sufficiently viewed it, we are not
to allow them what is now allowed them. What is that ? To

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continue there, said I, and be unwilling to descend again to
those fettered men, or share with them in their toils and
honours, whether more trifling or more important. Shall we
then, said he, act unjustly towards them, and make them live a
worse life when they have it in their power to live a better?
You have again forgot, friend, said I, that this is not the
legislator's concern, in what manner any one tribe in the
city shall live remarkably happy; but this he endeavours to
effectuate in the whole city, connecting the citizens together;
and by necessity, and by persuasion, making them share the
advantage with one another with which they are severally able
to benefit the community : and the legislator, when he makes
such men in the city, does it not that he may permit them to go
where each may incline, but that himself may employ them for
connecting the city together. True, said he, I forgot, indeed.
Consider then, said I, Glauco, that we shall in no way injure
the philosophers who arise among us, but tell them what is
just, when we oblige them to take care of others, and to be
guardians. We will allow, indeed, that those who in other
cities become philosophers, with reason do not participate of
the toils of public offices in the state (for they spring up of
themselves, the policy of each city opposing them, and it is
just, that what springs of itself, owing its growth to none,
should not be forward to pay for its nurture to any one);
but as for you we have generated you for the state as
well as for yourselves to be as the leaders and kings in a
hive, and we have educated you better, and in a more perfect
manner than they, and made you more capable of sharing
both in the rewards and labours attending public offices.
Every one then must, in part, descend to the dwelling of the
others, and accustom himself to behold obscure objects: for,
when you are accustomed to them, you will infinitely better
perceive things there, and will fully know the several images,
what they are, and of what, from your having perceived the
truth concerning things beautiful, and just, and good. And
thus, the city will seem to be inhabited as a reality and not as a
dream, like most cities as are at present inhabited by such as

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203

both fight with one another about shadows, and raise sedition
about governing, as if it were some mighty good. But the
truth is, I believe, as follows : In whatever city those who are to
govern, are the most averse to undertake government, that city,
of necessity, will be the best established, and the most free
from sedition ; and that city, whose governors are of a contrary
character, will be in a contrary condition. Entirely so, replied
he. Do you think then that our pupils will disobey us, when
they hear these injunctions, and be unwilling to labour jointly in
the city, each bearing a part, but spend the most of their time
with one another, free from public affairs? Impossible, said he.
For we prescribe just things to just men. And each of them
enters on magistracy from this consideration beyond all others,
that they are under the necessity of governing a thing contrary
to all the present governors of all other cities. For thus it is,
my companion, said I, if you discover a life for those who are to
be our governors, better than that of governing, then it will be
possible for you to have the city well established ; for in it alone
shall those govern who are truly rich, not in gold, but in that in
which a happy man ought to be rich, in a good and prudent
life. But if those who are poor, and destitute of goods of their
own, come into power, thinking they ought thence to gain advan-
tage for themselves, it is not possible to have the city rightly
established. For the contest being who shall govern, such a
war being domestic, and within them, it destroys both them-
selves, and the rest of the city. Most true, said he. Have you
then, said I, any other kind of life but that of true philosophy
which despises public magistracies ? No, said he. But, how-
ever, they ought at least not to be fond of governing who enter
on it, otherwise the rivals will fight about it. How can it be
otherwise ? Whom else then will you oblige to enter on the
guardianship of the city, but such as are most intelligent in those
things by which the city is best established, and who have other
honours, and a life better than the political one ? No others,
said he.

Are you willing then, that we now consider this, by what
means such men shall be produced, and how one shall bring them

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into the light, as some are said from Hades, to have ascended
to the Gods ? Certainly, replied he. This now, as it seems, is
not the turning of a shell; but the conversion of the soul
coming from some benighted day, to the true day of real being,
by the road which we call true philosophy. Entirely so.
Ought we not then to consider which of the disciplines
possesses such a power ? Why not ? What now, Glauco, may
that discipline of the soul be, which draws her from the
ephemeral to the real ? But this I consider whilst I am
speaking. Did we not indeed say, that it was necessary for
them, whilst young, to be trained in war? We said so. It is
proper then, that this characteristic likewise be added to that
which is now the object of our inquiry. What is it ? That it
is useful to military men. It must indeed, said he, be added if
possible. We said somewhere in our former discourse that
they were to be instructed by us in gymnastic and music.
They were, replied he. Gymnastic is indeed in respect of what
is generated and destroyed, for it presides over the increase
and corruption of the body. It seems so. This then cannot
be the discipline which we investigate. It cannot. Is it music
then, such as we formerly described ? No, said he, for it was
spoken of as a counterpart of gymnastic, if you remember;
instructing our guardians by habit, imparting no science, but
only, with respect to harmony, a certain kind of harmony, and
with regard to rhythm a certain kind of rhythm, and in
discourses, certain other habits the sisters of these, both in
such discourses as are fabulous, and in such as are nearer to
truth. But as to a discipline respecting such a good as you
now investigate, there was nothing of this in that music. You
have, most accurately, said I, reminded me ; for it treated, in
reality of no such thing. But, divine Glauco, what may this
discipline be ? For all the arts have somehow appeared to be
mechanical and illiberal. How should they not? And what
other discipline remains distinct from music, gymnastic, and
the arts ? Come, said I, if we have nothing yet further besides
these to take, let us take something in these which extends
over them all. What is that? Such as this general thing,

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205

which all arts, and dianoetic powers, and sciences employ, and
which every one ought, in the first place, necessarily to learn.
What is that ? said he. The ordinary knowledge, said I, of the
numbers one, and two, and three : I call this summarily
Number, and Computation. For is it not that every art, and
every science, must of necessity participate of these ? They
must of necessity, replied he. And must not the art of war
likewise participate of them? Of necessity, said he. Pala-
medes, for example, in the tragedies, shows everywhere
Agamemnon to have been at least a most ridiculous general ;
or have you not observed how he says, that having invented
numeration, he adjusted the ranks in the camp at Troy, and
numbered the ships, and all the other forces which were not
numbered before ; for Agamemnon, as it seems, did not even
know how many feet he had, as he understood not how to
number them: what kind of general do you imagine him to be?
A strange one, for my part, replied he, if this were true. Is
there any other discipline then, said I, which we shall establish
as more necessary to a military man, than to be able to
compute and to number ? This most of all, said he, if he
would any way understand how to range his troops, and still
more if he is to be a man. Do you perceive then, said I, with
regard to this discipline the same thing as I do ? What is
that? It seems to belong to those things which we are investi-
gating, which naturally lead to intelligence, but that no one
uses it aright, being entirely a conductor towards real being.
What do you mean? replied he. I shall endeavour, said I,
to explain at least my own opinion. With reference to those
things which I divide in my mind into such as lead towards
intelligence, and such as do not, do you consider them along
with me, and either agree or dissent, in order that we may
more distinctly see, whether this be such as I conjecture re-
specting it. Show me, said he. I will, said I. You may perceive
some things that are perceived by the senses, which call not
intelligence to the inquiry, as they are sufficiently determined
by the sense ; and other things which call upon it to inquire, as
the sense produces no result. You plainly mean, said he, such

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things as appear at a distance, and such as are painted. You
have not altogether, said I, apprehended my meaning. Which
then, said he, do you mean ? Those things, said I, call not
upon intelligence, which do not produce two contrary sensa-
tions at one and the same time ; but such as do I say are those
which call upon intelligence: since in the latter the sense mani-
fests two contrary sensations, whether the object be near, or
at a distance. But you will understand my meaning more
plainly in this manner. These, we say, are three fingers, the
little finger, the next to it, and the middle finger. Plainly
so, replied he. Consider me then as speaking of them
when near, and take notice of this concerning them. What ?
Each of them alike appears to be a finger, and in this there
is no difference, whether it be in the middle or in the end;
whether it be white or black, thick or slender, or anything
else of this kind; for in all these, the soul of the multitude
is under no necessity to question their intellect what is a
finger ; for never does sight itself intimate a finger to be a
finger, and at the same time its contrary. It does not,
replied he. It is not likely then, said I, that such a case as
this shall either call upon or excite intelligence ? It is not.
But what ? with reference to their being great and small,
does the sight sufficiently perceive this, and makes it no
difference to it, that one of them is situated in the middle,
or at the end ; and in like manner with reference to their thick-
ness and slenderness, their softness and hardness, does the
touch sufficiently perceive these things ; and in like manner
the other senses, do they no way defectively manifest such
things ? Or does each of them act in this manner ? First
of all, must not that sense which relates to the hard, of
necessity relate likewise to the soft ; and feeling these, it
reports to the soul, as if both hard and soft were one and
the same ? It does. And must not then the soul again, said
I, in such cases, of necessity be in doubt, what the sense points
out to it as hard, since it calls the same thing soft likewise .
and so with reference to the sense relating to light and heavy
the soul must be in doubt what is light and what is heavy;

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if the sense intimates that heavy is light, and that light is
heavy? These at least, said he, are truly absurd reports to
the soul, and stand in need of examination. It is likely then,
said I, that first of all, in such cases as these, the soul, call-
ing in reason and intelligence, will endeavour to discover,
whether the things reported be one, or whether they be two.
Why not? And if they appear to be two, each of them
appears to be one, and distinct from the other. It does. And

I if each of them be one, and both of them two, it will by
intelligence perceive the two to be distinct ; for, if they were
not distinct, he could not perceive two, but only one. Right.
The sight in like manner, we say, perceives great and small,
but not as distinct from each other, but as something confused.
Does it not ? It does. In order to obtain perspicuity in this
affair, intelligence is obliged again to consider great and small,

inot as confused, but distinct, after a manner contrary to the
sense of sight. True. And is it not from hence, somehow,
that it begins to question us, What then is great, and what is
small ? By all means. And so we have called the one intelli-
gible, and the other visible. Very right, said he. This then
is what I was just now endeavouring to express, when I said,
that some things call on the dianoetic part, and others do
not: and such as fall on the sense at the same time with
their contraries, I define to be such as require intelligence,
but such as do not, do not excite intelligence. I understand
now, said he, and it appears so to me. What now ? with refer-
ence to number and unity, to which of the two classes do you
think they belong ? I do not know, replied he. But reason
by analogy, said I, from what we have already said: for, if
unity be of itself sufficiently seen, or be apprehended by any
other sense, it will not lead towards real being, as we said
concerning the finger. But if there be always seen at the
same time something contrary to it, so as that it shall appear
as much the contrary of itself as unity itself, it would then
require some one to judge of it : and the soul would be under
a necessity to doubt within itself, and to inquire, exciting the
conception within itself, and to interrogate it what this unity

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is. And thus the study which relates to unity would be of
the class of those which lead, and turn the soul to the con-
templation of real being. Right, said he: this indeed, said
he, is what the very sight of it effects in no small degree : for
we behold the same thing, at one and the same time, as one
and as an infinite multitude. And if this be the case with
reference to unity, said I, will not every member be affected
in the same manner ? Why not ? But surely both computa-
tion and arithmetic wholly relate to number. Very much
so. These then seem to lead to truth. Transcendently so.
They belong then, as it seems, to those disciplines which we
are investigating. For the soldier must necessarily learn these
things, for the disposing of his ranks ; and the philosopher for
the attaining to real being, emerging from the transitory world,
or he can never become a reasoner. It is so, replied he. But
our guardian at least happens to be both a soldier and a
philosopher. Undoubtedly. It were proper then, Glauco, to
establish by law this discipline, and to persuade those who
are to manage the greatest affairs of the city to apply to
computation, and study it, not in a common way, but till by
intelligence itself they arrive at the contemplation of the
nature of numbers, not for the sake of buying, nor of sell-
ing, as merchants and retailers, but both for war, and for
facility in the energies of the soul itself, and its conversion
from change to truth and essence. Most beautifully said,
replied he. And surely now, I perceive likewise, said I, at
present whilst this discipline respecting computations is men-
tioned, how elegant it is, and every way advantageous towards
our purpose, if one applies to it for the sake of knowledge, and
not with a view to traffic ! Which way ? replied he. This very
thing which we now mentioned, how vehemently does it lead
up the soul, and compel it to reason about numbers themselves,
by no means admitting, if a man in reasoning shall produce
numbers which have visible and tangible bodies ! For you
know of some who are skilled in these things, and who, if
a man in reasoning should attempt to divide unity itself,
would both ridicule him, and not admit it; and if you divide

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it into parts, they multiply them again, afraid lest unity should
appear not to be unity, but many parts. You are right, replied
he. What think you now, Glauco, if one should ask them:
O admirable men ! about what kind of numbers are you reason-
ing ? What numbers are they in which there is such unity as
you describe, each unit being equal to each, and not differing
in the smallest degree, while having no parts in itself: what do
you think they would answer ? This, as I suppose ; that they
mean such numbers as can be conceived by the dianoetic part
alone, but cannot be comprehended in any other way. You
see then, my friend, said I, that in reality this discipline
appears to be necessary for us, since it seems to compel the
soul to employ intelligence itself in the perception of truth
itself. And surely now, said he, it effects this in a very
powerful degree. But what ? have you hitherto considered
this ? that those who are naturally skilled in computation
appear to be acute in all disciplines ; and such as are
naturally slow, if they be instructed and exercised in this,
though they derive no other advantage, yet at the same
time all of them proceed so far as to become more acute
than they were before. It is so, replied he. And surely,
as I think, you will not easily find anything, and certainly
not many, which occasion greater labour to the learner and
student than this. No, indeed. On all these accounts, then,
this discipline is not to be omitted, but the best geniuses are
to be instructed in it. I agree, said he.

Let this one thing then, said I, be established among us;
and, in the next place, let us consider if that which is con-
sequent to this in any respect pertains to us. What is it ? said
he : do you mean geometry ? That very thing, said I. As far,
said he, as it relates to warlike affairs, it is plain that it belongs
to us; for, as to encampments, and the occupying of ground,
contracting and extending an army, and all those figures into
which they form armies, both in battles and in marches, there
would be a difference in a soldier according as he is a geome-
trician, or not. Surely, said I, for such purposes as these, a
little geometry, and computation might suffice : but we must

2io THE REPUBLIC.

inquire, whether a larger, and more advanced study of it, would
contribute anything to this great end, to make us more easily
perceive the idea of the good. We say that everything con-
tributes to this, that obliges the soul to turn itself towards that
region in which is the most divine of being, which it must by all
means perceive. You say right, replied he. If therefore it
compel the soul to contemplate the real essence, it concerns us;
but if it oblige it to contemplate the changeable, it does not.
We say so indeed. Those then who are but a little conversant
in geometry, said I, will not dispute with us this point at least,
that this science is perfectly contrary to the common modes of
speech employed about it by those who practise it. How ? said
he. They speak very ridiculously, and as if through poverty of
ideas: for all the discourse they employ in it appears to be with
a view to actual practice. Thus they speak of making a square,
of prolonging, of adjoining, and the like. But yet the whole of
this discipline is studied for the sake of knowledge. By all
means, said he. Must not this further be assented to ? What ?
That it is the knowledge of that which always is, and not of
that which is sometimes generated and destroyed. This, said
he, must be granted ; for geometrical knowledge is of that
which always is. It would seem then, generous Glauco, to draw
the soul towards truth, and to be productive of a dianoetic
energy adapted to a philosopher, so as to raise this power of
the soul to things above, instead of causing it improperly, as at
present, to contemplate things below. As much as possible,
replied he. As much as possible then, said I, must we give
orders, that those in this most beautiful city of yours by no
means omit geometry ; for even its by-works are not incon-
siderable. What by-works ? said he. Those, said I, which you
mentioned relating to war; and indeed with reference to all
disciplines, as to the understanding of them more handsomely,
we know somehow, that the having learned geometry or not,
makes in every way an entire difference. Every way, said he.
Let us then establish this second discipline for the youth. Let
us establish it, replied he.

But what ? shall we, in the third place, establish astronomy ?

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or are you of a different opinion ? I am, said he, of the same :
for to be well skilled in the seasons of months and years, belongs
not only to agriculture and navigation, but equally to the military
art. You are pleasant, said I, as you seem to be afraid of the
multitude, lest you should appear to enjoin useless disciplines :
but this is not altogether a contemptible thing, though it is
difficult to persuade them that a certain organ of the soul, which
is blinded and buried by studies of another kind, is by each of
these disciplines both purified and enlivened; an organ better
worth saving than ten thousand eyes, since truth is perceived
by this alone. To such therefore as are of the same opinion,
you will very readily appear to reason admirably well : but such
as have never observed this will probably think you talk non-
sense; for they perceive no other advantage in these things
worthy of attention. Consider now from this point, with which
of these two you will reason ; or if you carry on the reasonings
with neither of them, but principally for your own sake, yet you
will doubtless allow another to be benefited by them. In the
latter manner, replied he, I choose, on my own account princi-
pally both to reason, and to question and answer. Come then,
said I, let us go back again ; for we have not rightly taken that
which is consequent to geometry. What have we taken? re-
plied he. After a plain surface, said I, we have taken a solid
moving in a circle, before we considered the solid by itself: but
if we had proceeded rightly we should have taken the third
argument immediately after the second, and that is the argument
of cubes, and what participates of depth. It is so, replied he.
These things, Socrates, seem not yet to be discovered. The
reason of it, said I, is twofold. Because there is no city which
sufficiently honours them, they are slightly investigated, being
difficult; and besides, those who do investigate them want a
leader, without which they cannot discover them. And this
leader is in the first place hard to be obtained ; and when he is
obtained, as things are at present, those who investigate these
particulars, as they conceive magnificently of themselves, will
not obey him. But if the whole city presided over these things,
and held them in esteem, such as inquired into them would be

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obedient, and their inquiries, being carried on with assiduity
and vigour, would discover themselves what they were : since
even now, whilst they are on the one hand despised and
mutilated by the multitude, and on the other by those who
study them without being able to give any account of their
utility, they yet, under all these disadvantages, progress through
their native grace : nor is it wonderful that they do so. Truly,
said he, this grace is very remarkable. But tell me more
plainly what you were just now saying; for that study which
respects a plain surface you called geometry. I did, said I.
And then, said he, you mentioned astronomy in the first place
after it. But afterwards you drew back. Because, whilst I am
hastening, said I, to discuss all things rapidly, I advance more
slowly. For the inquiry into spaces of three dimensions which
was next according to method we passed over, because the
investigation of it is usually ridiculous ; and after geometry we
mentioned astronomy, which is the circular motion of a solid.
You say right, replied he. We establish then, said I, astronomy
as the fourth discipline, supposing that which we have now
omitted will be studied, when some city shall enter upon it. It
is reasonable, said he. And now that you agree with me,
Socrates, I proceed in my commendation of astronomy, which
you formerly reproved as unreasonable. For it is evident, I
conceive, to every one, that this discipline compels the soul to
look to that which is above, and away from things here below.
It is, said I, perhaps evident to every one but to me. For to me
it does not appear so. How then do you think of it ? replied
he. In the way it is now pursued by those who introduce it
into philosophy, it makes the soul look downwards. How do
you say ? replied he. You seem to me, said I, to have formed
with yourself no ignoble opinion of the discipline respecting
things above, what it is : for you seem to think, that if any one
contemplates the various bodies in the firmament, and, by
earnestly looking up, apprehends everything, you think that he
has intelligence of these things ; and does not merely see them
with his eyes; and perhaps you judge right, and I foolishly.
for I, on the other hand, am not able to conceive, that any othet

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discipline can make the soul look upwards, but that which
respects being, and that which is invisible ; and if a man under-
takes to learn anything of sensible objects, whether he gape
upwards, or bellow downwards, never shall I say that he learns ;
for I aver he has no science of these things, nor shall I say his
soul looks upwards, but downwards, even though he should
learn lying on his back, either at land or at sea. I am punished,
said he; for you have justly reproved me. But which was
the proper way, said you, of learning astronomy different
from the methods adopted at present, if they mean to
learn it with advantage for the purposes we speak of? In
this manner, said I ; although these variegated bodies in the
heavens are deemed the most beautiful and the most accurate
of the kind, yet (as they are only part of the visible world) are
far inferior to the real beings which are carried in those orbits
in which real velocity, and real slowness, in true number, and
in all true forms, work with respect to one another, and carry
all things that are within them: which latter things truly are
to be comprehended by reason and the dianoetic power, but
not by sight ; or do you think they can ? By no means, replied
he. Is not then, said I, that variety in the heavens to be made
use of as a paradigm for learning those real things, in the same
manner as if one should meet with geometrical figures, drawn
remarkably well and elaborately by Daedalus, or some other
artist or painter ? For a man who was skilled in geometry, on
seeing these would truly think the workmanship most excellent,
yet would esteem it ridiculous to consider these things seriously,
as if from thence he were to learn the truth, as to what were in
equal, in duplicate, or in any other proportion. It would be
ridiculous, replied he. And do not you then think, that he who
is truly an astronomer is affected in the same manner, when he
looks up to the orbits of the planets ? And that he reckons that
the heavens are established in the most beautiful manner pos-
sible for such works ; but would not he deem him absurd, who
should imagine that this proportion of night with day, and of
both these to a month, and of a month to a year, and of other
stars to the sun and moon and towards one another, existed

214 THE REPUBLIC.

always in the same manner, and in no way suffered any change,
though they have a body and are visible ; and who would search
by every method to apprehend the truth of these things. So it
appears to me, replied he, whilst I am hearing you. Let us
then make use of problems, said I, in the study of astronomy,
as in geometry. And let us dismiss the heavenly bodies, if we
intend truly to apprehend astronomy, and render profitable
instead of unprofitable that part of the soul which is naturally
wise. You truly enjoin a much harder task on astronomers, said
he, than is enjoined them at present. And I think, replied I,
that we must likewise enjoin other things, in the same manner,
if we are to be of any service as lawgivers. But can you
suggest any of the proper disciplines? I can suggest none,
replied he, at present at least. Lation [Motion], said I, as it
appears to me, affords us not one indeed, but many species of
discipline. All of which any wise man can probably tell ; but
those which occur to me are two. What are they ? Together
with this we have mentioned, said I, there is its counterpart.
Which ? As the eyes, said I, seem to be fitted to astronomy,
so the ears seem to be fitted to harmonious lation. And these
seem to be sister sciences to one another, both as the Pytha-
goreans say, and we, Glauco, agree with them, or how shall we
do? Just so, replied he. Shall we not, said I, since this is
their great work,1 inquire how they speak concerning them,—
and, if there be any other thing besides these, inquire into it
likewise ? But above all these things, we will still guard that
which is our own. What is that ? That those we educate never
attempt at any time to learn any of those things in an imperfect
manner, and not pointing always at that mark to which all
ought to be directed : as we now mentioned with reference to
astronomy. Or do not you know that they do the same thing
with regard to harmony, as in astronomy? For, whilst they
measure one with another the symphonies and sounds which
are heard, they labour like the astronomers unprofitably. Nay,
by the Gods, said he, and ridiculously too, whilst they frequently
1 The Pythagorean philosophy considered that the key of the universe
lay in number and proportion.

THE REPUBLIC. 215

repeat certain notes, and listen with their ears as if to catch the
sound from their neighbours ; and some of them say they hear
some middle note, but that the interval which measures them is
the smallest ; and others again doubt this, and say that the
notes are the same as were sounded before ; and both parties
subject the intellect to the ears. You speak, said I, of the
lucrative musicians, who perpetually harass and torment their
strings, and turn them on the pegs. But that the comparison
may not be too tedious, I shall say nothing of their complaints
of the strings, their refusals and stubbornness, but bring the
image to an end. But I say we ought not to choose these to
speak of harmony, but those true musicians whom we men-
tioned. For these do the same things here as the others did
in astronomy; for in these symphonies which are heard, they
search for numbers, but they pass not thence to the problems,
to inquire what numbers are symphonious, and what are not,
and the reason why they are either the one or the other. You
speak, said he, of a divine work. It is then indeed profitable,
said I, in the search of the beautiful and good, but if pursued in
another manner it is unprofitable. It is likely, said he. But I
think, said I, that the proper method of inquiry into all these
things, if it reach their communion and alliance with each other,
and reason in what respects they are akin to one another, will
contribute something to what we want, and our labour will not be
unprofitable ; otherwise it will. I likewise, said he, prophesy the
same thing. But you speak, Socrates, of a very mighty work.
Do you mean the introduction, or what else ? said I. Or do we
not know that all these things are introductory to the law
itself? which we ought to learn; for even those that are skilled
in dialectic do not appear expert as to these things. No, by
Zeus, said he, unless a very few of all I have met with.
But whilst they are not able, said I, to impart and receive
reason, will they ever be able to know anything of what we say
is necessary to be known ? Never will they be able to do this,
replied he. Is not this itself then, Glauco, said I, the law? To
give perfection to dialectic ; which being of the intellectual
\vorld, may be said to be imitated by the power of sight ; which

2i6 THE REPUBLIC.

power endeavours, as we observed, first to look at animals, then
at the stars, and last of all at the sun himself. So when any
one begins to discuss a subject without using any of the senses,
but by reasoning alone he is impelled to that which each
particular is ; and if he does not desist till he apprehends by
pure intelligence what is the good itself, he then arrives at the
end of the intellectual world, as the other does at the end of the
visible. Entirely so, said he. What now? Do not you call
this progression dialectic ? What else ? And now, said I, as
in our former comparison jou had the liberation from chains,
and turning from shadows towards images and the light and an
ascent from the cavern to the sun ; and when there, the looking
at images in water, from an inability at first to behold animals
and plants and the light of the sun ; so here you have the con-
templation of divine phantasms, and the shadows of real beings,
and not the shadows of images shadowed out by another light
of a similar kind, as by the sun. And likewise this pursuit of
the arts which we have discussed, has this power, to lead back
again that which is best in the soul, to the contemplation of
that which is best in beings that exist; as in the former case,
that which is brightest in the body is led to that which is most
splendid in the corporeal and visible world. I admit, said he,
these things ; though in one way truly it appears to me ex-
tremely difficult to admit them, and in another respect it is
difficult not to admit them. But however (for we shall hear
these things not only now at present, but often again discuss
them), establishing these things as now expressed, let us go to
the law itself, and discuss it as we have finished the introduc-
tion. Say then what is the mode of the power of dialectic, and
into what species is it divided, and what are the paths leading
to it ? For these, it is likely, conduct us to that place, at which
when we are arrived, we shall find a resting-place, and the end
of the journey. You will not as yet, friend Glauco, be able to
follow; for otherwise no zeal should be wanting on my part;
nor should you any longer only see the image of that of which
we are speaking, but the truth itself. At least this is how it
appears to me ; whether it be so in reality or not, this it is not

THE REPUBLIC. 217

proper strenuously to affirm ; but that indeed it is somewhat of
this kind may be strenuously affirmed. May it not ? Why
not ? And further that it is the power of dialectic alone, which
can discover this to one who is skilled in the things we have
discussed, and that by no other power it is possible. This also,
said he, we may strenuously affirm. This at least no one, said
I, will dispute with us : That no other method can attempt to
comprehend, in any orderly way, what each particular being is ;
for all the other arts are concerned with either the opinions and
desires of men, or the generations and composition of bodies,
or are all employed in the culture of things generated and
compounded. Those others, which we said participated some-
what of being, geometry, and such as are connected with it, we
see as dreaming indeed about being; but it is impossible for
them to have a true vision, so long as employing hypotheses
they preserve these immovable, without being able to assign
a reason for their subsistence. For where the principle is that
which is unknown, and the conclusion and intermediate steps
are connected with that unknown principle, by what contrivance
can an assent of such a kind ever become science ? By none,
replied he. Does not then, said I, the dialectic method proceed
in this way alone, to the principle itself, removing all hypotheses,
that it may firmly establish it, and by gradually drawing and
leading upwards the eye of the soul, which was buried in barbaric
ignorance, using as assistants and guides those arts we have
mentioned, which through custom we frequently call sciences, but
which require another and clearer appellation than opinion,
but more obscure than science ? We have somewhere in the
former part of our discourse termed it the dianoetic power
[understanding]. But the controversy is not, as it appears to
me, about a name, with those who inquire into things of such
great importance as those now before us. It is not, said he.
Do you agree then, said I, as formerly, to call the first part
science, the second the dianoetic power, the third faith, and the
fourth conjecture? and also these two last, opinion? and the
two former, intelligence ? And that opinion is employed about
the changeable, and intelligence about the essence ? Likewise,

2i8 THE REPUBLIC.

that as essence is to the changeable, so is intelligence to opinion,
science to faith, and the dianoetic power to conjecture ? But as
for the analogy of the things which these powers respect, and
the twofold division of each — viz., of the object of opinion, and
of intellect, these we omit, Glauco, that we may not be more
prolix here than in our former reasonings. As for me, said he,
with reference to those other things, as far as I am able to
follow, I am of the same opinion. But do not you call him
skilled in dialectic, who apprehends the reason of the essence
of each particular ? And as for the man who is not able to give
a reason to himself, and to another, so far as he is not able, so
far will you not say he wants intelligence of the thing ? Why
should I not say so ? replied he. And is not the case the same
with reference to the good? Whosoever cannot define it by
reason, separating the idea of the good from all others, and as in
a battle piercing through all arguments, eagerly striving to con-
fute, not according to opinion, but according to essence, and in
all these marching forward with undeviating reason, — such an
one knows nothing of the good itself , nor of any good whatever:
but if he has attained to any image of the good, we must say he
has attained to it by opinion, not by science ; that in the present
life he is sleeping, and conversant with dreams ; and that before
he is roused he will descend to Hades, and there be profoundly
and perfectly laid asleep. By Zeus, said he, I will strongly aver
all these things. But surely you will not, I think, allow your
own children whom you are theoretically nourishing and edu-
cating, if ever in reality you educate them, to have the supreme
government of the most important affairs in the state, whilst
they are as void of reason as letters of the alphabet. By no
means, replied he. You will then lay down this to them as a
law : That in a most especial manner they attain to that part of
education, by which they may become able to question and
answer in the most scientific manner. I will settle it
by law, said he, with your assistance at least. Does it then
appear to you, said I, that dialectic is placed on high as
a bulwark to disciplines ? and that no other discipline
can with propriety be raised higher than this; but

THE REPUBLIC. 219

everything respecting disciplines is now finished? I agree,
said he.

There now remains for you, said I, the distribution. To
whom shall we assign these disciplines, and after what manner?
That is evident, said he. Do you remember then our former
election of rulers, what kind we chose ? How should I not ?
said he. As to other things then, conceive, said I, that such
geniuses as these ought to be selected. For the most firm and
brave are to be preferred, and, as far as possible, the most
graceful ; and besides, we must not only seek for those whose
manners are generous and stern, but they must be possessed
of every other natural disposition conducive to this education.
Which dispositions do you recommend ? They must have, said
I, O blessed man! acuteness with respect to disciplines, that
they may not learn with difficulty. For souls are much more
intimidated by severe studies, than by strenuous exercises of
the body; for their proper labour, and which is not in common
with the body, is more domestic to them. True, said he. And
we must seek for those of good memory, untainted, and every
way laborious : or how else do you think any one will be willing
to endure the fatigue of the body, and to accomplish at the
same time such learning and study ? No one, said he, unless
he be in all respects of a naturally good disposition. The
mistake then about philosophy, and the contempt of it, have
been occasioned through these things, because, as I formerly
said, it is not applied to in a manner suitable to its dignity : for
it ought not to be applied to by the bastardly, but the legiti-
mate. What do you mean by legitimate? said he. In the
first place, he who is to apply to philosophy ought not, said I,
to be lame as to his love of labour, being laborious in some
things, and averse to labour in others, as takes place when a
man loves wrestling and hunting, and all exercises of the body,
but is not a lover of learning, and loves neither to hear nor to
inquire, but in all these respects has an aversion to labour.
He likewise who dislikes all bodily exercise is lame, though in
a different manner. You say most true, replied he. And shall
we not, said I, in like manner account that soul lame as to

220 THE REPUBLIC.

truth, which hates indeed a voluntary falsehood, and bears it
ill in itself, and is beyond measure enraged when others tell a
lie ; but easily admits the involuntary lie ; and, though at any
time it be found ignorant, is not displeased, but like a savage
sow willingly wallows in ignorance ? By all means, said he.
And in like manner, said I, as to temperance and fortitude, and
magnanimity, and all the parts of virtue, we must no less care-
fully attend to what is bastardly, and what is legitimate ; for
when either any private person or city understands not how to
attend to all these things, they unawares employ the lame and
the bastardly for whatever they have occasion ; private persons
employ them as friends, and cities as governors. The case is
entirely so, said he. But we, said I, must beware of all such
things ; for, if we take such as are entire in body and in mind
for such extensive learning, and exercise and instruct them,
justice herself will not blame us, and we shall preserve both the
city and its constitution : but if we introduce persons of a
different description into these affairs, we shall do everything
the reverse, and bring philosophy under still greater ridicule.
That indeed were shameful, said he. Certainly, said I. But I
myself seem at present to be somewhat ridiculous. How so ?
said he. I forgot, said I, that we were amusing ourselves, and
spoke with too great keenness ; for, whilst I was speaking, I
looked towards philosophy; and seeing her most unworthily
abused, I seem to have been filled with indignation, and, being
enraged at those who are the cause of it, to have spoken too
earnestly. No truly, said he, not to me your hearer at least.
But to myself I did, said I. But let us not forget this, that in
our former election we made choice of old men ; but in this
election it will not be allowed us. For we must not believe
Solon, that one who is old is able to learn many things ; but he
is less able to effect this than to run. All mighty and numerous
labours belong to the young. Of necessity, said he. Every-
thing then relating to arithmetic and geometry, and all that
previous instruction which they should be taught before they
learn dialectic, ought to be set before them whilst they are
children, and that method of teaching observed, which wilJ

THE REPUBLIC. 221

make them learn without compulsion. Why so ? Because,
said i, a free man ought to learn no discipline with slavery : for
the labours of the body when endured through compulsion
render the body nothing worse; but no compelled discipline is
lasting in the soul. True, said he. Do not then, said I, O best
of men ! compel boys in their learning ; but train them up,
amusing themselves, that you may be better able to discern
to what the genius of each naturally tends. What you say,
replied he, is reasonable. Do not you remember then, said
I, that we said the boys are even to be carried to war,
as spectators, on horseback, and that they are to be brought
nearer, if they can with safety, and like young hounds taste the
blood t I remember, said he. Whoever then, said I, shall
appear the most forward in all these labours, disciplines, and
terrors, are to be selected into a certain number. At what age?
said he. When they have, said I, finished their necessary
bodily exercises ; for during this time, whilst it continues, for
two or three years, it is impossible to accomplish anything
else; for fatigue and sleep are enemies to learning; and the
behaviour of each in his exercises is none of the least of
their trials. Certainly, said he. And after this period, said
I, let such as formerly have been selected of the age of
twenty receive greater honours than others, and let those discip-
lines which in their youth they learned separately, be brought
before them in one view, that they may see the alliance of
the disciplines with each other, and with the nature of real
being. This discipline will alone, said he, remain firm in those
in whom it is ingenerated. And this, said I, is the greatest
trial for distinguishing between those geniuses which are natur-
ally fitted for dialectic, and those which are not. He who
perceives this alliance is skilled in dialectic ; he who does not,
is not. I am of the same opinion, said he. It will then be
necessary for you, said I, after you have observed these things,
and seen who are most approved in these, being stable in
disciplines, and stable in war, and in the other things estab-
lished by law, to make choice of such after they exceed thirty
years, selecting from those chosen formerly, and to advance

222 THE REPUBLIC.

them to greater honours. Yon must likewise observe them,
trying them by the power of dialectic so as to ascertain which
of them without the assistance of his eyes, or any other sense,
is able to proceed with truth to being itself. And here, my
companion, is a work of great caution. In what principally ?
said he. Do not you perceive, said I, the evil which at
present attends dialectic, how great it is? What is it, said
he, you mean ? Disobedience to law, said I. Greatly so,
replied he. Are you surprised, said I, or will you not forgive
them ? How do you mean ? said he. Just as if, said I, a
certain supposititious child were educated in great opulence
in a rich and noble family, and amidst many flatterers, and
should perceive, when grown up to manhood, that he is not
descended of those who are said to be his parents, but yet
should not discover his real parents ; can you divine how such
an one would be affected both towards his flatterers, and towards
his supposed parents, both at the time when he knew nothing
of the cheat, and at that time again when he came to perceive
it ? Or are you willing to hear me while I presage it ? I am
willing, said he. I prophesy then, said I, that he will pay more
honour to his father and mother, and his other supposed rela-
tions than to the flatterers, and that he will less neglect them
when they are in any want, and be less apt to do or say any-
thing amiss to them, and in matters of consequence be less
disobedient to them than to those flatterers, during that period
in which he knows not the truth. It is likely, said he. But
when he perceives the real state of the affair, I again prophesy,
he will then slacken in his honour and respect for them, and
attend to the flatterers, and be remarkably more persuaded by
them now than formerly, and truly live according to their
manner, conversing with them openly. But for that father, and
those supposed relations, if he be not of an entirely good natural
disposition, he will have no regard. You see everything, said
he, as it would happen. But in what manner does this com-
parison respect those who are conversant with dialectic? In
this. We have certain dogmas from our childhood concerning
things just and beautiful, in which we have been nourished as

THE REPUBLIC. 223

by parents, obeying and honouring them. We have, said he.
Are there not likewise other pursuits opposite to these, with
pleasures flattering our souls, and drawing them towards these ?
They do not however persuade those who are in any degree
moderate, but they honour those their relations, and obey them.
These things are so. What now, said I, when to one who is
thus affected the question is proposed, What is the beautiful ?
and when he, answering what he has heard from the lawgiver,
is refuted by reason ; and reason frequently and in every way
convinces and reduces him to the opinion, that this "beauty"
is as deformed as it is beautiful ; and in the same manner, as to
what is just and good, and whatever else he held in highest
esteem, what do you think such an one will after this do, with
regard to these things, as to honouring and obeying them ? Of
necessity, said he, he will neither honour nor obey them any
longer in the same manner as formerly. When then he no
longer deems, said I, these things honourable, and allied to him
as formerly, and cannot discover those which really are so, is it
possible that he can readily join himself to any other life than
the flattering one? It is not possible, said he. And from being
an observer of the law, he shall, I think, appear to be a trans-
gressor. Of necessity.

Is it not likely then, said I, that those shall be thus affected
who in this situation apply to reasoning, and that they should
deserve, as I was just now saying, great forgiveness ? And pity
too, said he. Whilst you take care then, lest this compassion-
able case befall these of the age of thirty, ought they not to
apply themselves to reasoning with every precaution ? Certainly,
said he. And is not this one prudent caution ? that they taste
not reasonings, whilst they are young ; for you have not forgot,
I suppose, that the youth, when they first taste of reasonings,
abuse them in the way of amusement, and they employ them
always for the purpose of contradiction. And imitating those
who are refuters, they themselves refute others, delighting like
whelps in dragging and tearing to -pieces, in their reasonings,
those always who are near them. Extremely so, said he. And
after they have confuted many, and been themselves confuted

224 THE REPUBLIC,

by many, do they not vehemently and speedily lay aside all the
opinions they formerly possessed ? And by these means they
themselves, and the whole of philosophy, are calumniated by
others. Most true, said he. But he who is of a riper age,
said I, will not be disposed to share in such a madness, but
will rather imitate him who inclines to reason and inquires
after truth, than one who, for the sake of diversion,
amuses himself, and contradicts. He will likewise be more
modest himself, and render the practice of disputing more
honourable instead of being more dishonourable. Right,
said he. Were not then all our former remarks rightly
made, in the way of precaution, as to this point, that those
geniuses ought to be orderly and stable, to whom dialectic is to
be imparted, and not as at present, when every common genius,
and such as is not at all proper, is admitted to it ? Certainly,
said he. Will not then the double of the former period suffice
a man to remain in acquiring the art of dialectic with per-
severance and application, and doing nothing else just as
formerly he gave up everything for the sake of his bodily
exercises ? Do you mean six years, said he, or four ? JTis of
no consequence, said I, make it five. After this you must
compel them to descend to that cave again, and oblige them to
govern both in things relating to war, and such other magis-
tracies as require youth, that they may not fall short of others
in experience. And they must be still further tried among
these, whether, being drawn to every different quarter, they
will continue firm, or whether they will in any measure be
drawn aside. And for how long a time, said he, do you
appoint this ? For fifteen years, said I. And when they are of
the age of fifty, such of them as are preserved, and as have
excelled in all these things, in actions, and in the sciences, are
now to be led to the end, and are to be obliged, uplifting the
eye of their soul, to look towards that which imparts light to all
things, and, when they have viewed the good itself > to use it as
a paradigm, each of them, in their turn, in adorning both the
city and private persons, and themselves, during the remainder
of their life. For the most part indeed they must be occupied

THE REPUBLIC. 225

in philosophy; and when it is their turn, they must toil in
political affairs, and take the government, each for the good of
the city, performing this office, not as anything honourable, but
as a thing necessary. And after they have educated others in
the same manner still, and left such as resemble themselves to
be the guardians of the city, they depart to inhabit the islands
of the blest. And the city will publicly erect for them, monu-
ments, and other sacrifices, if the oracle assent, as to superior
beings ; and if it do not, as to happy and divine men. You
have, Socrates, said he, like a statuary, made our ruling men
all-beautiful. And our ruling women likewise, Glauco, said I.
For do not suppose that I have spoken what I have said any
more concerning the men than concerning the women, — such
of them as are of a sufficient genius. Right, said he, if at least
they are to share in all things equally with the men, as we
related. What then, said I, do you agree, that with reference
to the city and republic, we have not altogether spoken what
can only be considered as wishes ; but such things as are
indeed difficult, yet possible in a certain respect, and in no
other way than what has been mentioned — viz., when those who
are truly philosophers, whether several of them or a single
one, becoming governors in a city, shall despise those present
honours, considering them as illiberal and of no value ; but
esteeming rectitude and the honours which are derived from it
above all things ; accounting justice as the greatest thing of all,
and the most absolutely necessary; and ministering to it,
and, increasing it, thoroughly regulate the constitution of their
own city? How? said he. As many, said I, of the more
advanced in life as have lived ten years in the city will be sent
into the country, and, removing their children away from those
habits which their parents possess at present, they will educate
them in their own manners and laws, which are what we
formerly mentioned : and the city and republic we have
described being thus established in the speediest and easiest
manner, it will both be happy itself, and be of the greatest
advantage to that people among whom it is established. Very
much so indeed, said he. And you seem to me, Socrates, to

226 THE REPUBLIC.

have told very well how this city shall arise, if it arise at all.
Then, said I, is not what we have said sufficient both concerning
such a city as this, and concerning the man similar to it ? For
it is also now evident what kind of a man he ought to be. It is
evident, replied he; and your inquiry seems to me to be at
an end.

THE REPUBLIC.

227

BOOK VIII.

BE it so. - These things, Glauco, we have now assented to;
that in this city, which is to be established in a perfect manner,
the women are to be common, the children common, and like-
wise the whole of education. In like manner, their employ-
ments both in peace and war are to be common; and their
kings are to be such as excel all others both in philosophy and
in the arts of war. These things, said he, have been assented
to. And surely we likewise granted, that when the governors
are marching with the soldiers, and settle themselves, they shall
dwell in such habitations as we formerly mentioned, which have
nothing peculiar to any one, but are comrAon to all : and besides
these houses, we likewise, if you remember, agreed what sort of
possessions they shall have. I remember, said he, that we were
of opinion, none of them ought to possess anything as others do
at present ; but, as trained soldiers and guardians, they were to
receive a reward for their guardianship from others, or a yearly
maintenance on these accounts, and were to take care of them-
selves and the rest of the city. You say right, said I. But
since we have finished this, let us recollect whence we made
this digression ; that we may now proceed again in the same
way. That is not difficult, said he: for you were mentioning
much the same things of the city as those you are mentioning
now, saying that you considered such a city to be good as was
at that time described, and the man to be good who resembles
it; whilst yet it seems you are able to describe a better city, and
a better man. And you said, moreover, that if this was right
all the others were wrong. Of the other republics, you said, as
I remember, there were four species, which deserved to be con-
sidered, and to have the errors in them, and the lawless people

228 THE REPUBLIC.

in them, observed; in order that when we have beheld the
whole of them, and when we have agreed which is the best, and
which is the worst man, we may inquire whether the best man
be the happiest, and the worst the most miserable, or otherwise.
And when I asked you, which you call the four republics, Pole-
marchus and Adimantus hereupon interrupted ; l and you, in this
manner having resumed the subject, are come to this part of the
reasoning. You have recollected, said I, most accurately.
Again therefore afford me the same opportunity, and, whilst I
ask you the same question, endeavour to say what you then
intended to assert. If indeed I am able, said I. And I am
truly desirous, said he, for my part, to hear which you call the
four republics. You shall hear that, said I, without difficulty.
For they are these I mention, and they have names too. There
is that which is commended by many, the Cretan and the
Spartan. There is secondly, that which has a secondary
praise, called Oligarchy, a republic full of many evils ; that which
is the opposite of this, and follows next in order, a Democracy :
and then genuine Tyranny, different from all these, the fourth
and worst disease of a city. Or have you any other form of
a republic belonging to any distinct species ? For your little
principalities and venal kingdoms, and such-like republics, are
of a middle kind between these, and one may find as many of
them among the barbarians as among the Greeks. They are
indeed, said he, said to be very many, and very strange ones.
Do you know now, said I, that there is a necessity that there be
as many species of men as of republics ? Or do you imagine
that republics are generated of an oak, or a rock, and not of
the manners of those who are in the city, to which, as into a
current, everything else likewise is drawn ? By no means do I
imagine, said he, they are generated from anything but from
hence. If then there be five species of cities, the species of
souls in individuals shall be likewise five. Why not ? We have
already discussed that which resembles an Aristocracy, which we
have rightly pronounced to be both good and just. We have
so. Are we now, in the next place, to go over the worse
1 At the beginning of the Fifth Book.

THE REPUBLIC. 229

species, the contentious and the ambitious man, who is formed
according to the Spartan republic; then him resembling an
Oligarchy; and then the Democratic and the Tyrannic, that we
may contemplate the most unjust, and oppose him to the most
just, that our inquiry may be completed ? — viz., how the most
finished justice is in comparison of the most finished injustice, as
to the happiness or misery of the possessor ? that so we may
either follow injustice, being persuaded by Thrasymachus,
or justice, yielding to the present reasoning ? By all means,
said he, we must do so. Shall we then, in the same manner as
we began, consider the manners in republics, before we con-
sider them in private persons, as being there more conspicuous?
And according to this method the ambitious republic is first to
be considered (for I have no other name to call it by, but it may
be denominated either a Timocracy, or a Timarchy), and to-
gether with it we shall consider a man resembling it ; afterwards
we shall consider an Oligarchy, and a man resembling Oli-
garchy; then again, when we have viewed a Democracy, we
shall contemplate a Democratic man; and then in the fourth
place, when we come to Tyranny, and contemplate it, and
likewise a tyrannic soul, we shall endeavour to become com-
petent judges of what we proposed. Both our contemplation
and judgment, said he, would in this manner at least be agree-
able to reason. Come then, said I, let us endeavour to relate
in what manner a Timocracy arises out of an Aristocracy.
Or is not this plain, that every republic changes, by means of
that part which possesses the magistracies, when in this itself
there arises sedition ; but whilst this agrees with itself, though
the state be extremely small, it is impossible to be changed? It
is so, indeed. How then, Glauco, shall our city be changed ?
Or in what shape shall our allies and rulers fall into sedition
with one another, and among themselves ? Or are you willing
that, like Homer, we invoke the Muses to tell us " How first
sedition rose ? " —And shall we describe them as talking tragic-
ally, playing with us, and rallying us as children, and pretending
to talk seriously and sublimely? In what manner? Somehow
thus:— It is indeed difficult for a city thus constituted to be

230 THE REPUBLIC.

changed. But as everything which is generated is subject to
corruption, neither will such a constitution as this remain for
ever, but be dissolved. And its dissolution is this. Not only
with respect to terrestrial plants, but likewise in terrestrial
animals, a fertility and sterility of soul as well as of body takes
place, when the revolutions of the heavenly bodies complete the
periphery of their respective orbits ; which are shorter to the
shorter lived, and contrariwise to such as are the contrary : and
with reference to the fertility and sterility of our race, although
those are wise that you have educated to be governors of cities,
yet will they never, by reason in conjunction with sense, observe
the proper seasons, but overlook them, and sometimes generate
children when they ought not. But the period to that which is
divinely generated is that which the perfect number compre-
hends ; and to that which is generated by man, that in which
the augmentations surpassing and surpassed, when they shall
have received these restitutions and four boundaries of things
assimilating and dissimilating, increasing and decreasing, shall
render all things correspondent and effable; of which the
sesquitertian progeny, when conjoined with the pentad, and
thrice increased, affords two harmonies. One of these, the
equally equal, a hundred times a hundred; but the other, of
equal length indeed, but more oblong, is of a hundred numbers
from effable diameters of pentads, each being deficient by unity,
and from two numbers that are ineffable ; and from a hundred
cubes of the triad. But the whole geometric number of this
kind is the author of better and worse generations. Of which
when our governors, being ignorant, join our couples together
unseasonably, the children shall neither be of a good genius,
nor fortunate. And though the former governors shall install
the best of them in the office, they nevertheless being unworthy
of it, and coming to have the power their fathers had, will
begin to be negligent of us in their guardianship, in the first
place esteeming music less than they ought, and in the next
place the gymnic exercises. Hence our youth will become less
acquainted with music. And the guardians which shall be
appointed from among these will not be altogether expert

THE REPUBLIC. 231

guardians in distinguishing, according to Hesiod and us, the
several species of geniuses, the golden, the silver, the brazen,
and the iron; but whilst iron is mixed with silver, and brass
with gold, dissimilitude arises, and unharmonious inequality.
And when these arise, wherever they prevail, they perpetually
generate war and enmity. To such a race of men as this, we
must suppose them to say, that sedition belongs whenever it
happens to rise. And we shall say that they have answered
justly, replied he. And of necessity, said I, for they are Muses.
What then, said he, do the Muses say next ? When sedition is
risen, said I, two of the species of geniuses, the iron and the
brazen, will be drawn to gain, and the acquisition of lands and
houses, of gold and silver. But the golden and the silver
geniuses, as they are not in want, but naturally rich, will lead
souls towards virtue, and the original constitution ; yet as they
will quarrel violently with one another, they will make an agree-
ment to divide their lands and houses between them, and to
dwell apart from one another ; and then enslaving those who
were formerly kept by them as freemen, as friends, and tutors,
they will keep them as domestics and slaves, for service in war,
and for their own protection. This revolution, said he, seems
to me thus to arise. Shall not then this republic, said I, be
somewhat in the middle between an Aristocracy and Oligarchy?
Certainly.

The change shall happen in this manner ; and after this
change what sort of life shall the state lead ? Is it not plain,
that in some things it shall imitate its former condition, and in
others Oligarchy, as being in the middle of the two, and shall
likewise have somewhat peculiar to itself? Just so, replied he.
Will not then the military class, in honouring their rulers, and
in abstaining from agriculture, and mechanical and other gain-
ful employments, in its establishing common meals, and in
studying both gymnastic exercises and contests of war, in all
these things will it not imitate the former republic ? Yes. But
in that they are afraid to bring wise men into the magistracy,
as having no longer any such as are truly simple and inflexible,
but such as are of a mixed kind ; and in that they incline for

232 THE REPUBLIC.

those who are more forward and rough, whose natural genius is
rather fitted for war than peace, and in that they esteem tricks
and stratagems, and spend the whole of their time in continual
war, in all these respects shall it not have many things peculiar
to itself? Yes. And such as these, said I, shall be desirous of
wealth, like those who live in Oligarchies, and in an illiberal and
concealed manner, value gold and silver, as they have reposi-
tories of their own, and domestic treasures, where they hoard
and hide their riches, and have their houses circularly enclosed,
where, as in nests altogether peculiar, they squander everything
profusely upon their wives and such other things as they fancy.
Most true, said he. And will they not likewise be sparing of
their own substance, as valuing it highly, and acquiring it not
in an open manner, and love to squander the substance of
others, through their dissoluteness, and secretly indulging their
pleasures ? They will likewise fly from the law, as children from
their father, who have been educated not by persuasion but by
force, having neglected the true music, which is accompanied
with reason and philosophy, and honoured gymnastic more than
music. You describe entirely, said he, a mixed republic, com-
pounded of good and ill. It is indeed mixed, said I, but one
thing is most remarkable in it, from the prevalence of the
irascible temper, namely contention, and ambition. Exceed-
ingly, said he. Does not then, said I, this republic arise in this
manner ? And is it not of such a kind as this, as far as the
form of a republic can be described in words where there is not
perfect accuracy ; as it suffices us to contemplate in description
likewise the most just and the most unjust man ; and it were a
work of prodigious length to discuss all republics, and all the
various manners of men, without omitting anything? Very
right, said he.

What now will the man be who corresponds to this republic ?
how shall he be formed, and of what kind ? I think, said
Adimantus, he will be somewhat like Glauco here, at least in a
love of contention. Perhaps, said I, as to this particular. But
in other respects he does not seem to me to have a natural
resemblance to him. In what? He must necessarily, said I,

THE REPUBLIC. 233

be more arrogant, and unapt to music, if fond of it: and fond of
hearing, but by no means a rhetorician : and such an one will
be rough towards certain slaves, without despising them, as he
does who is sufficiently educated. He will be mild towards such
as are free, and extremely submissive to governors ; a lover of
dominion, and a lover of honour, not thinking it proper to
govern by eloquence, nor anything of the kind, but by political
management and military performances, being a lover of
gymnastic and hunting. This indeed, said he, is the temper
of that republic. And shall not such an one, said I, despise
money, whilst he is young? But the older he grows, the more
he will always value it, because he partakes of the covetous
genius, and is not sincerely affected towards virtue, because
destitute of the best guardian. Of what guardian? said
Adimantus. Reason, said I, accompanied with music, which
being the only inbred preservative of virtue, dwells with the
possessor through the whole of life. You say well, replied he.
And surely at least such a timocratic youth, said I, resembles
such a city. Certainly. And such an one, said I, is formed
somehow in this manner. He happens sometimes to be the
young son of a worthy father, who dwells in an ill-regulated
city, and who shuns honours and magistracies, and law-suits,
and all such public business, and is willing to live neglected in
obscurity, that he may have no trouble. In what manner then,
said he, is he formed? When first of all, said I, he hears his
mother venting her indignation, because her husband is not in
the magistracy, and complaining that she is on this account
neglected among other women, and that she observes him not
extremely attentive to the acquisition of wealth, not fighting and
reviling privately and publicly in courts of justice ; but behav-
ing on all these occasions indolently, and perceiving him always
attentive to himself, and treating her neither with extreme
respect nor contempt ; on all these accounts, being filled with
indignation, she tells her son that his father is unmanly, and
extremely remiss, and such other things as wives are wont to
cant over concerning such husbands. They are very many,
truly, said Adimantus, and very much in their spirit. And you

234 THE REPUBLIC.

know, said I, that the domestics likewise of such families, such
of them as appear good-natured, sometimes say the same things
to the sons ; and if they see any one either owing money whom
the father does not sue at law, or in any other way doing
injustice, they exhort him to punish all such persons when he
comes to be a man, and to be more of a man than his father.
And when he goes abroad, he hears other such-like things.
And he sees that such in the city as attend to their own affairs
are called simple, and held in little esteem, and that such as do
not attend to their affairs are both honoured and commended.
The young man now hearing and seeing all these things, and
then again hearing the speeches of his father, and observing his
pursuits in a near view, in comparison with those of others;
being drawn by both these, his father watering and increasing
the rational part in his soul, and these others the concupiscible
and irascible ; and being naturally no bad man, but spoiled by
the bad conversations of others, he is brought to a mean
between the two, and delivers up the government within him-
self to a middle power, that which is fond of contention and
irascible, and so he becomes a haughty and ambitious man.
You seem, said he, to have accurately explained the formation
of such an one. We have now then, said I, the second republic
and the second man. We have, said he. Shall we not after
this go on saying with ^Eschylus—

" With diff 'rent cities diff'rent men accord."

Or rather, according to our plan, shall we not first describe the
city ? By all means so, replied he. It would be an Oligarchy
then, I think, which succeeds this republic. But what con-
stitution, said he, is it you call an Oligarchy ? That republic,
said I, which is founded on men's valuations, in which the rich
bear rule, and the poor have no share in the government. I
understand, said he. Must we not relate first, how the change
is made from a Timocracy to an Oligarchy ? We must. And
surely at least how this change is made, said I, is manifest
even to the blind. How ? That treasury, said I, which every
one has filled with gold destroys such a republic ; for, first of all,

THE REPUBLIC. 235

they find ou^ for themselves methods of expense, and to this
purpose strain the laws, both they and their wives disobeying
them. That is likely, said he. And afterwards, I think, one
observing another, and coming to rival one another, the mul-
titude of them are rendered of this kind. It is likely. And
from hence, then, said I, proceeding still to a greater desire of
acquiring wealth, the more honourable they account this to be,
the more will virtue be thought dishonourable : or is not virtue
so different from wealth, that, if each of them be placed in the
opposite arm of a balance, one always rises and the other falls ?
Entirely so, replied he. But whilst wealth and the wealthy are
honoured in the city, both virtue and the good must be more
dishonoured. It is plain. And what is honoured is always
pursued, and what is dishonoured is neglected. Just so. In-
stead then of contentious and ambitious men, they will at last
become lovers of gain and of wealth : and they will praise and
admire the rich, and bring them into the magistracy, but the
poor man they will despise. Certainly. And do they not then
make laws, marking out the boundary of the Oligarchic constitu-
tion, and regulating the quantity of Oligarchic power according
to the quantity of wealth, more to the wealthy, and less to the
less, intimating that he who has not the valuation settled by
law is to have no share in the government ? And do they not
transact these things violently, by force of arms, or establish
such a republic after they have previously terrified them ? Is it
not thus ? Thus indeed. This then in short is the constitution.
It is, replied he. But what now is the nature of the republic,
and what are the faults we ascribed to it ? First of all, said I,
this very thing, the constitution itself, what think you of this ?
For consider, if a man should in this manner appoint pilots of
ships, according to their valuations, but never entrust one with
a poor man, though better skilled in piloting, what would be the
consequence ? They would, said he, make very bad navigation.
And is it not in the same manner with reference to any other
thing, or any government whatever? I think so. Is it so in
all cases but in a city ? said I, or is it so with reference to a city
likewise ? There most especially, said he, inasmuch as it is

THE REPUBLIC.

the most difficult, and the greatest government. Oligarchy then
would seem to have this, which is so great a fault. It appears
so. But is this fault anything less ? What ? That such a city
is not one, but of necessity two ; one consisting of the poor,
and the other of the rich, dwelling in one place, and always
plotting against one another. By Zeus, said he, it is in no
respect less. But surely neither is this a handsome thing, to be
incapable to wage any war, because of the necessity they are
under, either of employing the armed multitude, and of dread-
ing them more than the enemy themselves ; or not employing
them, to appear in battle itself truly Oligarchic, and at the same
time to be unwilling to advance money for the public service,
through a natural disposition of covetousness. This is not
handsome. But with reference to what we long ago con-
demned, the engaging in a multiplicity of different things,
the same persons, at the same time, attending in such a
republic to agriculture, lucrative employment, and military
affairs, does this appear to be right ? Not in any degree. But
see now whether this form of republic be the first which
introduces this greatest of all evils. What is that? That
one shall be allowed to dispose of the whole of his effects,
and another to purchase them from him, and the seller be
allowed to dwell in the city, whilst he belongs to no one class in
the city, and is neither called a maker of money, nor mechanic,
nor horseman, nor foot-soldier, but poor and destitute. It is
the first, said he. But yet such an one shall not be prohibited
in Oligarchic governments ; for otherwise some of them would
not be over-rich, and others altogether poor. Right. But con-
sider this likewise. When such a rich man as this is spends of
his substance, was it of any more advantage to the city with
reference to the purposes we now mentioned ? or did he appear
to be indeed one of the magistrates, but was in truth neither
magistrate of the city, nor servant to it, but a waster of its sub-
stance ? So he appeared, replied he. He was nothing but a
waster. Are you willing then, said I, that we say of him, that
as when a drone is in a bee-hive, it is the disease of the
swarm ; in like manner such an one, when a drone in his house,

THE REPUBLIC. 237

is the disease of the city ? Entirely so, Socrates, replied he.
And has not God, Adimantus, made all the winged drones with-
out any sting ; but of these with feet, some without stings, and
some with dreadful stings? And of those who are without
stings, are they who continue poor to old age ; and of those who
have stings are all these who are called mischievous. Most
true, said he. It is plain then, said I, that in a city where you
observe there are poor, there are somewhere in that place con-
cealed thieves, and purse-cutters, sacrilegious persons, and
workers of all other such evils. It is plain, said he. What
then ? Do not you perceive poor people in cities under Oligar-
chic government ? They are almost all so, said he, except the
governors. And do we not think, said I, that there are many
mischievous persons in them with stings, whom the magistracy
by diligence and by force restrains ? We think so indeed, said
he. And shall we not say, that through want of education,
through bad nurture, and a corrupt constitution of state, such
sort of persons are there produced? We shall say so. Is not
then the city which is under Oligarchy of such a kind as this,
and hath it not such evils as these, and probably more too ? It
is nearly so, said he. We have now finished, said I, this re-
public likewise, which they call Oligarchy, having its governors
according to valuation. And let us now consider the man who
resembles it, in what manner he arises, and what sort of man he
is. By all means, said he. And is not the change from the
Timocratic to the Oligarchic chiefly in this manner? How?
When such an one has a son, first of all, he both emulates his
father, and follows his steps ; afterwards he sees him, on a
sudden, dashed on the city, as on a rock, and losing both his
substance and himself, either in the office of a general, or some
other principal magistracy; then falling into courts of justice,
destroyed by sycophants, and either put to death, or stripped
of his dignities, disgraced, and losing all his substance. It is
likely, said he. When he has seen and suffered those things,
friend, and has lost his substance, he instantly in a terror
pushes headlong from the throne of his soul that ambitious and
animated disposition, and, being humbled by his poverty, turns

238 THE REPUBLIC.

his attention to gain, lives meanly and sparingly, and, apply-
ing to work, collects wealth. Do you not think that such a
man will then seat in that throne the covetous and avaricious dis-
position, and make it a mighty king within himself, begirt with
tiaras, and bracelets, and sceptres ? I think so, said he. But
he, I imagine, having placed both the rational and the ambitious
disposition low on the ground on either side, and having
enslaved them under it, the one he allows to reason on nothing,
nor ever to inquire, but in what way lesser substance shall
be made greater; and the other again he permits to admire
and honour nothing but riches and the rich, and to receive
honour on no other account but the acquisition of money, or
whatever contributes towards it. There is no other change,
said he, of an ambitious youth to a covetous one so sudden
and so powerful as this. Is not this, then, said I, the Oligar-
chic man ? And the change into such an one is from a man
resembling that republic from which the Oligarchic republic
arises. Let us consider, now, if he any way resembles it.
Let us consider. Does he not, in the first place, resemble it
in valuing money above all things ? Yes. And surely at least
in being sparing and laborious, satisfying only his necessary
desires, and not allowing of any other expenses, but subduing
the other desires as foolish. Certainly. And being, said I, a
sordid man, and making gain of everything, a man intent on
hoarding, such as the multitude extols — will not this be the
man who resembles such a republic? It appears so to me,
replied he. Riches then must be most valued both by the city
and by such a man. For I do not think, said I, that such a
man has attended to education. I do not think he has, said
he ; for he would not have taken a blind one to be the leader
of his life. But further still, consider this attentively, said I.
Shall we not say that there are in him, from the want of
education, the desires of the drone, some of them beggarly,
and some of them mischievous, forcibly kept in by some other
pursuit? Entirely so, said he. Do you know then, said I,
where you will best observe their wickedness ? Where ? said
be. In their tutelages of orphans, or in whatever else of this

THE REPUBLIC. 239

kind comes in their way, where they have it much in their
power to do injustice. True. And is not this now manifest,
that in every other commerce of life, wherever such an one acts
so as to be approved, appearing to be just, and by moderate
behaviour restrains the other wrong desires within him, he does
so, not from any persuasion that it is not better to indulge them,
nor from sober reason, but from necessity and fear, trembling
for the rest of his substance. Entirely so, said he. And truly,
said I, friend, you shall find in most of them desires partaking
of the nature of the drone, where there is occasion to spend the
property of others. Very much so, said he. Such an one as
this, then, will not be without sedition within himself; nor be
one, but a kind of double man ; he will, however, have for the
most part the better desires governing the worse. It is so.
And on these accounts such an one, as I imagine, will be more
decent than many others, but the true virtue of a harmonised
and consistent soul would far eclipse him. It appears so to me.
And the parsimonious man will, in private life, be but a poor
rival for victory, or in any contest of the honourable kind. And
being unwilling to spend his substance for the sake of good
reputation, or for any such contests, being afraid to waken up his
expensive desires, or any alliance or contest of this kind, fighting
with only a small part of his forces in an Oligarchic manner, he
is generally defeated, and increases his wealth. Very true, said
he. Do we then yet hesitate, said I, to rank the covetous and
parsimonious man as most of all resembling the city under
Oligarchic government ? By no means, said he.

Democracy now, as it seems, is next to be considered, in
what manner it arises, and what kind of man it produces when
arisen ; that, understanding the nature of such a man, we may
bring him to a trial. We shall in this method, said he, proceed
consistently with ourselves. Is not, said I, the change from
Oligarchy to Democracy produced in some such way as this,
through the insatiable desire of the proposed good — viz., the
desire of becoming as rich as possible ? How? As those who
are its governors govern on account of their possessing great
riches, they will be unwilling, I think, to restrain by law such

24o THE REPUBLIC.

of the youth as are dissolute from having the liberty of
squandering1 and wasting their substance; that so, by pur-
chasing the substance of such persons, and lending them on
usury, they may still become both richer, and be held in greater
honour. They will be more unwilling than any other. And is
not this already manifest in the city, that it is impossible for
the citizens to esteem riches, and at the same time sufficiently
possess temperance, but either the one or the other must of
necessity be neglected ? It is abundantly plain, said he. But
whilst in Oligarchies they neglect education, and suffer the
youth to grow licentious, men of good birth are often under a
necessity of becoming poor. Very much so. And these, I
imagine, lurk in the city, fitted both with stings and with
armour, some of them in debt, others in contempt, others in
both, hating and conspiring against those who possess their
substance, and others likewise, being desirous of a change.
These things are so. But the money-catchers still brood over
their affairs, and seem not to observe these ; and wherever they
see any of the rest giving way, they wound -them by throwing
money into their hands, and, drawing to themselves exorbitant
usury, fill the city with drones, and the poor. They do, said he.
Nor yet, said I, when so great an evil is burning in the city, are
they willing to extinguish it, not even by the method of re-
straining any one from spending his substance at pleasure ; nor
yet to take that method, by which, according to the second
law, such disorder might be removed. According to which?
According to that, which is secondary to the other, obliging the
citizens to pay attention to virtue; for, if one should enjoin
them to traffic in the way of voluntary commerce, at the hazard
of the contractor, they would in a less shameful way make
money in the city, and likewise less of those evils we have now
mentioned would arise in it. Much less, said he. But at
present, said I, by means of all these things, the governors
render the governed of this kind. And do they not render
both themselves and all belonging to them, and the youth like-
wise, luxurious and idle with respect to all the exercises of body
and of mind, and effeminate in bearing both pleasures and

THE REPUBLIC. 241

pains, and likewise indolent ? What else ? As to themselves,
they neglect everything but the acquisition of wealth, and pay
no more attention to virtue than the poor do. They do not
indeed. After they are trained up in this manner, when these
governors and their subjects meet together either on the road
in their journeying, or in any other meetings, either at public
spectacles, or military marches, either when fellow-sailors or
fellow-soldiers, or when they see one another in common
dangers (in which case the poor are not contemned by the
rich ; since very often a robust fellow, poor and sunburnt, has
his rank in battle beside a rich man bred up in the shade, and
swollen with a great deal of adventitious flesh, and sees him
panting for breath and in agony), do not you imagine that the
poor think it is through their own fault that such fellows grow
rich, and that they say to one another, when they meet in
private, that our rich men are good for nothing at all ? I know
very well, said he, that they do so. For, as a diseased body
needs but the smallest shock from without to render it sickly,
and sometimes without any impression from without is in
sedition with itself, will not in like manner a city resembling
it in these things, on the smallest occasion from without, when
either the one party forms an alliance with the Oligarchic, or
the other with the Democratic, be sickly, and fight with itself,
and, sometimes without these things from abroad, be in
sedition ? Certainly, A Democracy then, I think, arises when
the poor prevailing over the rich kill some, and banish others,
and share the places in the republic, and the magistracies
equally among the remainder, and for the most part the
magistracies are disposed in it by lot. This truly, said he, is
the establishment of a Democracy, whether it arise by force of
arms, or from others withdrawing themselves through fear.

In what manner, now, said I, do these live, and what sort
of a republic is this? for it is plain that a man of this kind
will appear a Democratic man. It is plain, said he. Is not
then the city, in the first place, full of all freedom of action,
and of speech, and of liberty, to do in it what any one inclines ?
So truly it is said at least, replied he. And wherever there is

16

242 THE REPUBLIC.

liberty, it is plain that every one will regulate his own method
of life in whatever way he pleases. It is plain. And I think
that in such a republic most especially there would arise men
of all kinds. How can it be otherwise? This, said I, seems to
be the finest of all republics. As a variegated robe diversified
with all kinds of flowers, so this republic, variegated with all
sorts of manners, appears the finest. What else ? said he.
And it is likely, said I, that the multitude judge this republic
to be the best, like children and women gazing at variegated
things. Very likely, said he. And it is very proper at least.
O blessed man ! said I, to search for a republic in such a
state as this. How now? Because it contains all kinds of
republics on account of liberty ; and it appears necessary for
any one who wants to constitute a city, as we do at present,
to come to a Democratic city, as to a general fair of republics,
and choose that from which he fancies. It is likely indeed, said
he, he would not be in want of models. But what now, said I,
is not this a divine and sweet manner of life for the present :
to be under no necessity in such a city to govern, not though
you were able to govern, nor yet to be subject unless you
incline, nor to be engaged in war when others are, nor to
live in peace when others do so unless you be desirous of
peace; and though there be a law restraining you from
governing or administering justice, you may govern never-
theless, and administer justice, if you incline ? It is likely,
said he; it is pleasant for the present at least. But what
now, is not the meekness of some of those who are con-
demned very curious? Or have you not as yet observed, in
such a republic, men condemned to death or banishment, yet
nevertheless continuing in it, and walking up and down openly ;
and as if no one attended to or observed them, the condemned
march about like heroes ? I have observed very many, said he.
But is not this indulgence of the city very generous, in its small
regard, and even contempt, for all those things we celebrated
so much when we settled our city, as that unless a man had
an extraordinary genius, he never would become a good man,
unless when a child he were educated in things handsome, and

THE REPUBLIC. 243

should diligently apply to all these things : how magnanimously
does it despise all these things, and not regard from what kind
of pursuits a man comes to act in political affairs, but honours
him if he only says he is well affected towards the multitude ?
This contempt, said he, is very generous indeed. These now,
said I, and such things as are akin to these, are to be found
in a Democracy; and it will be, as it appears, a pleasant sort
of republic, anarchical, and variegated, distributing equality
to all alike without distinction. What you say, replied he,
is perfectly manifest. Consider now, said I, what kind of man
such an one is in private ; or first, must we not consider, as we
did with respect to the republic, in what manner he arises ?
Yes, said he. And does he not in this manner arise — viz., from
the parsimonious man, who was trained up in an Oligarchy by
his father in his manners ? Why not ? Such an one by force
restrains his own pleasures, those of them which are expensive,
and tend not to the acquisition of wealth, and which are called
unnecessary. It is plain, said he. Are you willing then, said I,
that we may not reason in the dark, first to determine what
desires are necessary, and what are not ? I am willing, said
he. May not such be justly called necessary, which we are not
able to remove, and such as when gratified are of advantage
to us ? For both these kinds our nature is under a necessity
to pursue ; is it not ? Very strongly. This then we shall justly
say makes the necessary part in our desires. Justly. But what
now ? Such desires as a man may banish, if he study it from
his youth, and such as whilst they remain do no good, if we say
of these that they are not necessary, we shall not say right ?
Right indeed. Let us select a paradigm of each of them, that
we may understand by an example what they are. It is proper.
Is not the desire of food (that is of plain bread and meat), so
far as is conducive to health, and a good habit of body, of the
necessary kind? I think so. The desire of bread at least is
indeed necessary on both accounts, as it is not only advan-
tageous, but also as the want of it must bring life to an end
altogether. It is. And the desire of meat is likewise necessary,
if it anyhow contribute anything towards the good habit of the

244 THE REPUBLIC.

body. Certainly. But the desire even of these things as goes
beyond these purposes, or the desire of less simple food, which
is capable of being curbed in youth, and, by being disciplined,
of being removed from many people, and which is hurtful both
to the body, and to the soul, with reference to her attaining
wisdom and temperance, may not such desire be rightly called
unnecessary? Most rightly, indeed. And may we not call
these expensive, and the others frugal, as they are conducive
towards the actions of life? Why not? In the same manner,
surely, shall we say of venereal desires, and the others. In the
same manner. And did we not, by him whom we just now
denominated the drone, mean one who was full of such desires
and pleasures, and was governed by such as are unnecessary ?
but that he who was under the necessary ones was the parsi-
monious and Oligarchic ? Without doubt. Let us again men-
tion, said I, how the Democratic arises from the Oligarchic;
and to me he appears to arise in great measure thus. How ?
When a young man nurtured, as we now mentioned, without
proper instruction, and in a parsimonious manner, comes to
taste the honey of the drones, and associates with those
vehement and terrible creatures who are able to procure all
sorts of pleasures, every way diversified, and from every
quarter ; — from this time conceive there is the beginning of
the change in him from the Oligarchic to the Democratic.
There is great necessity for it, said he. And as the city was
changed by the assistance of an alliance from without with one
party of it with which it was akin, will not the youth be changed
in the same manner, by the assistance of one species of desires
from without, to another within him which resembles it, and is
allied to it ? By all means. And I imagine at least, if by any
alliance there be given counter-assistance to the Oligarchic
party within him, either by his father, or by others of the
family, both admonishing and upbraiding him, then truly arises
sedition, and oppression, and a fight within him with himself.
Undoubtedly. And sometimes, indeed, I think, the Democratic
party yields to the Oligarchic, and some of the desires are
destroyed, and others retire, on a certain modesty being ingener-

THE REPUBLIC. 245

ated in the soul of the youth, and he again becomes cultivated.
This sometimes takes place, said he. And again, I conceive,
that when some desires retire, there are others allied to them
which grow up, and, through inattention to the father's instruc-
tion, become both many and powerful. This is usually the
case, said he. And do they not draw him towards intimacies
among themselves, and, meeting privately together, generate a
multitude ? What else ? And at length, I think, they seize the
citadel of the soul of the youth, finding it evacuated both of
beautiful disciplines and pursuits, and of true reasoning, which
are the best guardians and preservers in the dianoetic part of
men beloved of the Gods. Very much so, said he. And then
indeed false and arrogant reasonings and opinions, rushing up
in their stead, possess the same place in such an one. Vehem-
ently so, said he. And does he not now again, on coming
among those Lotus-eaters, dwell with them openly ? And if
any assistance comes from his friends to the parsimonious part
of his soul, those arrogant reasonings, shutting the gates of the
royal wall against it, neither give entrance to this alliance, nor
to the individual and ambassador-like admonitions of old men ;
but, fighting against these, hold the government themselves.
And denominating modesty stupidity, they thrust it out disgrace-
fully as a fugitive, and temperance they call unmanliness, and,
abusing it most shamefully, expel it. Persuading themselves
likewise that moderation, and decent expense, are no other than
rusticity and illiberality, they banish them from their territories
with the aid of many other and unprofitable desires. Vehem-
ently so. Having emptied and purified from all these desires
the soul that is detained by them, and is initiated in the great
mysteries, they next lead in, with encomiums and applauses,
insolence and anarchy, luxury and impudence, shining with a
great retinue, and crowned. And insolence, indeed, they
denominate education ; anarchy they call liberty ; luxury, mag-
nificence; and impudence, manhood. Is it not, said I, somehow
in this manner, that a youth changes from one bred up with
the necessary desires into licentiousness and remissness of the
unnecessary and unprofitable pleasures ? And very plainly so,

246 THE REPUBLIC.

replied he. And such an one, I think, after this leads his life,
expending his substance, his labour, and his time, as much on
the unnecessary as the necessary pleasures : and if he be for-
tunate, and not excessively debauched, when he is somewhat
more advanced in years, and when the great crowd of desires
is over, he admits a part of those which were expelled, and does
not deliver himself wholly up to such as had intruded, but
regulates his pleasures by a sort of equality, and so lives
delivering up the government of himself to every incidental
desire as it may happen, till it be satisfied, and then to another,
undervaluing none of them, but indulging them all alike.
Entirely so. And such an one, said I, does not listen to true
reasoning, nor admit it into the citadel, if any should tell him
that there are some pleasures of the worthy and the good
desires, and others of the depraved, and that he ought to
pursue and honour those, but to chastise and enslave these.
But, in all these cases, he dissents, and says that they are all
alike, and ought to be held in equal honour. Whoever is thus
affected, said he, vehemently acts in this manner. And does
he not live, said I, from day to day, gratifying after this manner
every incidental desire, sometimes indulging himself in intoxi-
cation, and in music, sometimes drinking water, and extenuat-
ing himself by abstinence; and then again attending to the
gymnastic exercises ? Sometimes too he is quite indolent and
careless about everything ; then again he works as if he were
a philosopher ; many times he acts the part of a politician, and
in a desultory manner speaks and acts according to whatever
happens. If at any time he affects to imitate any of the
military tribe, thither he is carried ; or of the mercantile, then
again hither; nor is his life regulated by any order, or any
necessity, but, deeming this kind of life pleasant, and free, and
blessed, he follows it throughout. You have entirely, said he,
discussed the life of one who places all laws whatever on a
level.1 I imagine, at least, said I, that he is multiform, and

1 Davies and Vaughan, with an eye on a later democracy, translate
this " the life that might be led by a man whose motto is Liberty and
Equality."

THE REPUBLIC. 247

full of very different manners; and that, like the city, he is fine,
and variegated, and that very many men and women would
desire to imitate his life, as he contains in himself a great many
patterns of republics and of manners. He does, said he. What
now? Shall such a man as this be arranged as resembling a
Democracy, as he may truly be called Democratic ? Let him
be so arranged, said he.

But it yet remains that we discuss, said I, the most excellent
republic, and the most excellent man — viz., Tyranny, and the
Tyrant. It does, said he. Come then, my dear companion! in
what manner does Tyranny arise ? for it is almost plain that
the change is from Democracy. It is plain. Does not Tyranny
arise in the same manner from Democracy, as Democracy does
from Oligarchy? How? What did Oligarchy, said I, propose
as its good, and according to what was it constituted? It was
with a view to become extremely rich, was it not? Yes An
insatiable desire then of riches, and a neglect of other things,
through attention to the acquisition of wealth, destroys it.
True, said he. And with reference to that which Democracy
denominates good, an insatiable thirst of it destroys it like-
wise ? But what is it you say it denominates good ? Liberty,
said I. For this you are told is most beautiful in a city which
is under a Democracy, and that for the sake of liberty any one
who is naturally free chooses to live in it alone. This word
Liberty, said he, is indeed often mentioned. Does not then,
said I, as I was going to say, the insatiable desire of this, and
the neglect of other things, change even this republic, and
prepare it to stand in need of a tyrant? How? said he.
When a city, said I, is under a Democracy, and is thirsting
after liberty, and happens to have bad cup-bearers appointed it,
and becomes intoxicated with an unmixed draught of liberty
beyond what is necessary, it punishes even the governors if
they will not be entirely tame, and afford abundant liberty,
accusing them as corrupted, and Oligarchic. They do this, said
he. But such as are obedient to magistrates they abuse, said I,
as willing slaves, and good for nothing, and, both in private
and in public, commend and honour magistrates who resemble

248 THE REPUBLIC.

subjects, and subjects who resemble magistrates ; must they not
therefore necessarily in such a city arrive at the summit of
liberty? How is it possible they should not? And must not
this inbred anarchy, my friend, descend into private families,
and in the end reach even the brutes ? How, said he, do we
assert such a thing as this ? Just as if, said I, a father should
accustom himself to resemble a child, and be afraid of his sons,
and the son accustom himself to resemble his father, and neither
to revere nor stand in awe of his parents, that so indeed he
may be free ; or as if a stranger were to be equalled with
a citizen, and a citizen with a stranger, and, in like manner,
a foreigner. It is just so, said he. These things, said I, and
other little things of a like nature happen. The teacher in
such a city fears and flatters the scholars, and the scholars
despise their teachers and their tutors in like manner : and in
general the youth resemble the more advanced in years, and
contend with them both in words and deeds: and the old
men, sitting down with the young, are full of merriment and
pleasantry, mimicking the youth, that they may not appear to
be morose and despotic. It is entirely so, replied he. But
that extreme liberty of the multitude, said I, how great it is
in such a city as this, when the men and women slaves are
no less free than those who purchase them, and how great an
equality and liberty the wives have with their husbands, and
husbands with their wives, we have almost forgotten to men-
tion. Shall we not then, according to ^Eschylus, said he, say
whatever now comes into our mouth ? By all means, said I ;
and accordingly I do speak thus, when I say, with reference
even to brutes, such of them as are under the care of men,
how much more free they are in such a city, he who has not
experienced it will not easily believe : for indeed even the
puppies, according to the proverb, resemble their mistresses;
and the horses and asses are accustomed to go freely and
gracefully, marching up against any one they meet on the
road, unless he give way; and many other such things thus
happen full of liberty. You tell me, said he, my dream; for
I have often met with this when going into the country. But

THE REPUBLIC. 249

do you observe, said I, what is the sum of all these things
collected together? how delicate it makes the soul of the
citizens, so that, if any one bring near to them anything
pertaining to slavery, they are filled with indignation, and
cannot endure it. And do you know, that at length they
regard not even the laws, written or unwritten, that no one
by any means whatever may become their masters? I know
it well, said he. This now, friend, said I, is that sweet and
charming government, whence Tyranny springs, as it appears
to me. Charming truly, replied he ; but what follows this ?
The same thing, sajd I, which, springing up as a disease
in an Oligarchy, destroyed it; the same arising here in a
greater and more powerful manner, through its licentious-
ness, enslaves the Democracy: and in reality, the doing
anything to excess usually occasions a mighty change to
the reverse: for thus it is in seasons, in vegetable and in
animal bodies, and in republics as much as in anything. It
is probable, said he. And excessive liberty seems to change
into nothing else but excessive slavery, both with a private
person and a city. It is probable, indeed. It is probable then,
said I, that out of no other republic is Tyranny constituted than
a Democracy; out of the most excessive liberty I conceive the
greatest and most savage slavery. It is reasonable, said he,
to think so. But this I think, said I, was not what you were
asking ; but what that disease is which enslaves Democracy,
resembling that which destroys Oligarchy ? You say true,
replied he. I spoke, said I, of the race of idle and profuse
men, one part of which was more brave, and were leaders,
the other more cowardly, and followed. And we compared
them to drones ; some to such as have stings, others to such
as have none. And rightly, said he. These two now, said I,
springing up in every republic, raise disturbance, as phlegm
and bile in a natural body. And it behoves a wise physician
and lawgiver of a city, no less than a wise bee-keeper, to be
afraid of these, and keep them at a distance, that they never
get in ; but, if they have entered, that they be in the speediest
manner possible cut out, together with their very cells. Yes,

250 THE REPUBLIC,

said he, by all means. Let us take it then, said I, in this
manner, that we may see more distinctly what we want. In
what manner ? Let us divide in our reasoning a Democratic
city into three parts, as it really is ; for one such species as the
above grows through licentiousness in it no less than in the
Oligarchic. It does so. But it is much more fierce at least in
this than in that. How? In an Oligarchy, because it is not
in places of honour, but is debarred from the magistracies, it
is unexercised, and does not become strong. But in a Demo-
cracy this, excepting a few, is the presiding party, and the
boldest members speak and act, while the rest sit round the
court and make a humming noise of applause, and cannot
endure any other to speak differently ; so that all things, some
few excepted, in such a republic, are administered by such a
party. Just so, said he. Some other party, as well as this, is
always separated from the multitude. Which ? Whilst the whole
are engaged in the pursuit of gain, such as are naturally the most
temperate become for the most part the wealthiest. It is likely.
And hence, I think, the greatest quantity of honey, and what
comes with the greatest ease, is pressed out of these by the
drones. For how, said he, can any one press out of those who
have but little? Such wealthy people, I think, are called the
pasture of the drones. Nearly so, replied he. And the people
will be a third species, such as mind their own affairs, and
meddle not with any others, who have not much substance, but
yet are the most numerous, and the most prevalent in a Demo-
cracy, whenever it is fully assembled. It is so ; but this it will
not wish to do often, if it does not obtain some share of the
honey. Does it not always obtain a share, said I, as far as
their leaders are able, robbing those that have property, and
giving to the people that they may have the most themselves ?
They are indeed, said he, sharers in this manner. These men
who are thus despoiled are obliged to defend themselves, saying
and doing all they can among the people. Why not ? Others
then accuse them of forming designs against the people, though
they should have no inclination to introduce a change of govern-
ment, and of being Oligarchic. Why not? But at length, after

THE REPUBLIC. 251

they see that the people, not of their own accord, but being
ignorant and imposed on by those slanderers, attempt to injure
them, — do they not then indeed, whether they will or not,
become truly Oligarchic ? Yet not spontaneously, but this
mischief likewise is generated by that drone stinging them.
Extremely so, indeed. And so they have accusations, law-suits,
and contests one with another. Very much so. And are not
the people accustomed always to place some one, in a con-
spicuous manner, over themselves, and to cherish him, and
greatly increase his power? They are. And this, said I, is
plain, that whenever a tyrant arises it is from this presiding
root, and from nothing else, that he blossoms. This is ex-
tremely manifest. What is the beginning then of the change
from a president into a tyrant ? Is it not plain, that it is after
the president begins to do the same thing as that in the fable,
which is told in relation to the temple of Lycasan Zeus in
Arcadia ? What is that ? said he. That whosoever tasted
human entrails which were mixed with those of other sacrifices,
necessarily became a wolf. Have you not heard the story ? I
have. And must not he in the same manner, who being presi-
dent of the people, and receiving an extremely submissive
multitude, abstains not from kindred blood, but unjustly accus-
ing them (of such things as they are wont), and bringing them
into courts of justice, stains himself with bloodshed, taking
away the life of a man, and, with unhallowed tongue and mouth,
tasting kindred blood, and besides this, banishes and slays, and
proposes the abolition of debts, and division of lands, — must
not such an one, of necessity, and as it is destined, be either
destroyed by his enemies, or exercise tyranny, and, from being
a man, become a wolf? Of great necessity, said he. This is
what becomes of him, said I, who was seditious towards those
who have property ; one who if banished and then restored in
spite of his enemies with open force, becomes an accomplished
tyrant. It is plain. And if they be unable to expel him, or to
put him to death, on an accusation before the city, they truly
conspire to cut him off privately by a violent death. It is wont
indeed, said he, to happen so. And, on this account, all those

252 THE REPUBLIC.

who mount up to tyranny invent this celebrated tyrannical
demand, to demand of the people certain guards for their
person, that the assistance of the people may be secured to
them. Of this, said he, they take special care. And they
grant them, I imagine, being afraid of his safety, but secure
as to their own. Extremely so. And when a man who has
property, and who along with his property has the reputation
of hating the people, observes this,— he then, my friend, accord-
ing to the answer of the oracle to Croesus,

" . . j to craggy Hermus flies,
Nor stays, nor fears to be a coward deemed."

Because he would not, said he, be in fear a second time. For
he, said I, who is caught, is, I imagine, put to death. Of neces-
sity. It is plain, then, that this president of the city does not
lie " like a great man greatly fallen," but, hurling down others,
sits in his chair a consummate tyrant of the city, instead of a
president. He does, said he. Shall we consider now, said I,
the happiness of the man, and of the city in which such a
mortal arises? By all means, said he, let us consider it. Does
he not then, said I, in the first days, and for the first season,
smile, and salute every one he meets ; says he is no tyrant, and
promises many things, both in private and in public ; and frees
from debts, and distributes land both to the people in general,
and to those about him, and affects to be mild and patriotic
towards all? Of necessity, said he. But when, I think, he has
reconciled to himself some of his foreign enemies, and destroyed
others, and there is tranquillity with reference to these, he in the
first place always raises some wars, in order that the people
may be in need of a leader. It is likely. And is it not likewise
with this view, that, being rendered poor by payment of taxes,
they may be under a necessity of becoming intent on daily
sustenance, and may be less ready to conspire against him?
It is plain. And, I think, if he suspects that any of those
who are of a free spirit will not allow him to govern, —
in order to have some pretext for destroying them, he
exposes them to the enemy ; on all these accounts a tyrant

THE REPUBLIC. 253

is always under a necessity of raising war. Of necessity.
And, whilst he is doing these things, he must readily be-
come more hateful to his citizens. Why not ? And must not
some of those who have been promoted along with him, and
who are in power, speak out freely both towards him, and
among themselves, finding fault with the transactions, such of
them as are of a more manly spirit? It is likely. It behoves
the tyrant, then, to cut off all these, if he means to govern, till
he leave no one, either of friends or foes, who is worth anything.
It is plain. He must then carefully observe who is courageous,
who is magnanimous, who wise, who rich ; and so happy is he,
that willing, or not willing, he is under a necessity of being an
enemy to all such as these ; and to plot against them till he
purify the city of them. A beautiful purification, said he. Yes,
said I, the reverse of what physicians do with respect to animal
bodies; for they, taking away what is worst, leave the best;
but he does the contrary. Because it seems, said he, he must
of necessity do so, if he is to govern. In a blessed necessity,
then, truly, is he bound, said I, which obliges him either to
live with many depraved people, and to be hated too by them,
or not to live at all. In such necessity he is, replied he. And
the more he is hated by his citizens whilst he does these things,
shall he not so much the more want a greater number of guards,
and more faithful ones ? How is it possible he should not ?
Who then are the faithful, and from whence shall he send for
them ? Many, said he, of their own accord, will come flying, if
he give them hire. You seem, by the dog, said I, again to
mention foreign and multiform drones. You imagine right,
replied he. But those at home, would he not incline to have
them also as guards? How? After he has taken away the
citizens, by giving the slaves their liberty, and making them
guards about his person. By all means, said he, for these
are the most faithful to him. What a blessed possession,
said I, is this which you mention belonging to the tyrant, if he
employ such friends and faithful men, after having destroyed
those former ones ! But surely such as these at least, said he,
he does employ. And such companions, said I, admire him,

?54 THE REPUBLIC.

and the new citizens accompany him: but the worthy men
both hate and fly from him. Why should they not? It is not
without reason, said I, that tragedy in the general is thought a
wise thing, and that Euripides is thought to excel in it. For
what? Because he uttered this, which is the mark of a con-
densed conception, " That tyrants are wise, by the conversa-
tion of the wise," and he plainly meant those were wise with
whom the tyrants hold converse. And he commends too, said
he, Tyranny as a divine thing, and says a great many other
things of it, as do likewise the other poets. Those composers
then of tragedy, said I, as they are wise, will forgive us, and
such as establish the government of cities in a manner nearly
resembling ours, in not admitting them into our republic as
being panegyrists of Tyranny. I think, said he, such of them
at least as are more polite will forgive us. But going about
among other cities, I think, and drawing together the crowds,
and putting to sale their fine, magnificent, and persuasive
words, they will draw over the republics to Tyrannies and
Democracies. Extremely so. And do they not further receive
rewards, and are they not honoured chiefly by Tyrants, as is
natural, and in the next place by Democracy ? But the further
on they advance towards the republics, the reverse of these, their
honour forsakes them the more, as if it were disabled by an
asthma from advancing. Entirely so. Thus far, said I, we
have digressed : but now again let us mention in what manner
that army of the Tyrant, which is so beautiful, so numerous
and multiform, and no way the same, shall be maintained. It
is plain, said he, that if at any time there be any sacred things
in the city, these they will spend, that what they sell may still
answer their demands, and the people be obliged to pay in the
lighter taxes. But what will they do when these fail them? It
is plain, said he, that he and his intoxicated companions, and
his associates, male and female, will be maintained out of the
paternal inheritance. I understand, said I, that the people who
have made the Tyrant will nourish him and his companions.
They are under great necessity, said he. But proceed, replied
I : What if the people be enraged, and say that it is not just,

THE REPUBLIC. 255

that the son who is arrived at maturity be maintained by the
father, but contrariwise that the father be maintained by the
son; and that they did not make and establish him for this
purpose, to be a slave to his slaves when he should be grown
up, and to maintain him and his slaves with their other
turbulent attendants; but in order that they might be set at
liberty from the rich in the city, who are also called the good
and worthy, by having placed him over them ? And now they
order him and his companions to leave the city, as a father
drives out of the house his son with his turbulent drunken com-
panions. Then, by Zeus, shall the people, said he, know what
a beast they are themselves, and what a beast they have
generated, and embraced, and nurtured, and that though they
are the weaker they have attempted to drive out the stronger.
What do you mean ? replied I. Will the Tyrant dare to offer
violence to his father, and, if he cannot persuade him, will he
strike him ? Yes, said he, when he has stripped him of his
armour. You call, said I, the Tyrant a parricide and a miser-
able nourisher of old age : and yet, as it is probable, Tyranny
would really seem to be of this kind; and according to the
saying, the people in defending themselves against the smoke
of the slavery of free men, have fallen into the fire of a slavish
despotism; and instead of that excessive and unseasonable
liberty, they embrace the most rigorous and the most wretched
slavery of bondmen. These things, said he, happen just so.
Then, said I, shall we not speak justly and modestly, if we
assert that we have sufficiently shown how Tyranny arises out
of Democracy, and what it is when it does arise? We shall,
replied he.

256 THE REPUBLIC.

BOOK IX.

THE tyrannical man himself, said I, remains yet to be con-
sidered, in what manner he arises out of the Democratic, and
when he does arise, what kind of man he is, and what kind of
life he leads, whether miserable or blessed. He indeed yet
remains, said he. Do you know, said I, what I still want ?
What is it? We do not appear to me to have sufficiently
distinguished the desires; of what kind they are, and how
many ; and whilst this is defective, the inquiry we make will be
less evident. May it not be done opportunely now ? said he.
Certainly. And consider what it is I wish to know about them ;
for it is this: Of those pleasures and desires which are not
necessary, some appear to me to be repugnant to law: these
indeed seem to be ingenerated in every one; but being
punished by the laws, and the better desires, in conjunction
with reason, they either forsake some men altogether, or are
less numerous, and feeble; in others they are more powerful,
and more numerous. Will you inform me what these are ?
said he. Such, said I, as are excited in sleep; when the other
part of the soul which is rational and mild, and which governs
in it, is asleep, and the part which is savage and rustic, being
filled with meat and drink, frisks about, and, driving away sleep,
seeks to go and accomplish its practices. In such an one
you know it dares to do everything, as being loosed, and disen-
gaged from all modesty and prudence : for it scruples not the
imaginary embraces of a mother, or of any one else, whether of
Gods, of men, or of beasts ; nor to kill any one, nor to abstain
from any sort of meat, — and, in one word, is wanting in no folly
nor impudence. You say most true, replied he. But I imagine,
when a man is in health, and lives temperately, and goes to

THE REPUBLIC. 257

sleep, having excited the rational part, and feasted it with
worthy reasonings and inquiries, coming to an agreement with
himself; allowing that part of the soul which is desiderative
neither to be starved nor glutted, that it may lie quiet, and give no
disturbance, either by its joy or grief, to the part which is best,
but suffer it by itself, alone and pure, to inquire, and strive to
apprehend what it knows not, either something that has existed,
or now exists, or will exist hereafter; and having likewise
soothed the irascible part, not suffering it to be hurried by
anything into transports of anger, and so fall asleep with
agitated passion: but having quieted these two parts of the
soul, and excited the third part in which wisdom resides, shall
in this manner take rest : — by such an one the truth is chiefly
apprehended, and the visions of his dreams are then least of all
repugnant to law. I am altogether, said he, of this opinion.

I We have, indeed, been carried a little too far in mentioning
these things. But what we want to be known is this, that there
is in every one a certain species of desires which is terrible,
savage, and irregular, even in some who seem to us to be
perfectly temperate. And this species becomes indeed manifest
in sleep. Consider if there appear to be anything in what I
say, and if you agree with me. I agree. Recollect now what
kind of man we said the Democratic one was: for he was
educated from his infancy under a parsimonious father, who
valued the avaricious desires alone: and such as were not
necessary, but rose only through a love of amusement and
finery, he despised. Was he not ? Yes. But, by being conver-
sant with those who are more fashionable, and such as are full
of those desires we now mentioned, he had run into their
manner, and all kinds of riot, from a detestation of his father's
parsimony; — however, having a better natural temper than
those who corrupt him, and being drawn in two opposite ways,
he settled into a manner which is situated in the middle of both;
and participating moderately, as he imagines, of each of them,
he leads a life neither illiberal nor licentious, becoming changed
into a Democratic from an Oligarchic man. This was, said he,
and is our opinion of such an one. Suppose now again, that

17

258 THE REPUBLIC.

when such an one is become old, his young son is educated in
his manners. I suppose it. And suppose too, the same things
happening to him as to his father; that he is drawn into all
kinds of licentiousness, which is termed however by such as
draw him off " complete liberty " ; and that his father and all
the domestics are aiding to those desires which are in the
middle, and others also lend their assistance. But when those
dire magicians and tyrant-makers have no hopes of retaining
the youth in their power any other way, they contrive to excite
in him some love which presides over the indolent desires, and
such as minister readily to their pleasures, which love is like a
large and winged drone; or do you think that the love of these
things is anything else ? I think, said he, it is no other thar
this. And when other desires make a humming noise aboui
him, full of their odours and perfumes, and crowns and wines,
and those pleasures of the most dissolute kind which belong to
such co-partnerships ; and, being increased and cherished, add
a sting of desire to the drone, then truly he is surrounded with
madn,ess as a life-guard, and that president of the soul rages
with frenzy ; and if he find in himself any opinions or desires
which seem to be good, and which retain modesty, he kills
them, and pushes them from him, till he be cleansed of temper-
ance and is filled with additional madness. You describe
perfectly, said he, the formation of a tyrannical man. Is it not,
said I, on such an account as this, that, of old, Love is said to
be a tyrant ? It appears so, replied he. And, my friend, said I,
has not a drunken man likewise somewhat of a tyrannical
spirit ? He has indeed. And surely at least he who is mad,
and is disturbed in his mind, undertakes and hopes to be able
to govern not only men, but likewise the Gods. Entirely so,
said he. Such an one then, O divine man ! becomes absolutely
tyrannical, when either by temper, or by his pursuits, or by
both, he becomes a slave of intoxication, or love, or insanity.
Perfectly so, indeed.

Such an one, it seems, then, arises in this manner. But in
what manner does he live ? As they say in the plays, replied
he, you will tell me that. I will then, said I. For I think that

THE REPUBLIC. 259

after this there will be feastings among them, and revellings,
and banquetings, and mistresses, and all such things as may be
expected among those where Love the tyrant dwelling within
governs all in the soul. Of necessity, said he. Every day and
night, therefore, do there not blossom forth many and dreadful
desires, which are in need of many things? Many indeed.
And if they have any supplies, they are soon spent. What else ?
And after this there is borrowing and pillaging of substance.
What else ? And when everything fails them, is there not a
necessity that the desires, on the one hand, nestling in the
mind, shall give frequent and powerful cries; and the men,
on the other hand, being driven as by stings, both by the
other desires, and more especially by the love itself which
commands all the others as its life-guards, shall rage with
frenzy, and search what any one possesses which they are
able, by deceit or violence, to carry away ? Extremely so, said
he. They must of necessity therefore be plundering from every
quarter, or be tormented with great agonies and pains. Of
necessity. And as with such a man the new pleasures possess
more than, and take away what belonged to, the ancient ones,
shall not he deem it proper, in the same manner, that himself,
being young, should have more than his father and mother, and
take away from them, and, if he has spent his own portion, en-
croach on that of his parents ? Why will he not ? said he. And
if they do not allow him, will he not first endeavour to pilfer from
and beguile his parents ? By all means. And where he is not
able to do this, will he not in the next place use rapine and
violence ? I think so, replied he. But, O wonderful man !
when the old man and woman oppose and fight, will he revere
them, and beware of doing anything tyrannical ? I, for my part,
am not quite sure, said he, of the safety of the parents of such
an one. But, Adimantus, do you think that, for the sake of
a newly-beloved and unnecessary mistress, such an one would
give up his anciently beloved and necessary mother ; or, for the
sake of a blooming youth newly beloved, and not necessary, give
up his decayed, his necessary and aged father, the most ancient
of all his friends, to stripes, and suffer these to be enslaved by

260 THE REPUBLIC.

those others, if he should bring them into the same house ?
Yes, by Zeus, I do, said he. It seems, said I, to be an
extremely blessed thing to beget a tyrannical son. Not
altogether so, said he. But when the substance of his father and
mother fails such an one, and when now there is the greatest
swarm of pleasures assembled in him, shall he not first break
into some house, or late at night strip some one of his coat, and
after this shall he not rifle some temple ; and in all these actions,
those desires that are newly loosed from slavery and that have
become as the guards of love, shall along with it rule over
those ancient opinions he had from his infancy, the established
decisions concerning good and evil ; — these desires which here-
tofore were only loose from their slavery in sleep, when he was
as yet under the laws, and his father, and under Democratic
government ? — But now when he is tyrannised over by love, such
as he rarely was when asleep shall he be always when awake ;
and from no horrid slaughter, or food, or deed of any kind,
shall he abstain. But that tyrannical love within him, living
without any restraint of law or government, as being sole
monarch itself, will lead on the man it possesses, as a city, to
every mad attempt, whence it may be supported, and the crowd
about it ; which partly enters from without, from ill company,
and partly through their manners and his own, is become
unrestrained and licentious. Or is not this the life of such an
one ? It is this truly, said he. And if there be, said I, but a few
such in the city, and the rest of the multitude be sober, they go
out and serve as guards to some other tyrant, or assist him for
hire if there be any war; but if they remain in peace and quiet,
they commit at home in the city a great many small mischiefs.
Which do you mean? Such as these: they steal, break open
houses, cut purses, strip people of their clothes, rifle temples,
make people slaves ; and where they can speak they sometimes
turn false informers, and give false testimony and take bribes.
You call these, said he, small mischiefs, if there be but a few
such persons. What is small, said I, is small in comparison
with the great. And all those things, when compared with the
wickedness and misery of a city, do not, as the saying is, come

THE REPUBLIC. 261

near the mark of the tyrant ; for when there are many such in
the city, and others accompanying them, and when they per-
ceive their own number, then these are they who, through the
foolishness of ihp people, establish as tyrant the man who
among them has himself most of the tyrant, and in the greatest
strength, within his soul. It is probable indeed, said he ; for he
will be most tyrannical. Will he not be so, if they voluntarily
submit to him ? But if the city will not allow him, in the same
manner as he formerly used violence to his father and mother,
so now again will he chastise his country if he be able ; and
bringing in other young people, he will keep and nourish under
subjection to these, his formerly beloved mother-country, as the
Cretans say, or father-land ? And this will be the issue of such
a man's desire. It will be entirely this, said he. But do not
these, said I, become such as this, first in private, and before
they govern ? In the first place, with the company they keep,
are not their associates flatterers, and such as are ready to
minister to them in everything ; or, if they need anything them-
selves, falling down to those they converse with, they dare to
assume every appearance as friends ; but, after they have gained
their purpose, they act as enemies ? Extremely so. Thus they
pass the whole of their life, never friends to any one, but always
domineering, or enslaved to another. But liberty and true
friendship the tyrannic disposition never tastes. Entirely so.
May we not then rightly call these men faithless ? Why not ?
And surely we may call them most of all unjust, if we have
rightly agreed about justice, in our former reasonings, what it
is. But we did rightly agree, said he. Let us finish then, said
I, with our worst man. He would seem such an one awake, as
we described as asleep. Entirely so. And does not that man
become such an one, who being most tyrannical by natural
temper, is in possession of supreme power, and the longer he
lives in tyranny, the more he becomes like such an one ? Of
necessity, replied Glauco, taking up the discourse. And will
not the man, said I, who appears the most wicked, appear like-
wise the most wretched ; and he who shall tyrannise for the
longest time, and in the greatest measure, shall he not in reaUty,

262 THE REPUBLIC.

in the greatest measure, and for the longest time, be most miser
able. But as many men as many minds. Of necessity, said
he, these things at least must be so. And would this Tyrannic
man differ anything, said I, as to similitude, when compared
with the city under tyranny, and the Democratic man when
compared with the city under democracy, and after the same
manner with respect to others ? How should they ? As city
then is to city, in regard to virtue and happiness, will not man
be to man ? Why not ? Then does the city which is tyrannised
over stand when compared with that under kingly government,
such as we at the first described ? Quite the reverse, said he ;
for the one is the best, and the other is the worst. I will not
ask, said I, which you mean, for it is plain, but do you judge in
the same way, or otherwise, as to their happiness and misery ?
And let us not be struck with admiration, whilst we regard the
tyrant alone, or some few about him ; but let us, as we ought to
do, enter into the whole of the city, and consider it: and going
through every part, and viewing it, let us declare our opinion.
You propose rightly, said he. And it is evident to every one
that there is no city more wretched than that which is under
Tyranny, nor any more happy than that under regal power. If
now, said I, I should propose the same things with respect to the
men, should I do rightly if I account him worthy to judge about
them, who is able, by his dianoetic power, to enter within, and
see through the temper of the man, and who may not, as a child
beholding the outside, be struck with admiration of tyrannical
pomp, which he makes a show of to those without, but may
sufficiently see through him? If then, I should be of opinion,
that all of us ought to hear such an one, who, having dwelt with
the man in the same house, and having been with him in his
actions in his family, is able to judge in what manner he behaves
to each of his domestics (in which most especially a man appears
stripped of theatrical shows), and likewise in public dangers ;
and after he has observed all these things, bid him declare, how
the Tyrant is as to happiness and misery in comparison with
others? You would advise to these things, said he, most
properly. Are you willing then, said I, that we pretend to be

THE REPUBLIC. 263

ourselves of the number of those who are thus able to judge,
and that we have already met with such men, that we may have
one who shall answer our questions ? By all means. Come
then, said I, consider in this manner. Recollect the resem-
blance of the city, and the man, to one another, and, thus con-
sidering each of them apart, relate the circumstances of each.
Which ? said he. To begin first, said I, with the city. Do you
call the one under Tyranny, free or enslaved ? Slavish, said he,
in the greatest degree possible. And yet, surely, at least, you
see in it masters and freemen ? I see, said he, some small part
so. But the mass in it, in general, and the most excellent part,
is disgracefully and miserably enslaved. If then the man, said
I, resembles the city, is it not necessary that there be the same
regulation in him likewise; and that his soul be full of the
greatest slavery and illiberality ; and that these parts of his soul,
which are the noblest, be enslaved, and that some small part,
which is most wicked and frantic, is master ? Of necessity, said
he. What now ? will you say that such a soul is slavish, or free ?
Slavish somehow, I say. But does not then the city which is
slavish, and tyrannised over, least of all do what it inclines ?
Very much so. And will not the soul too, which is tyrannised
over, least of all do what it shall incline (to speak of the whole
soul) : but, hurried violently by some stinging passion, be full of
tumult and inconstancy ? How should it not be so ? But whether
will the city which is tyrannised over be rich or poor ? Poor. And
the soul under Tyranny will be of necessity likewise indigent and
insatiable ? Just so, said he. But must not such a city, and
such a man, of necessity be full of fear ? Very much so. Do
you think you will find more lamentations, and groans and
weepings, and torments, in any other city ? By no means.
But with reference to a man, do you think that these things
are greater in any other than in this tyrannical one, who madly
rages in his desires and lusts ? How can they ? said he. It
is then on consideration of all these things, and others such
as these, I think, that you have deemed this city the most
wretched of cities? And have I not deemed right? said he.
Extremely so^ said I. But what say you again with reference

264 THE REPUBLIC.

to the tyrannical man, when you consider these things ? That
he is by far, said he, the most wretched of men. You do not
as yet say this rightly, said I. How ? said he. I do not as yet
think, said I, that he is such in the greatest degree. But
who then is so ? The following will probably appear to you
to be yet more miserable than the other. Which ? He, said
I, who being naturally tyrannical, leads not a private life, but
is unfortunate, and through some misfortune is led to become
a Tyrant. I conjecture, said he, from what was formerly men-
tioned, that you are right. It is so, said I. But we ought not
merely to conjecture about matters of such importance as these,
but most thoroughly to inquire into them by reasoning of this
kind : for the inquiry is concerning a thing of the greatest conse-
quence, a good life and a bad. Most right, said he. Consider
then whether there be anything in what I say ; for in consider-
ing this question, I am of opinion that we ought to perceive it
from these things. From what ? From every individual among
private men — namely, such of them as are rich, and possess
many slaves ; for those have this resemblance at least of Tyrants,
that they rule over many, with the difference, that the Tyrant
has a great multitude. There is this difference. You know
then that these live securely, and are not afraid of their
domestics. What should they be afraid of? Nothing, said
I; but do you consider the reason? Yes. It is because the
whole city gives assistance to each particular private man.
You say right, replied I. But what now ? If some God should
lift a man who had fifty slaves or upwards out of the city, both
him, and his wife and children, and set him down in the desert,
with his other substance, and his domestics, where no freeman
was to give him assistance, — in what kind of fear, and in how
great, do you imagine he would be about himself, his children
and wife, lest they should be destroyed by the domestics ? In
the greatest possible, said he, I imagine. Would he not be
obliged even to flatter some of the very slaves, and promise
them many things, to set them at liberty when there was no
occasion for it ? Would he not appear to be merely a flatterer
of his servants ? He is under great necessity, said he, to do so,

THE REPUBLIC. 265

or be destroyed. But, said I, if God should settle round him
many other neighbours, who could not endure any one to
pretend to lord it over another; but, if they anywhere found
such an one, should punish him with the extremist rigour?
I imagine, said he, that he would be still more distressed,
thus beset by every kind of enemies. And in such a prison-
house is not the Tyrant bound, being such by disposition, as
we have mentioned, full of many and most various fears and
loves of all kinds ? And whilst he has in his soul the greatest
desire, he alone of all in the city is neither allowed to go any-
where abroad, nor to see such things as other men are desirous
of ; but, creeping into his house, lives mostly as a woman, envy-
ing the other citizens if any of them go abroad, and see anything
fine. It is entirely so, said he.

And besides such evils as these, does not the man reap still
more misery, who, being under ill policy within himself (which
you just now deemed to be the most wretched Tyranny), lives
not as a private person, but through some fortune is obliged to
act the tyrant, and without holding the government of himself,
attempts to govern others; just as if one with a body diseased,
and unable to support itself, were obliged to live not in a private
way, but in wrestling and fighting against other bodies ? You
say, Socrates, replied he, what is altogether most likely and
true. Is not then, friend Glauco, said I, this condition alto-
gether miserable ? and does not the Tyrant live more miserably
still, than the man deemed by you to live most miserably?
Very much so, said he. True it is then, though one may fancy
otherwise, that the truly tyrannical man is truly slavish with
respect to the greatest flatteries and slaveries, and is a flatterer
of the most abandoned men ; nor does he ever in the smallest
degree obtain the gratification of his desires, but is of all the
most indigent of most things, and appears poor indeed, if a man
knows how to contemplate his whole soul ; and full of fear
through the whole of life, being filled with anxieties and griefs
— if indeed he resembles the constitution of that city which he
governs. But he does resemble it. Does he not? Extremely,
said he. And shall we riot, besides these things, likewise

266 THE REPUBLIC.

ascribe to this man what we formerly mentioned, that he must
necessarily be, and, by governing still, become more than
formerly, envious, faithless, unjust, unfriendly, unholy, and a
general recipient and nourisher of all wickedness; and from
all these things be most especially unhappy himself, and then
render all about him unhappy likewise ? No one, said he, who
hath understanding will contradict you. Come now, said I, as
a judge who pronounces, after considering all, so do you tell
me, who, according to your opinion, is the first as to happiness,
and who second, and the rest in order, they being five in all ?
The Regal, the Timocratic, the Oligarchic, the Democratic, and
the Tyrannic. The judgment, said he, is easy; for I judge of
them as of public performers, in their order of entrance on the
stage, according to their virtue and vice, their happiness, and its
contrary. Shall we then hire a Herald? said I. Or shall I
myself declare that the son of Ariston hath judged the best and
justest man to be the happiest (and that this is the man who
hath most of the regal spirit, and rules himself with a kingly
power); and that the worst and the most unjust is the most
wretched; and that he again happens to be the man who is
most tyrannical, who in the greatest degree tyrannises over
himself, and the city? Let it be published by you, said he.
Shall I add, said I, that it matters nothing whether they be
unknown to be such or not, both to all men and Gods ? Add it,
said he.

Be it so, said I. This would seem to be one proof of ours.
And this, if you are of the same opinion, must be the second.
Which ? Since the soul, said I, of every individual is divided
into three parts, in the same manner as the city was divided, it
will, in my opinion, afford a second proof. What is that ? It is
this. Of the three parts of the soul, there appear to me to be
three pleasures, one peculiar to each, and likewise three desires
and governments. What do you mean ? replied he. There is
one part, we said, by which a man learns, and another by which
he is spirited ; the third is so multiform, we are unable to express
it by one word peculiar to itself, but we denominated it from
that which is greatest and most impetuous in it ; for we called it

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the desiderative, on account of the impetuosity of the desires
relative to meat, drink, and venereal pleasures, and whatever
others belong to these; and we called it avaricious likewise,
because it is by means of wealth most especially that such
desires are accomplished. And we said rightly, replied he. If
then we say that its pleasure and delight are in gain, shall we
not best of all reduce it under one head in our discourse, so as
to express something to ourselves, when we make mention of
this part of the soul? and, in calling it the covetous, and the
desirous of gain, shall we not term it properly ? So it appears
to me, said he. But do not we say that the spirited part ought
to be wholly impelled to superiority, victory, and applause ?
Extremely so. If then we term it the contentious and ambi-
tious, will it not be accurately expressed? Most accurately.
But it is evident to every one, that the part of the soul, by
which we learn, is wholly intent always to know the truth ; and
as to wealth and glory, it cares for these least of all. Extremely
so. When we call it then the desirous of learning, and the
philosophic, we shall call it according to propriety. How should
we not ? And does not this, said I, govern in some souls, while
in others one or more is dominant and of different kinds, accord-
ing as each happens to be ? Just so, said he. On this account
then, we said there were three original species of men; the
philosophic, the ambitious, and the avaricious. Entirely so.
And that there were likewise three species of pleasures, one
subject to each of these. Certainly. You know then, said
I, that if you were to ask these three men, each of them
apart, which of these lives is the most pleasant, each
would most of all commend his own. The avaricious will
say, that in comparison with the pleasure of acquiring
wealth, that arising from honour, or from learning, is of no
value, unless one make money by them. True, said he. And
what says the ambitious ? said I. Does not he deem the
pleasure arising from making money a vulgar one? And
likewise that arising from learning, unless learning bring him
honour, does he not deem it smoke and trifling? It is so,
said he. And we shall suppose the philosopher, said I, to

268 THE REPUBLIC.

deem the other pleasures as nothing in comparison with that of
knowing what the truth is, and of being always employed in
learning, and he will call the other pleasures unnecessary, as
he does not desire them, but as he desires that of learning
he says there is a necessity for it.1 This, said he, is evident.
When therefore, said I, these several lives, and the respective
pleasures of each, dispute among themselves, not with refer-
ence to living more worthily or more basely, or worse or
better; but merely with reference to this question of living
more pleasantly, or on the contrary more painfully, — how can
we know which of them speaks most conformably to truth ?
I am not quite able, said he, to tell. But consider it thus.
By what ought we to judge of whatever is to be rightly
judged of? Is it not by experience, by prudence, and by
reason ? Or has any one a better criterion than these ? How
can he ? said he. Consider now ; of the three men, who is the
most experienced in all the pleasures ? Does it appear to you
that the avaricious man, in learning truth itself, what it is, is
more experienced in the pleasure arising from knowledge, than
the philosopher is in that arising from the acquisition of
wealth ? There is, said he, a great difference : for the philo-
sopher, beginning from his childhood, must, of necessity, taste
the other pleasures ; but what it is to know real beings, and
how sweet this pleasure is, the lucrative man has no necessity
of tasting, or of becoming experienced in ; but rather, when he
earnestly endeavours to effect this, it is no easy matter. The
philosopher, then, said I, far surpasses the lucrative man, at
least in experience of both the pleasures. Far indeed. But
what with reference to the ambitious man ? Is he more experi-
enced in the pleasure arising from honour, than the philosopher
is in that arising from intellectual energy? Honour, said he,
attends all of them, if they obtain each of them what they
aim at : for the rich man is honoured by many, and so is the
brave, and the wise; so, as to that of honour, what sort of

1 This passage is corrupt and unmeaning, as it stands. I have
adopted a conjectural rendering which is intelligible and follows
logically.

THE REPUBLIC. 269

pleasure it is, all of them have the experience. But in the
contemplation of being itself, what pleasure there is, it is
impossible for any other than the philosopher to have tasted.
On account of experience then, said I, he of all men judges the
best. By far. And surely, along with experience he has pru-
dence at least. Yes. But even the organ by which these
pleasures must be judged is not the organ of the lucrative, nor
of the ambitious, but of the philosopher. Which is it ? We
said somewhere, that they must be judged of by reason, did we
not ? Yes. But reasoning is chiefly the organ of the philo-
sopher. Certainly. If then the thing were to be determined
by riches and gain, what the lucrative man commended, or
despised, would of necessity be most agreeable to truth.
Entirely. And if by honour, and victory and bravery, must it
not be as the ambitious and contentious man determined ? It
is evident. But since it is by experience, and prudence, and
reason, — of necessity, said he, what the philosopher and the
lover of reason commends must be the most true. Of the
three pleasures, then, that is the most pleasant which belongs
to that part of the soul by which we learn most, and he
among us in whom this part governs lives the most pleasant
life. How can it, said he, be otherwise? For the wise
man, being the sovereign commender, commends his own
life. But which life, said I, does our judge pronounce the
second, and which the second pleasure? It is plain, that of
the warlike and ambitious man ; for this is nearer to his own
than that of the lucrative. And that of the covetous, as it
appears, is last of all. Why not ? said he. These things
now have thus succeeded one another in order. And the
just man has twice now overcome the unjust. Strive now
for the third victory, as at the Olympic games, with the aid of
Olympian Zeus, the Preserver ; and consider, that the pleasure
of the others is not in every way genuine, but that of the wise
man is : nor are they in a clear light, but shadowed over, as I
think I have heard one of the wise men say. And this truly
would be the greatest and most complete downfall of the unjust
Extremely so. But how do you mean? I shall trace it out,

270 THE REPUBLIC.

said I, if whilst I search, you answer my questions. Ask then,
said he. Tell me then, replied I, do we not say that pain is
opposite to pleasure ? Entirely so. And do we not say like-
wise, that there is a state in which we feel neither pleasure nor
pain ? We say so. And that being in the middle of both these,
it is a tranquillity of the soul with reference to them. Do you
not thus understand it ? Thus, replied he. Do you not remem-
ber, said I, the speeches of the diseased, which they utter in
their sickness ? Which ? How that nothing is more pleasant
than health, but that it escaped their notice before they became
sick, that it was the most pleasant. I remember it, said he.
And are you not wont to hear those who are under any acute
pain say, that there is nothing more pleasant than a cessation
from pain ? I am wont to hear them. And you may on many
occasions perceive in men, I imagine, the same thing ; for when
they are in trouble they extol the freedom from trouble, and the
tranquillity of such a state, as being the most pleasant, and they
do not extol the acute feeling of joy Because probably this
cessation, said he, becomes at that time actually pleasant
and delightful. And when any one ceaseth, said I, to feel
joy, this tranquillity from pleasure will be painful. It is likely,
said he. This tranquillity, then, which we just now said was
between the two, will at times become each of these, pain
and pleasure. It appears so. But is it truly possible, that
what is neither of the two should become both ? It does
not appear to me that it can. And surely, when anything
pleasant or anything painful is in the soul, both sensa-
tions are emotions, are they not ? Yes. But did not that
which is neither painful nor pleasant appear just now to be
tranquillity, and in the middle of these two ? It appeared so,
indeed. How is it right, then, to deem it pleasant not to be
in pain, or painful not to enjoy pleasure ! It is by no means
right. In these cases, then, said I, tranquillity is not really
pleasant, but it appears so in respect of the pain, and painful
in respect of the pleasant. And there is nothing genuine in
these appearances in comparison with real pleasure, but they
are delusions. As our reasoning shows, said he. Consider

THE REPUBLIC. 271

then, said I, the pleasures which do not arise from the cessa-
tion of pain, that you may not frequently in the present
discourse suppose that it is a law of nature that pleasure
should be the cessation of pain, and pain the cessation of
pleasure.1 How so, said he, and which pleasures do you
mean? There are many others, said I, but consider for
example pleasures from smells; for these, without any pre-
ceding pain, arise suddenly and are very great, and, when
they cease, they leave no pain behind them. Most true, said
he. Let us not then be persuaded that pure pleasure is the
removal of pain, or pain the removal of pleasure. Let us not.
But yet, said I, those which extend through the body to the soul,
and which are called pleasures, the greatest part of them almost,
and the strongest, are of this species, cessations of pain. They
are so. And are not the preconceptions of pleasure and pain,
which arise in the mind from the expectation of these things,
of the same kind ? Of the same. Do you know then, said I,
what kind they are of, and what they chiefly resemble ? What ?
said he. Do you reckon, said I, that there are in nature, the
Above, the Below, and the Middle ? I do. Do you think then
that any one, when he is brought from the below to the middle,
imagines anything else than that he is brought to the above ?
and when he stands in the middle, and looks down whence he
was brought, will he imagine he is anywhere else than above,
whilst yet he has not seen the true above ? No, said he, I do
not think that such an one will imagine otherwise. But if he
should again, said I, be carried to the below, he would con-
jecture he was carried to the below, and would conjecture
according to truth. How should he not ? Would he not be
affected in all these respects, from his not having experience
in what is really above, and in the middle, and below ? It is
plain. Would you wonder, then, that whilst men are inexperi-
enced in the truth, they have unsound opinions about many
other things, — and that as to pleasure and pain, and what
is between these, they are likewise affected in this same
manner? So that, even when they are brought to what is
1 This, however, is the philosophy of Schopenhauer.

272 THE REPUBLIC. '

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painful, they imagine truly, and are truly pained; but when
from pain they are brought to the middle, they firmly
imagine that they are arrived at fulness of pleasure. In the
same manner as those who along with the black colour look
at the grey, and through inexperience call it white, and are
deceived; so those who consider pain along with a freedom
from pain, are deceived through inexperience of pleasure.
By Zeus, said he, I do not wonder at it, but much rather
should I if it were not so. Again, consider it, said I, in this
manner. Are not hunger and thirst, and such like, certain
emptiness in the bodily habit? What else? And are not
ignorance and folly an emptiness in the habit of the soul?
Extremely so. And is not the one filled when it receives food,
and the other when it possesses intellect ? Why not ? But which
is the more real repletion, that of the real, or that of the less
real being? It is plain, that of the real. Which species, then,
do you think, participates most of a pure essence ; these which
participate of bread and drink, and meat, and all such sort of
nourishment ; or that species which participates of true opinion
and science, and intellect, and, in short, of all virtue? But
judge of it in this manner. Is real being a part of that which is
connected with what is always unchanging, and immortal, and
true (and is so itself, and arises in what is such), or a part of
that which is connected with what is always changing, and is
mortal (and which is so itself, and is generated in a thing of
this kind)? Of the former, said he. Does not knowledge
enter into that which is always unchanging as largely as real
being ? Yes. And what with regard to truth ? This also
does. That is to say, if it participate less of truth, does it not
likewise do so of essence ? Of necessity. In short, then, does not
the care of the body in all its branches participate less of truth
and essence, than the care of the soul ? By far. And the body less
than the soul; do you not think so ? I do. Is not that which
is filled with more real substances, and is itself a more real
being, more truly filled than that which is filled with less real
beings and is itself a less real being ? How should it not ? If
then it be pleasant to be filled with what is suitable to nature,

THE REPUBLIC. 273

that which is in reality filled, and with more real substances,
must be made both more really and more truly to enjoy true
pleasure ; but that which participates of less real being must be
less truly and firmly filled, and participates of a more uncertain
and less genuine pleasure. Most necessarily, said he. Such
then as are unacquainted with wisdom and virtue, and are
always engaged in feastings and such-like, are carried as it
appears to the below, and back again to the middle, and there
they wander for life. But never, passing beyond this, do they
look towards the true Above, nor are carried to it ; nor are they
ever really filled with real being; nor have they ever tasted
solid and pure pleasure ; but, after the manner of cattle looking
always downwards, and bowed towards earth and their tables,
they live feeding and coupling ; and from a lust of these things,
kicking and pushing at one another with iron horns and hoofs,
they perish through their unsatiableness, because they fill with
unreal being that part of them which is unreal and unrestrained.
You pronounce most perfectly, Socrates, as from an oracle, said
Glauco, on the life of the multitude. Must they not then, of
necessity, be conversant with pleasures mixed with pains,
images of the true pleasure, shadowed over, and coloured by
their position beside each other? so that both their pleasures
and pains will appear vehement, and engender mad passions in
the foolish. Hence also they must fight about these things, as
Stesichorus says those at Troy fought about the phantom of
Helen, through ignorance of the true one. Of necessity, said
he, something of this kind must take place.

And what as to the spirited part of the soul ? Must not other
such-like things happen, wherever any one gratifies it, either in
the way of envy (through ambition), or in the way of violence
(through contentiousness), or in the way of anger (through
moroseness), pursuing a glut of honour, of conquest, and of
anger, without reason, and without intelligence ? Such things
as these, said he, must necessarily happen with reference to this
part of the soul. Then, said I, shall we boldly say concerning
all the pleasures of the avaricious and the ambitious, that such
of the men as are obedient to science and reason, and, in con-

18

274 THE REPUBLIC.

junction with these, pursue and obtain the pleasures of which
the prudent part of the soul is the leader, shall obtain the truest
pleasures, as far as it is possible for them to attain true plea-
sure, and inasmuch as they follow truth, pleasures which are
properly their own ; if indeed what is best for every one be most
properly his own ? But surely it is most properly, said he, his
own. When then the whole soul is obedient to the philosophic
part, and there is no sedition in it, then every part in other
respects performs its proper business, and is just, and also reaps
its own pleasures, and such as are the best, and as far as is
possible the most true. Certainly, indeed. But when any of the
others govern, it happens that it not only does not attain its
own pleasures, but it compels the other parts to pursue a plea-
sure foreign to them, and untrue. It does so, said he. Do not
then the parts which are the most remote from philosophy and
reason most especially effectuate such things ? Very much so.
And is not that which is most remote from law and order, like-
wise most remote from reason ? It plainly is. And have not
the amorous and the tyrannical desires appeared to be most
remote from law and order ? Extremely so. And the royal and
the moderate ones, the least remote ? Yes. The tyrant then, I
think, shall be the most remote from true pleasure, and such as
is most properly his own, and the other shall be the least. Of
necessity. And the tyrant, said I, shall lead a life the most
unpleasant, and the king the most pleasant. Of great necessity.
Do you know then, said I, how much more unpleasant a life the
tyrant leads than the king? If you tell me, said he. As there
are three pleasures, as it appears, one genuine, and two illegiti-
mate ; the Tyrant in carrying the illegitimate to extremity, and
flying from law and reason, dwells with slavish pleasures as his
life-guards, and how far he is inferior is not easily to be told,
unless it may be done in this manner. How ? said he. The
Tyrant is the third remote from the Oligarchic character ; for
the Democratic was in the middle between them. Yes. Does
he not then dwell with the third image of pleasure, a copy of a
copy with reference to truth, if our former reasonings be true ?
Just so. But the Oligarchic is the third again from the Royal,

THE REPUBLIC. 275

•

if we suppose the Aristocratic and the Royal the same. He is
the third. The tyrant then, said I, is three times thrice remote
from true pleasure. It appears so. A square number then,
said I, may be the image of tyrannical pleasure — namely, 9.
Certainly. But by squaring and cubing this, it is manifest by
how great a distance he is remote. It is manifest, said he, to
the computer at least. If now, any one reckon how far the King
is distant from the Tyrant as to truth of pleasure, shall he not,
on completing the multiplication, find him leading the more
pleasant life by 729 times, and the Tyrant the more wretched by
this same distance ? You have heaped up, said he, a prodigious
account of the difference between these two men, the just
and the unjust, with reference to pleasure and pain. Yet the
numbers are true, said I, and corresponding to their lives, if
indeed days, and nights, and months, and years, correspond to
them. But these, said he, do correspond to them. If then the
good and just man surpasses so far the evil and unjust man
in pleasure, in what a prodigious degree further shall he sur-
pass him in decorum of life, in beauty and in virtue ! In a
prodigious degree, by Zeus, said he.

Be it so, said I. Since now we are come to this part of our
argument, let us recapitulate what we first said, on account of
which we have come to this point. It was somewhere said,
that it was advantageous to do injustice, if one were completely
unjust, but were reputed just. Was it not so said? It was
indeed. Now then, said I, let us settle this point, since we
have now settled the other, with reference to acting justly and
unjustly, what power each of these possesses in itself. How?
said he. Let us in our reasoning fashion an image of the soul,
that the man who said those things may know what he said.
What kind of image? said he. One of those creatures, said I,
which are fabled to have been of old, as that of Chimaera, of
Scylla, of Cerberus; and many others spoken of, where many
particular natures existed together in one. They are spoken of
indeed, said he. Form now one figure of a creature, various,
and many-headed, having all around heads of tame creatures
and of wild ones, and having power in itself of changing all

276 THE REPUBLIC.

these heads, and of breeding them out of itself. This is the
work, said he, of a skilful modeller : however, as the formation
is easier in fancy, than in wax and such-like, let it be formed.
Let there be now one other figure of a lion, and one of a man ;
but let the first be by far the greatest, and the second be the
second in bulk. These are easy, said he, and they are formed.
Conjoin now these three in one, so as to exist somehow with
one another. They are conjoined, said he. Form now around
them the external appearance of one of them, that of the man ;
so that to one who is not able to see what is within, but who
perceives only the external covering, the man may appear one
creature. This is formed around, said he. Let us now tell
him, who asserts that it is profitable to this man to do injustice,
but to do justice is unprofitable, that he asserts nothing else,
than that it is profitable for him to feast the multiform creature,
and to make it strong; and likewise the lion and attributes of
the lion, whilst the man he kills with famine, and renders weak,
so as to be dragged whichever way either of those drag him ;
and that he will also find it advantageous never to accustom
the one to live in harmony with the other, nor to make them
friends, but suffer them to be biting one another, and to fight
and devour each other. He, said he, who commendeth the
doing injustice, undoubtedly asserts these things. And does
not he again, who says it is profitable to do justice, say that he
ought to do and to 'say such things by which the inner man
shall come to have the most entire command of the man, and,
as a tiller of the ground, shall take care of the many-headed
creature, cherishing the mild parts, and nourishing them, and
hindering the wild ones from growing up, taking the nature of
the lion as his ally, and, having a common care for all, make
them friendly to one another, and to himself, and so nourish
them? He who commends justice undoubtedly says such
things as these. In all respects, then, he who commends
justice would seem to speak the truth, but he who commends
injustice, to speak what is false ; for, with regard to pleasure,
and applause, and profit, he who commends justice speaks the
truth, and he who discommends it speaks nothing genuine.

THE REPUBLIC. 277

Nor does the other discommend with understanding what he
discommends. Not at all, said he, as appears to me at least.
Let us then in a mild manner persuade him (for it is not
willingly he errs), asking him, O blessed man ! do not we say
that the things held to be beautiful and base are held to be so,
according as they subject the brutal part of our nature to the
man (or rather perhaps to that part which is divine) : or enslave
the mild part of our nature to the brutal. Will he agree with
us? or how? He will, if he be advised by me, said he. Is
there then any one, said I, whom it profits, from this reasoning,
to take gold unjustly, if it happens that, whilst he takes the
money, he at the same time subjects the best part of himself to
the worst? Or, if, taking gold, he should sell into slavery a
son or daughter, and that even to savage and wicked men, shall
we not say this would not avail him, not though he should
receive for it a prodigious sum ? But if he enslaves the most
divine part of himself to the most impious and most polluted
part, is he not infinitely more wretched ? and does he not take
a gift of gold to his far more dreadful ruin, than Euriphyle did
when she received the necklace for her husband's life ? By far,
said Glauco ; I will answer you for the man. And do you not
think that to be intemperate, has of old been discommended on
such accounts as these, because that in such an oneMhat terrible,
great, and multiform beast was indulged more than was meet ?
It is plain, said he. And are not arrogance and moroseness
blamed, when the lion and the serpentine disposition increases
and stretches beyond measure ? Entirely so. And are not
luxury and effeminacy blamed because of the remissness and
looseness of this disposition, when it engenders in the man
cowardice ? What else ? Are not flattery and servility blamed,
when any one makes this irascible part itself subject to the
brutal crew, and, for the sake of wealth and its insatiable lust,
accustoms the irascible to be affronted from its youth, and
instead of a lion to become an ape? Entirely so, said he.
But why is it, do you think, that coarseness and vulgarity
are despicable? Shall we say it is on any other account than
this — that it is because they occur when the best part of a

278 THE REPUBLTC.

man's soul is naturally weak, so that he is not able to govern
the creatures within himself, but ministers to them, and is able
only to learn what flatters them? It is likely, said he. In
order then that such an one may be governed in the same
manner as the best man is, do we not say that he should be the
servant of him who is the best, and who has within him the
divine power that governs? Not that we at all conceive that
he should be governed to the hurt of the subject (as Thrasy-
machus imagined), but, as it is best for every one to be governed,
by one divine and wise and possessing the power as his own
within him, but if not subjecting himselt to it externally; that
as far as possible we may all resemble one another and be
friends, governed by one and the same thing ? Rightly, indeed,
said he. And law, at least, said I, plainly shows it intends such
a thing, being an ally to all in the city; as does likewise the
government of children, in not allowing them to be free till
we establish in them a proper government, as in a city; and
having cultivated that in them which is best, by that which is
best in ourselves, we establish a similar guardian and governor
in them, and then truly we set them free. It shows it indeed,
said he. In what way then shall we say, Glauco, and according
to what reasoning, that it is profitable to do injustice, to be
intemperate, or to do anything base, by which a man shall
indeed become more wicked, but yet shall acquire more wealth,
or any kind of power ? In no way, said he. But how shall we
say it is profitable for the unjust to be concealed, and not to
suffer punishment ? Does he not indeed, who is concealed,
become still more wicked ? but he who is not concealed, and is
punished, has the brutal part quieted, and made mild, and the
mild part set at liberty. And the whole soul being settled in
the best temper, in possessing temperance and justice, with
wisdom, acquires a more valuable habit than the body does, in
acquiring vigour and beauty, with a sound constitution ; in as
far as the soul is more valuable than the body. Entirely so,
said he. Shall not every one then, who possesses intellect,
regulate his life in extending the whole of his powers hither, in
the first place, honouring those disciplines which will render his

THE REPUBLIC. 279

soul of this kind, and despising all other things? It is plain,
said he. And next, said I, with reference to a good habit of
body and its nourishment, he will spend his life in attention to
these; not that he may not indulge the brutal and irrational
pleasure, nor yet with a view to health, nor, as regards the
becoming strong, and healthy, and beautiful (unless by means
of these he is to become temperate likewise): but he will
always appear to adjust the harmony of the body for the sake
of the symphony which is in the soul. By all means, said he,
if indeed he is to be truly musical. He will keep that arrange-
ment then, said I, and concord which should accompany the
possession of wealth and magnificence; and he will not, in
consequence of being astonished by the congratulations of the
multitude, increase it to infinity, and bring on himself infinite
evils. I do not think it, said he. But looking, said I, to that
polity within himself, and taking care that nothing there be
moved out of its place> through the greatness or smallness of
his property, governing in this manner as far as he is able, he
will add to his substance, and spend out of it. Entirely so, said
he. He will regard honours likewise in the same manner;
some he will willingly partake of, and taste, which he judges
will render him a better man, but those which he thinks would
dissolve that habit of soul which subsists within rnm, he will fly
from, both in private and in public. He will not then, said he,
be willing to act in politics, if he takes care of this. Yes he
will, said I, in his own city, and greatly too. But not probably
in his country, unless some divine fortune befall him. I under-
stand, said he. You mean in the city we have now established,
which exists in our reasoning, since it is nowhere on earth, at
least so I imagine. But in heaven, probably, there is a model
of it, said I, for any one who inclines to contemplate it, and on
contemplating to regulate himself accordingly; and it is of no
consequence to him, whether it does exist anywhere, or shall
ever exist here. He will perform the duties of this city alone,
and of no other. It is reasonable, said he.

28o THE REPUBLIC.

BOOK X.

I OBSERVE, said I, with reference to many things, that we have
established a city in a right manner, beyond what all others
have done; and among these regulations, I consider those
respecting poetry as none of the least. Which ? said he. That
no part of it which is imitative be by any means admitted. And
it appears, now most of all, and with greatest perspicuity, that
it is not to be admitted, since the several forms of the soul have
been distinguished apart from one another. How do you mean ?
That I may tell it as to you (for you will not accuse me to the
composers of tragedy, and the rest of the imitative kind), all
such things as these seem to be the ruin of the dianoctic part of
the hearers, at least of such of them as have not a medicine to
enable them to discern their peculiar nature. From what con-
sideration, said he, do you say so? It must be spoken, said I,
although a friendly reverence for Homer, which I have had
from my childhood, restrains me from telling it ; for he seems
truly both to have been the first teacher and leader of all these
good composers of tragedy : but a man must not be honoured
preferably to the truth, and what I mean must be spoken. By
all means, said he. Hear me then, or rather answer me. Ask.
Can you tell me perfectly, what imitation is ? for I do not myself
altogether understand what it means. And shall I then under-
stand it? said he. That would be in no way strange, said I;
since those who are dim-sighted perceive many things sooner
than those who see more clearly. The case is so, said he ; but
whilst you are present, I should not be able to adventure to tell,
even though something did appear to me. But consider it
yourself. Are you willing then, that we hence begin our inquiry
in our usual method? We are wont to suppose the existence of

THE REPUBLIC. 281

a certain Form which includes the many individual things to
which we give the same name ; do you not understand me ? I
understand. Let us take now any such one thing from among
the many as you please ; as, for example, there are many beds
and tables, if you will have this instance. There are. But the
Forms of these pieces of furniture are two; one of the bed, and
one of the table. Yes. And are we not wont to say, that the
workmen of each of these species of furniture, looking towards
the Form, respectively make in this manner, the beds, and the
tables which we use ? and all other things after the same
manner. For no one of the artists makes, at least, the Idea
(Form) itself ; for how can he ? By no means. But see now
whether you call such an one as this an artist? Which? One
who alone makes all such things as each separate manual
artificer does. You mention a skilful and wonderful man. Not
yet, at least ; but you will much more say so presently ; for this
same mechanic is not only able to make all sorts of utensils,
but he makes also everything which springs from the earth,
and he makes all sorts of animals, him °lf as well as others :
and besides these things, he makes the ea^th, and heaven, and
the Gods, and all things in heaven, and in Hades under the
earth. You mention, said he, a perfectly wonderful sophist.
You do not believe me ; but tell me, does it appear to you that
there is not any such artist ? or that, in one respect, such an one
may be the maker of all these things, and in another not ? or do
you not perceive that even you yourself might be able to make
all these things, in a certain manner at least ? And what, said
he, is this manner? It is not difficult, said I, but is performed
in many ways, and quickly ; but in the quickest manner of all,
if you choose to take a mirror, and turn it round everywhere ;
for then you will quickly make the sun, and the things in the
heavens, quickly the earth, quickly yourself, and the other
animals, and utensils, and vegetables, and all that was now
mentioned. Yes, said he, the appearances, but not however
the real things, You come well, said I, and seasonably, with
your remark ; for I imagine that the painter too is one of these
artists. Is he not ? How is it possible he should not ? But you

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will say, I think, that he does not make what he makes, true,
although the painter too, in a certain manner, at least, makes
a bed, does he not ? Yes, said he, he too makes only the
appearance. But what with reference to the bed-maker ? Did
you not indeed say, just now, that he does not make the form
which he says exists, which is the bed, but only a particular
bed ? I said so indeed. If then he does not make that which
is, he does not make real being-, but something resembling
being, but not being itself: but if any one should say, that the
work of a bed-maker, or of any other handicraft, were real
being, he would seem not to say true. He would, said he, as
it must appear to those who are conversant in such kind of
reasonings as this. Let us not then at all wonder if things as
a bed happen to seem somewhat obscure when contrasted with
the truth. Let us not. Are you willing then, said I, that with
the use of these very things as illustrations, we inquire con-
cerning the imitator, who he really is ? If you are willing, said
he. Are there not then these three sorts of beds ? One which
exists in nature, and which we may say, as I imagine, God
made, or who else ? None, I think. And one which the joiner
makes. Yes, said he. And one which the painter makes. Is
it not so ? Be it so. Now the painter, the bed-maker, God,
these three preside over three species of beds. They are three,
indeed. But God, whether it were that he was not willing, or
whether there was some necessity for it, that he should not make
but one bed in nature, made this one only, which is really a bed ;
but two or more beds have never been produced by God, nor
ever will be produced. How so ? said he. Because, said I, if
he had made but two, again one would have appeared, the
form of which both these two would have possessed, and that
form would be, that which is bed, and not those two. Right,
said he. God then, I think, knowing these things, and willing
to be the maker of the real bed, but not the particular maker
of any particular bed, produced but one in nature. It appears
so. Are you willing, then, that we call him the creator of this,
or something of this kind ? It is just, said he, since he has, in
their nature, made both this, and all other things. But what as

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to the joiner? Is not he the workman of a bed? Yes. And
is the painter, too, the workman and maker of such a work ?
By no means. But what will you say he is with relation to the
bed ? This, said he, as it appears to me, we may most reason-
ably call him ; the imitator of what these others are the workmen
of. Be it so, said I ; you call him then the imitator who makes
what is generated in the third place from nature. Entirely so,
said he. And this the composer of tragedy shall be likewise,
since he is an imitator; and he will rise as a third from the
King and the truth ; and in like manner all other imitators. It
seems so. We have agreed then as to the imitator; but tell
me this concerning the painter, whether do you think he under-
takes to imitate each particular thing in nature, or the works
of craftsmen? The works of craftsmen, said he. Whether,
such as they really are, or such as they appear? Determine
this further. What do you mean ? replied he. Thus. Does a
bed differ in anything from itself, whether one view it obliquely,
or directly opposite, or in any particular position ? or does it
differ nothing, but only appears different, and in the same way
as to other things ? Thus, said he, it appears, but differs
nothing. Consider this too, with reference to which of the two
does painting work, in each particular work ; does it imitate the
real nature of real beings, or the apparent nature of appear-
ances ? is it the imitation of appearance, or of truth ? Of appear- /
ance, said he. The imitative art, then, is far from the truth :
and on this account, it seems, it is able to make these things,
because it is able to attain but to some small part of each par-
ticular, and that but an image. Thus we say that a painter will
paint us a shoemaker, a joiner, and other artists, though he be
skilled in hone of those arts; yet he will be able to deceive
children and ignorant people, if he be a good painter, when he
paints a joiner, and shows him at a distance, so far as to make
them imagine he is a real joiner. Why not ? But this, I think,
my friend, we must consider with reference to all these things ;
that when any one tells us that he has met with a man who is
skilled in all manner of workmanship, and everything else which
every several artist understands, and that there is nothing which

284 THE REPUBLIC.

he does not know more accurately than any other person, we
ought to reply to such an one, that he is a simple man, and that
it seems, having met with some magician, and mimic, he has
been deceived ; so that he has appeared to him to know every-
thing, from his own incapacity to distinguish between science,
and ignorance, and imitation. Most true, said he.

Ought we not then, said I, in the next place, to consider
tragedy, and its leader, Homer; since we hear from some, that
these poets understand all arts, and all human affairs, respecting
virtue and vice, and likewise all divine things ? For a good
poet must necessarily compose with knowledge, if he means to
compose well, else he is not able to compose. It behoves us then
to consider whether these who have met with those imitators
have been deceived, and on viewing their works have not
perceived that they are the third distant from real being, and
that their works are such as can easily be made by one who
knows not the truth (for they make phantasms, and not real
beings) ; or whether they do say something to the purpose, and
that the good poets in reality have knowledge in those things
which they seem to the multitude to express well. By all
means, said he, this is to be inquired into. Do you think, then,
that if any one were able to make both that which is imitated,
and likewise the image, he would allow himself seriously to
apply to the workmanship of the images, and propose this to
himself as the best thing in life ? I do not. But if he were in
reality intelligent in these things which he imitates, he would
far rather, I think, seriously apply himself to the things than to
the imitations, and would endeavour to leave behind him many
and beautiful actions, as monuments of himself, and would
study rather to be himself the person commende'd than the
encomiast. I think so, said he ; for neither is the honour nor
the profit equal. As to other things, then, let us not call them
to account, nor ask Homer or any other of the poets, whether
any of them were in any way skilled in medicine, and not
imitators only of medical discourses : for which of the ancient or
latter poets is said to have restored any to health, as yEscula-
pius did ? or what students in medicine any has left behind him,

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as ;Esculapius did his descendants? Nor let us ask them con-
cerning the other arts, but dismiss them. But with reference to
those greatest and most beautiful things which Homer attempts
to speak of, such as wars and armies, and constitutions of cities,
and the education belonging to men, it is just to question and
demand of him : Friend Homer, if you be not the third from the
truth with regard to virtue, being the workman of an image
(which we have defined an imitator to be), but the second, and
are able to discern what pursuits render men better or worse,
both in private and public, tell us which of the cities has been
by you better constituted, as Lacedaemon was by Lycurgus, and
many other both great and small cities by many others. What
city acknowledges you to have been a good lawgiver, and to have
been of advantage to them? Italy and Sicily acknowledge
Charondas, and we Solon ; but will any one acknowledge you
as the benefactor of any city? I think he will say no, said
Glauco. It is not pretended even by the descendants of Homer.
But what war in Homer's days is recorded to have been well
conducted by him as leader, or counsellor ? Not one. But
what are his discoveries ? as among the works of a wise man
there are many discoveries and inventions spoken of, respecting
the arts, and other affairs ; as of Thales the Milesian, and of
Anacharsis the Scythian. By no means is thete any such
thing. But if not in a public manner, is Homer said to have
lived as a private tutor to any who delighted in his conversation,
and have delivered to posterity an Homeric manner of life, in
like manner as Pythagoras was remarkably beloved on this
account, and, even to this day, such as denominate themselves
from the Pythagorean manner of life appear to be somehow
eminent among others. Neither is there, said he, anything of
this kind related of Homer. For the education of Creophilus,
Socrates, the companion of Homer, may probably appear more
ridiculous than his name, if what is said of Homer be true.
For it is said that even he greatly neglected Homer while he
lived. It is said indeed, replied I. But do you think, Glauco,
that if Homer had been able to educate men, and to render
them better, as being capable not only to imitate with respect

2S6 THE REPUBLIC.

to these things, but to understand them, would he not then
have procured himself many companions, and have been
honoured and beloved by them ? While Protagoras the
Abderite, and Prodicus the Chian, and many others, are able
to persuade the men of their times, conversing with them
privately, that they will neither be able to govern their family,
nor yet their city, unless they themselves preside over their
education, — and for this wisdom of theirs, they are so exceed-
ingly beloved, that their companions almost carry them about
on their heads, would then the men of Homer's time have
left him or Hesiod to go about singing their songs, if they had
been able to profit men in -the way of virtue ? Would they not
have retained them with gold, and obliged them to stay with
them? or, if they could not persuade them, would they not
as scholars have followed them everywhere, till they had
obtained sufficient education? You seem to me, said he,
Socrates, to say what is in every respect true. Shall we not
then establish this point, — That all the poets, beginning
with Homer, are imitators of the images of virtue, and of
other things about which they compose, and do not attain to
the truth : but as we just now said, a painter who himself knows
nothing about the making of shoes, will draw a shoemaker,
who shall appear to be real to such as are not intelligent,
but who view according to the colour and figures? Entirely
so. In the same manner, I think, we shall say that the poet
colours over with his names and words the several arts, whilst
he understands nothing himself, but merely imitates, so as to
others such as himself who view things in his compositions, he
appears to have knowledge : and if he says anything about shoe-
making in measure, rhythm, and harmony, he seems to speak
perfectly well, and in like manner if of an expedition, or of any-
thing else : so great an enchantment have these things naturally.
For you know, I think, in what manner poetical things appear
when stripped of musical colouring, and expressed apart by them-
selves: you have doubtless noticed it. I have, said he. Do
they not, said I, resemble the faces of people who have been
young, but not beautiful, such as they appear when their bloom

THE REPUBLIC. 287

forsakes them? Entirely, said he. Come now, and consider
this. The maker of the image, whom we call the imitator,
knows nothing of real being, but only of that which is apparent.
Is it not so ? Yes. Let us not then leave it expressed by
halves, but let us sufficiently perceive it. Say on, replied he.
A painter, we say, will paint reins, and bridle. Yes. And the
leather-cutter, and the smith, will make them. Certainly. Does
then the painter understand what kind of reins and bridle there
ought to be? or not even he who makes them, the smith, nor
the leather-cutter, but he who knows how to use them, the
horseman alone ? Most true Shall we not say it is so in every-
thing else? How? That with reference to each particular
thing, there are these three arts : — That which is to use it, that
which is to make it, and that which is to imitate it. Yes. Are
then the virtue, and the beauty, and the rectitude of every
utensil, and animal, and action, for nothing else but for the use
for which each particular was made, or generated ? Just so.
By a great necessity, then, he who uses each particular must be
the most skilful, and be able to tell the maker whether what he
makes is good or bad, with reference to the use for which he
uses it : thus, for example, a player on the pipe tells the pipe-
maker concerning pipes, what things are of service towards the
playing on the pipe, and he will give orders how ne ought to
make them, and the workman will obey. How should it be
otherwise ? Does not the one then, being intelligent, pronounce
concerning good and bad pipes, and the other, believing him,
make accordingly ? Yes. With reference then to the same
instrument, the maker shall have a right opinion concerning its
beauty or deformity, whilst he is conversant with one who is
intelligent, and he is obliged to hear from the intelligent ; while
he who uses it shall have science. Entirely so. But whether
shall the imitator have science from using the things he paints,
whether they be handsome and right, or otherwise ? or shall he
have right opinion from his being necessarily conversant with
the intelligent, and from being enjoined in what manner he
ought to paint ? Neither of the two. The imitator then shall
have neither knowledge, nor right opinion about what he

288 THE REPUBLIC.

imitates with reference to beauty or deformity. It appears not.
The imitator then should be very wise in his imitation, with
regard to wisdom, concerning what he paints. Not entirely.
However he will imitate at least, without knowing in what
respect each particular is ill or good ; but it is likely that he will
imitate such as appears to be beautiful to the multitude, and
those who know nothing. What else ? We have now, indeed,
sufficiently, as it appears, settled these things: That the imi-
tators know nothing worth mentioning in those things which
he imitates, but that imitation is a sort of amusement, and not a
serious affair. And likewise that those who apply to tragic
poetry in iambics and heroics, are all imitators in the highest
degree. Entirely so.

But, by Zeus, said I, this imitation is in the third degree from
the truth. Is it not? Yes. To what part then of man does
it belong, having the power it possesses? What part do you
speak of? Of such as this. The same magnitude perceived by
sight, does not appear the same when near, and at a distance.
It does not. And the same things appear crooked and straight,
when we look at them in water, and out of water ; and concave
and convex, through the error of the sight as to colours. All
this disturbance is manifest in the soul ; and this infirmity of
our nature painting attacks, and leaves nothing of magical
seduction unattempted, just as does the wonder-working art,
and many other such-like devices. True. And have not the
arts of measuring, numbering, and weighing, appeared to be
most ingenious helps in these things, that so the apparent greater
or less, the apparent more or heavier, may not deceive us, but
the numbered, the measured, and the weighed may teach us
truly ? How should it be otherwise ? But this again is, at least,
the work of the rational part in the soul. It is so, indeed. But
whilst reason often measures and declares some things to be
greater or less than other things, or equal, the contrary appears
at the same time with reference to these things. Yes. But did
not we say that it was impossible for the same person to have
contrary opinions about the same things at the same time ?
And thus far we said rightly. That part of the soul, then, which

I

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judges contrary to the measure, would seem not to be the same
with that which judges according to the measure. It would not.
But surely, at least, that which trusts to measure and computa-
tion would seem to be the best part of the soul. Why not ?
That then which opposes itself to this will be some one of the
depraved parts of us. Of necessity. It was this then I wished
should be agreed upon, when I said that painting, and in short
imitation, being far from the truth, delight in their own work,
conversing with that part in us which is far from wisdom, and
are its companions and friends ; to no sound nor genuine pur-
pose. Entirely so, said he. Imitation then, being depraved in
itself, and joining with that which is depraved, generates de-
praved things. It seems so. Whether, said I, is the case thus,
with reference to the imitation which is by the sight only, or is
it likewise so with reference to that by hearing, which we call
poetry ? Likely as to this also, said he. We shall not therefore,
said I, trust to the appearance in painting, but we shall proceed
to the consideration of the dianoetic part which the imitative
art of poetry is conversant with, and see if it is depraved or
worthy. It must be done. Let us proceed then thus : Poetic
imitation, we say, imitates men acting either voluntarily or in-
voluntarily ; and imagining that in their acting they have done
either well or ill, and in all these cases receiving either pain or
pleasure. Is it any more than this ? No more. In all these,
now, does the man agree with himself? Or, as he disagreed
with reference to sight, and had contrary opinions in himself of
the same things at one and the same time, does he, in the same
manner, disagree likewise in his actions, and fight with himself?
But I recollect that there is no occasion for us to settle this now;
for, in former reasonings, we sufficiently determined that our
soul is full of a thousand such contrarieties existing in it. Right,
said he. Right indeed, said I ; but it appears to me necessary
to discuss now what was then omitted. As what ? said he. We
said formerly, said I, that a good man, when he meets with such
a misfortune as the loss of a son, or of anything else which he
values the most, will bear it of all men the easiest. Certainly.
But let us now consider this further, — whether he will not grieve

29o THE REPUBLIC.

at all, or, if this is indeed impossible, will moderate his grief?
The truth, said he, is rather this last. But tell me this now
concerning him, whether do you think that he will struggle more
with grief and oppose it, when he is observed by his equals, or
when he is in solitude, alone by himself? Much more, said he,
when he is observed. But when alone, he will venture, I think,
to utter many things, which, if any one heard him, he would be
ashamed of, and he will do many things which he would not wish
any one to see him doing. It is so, said he. Is it not then
reason and law which command him to restrain his grief, — but
what drags him to grief is the passion itself? True. As then
there is in the man an opposite conduct, with regard to the
same thing, at one and the same time, we must necessarily say
that he has two conductors. What else ? And shall we not say
that one of them is ready to obey the law wherever law leads
him ? How ? Law in a manner says that it is best in mis-
fortunes to have the greatest tranquillity possible, and not to
bear them ill ; since the good and evil of such things as these is
not manifest, and since no advantage follows the bearing these
things ill ; and as nothing of human affairs is worthy of great
concern ; and, besides, as grief proves a hindrance to the course
which when in trouble we ought to adopt. What is it, said he,
you speak of? To deliberate, said I, on the event; and, as on a
throw of the dice, to regulate our affairs according to what casts
up, in whatever way reason shall declare to be best ; and not as
children when they fall, to lie still, and waste the time in crying;
but always to accustom the soul to apply in the speediest manner
to heal and rectify what was fallen and sick, dismissing lamenta-
tion. One would thus, said he, behave in the best manner in
every condition. And did not we say that the best part of us is
willing to follow this which is rational ? It is plain. And shall
not we say that the part which leads to the remembrance of the
affliction and to wailings, and is insatiably given to these, is
irrational, and idle, and a friend to cowardice ? We shall say so
truly. Is not then the grieving part that which admits of much
and of various imitation ? But the prudent and tranquil part,
which is always uniform with itselfj is neither easily imitated,

THE REPUBLIC. 291

nor, when imitated, easily understood, especially by a popular
assembly, where all sorts of men are assembled together in a
theatre. For it is the imitation of a disposition which is foreign
to them. Entirely so. It is plain, then, that the imitative poet
is not made for such a part of the soul as this. Nor is his skill
fitted to please it, if he means to gain the applause of the multi-
tude. But he applies to the passionate and the multiform part,
as it is easily imitated. It is plain. May we not then, with
justice, lay hold of the imitative poet, and place him as corre-
spondent to the painter? For he resembles him, both because,
as to truth, he effects but depraved things, and in this too he
resembles him, in being conversant with a different part of the
soul from that which is best. And thus we may, with justice,
not admit him into our city which is to be well regulated, because
he excites and nourishes this part of the soul, and, strengthening
it, destroys the rational. And as he who in a city makes the
wicked powerful, betrays the city, and destroys the best men, in
the same manner we shall say that the imitative poet establishes
a bad republic in the soul of each Individual, gratifying the
foolish part of it, which neither discerns what is great, nor what
is little, but deems the same things sometimes great, and some-
times small, forming little images in its own imagination,
altogether remote from the truth. Entirely so.

But we have not however as yet brought the greatest accusa-
tion against it : for that is a very dreadful one, that it is able to
corrupt even the good, a very few excepted. How should it
not, since it acts in this manner ? But hear now, and consider ;
for the best of us, when we hear Homer, or any of the tragic
writers, imitating some of the heroes when in grief, pouring
forth long speeches in their sorrow, bewailing and beating their
breasts, you know we are delighted ; and, yielding ourselves, we
follow along, and, sympathising with them, seriously commend
him as an able poet whoever most affects us in this manner.
I know it. But when any domestic grief befalls any of us, you
perceive, on the other hand, that we value ourselves on the
opposite behaviour, if we can be quiet, and endure, this being
the part of a man ; while that of a woman, in the other case,

292 THE REPUBLIC.

we commended. I perceive it, said he. Is this commendation
then, said I, a handsome one, when we see such a man as one
would not deign to be oneself, but would be ashamed of, not to
abominate but to delight in him, and commend him ? No, said
he ; it appears unreasonable. Certainly, said I, if you consider
it in this manner. How? If you consider that the part of us,
which in our private misfortunes is forcibly restrained, and is
kept from weeping and bewailing to the full, though being by
nature of such a kind as is desirous of these reliefs, — is the very
part which is by the poets filled and gratified : but that part in
us, which is naturally the best, being not sufficiently instructed,
either by reason or habit, grows remiss in its guardianship over
the bewailing part, by attending to the sufferings of others, and
deems it no way disgraceful to itself, to commend and pity one
who grieves immoderately, whilst he professes to be a good
man. Indeed it thinks it gains even pleasure, and would not
choose to be deprived of it by despising the whole of the poem.
For, I think, it falls to the share of few to be able to consider,
that what we feel with respect to the fortunes of others, must
necessarily be felt with respect to our own. Since it is not easy
for a man to bear up under his own misfortunes, who strongly
cherishes the bewailing disposition over those of others. Most
true, said he. And is not the reasoning the same with reference
to the ridiculous ? For when you hear, in imitation by comedy,
or in private conversation, what you would be ashamed to do
yourself to excite laughter, and are delighted with it, and do not
hate it, you do the same thing here as in the tragic : for that
part, which, when it wanted to excite laughter, was formerly
restrained by reason from a fear of incurring the character of
scurrility, being now let loose, and allowed to grow vigorous,
you are often imperceptibly brought to be in your own behaviour
a buffoon. Extremely so, said he. And in the case of venereal
pleasures, and anger, and the whole of the passions, as well the
sorrowful as the joyful, which truly, we have said, attend us in
every action, the poetical imitation of these has the same effect
upon us ; for it nourishes and waters those things which ought
to be parched, and constitutes as our governor, those which

THE REPUBLIC. 293

ought to be governed, in order to our becoming better and
happier, instead of being worse and more miserable. I can say
no otherwise, said he. When therefore, Glauco, said I, you
meet with the encomiasts of Homer, who tell how this poet
instructed Greece, and that he deserves to be taken as a master
to teach a man both the management and the knowledge of
human affairs, and that a man should regulate the whole of his
life according to this poet, we should indeed love and embrace
such people, since they are excellent to the best of their ability ;
and agree with them that Homer is the greatest and the first of
tragic writers: but they must know, that hymns to the Gods,|
and the praises of worthy actions, are alone to be admitted into j
the city. But if it should admit the pleasurable muse likewise, I
in songs, or verses, you would have pleasure and pain reigning
in the city, instead of law, and that reason which appears best
to the community. Most true, said he. Let these things now,
said I, be our apology, when we recollect what we have said
with reference to poetry, that we formerly very properly dis-
missed it from our republic, since it is such as is now described :
for reason obliged us. And let us tell it further, lest it accuse
us of roughness, and rusticity, that there is an ancient variance
between philosophy and poetry ; for such verses as these,

"That bawling bitch, which at her mistress barks,"
and

" He's great in empty eloquence of fools,"
and

" On trifles still they plod, because they're poor,"

and a thousand such like, are marks of an ancient opposition
between them. But nevertheless let it be said, that if any one
can assign a reason why the poetry and the imitation which are
calculated for pleasure ought to be in a well-regulated city, we,
for our part, shall gladly admit them, as we are at least consci-
ous that we are charmed by them. But to betray what appears
to be truth, were an unholy thing. For are not you yourself,
my friend, charmed by this imitation, and most especially when
you see it as performed by Homer? Very much so. Is it not

294 THE REPUBLIC.

just, then, that we exile it until it apologise for itself, either in
song, or in any other measure ? By all means. And we may
at least grant, even to its defenders, such as are not poets, but
lovers of poetry, to speak in its behalf, without verse,jm(lj§]iaiy
that it is not only pleasant, but profitable for republics, and for
human life ; and we shall hear with pleasure, for we shall gain
somewhat if it shall appear not only pleasant but also profit-
able. . How is it possible we should not gain ? said he. And if
it happen otherwise, my friend, we shall do as those who have
been in love when they deem their love unprofitable, — they desist,
though with cost : so we in like manner, through this inborn love
of such poetry that prevails in our best republics, shall be well
pleased to see it appear to be the best and truest : but till it is
able to make its apology, we shall take along with us while we
hear it this discourse which we have held, as a counter-charm,
and incantation, being afraid to fall back again into a childish
love, aqknowledged by all. We may perceive then that we are
not to be much in earnest about such poetry as this, as if it were
a serious affair, and approached to the truth; but the hearer is
to beware of it, and to be afraid for the republic within himself,
and to entertain those opinions of poetry which we mentioned.
I entirely agree, said he. For, friend Glauco, said I, mighty is
the contest, and not such as it appears, to become a good or a
bad man : so as not to be moved, either through honour, or
riches, or any magistracy, or poetic imitation, ever to neglect
justice, and the other virtues. I agree with you, from what we
have discussed, and so L think will any other.

But we have not yet, said I, discussed the greatest prize of
virtue, and the rewards laid* up for her. You speak of some-
thing prodigious, said he, if there be other greater than those
mentioned. But what is there, said I, can be great in a little
time ? for all this period from infancy to old age is but little in
respect of eternity. Nothing at all, indeed, said he. What
then ? Do you think an immortal being ought to be much con-
cerned about such a period, and not about the whole of time ? I
think, said he, about the whole. But why do you mention this ?
Have you not perceived, said I, that our soul is immortal, and

THE REPUBLIC. 295

never perishes ? On which he, looking at me in surprise, said,
By Zeus, not I indeed. But are you able to show this? Yes,
on my honour, said I. And I think you yourself can show it, for
it is in no respect difficult. To me at least, said he, it is difficult ;
but I would willingly hear from you this which is not difficult.
You shall hear then, said I. Only speak, replied he. Is there
not something, said I, which you call good, and something which
you call evil ? I own it. Do you then conceive of them in
the same manner as I do? How? That which destroys and
corrupts everything is the evil, and what preserves and profits
it is the good. I do, said he. But what ? Do you not say,
there is something which is good, and something which is bad,
to each particular? as blindness to the eyes, and disease to
every animal body, mildew to corn, rottenness to wood, rust to
brass and iron, and, as I am saying, almost everything has its
connate evil, and disease ? I think so, replied he. And when
anything of this kind befalls anything, does it not render that
which it befalls base, and in the end dissolves and destroys it?
How should it not? Its own connate evil, then, and baseness
destroys each particular ; or, if this does not destroy it, nothing
else can ever destroy it. For that which is good can never
destroy anything, nor yet that which is neither good nor evil.
How can they? said he. If then we shall be able to find,
among beings, any one which has indeed some evil which
renders it base, but is not however able to dissolve and destroy
it, shall we not then know that a being thus constituted cannot be
destroyed at all ? So, replied he, it appears. What then ? said I.
Is there not something which renders the soul evil? Certainly,
replied he ; all these things which we have now mentioned,
injustice, intemperance, cowardice, ignorance. But does then
any of these dissolve and destroy it ? And, attend now, that we
may not be imposed on, in thinking that an unjust and foolish
man, when he is detected acting unjustly, is then destroyed
through his injustice, which is the baseness of his soul. No,
consider it thus. As disease, which is the baseness of animal
body, dissolves and destroys body, and reduces it to be no
longer that body; so all those things we mentioned, being

296 THE REPUBLIC.

destroyed by their own proper evil adhering to them and
possessing them, are reduced to a non-existence. Is it not so ?
Yes. Consider now the soul in the same manner. Does
injustice, or other vice, possessing it, by possessing, and adher-
ing to it, corrupt and deface it, till, bringing it to death, it
separates it from the body ? By no means, said he. But it
were absurd, said I, that anything should be destroyed by the
baseness of another, but not by its own. Absurd. For consider,
Glauco, said I, that neither by the baseness of victuals, whether
it be their mouldiness, or rottenness, or whatever else, do we
imagine our body can be destroyed ; but if this baseness in
them create in the body a depravity of the body, we will say
that, through their means, the body is destroyed by its own evil,
which is disease. But we will never allow that by the baseness
of food, which is one thing, the body, which is another thing,
can ever be destroyed, unless this foreign evil create in it its own
peculiar evil. You say most right, replied he. According to
the same reasoning, then, said I, unless the baseness of the
body create a baseness of the soul, let us never admit that the
soul can be destroyed by an evil which is foreign, unless it
creates its own peculiar disease; which would be the destruction
of one thing by the evil of another. There is reason for it, said
he. Let us then either refute these things as not good reason-
ing, or, so long as they are unrefuted, let us at no time say,
that the soul shall be ever in any degree destroyed, either by
burning fever, or by any other disease, or by slaughter, nor even
though a man should cut the whole body into the smallest parts
possible, till some one show that, through these sufferings of the
body, the soul herself becomes more unjust and unholy. But
we will never allow it to be said, that when a foreign evil befalls
anything, whilst its own proper evil is not within it, either the
soul or anything else is destroyed. This at least, said he, no
one can ever show, that the souls of those who die are by death
rendered more unjust. But if any one, replied I, shall dare to
contend with us in reasoning; and, in order that he may not be
obliged to own that souls are immortal, should say, that when
a man dies he becomes more wicked and unjust, we shall infer

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(if he says true in telling us this) that injustice is deadly to the
possessor, as a disease ; and that those who embrace it are
destroyed by it as by a disease destructive in its own nature —
those most speedily who embrace it most, and those more
slowly who embrace it less ; and is not as it seems now, when
the unjust die through having the punishment of death inflicted
on them by others. By Zeus, said he, injustice would not
appear perfectly dreadful, if it were deadly to him who practises
it (for what were a deliverance from evil). But I rather think it
will appear to be, altogether the reverse, destroying others as
far as it can, but rendering the unjust extremely alive, and, in
conjunction with being alive, wakeful likewise ; so far, apparently,
is it from being deadly. You say well, replied I ; for, when a
man's own wickedness and peculiar evil is insufficient to kill and
destroy the soul, hardly can that evil, which aims at the destruc-
tion of another, destroy a soul, or anything else, but what it is
aimed against. Hardly indeed, said he, as appears to me at
least. Since therefore it is destroyed by no one evil, neither
peculiar nor foreign, is it not plain that, of necessity, it always
is ? and, if it always is, it is immortal ? Of necessity, replied
he.

Let this then, said I, be fixed in this manner. And if it
be, you will perceive that souls will always remain the same
for their number will never become less, none being destroyed,
nor will it become greater ; for if the number of immortals was
made greater, you know it would take from the mortal, and in
the end all would be immortal. You say true. But let us not,
said I, think that this will be the case (for reason will not allow
of it), nor yet that the soul in its truest nature is of such a kind
as to be full of much variety, dissimilitude, and difference
considered in itself. What do you mean ? replied he. That
cannot easily, said I, be eternal which is compounded of
many things, and which has not the most beautiful composition,
as hath now appeared to us to be the case with reference to the
soul. It is not likely. That the soul then is something im-
mortal, both our present reasonings, and others too, oblige us
to own : but in order to know what kind of being the soul is, in

298 THE REPUBLIC.

truth, one ought not to contemplate it as it is damaged both by
its conjunction with the body, and by other evils, as we now
behold it, but such as it is when become pure. As such it must
by reasoning be fully contemplated ; and he (who does this)
will find it far more beautiful, and will more plainly see through
justice and injustice, and everything which we have now dis-
cussed. We are now telling the truth concerning it, when in
such a form as it appears at present. We have seen it, indeed,
in the same condition in which men see the sea-god Glaucus,
whose ancient nature they cannot easily perceive because the
ancient members of his body are partly broken off, and others
are worn away ; and he is altogether damaged by the waves :
and, besides this, other things are grown to him, such as shell-
fish, sea- weed, and stones : so that he in every respect resembles
a beast, rather than what he naturally was. In such a condi-
tion do we behold the soul under a thousand evils. But we
ought, Glauco, to behold it in one part. What ? said he. In
its love of wisdom ; and to observe to what it applies, and what
intimacies it affects, as being allied to that which is divine,
immortal, and eternal ; and what it would become if it pursued
wholly a thing of this kind, and were by this pursuit brought
out of that sea in which it now is, and had the stones and shell-
fish shaken off from it, which at present, as it is fed on earth,
render its nature, in a great measure, earthy, stony, and savage,
through those aliments which are said to procure felicity. And
then might one behold its true nature, whether multiform or
uniform, and everything concerning it. But we have, I think,
sufficiently discussed its passions and forms in human life.
Entirely so, replied he.

Have we not now, said I, discussed everything else in our
reasonings, though we have not mentioned those rewards and
honours of justice (as you say Hesiod and Homer do)? but we
find justice itself to be the best reward to the soul ; and that it
ought to do what is just, whether it have or have not Gyges'
ring, or together with such a ring, the helmet likewise of
Hades.1 You say most true, said he. Will it now, Glauco,
1 Which tendered the wearer invisible.

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said I, be a matter of offence if we mention those rewards to
justice and the other virtues which are bestowed on the soul by
men and Gods, both whilst the man is alive, and after he is
dead ? By all means let us mention them, said he. Will you
then restore to me what you borrowed in the reasoning?
What, chiefly? I granted you, that the just man should be
deemed unjust, and the unjust be deemed to be just. For you
were of opinion that though it were not possible that these
things should be concealed from Gods and men, it should how-
ever be granted, for the sake of the argument, that justice in
itself might be compared with injustice in itself ; or do you not
remember it ? I should indeed be unjust, said he, if I did not.
Now after the judgment is over, I demand again, in behalf of
justice, that as you allow it to be indeed esteemed both by Gods
and men, you likewise allow it to have the same good reputa-
tion, that it may also receive those prizes of victory, which it
acquires from the reputation of justice, and bestows on those
who possess it ; since it has already appeared to bestow those
good things which arise from really being just, and that it does
not deceive those who truly embrace it. You demand what is
just, said he. Will you not then, said I, in the first place,
restore me this ? That it is not concealed from the Gods,
what kind of man each of the two is. We will grant it, said he.
And if they be not concealed, one of them will be beloved of the
Gods, and one of them hated, as we agreed in the beginning.
We did so. And shall we not agree that as to the man who is
beloved of the Gods, whatever comes to him from the Gods
will all be the best possible, unless he has some necessary ill
from former miscarriage. Entirely so. We are then to think
in this manner of the just man. That if he happen to be in
poverty, or in diseases, or in any other of those seeming evils,
these things result in something good, either whilst he is alive
or dead. For never at any time is he neglected by the Gods,
who inclines earnestly to endeavour to become just, and
practises virtues as far as it is possible for man to resemble
God. It is reasonable, replied he, that such an one should not
be neglected by him whom he resembles. And are we not to

3oo THE REPUBLIC.

think the reverse of these things concerning the unjust man ?
Entirely. Such, then, would seem to be the prizes which the
just man receives from the Gods. Such they are indeed in my
opinion, said he. But what, said I, do they receive from men?
Is not the case thus (if we are to set down the truth) ? Do not
cunning and unjust men do the same thing as those racers,
who run well at the beginning, but not so at the end ? for at the
first they briskly leap forward, but in the end they become
ridiculous, and crestfallen, and beaten — they run off without any
reward. But such as are true racers, arriving at the end, both
receive the prizes, and are crowned. Does it not happen thus
for the most part to just men, that at the end of every action
and intercourse of life they are both held in esteem, and receive
rewards from men ? Entirely so. You will then suffer me to
say of these what you yourself said of the unjust. For I will
aver now that the just, when they are grown up, shall arrive
at power if they desire magistracies, they shall marry where
they incline, and shall settle their children in marriage agree-
ably to their wishes ; and everything else you mentioned con-
cerning the others, I now say concerning these. And on the
other hand I will say of the unjust, that the most of them,
though they may be concealed whilst they are young, yet being
caught at the end of the race, are ridiculous, and, when they
become old, are wretched and ridiculed, and shall be scourged
both by foreigners and citizens, and they shall afterwards be
tortured and burnt; which you said were terrible things, and
you spoke the truth. Imagine you hear from me that they
suffer all these things, and see if you will admit of what I say.
Entirely, said he, for you say what is just.

Such as these now, said I, are the prizes, the rewards and
gifts, which a just man receives in his lifetime, both from Gods
and men ; besides those good things which justice contains in
itself. And they are extremely beautiful, said he, and likewise
permanent. But these now, said I, are nothing in number or
magnitude when compared with those which await each of the
two at death. And these things must likewise be heard, that
each of them may completely have what is their due in the

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reasoning. You may say on, replied he, not as to a hearer who
has heard much, but as to one who hears with pleasure. But,
however, I will not, said I, tell you a tale like the apologue of
Alcinous j1 but that, indeed, of a brave man, of Er, the son of
Armenius, by descent a Pamphylian ; who happened on a time
to die in battle. When the dead were on the tenth day carried
off, already corrupted, he was taken up and found still fresh;
and being- carried home, as he was about to be buried on the
twelfth day, when laid on the funeral pile, he revived ; and being
revived, he told what he saw in the other world, and said : That
after his soul left the body, it went with many others, and that
they came to a certain mysterious place, where there were two
chasms in the earth, near to each other, and two other openings
in the heavens opposite to them, and that the judges sat between
these. That when they gave judgment, they commanded the
just to go to the right hand, and upwards through the heaven,
fixing before them symbols of the judgment pronounced ; but the
unjust they commanded to the left, and downwards, and these,
likewise, had behind them the evidences of all they had done.
But on his coming before the judges, they said it behoved him
to be a messenger to men concerning things there, and they
commanded him to hear, and to contemplate everything in the
place. And he saw the souls departing through the two open-
ings, some through the one in the heaven, and some through
the one in the earth, after they were judged; and through the
other two openings he saw, rising through the one out of the
earth, souls full of squalidness and dust ; and through the other,
he saw other souls descending pure from heaven ; and always
on their arrival they seemed as if they came from a long
journey, and gladly went to rest themselves in the meadow, as
in a public assembly, and saluted one another, such as were
acquainted, and those who rose out of the earth asked the
others concerning the things above, and those from heaven
asked them concerning the things below, and they told one
another ; the one wailing and weeping whilst they called to
mind what and how many things they suffered and saw in

1 That is, a short tale,

302 THE REPUBLIC.

their journey under the earth (for it was a journey of a thousand
years) ; and the others from heaven explained their enjoyments,
and spectacles of immense beauty. To narrate many of them,
Glauco, would take much time ; but this, he said, was the sum,
that whatever unjust actions any had committed, and how many
soever any one had injured, they were punished for all these
separately tenfold, and that they began to suffer again every
hundred years, the life of man being considered as so long, that
they might suffer tenfold punishment for the injustice they had
done. So that if any had been the cause of many deaths,
either by betraying cities or armies, or bringing men into
slavery, or being confederates in any other wickedness, for
each of all these they reaped tenfold sufferings ; and if, again,
they had benefited any by good deeds, and had been just and
holy, they were rewarded according to their deserts. Of those
who died very young, and lived but a little time, he told
what is not worth relating. But of impiety and piety to-
wards the Gods and parents, and of the murder of relations,
he told the more remarkable retributions. For he said he
was present when one was asked by another, where the
great Aridasus was ? This Aridaeus had been tyrant in a
certain city of Pamphylia a thousand years before that time,
and had killed his aged father, and his elder brother, and had
done many other unhallowed deeds, as it was reported : and he
said, the one who was asked replied : " He neither comes," said
he, "nor ever will come hither. For we saw this likewise
among other dreadful spectacles. When we were near the
mouth of the opening, and were about to ascend after having
suffered everything else, we beheld both him on a sudden, and
others likewise, most of whom were tyrants, and some private
persons who had committed great iniquity, whom, when they
imagined they were to ascend, the mouth of the opening did not
admit, but bellowed when any of those who were so polluted
with wickedness, or who had not been sufficiently punished,
attempted to ascend. And then, said he, fierce men, and fiery
to the view, standing by, and understanding the bellowing, took
them and led them apart, Aridasus and the rest, binding their

THE REPUBLIC. 303

hands and their feet, and, thrusting them down, and flaying off
their skin, dragged them to an outer road, tearing them on
thorns ; declaring always to those who passed by, on what
accounts they suffered these things, and that they were carrying
them to be thrown into Tartarus. And hence, he said, that
amidst all their various terrors, this terror surpassed, lest the
mouth should bellow when we went up, and when it was silent
every one most gladly ascended." And the punishments and
torments were such as these, and their rewards were the reverse
of these. He also added, that every one, after they had been
seven days in the meadow, arising thence, it was requisite for
them to depart on the eighth day, and arrive at another place
on the fourth day after, whence they perceived from above
through the whole heaven and earth, a light extended as a
pillar, mostly resembling the rainbow, but more splendid and
pure ; at which they arrived in one day's journey ; and they
perceived, being in the middle of the light from heaven, that
its extremities were fastened to the sky. For this light was the
belt of heaven, like the transverse beams of ships, and kept the
whole circumference united. To the extremities the distaff of
Necessity is fastened, by which all the revolutions of the world
were made, and its spindle and point were both of adamant, but
its whirl mixed of this and of other things ; arid that the nature
of the whirl was of such a kind, as to its figure, as is any one we
see here. But you must conceive it, from what he said, to be of
such a kind as this : as if in some great hollow whirl, carved
throughout, there was such another, but lesser, within it, adapted
to it, like casks fitted one within another ; and in the same
manner a third, and a fourth, and four others, for that the
whirls were eight in all, as circles one within another, each
having its rim appearing above the next; the whole forming
round the spindle the united solidity of one whirl. The spindle
was driven through the middle of the eight ; and the first and
outmost whirl had the widest circumference, the sixth had the
next greatest width ; the fourth the third width ; then the
eighth ; the seventh ; the fifth ; the third ; and the second.
Likewise the circle of the largest is variegated in colour: the

304 THE REPUBLIC.

seventh is the brightest, and that of the eighth hath its colour
from the shining of the seventh ; that of the second and fifth
resemble each other, but are more yellow than the rest. But
the third hath the whitest colour, the fourth is reddish; the
second in whiteness surpasses the sixth. The distaff must turn
round in a circle with the whole it carries ; and whilst the whole
is turning round, the seven inner circles are gently turned round
in a contrary direction to the whole. Again, the eighth moves
the swiftest; and next to it, and equal to one another, the
seventh, the sixth, and the fifth ; and the third went in a
motion which as appeared to them completed its circle in
the same way as the fourth, which in swiftness was the third,
and the fifth was the second in speed. The distaff was turned
round on the knees of Necessity.1 And on each of its
circles there was seated a Siren on the upper side, carried
round, and uttering one note in one tone. But that the
whole of them, being eight, composed one harmony. There
were other three sitting round at equal distances one from
another, each on a throne, the daughters of Necessity, the
Fates, in white vestments, and having crowns on their heads ;
Lachesis, and Clotho, and Atropos, singing to the harmony of
the Sirens ; Lachesis singing the past, Clotho the present, and
Atropos the future. And Clotho, at certain intervals, with her
right hand laid hold of the spindle, and along with her mother
turned about the outer circle. And Atropos, in like manner,
turned the inner ones with her left hand. And Lachesis
touched both of these, severally, with either hand. Now after
the souls arrive here, it is necessary for them to go directly to
Lachesis, and then an herald first of all ranges them in order,

1 The preceding passage is a rough description of elemental astro-
nomy. The distaff in motion is apparently the revolution of heaven
round the motionless earth. The seven inner whirls are the orbits of
Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Venus, Mercury, the sun, and the moon. The
outer whirl with various colours means the stars. The light like a
pillar is probably neither the Milky Way nor the axis of the world,
but may be a reference to some old theory about light, possibly
Pythagorean.

THE REPUBLIC. 305

and afterwards taking the lots, and the models of lives, from
the knees of Lachesis, and ascending a lofty tribunal, he says : —
"The speech of the virgin Lachesis, the daughter of Necessity.
Souls of a day ! This is the beginning of another period of
men of mortal race. Your destiny shall not be given you by
lot, but you shall choose it yourselves. He who draws the
first, let him first make choice of a life, to which he must of
necessity adhere. Virtue is independent, which every one
shall partake of, more or less, according as he honours or dis-
honours her. The cause is in him who makes the choice, and
God is blameless !" When he had said these things, he threw
on all of them the lots, and that each took up the one which fell
beside him, but Er was allowed to take none. And that when
each had taken it, he knew what number he had drawn. After
this the herald placed on the ground before them the models of
lives, many more than those we see at present. And they were
all various. For there were lives of all sorts of animals, and
human lives of every kind. And among ih^se there were
tyrannies, some of them perpetual, and others destroyed in the
midst of their greatness, and ending in poverty, banishment,
and want. There were also lives of men renowned, some for
their appearance as to beauty, strength, and agility ; and others
for their descent, and the virtues of their ancestors. There
were the lives of renowned women in the same manner. But
there was no disposition of soul among these models, because
of necessity, on choosing a different life, it becomes different
itself. As to other things, riches and poverty, sickness and
health, they were mixed with one another, and some were in a
middle station between these. There then, as appears, friend
Glauco, is the whole danger of man. And hence this of all
things is most to be studied, in what manner every one of us,
omitting other disciplines, shall become an inquirer and learner
in this study, if, by any means, he be able to learn and find out
who will make him expert and intelligent to discern a good
life and a bad; and to choose everywhere, and at all times,
the best of what is possible, considering all the things now
mentioned, both compounded and separated from one another,

20

306 THE REPUBLIC.

what they are with respect to the virtue of life. And to under-
stand what good or evil is created by beauty when mixed with
poverty, or riches, and with this or the other habit of soul ; and
what is effected by noble and ignoble descent, by privacy and
by public station, by strength and weakness, docility and
indocility, and everything else of the kind which naturally
pertains to the soul, and likewise of what is acquired, when
blended one with another; so as to be able from all these things
to compute, and, having an eye to the nature of the soul, to
comprehend both the worse and the better life, pronouncing
that to be the worse which shall lead the soul to become more
unjust, and that to be the better life which shall lead it to
become more just, and to dismiss every other consideration.
For we have seen, that in life, and in death, this is the best
choice. But it is necessary that a man should have this
opinion firm as an adamant in him, when he departs to Hades,
that there also he may be unmoved by riches, or any such evils,
and may not, falling into tyrannies, and other such practices, do
many and incurable mischiefs, and himself suffer still greater:
but may know how to choose always the middle life, as to these
things, and to shun the extremes on either hand, both in this
life as far as is possible, and in the whole of the hereafter. For
thus man becomes most happy.

To return : the messenger from the other world further told
that the herald spoke thus : " Even to him who comes last,
choosing with judgment, and living consistently, there is pre-
pared a desirable life ; not bad. Let neither him who is first be
negligent in his choice, nor let him who is last despair ! " He
said, that when the herald had spoken these things, the first
who drew a lot ran instantly and chose the greatest tyranny, but
through folly and insatiableness had not sufficiently examined
all things on making his choice, but was ignorant that in this
life there was this destiny, the devouring of his own children,
and other evils ; and that afterwards, when he had considered it
at leisure he wailed and lamented his choice, not having observed
the admonitions of the herald above mentioned. For he did
not accuse himself, as the author of his misfortunes, but fortune

THE REPUBLIC. 307

and destiny, and everything instead of himself. He added, that
he was one of those who came from heaven, who had in his
former life lived in a regulated republic, and had been virtuous
by custom without philosophy. And that, in short, among
these there were not a few who came from heaven, as being
unexercised in trials. But that the most of those who came
from earth, as they had endured hardships themselves, and had
seen others in hardships, did not precipitantly make their choice.
And hence, and through the fortune of the lot, to most souls
there was an exchange of good and evil things. Since, if
one should always, whenever he comes into this life, soundly
philosophise, and the lot of election should not fall on him the
very last, it would seem, from what has been told us from thence,
that he shall be happy not only here, but when he goes hence, and
his journey hither back again shall not be earthly, and rugged, but
smooth and heavenly. This spectacle, he said, was worthy to
behold, in what manner the several souls made choice of their
lives. For it was pitiful and ridiculous and wonderful to behold,
as each for the most part chose according to the habit of their
former life. For he told, that he saw the soul which was formerly
the soul of Orpheus making choice of the life of a swan, through
hatred of womankind, being unwilling to be born of woman on
account of the death he suffered from them. He saw likewise the
soul of Thamyris making choice of the life of a nightingale. And
he saw also a swan turning to the choice of human life ; and other
musical animals in a similar manner, as is likely. And he saw
one soul, in making its choice, choosing the life of a lion ; and
it was the soul of Ajax, the son of Telamon, shunning to become
a man, remembering the judgment given with reference to
the armour of Achilles. That after this he saw the soul of
Agamemnon, which, in hatred also of the human kind, on
account of his misfortunes, exchanged it for the life of an eagle.
And that he saw the soul of Atalanta choosing her lot amidst
the rest, and, having attentively observed the great honours
paid to an athlete, was unable to pass by this lot, but took it.
Next, he saw the soul of Epaeus the son of Fanopeus going
into the nature of a skilful workwoman. And far off, among the

308 THE REPUBLIC.

last, he saw the soul of the buffoon Thersites assuming the ape.
And by chance he saw the soul of Ulysses, who had drawn its
lot last of all, going to make its choice : and in remembrance of
its former toils, and tired of ambition, it went about a long time,
seeking the life of a private man of no business, and with
difficulty found it lying somewhere, neglected by the rest. And
that on seeing this life, it said, that it would have made the
same choice even if it had obtained the first lot, — and joyfully
chose it. In like manner the souls of wild beasts went into
men, and men again into beasts : the unjust changing into wild
beasts, and the just into tame ; and that they were blended by
all sorts of mixtures.

After, therefore, all the souls had chosen their lives according
as they drew their lots, they all went in order to Lachesis, and
that she gave to every one the fate he chose, and sent it along
with him to be the guardian of his life, and the accomplisher of
what he had chosen. First of all, he conducts the soul to
Clotho, to ratify under her hand, and by the whirl of the vortex
of her spindle, the destiny it had chosen by lot : and after
being with her, he leads it back again to the spinning of
Atropos, who makes the destinies irreversible. And from hence
they proceed directly under the throne of Necessity; and after
the others had passed by it, Er also passed, and they all of
them marched into the plain of Lethe amidst dreadful heat and
scorching, for he said that it is void of trees and everything that
the earth produces. That when night came on, they encamped
beside the river Amelete,1 whose water no vessel can contain.
Of this water all of them must necessarily drink a certain
measure, and such of them as are not preserved by prudence
drink more than the measure, and that he who drinks always
forgets everything. But after they were laid asleep, and it
became midnight, there was thunder, and an earthquake, and
they were thence on a sudden carried upwards, some one way,
and some another, approaching to generation like stars. But
that Er himself was forbidden to drink of the water. Where,
however, and in what manner, he came into his body, he was

1 Indifference.

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entirely ignorant ; but suddenly looking up in the morning, he
saw himself already laid on the funeral pile.

And this fable, Glauco, hath been preserved, and is not lost,
and it may preserve us, if we are persuaded by it ; and thus we
shall happily pass over the river Lethe, and shall not contami-
nate the soul. But if the company will be persuaded by me;
considering the soul to be immortal, and able to bear all evil,
and all good, we shall always persevere in the road which ieads
above; and shall by all means pursue justice in conjunction
with prudence, in order that we may be friends both to our-
selves, and to the Gods, both whilst we remain here, and when
we receive its rewards, like victors assembled together ; and we
shall, both here, and in that journey of a thousand years which
we have described, enjoy a happy life.

THE END.

TJUi WALTER SCOTT PUESS, NEWCAS'ILE-OiN-TV.NE.

I
I

I

n

"

f

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2 THOREAU'S WALDEN. WITH INTRODUCTORY NOTE

by Will H. Dircks.

3 THOREAU'S "WEEK." WITH PREFATORY NOTE BY

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11 MY STUDY WINDOWS. BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

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by Alice Zimtnern.

20 THE TEACHING OF EPICTETUS. TRANSLATED FROM

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25 DEFOE'S CAPTAIN SINGLETON. EDITED, WITH

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26 MAZZINTS ESSAYS: LITERARY, POLITICAL, AND

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27 PROSE WRITINGS OF HEINE. WITH INTRODUCTION

by Havelock Ellis.

28 REYNOLDS'S DISCOURSES. WITH INTRODUCTION

by Helen Zhnmern.

29 PAPERS OF STEELE AND ADDISON. EDITED BY

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30 BURNS'S LETTERS. SELECTED AND ARRANGED,

with Introduction, by J. Logie Robertson, M.A.

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duction by H. H. Sparling.

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32 SARTOR RESARTUS. BY THOMAS CARLYLE. WITH

Introduction by Ernest Jlhys.

33 SELECT WRITINGS OF EMERSON. WITH INTRO-

duction by Percival Chubb.

34 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF LORD HERBERT. EDITED,

with an Introduction, by Will H. Dircks.

35 ENGLISH PROSE, FROM MAUNDEVILLE TO

Thackeray. Chosen and Edited by Arthur Galton.

36 THE PILLARS OF SOCIETY, AND OTHER PLAYS. BY

Ilenrik Ibsen. Edited, \vith an Introduction, by Havelock Ellis.

37 IRISH FAIRY AND FOLK TALES. EDITED AND

Selected by W. B. Yeats.

38 ESSAYS OF DR. JOHNSON, WITH BIOGRAPHICAL

Introduction and Notes by Stuart J. Reid.

39 ESSAYS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT. SELECTED AND

Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by Frank Carr.

40 LANDOR'S PENTAMERON, AND OTHER IMAGINARY

Conversations. Edited, with a Preface, by II. Ellis.

41 POE'S TALES AND ESSAYS. EDITED, WITH INTRO-

duction, by Ernest Rhys.

42 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

Edited, with Preface, by Ernest Rhys.

43 POLITICAL ORATIONS, FROM WENT WORTH TO

Maeaulay. Edited, with Introduction, by William Clarke.

44 THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. BY

Oliver Wendell Holmes.

45 THE POET AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. BY OLIVER

Wendell Holmes.

46 THE/ PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. BY

OKver Wendell Holmes.

47 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS TO HIS SON.

Selected, with Introduction, by Charles Sayle.

48 STORIES FROM CARLETON. SELECTED, WITH INTRO-

duction, by W. Yeats.

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49 JANE EYRE. BY CHARLOTTE BRONTE. EDITED BY

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50 ELIZABETHAN ENGLAND. EDITED BY LOTHROP

Withington, with a Preface by Dr. Furnivall.

51 THE PROSE WRITINGS OF THOMAS DAVIS. EDITED

by T. W. Rolleston.

52 SPENCE'S ANECDOTES. A SELECTION. EDITED,

with an Introduction and Notes, by John Underbill.

53 MORE'S UTOPIA, AND LIFE OF EDWARD V. EDITED,

with an Introduction, by Maurice Adams.

54 SADI'S GULISTAN, OR FLOWER GARDEN. TRANS-

lated, with an Essay, by James Ross.

55 ENGLISH FAIRY AND FOLK TALES. EDITED BY

E. Sidney Hartland.

56 NORTHERN STUDIES. BY EDMUND GOSSE. WITH

a Note by Ernest Rhys.

57 EARLY REVIEWS OF GREAT WRITERS. EDITED BY

E. Stevenson.

58 ARISTOTLE'S ETHICS. WITH GEORGE HENRY

Lewes's Essay on Aristotle prefixed.

59 LANDOR'S PERICLES AND ASPASIA. EDITED, WITH

an Introduction, by Havelock Eilis.

60 ANNALS OF TACITUS. THOMAS GORDON'S TRANS-

lation. Edited, with an Introduction, by Arthur Galtun.

6 1 ESSAYS OF ELI A. BY CHARLES LAMB. EDITED,

with an Introduction, by Ernest Rhys.

62 BALZAC'S SHORTER STORIES. TRANSLATED BY

William Wilson and the Count Stenbock.

63 COMEDIES OF DE MUSSET. EDITED, WITH AN

Introductory Note, by S. L. G vvynn.

64 CORAL REEFS. BY CHARLES DARWIN. EDITED,

with an Introduction, by Dr. J. W. Williams.

65 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS. EDITED, WITH AN INTRO-

duction, by Rudolf Dircks.

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THE SCOTT LIBRARY-continued.

66 OUR VILLAGE. BY MISS MITFORD. EDITED, WITH

an Introduction, by Ernest Rhys.

67 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK, AND OTHER STORIES.

By Charles Dickens. With Introduction by Frank T. Maizials.

68 TALES FROM WONDERLAND. BY RUDOLPH

Uaumbach. Translated by Helen B. Dole.

69 ESSAYS AND PAPERS BY DOUGLAS JERROLD. EDITED

by Walter Jervold.

70 VINDICATION OF THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN. BY

iMary Wollstonecraft. Introduction by Mrs. E. Robins Pennell.

71 "THE ATHENIAN ORACLE." A SELECTION. EDITED

by John Underbill, with Prefatory Note by Walter liesant.

72 ESSAYS OF SAINTE-BEUVE. TRANSLATED AND

Edited, with an Introduction, by Elizabeth Lee.

73 SELECTIONS FROM PLATO. FROM THE TRANS-

lation of Sydenham. and Taylor. Edited by T. W. Rolleston.

74 HEINE'S ITALIAN TRAVEL SKETCHES, ETC. TRANS-

lated by Elizabeth A. Sharp. With an Introduction from the French of
Theophile Gautier.

75 SCHILLER'S MAID OF ORLEANS. TRANSLATED,

with an Introduction, by Major-General Patrick Maxwell.

76 SELECTIONS FROM SYDNEY SMITH. EDITED, WITH

an Introduction, by Ernest Rhys.

77 THE NEW SPIRIT. BY HAVELOCK ELLIS..

78 THE BOOK OF MARVELLOUS ADVENTURES. FROM

the "Morte d' Arthur." Edited by Ernest Rhys. [This, together with
No. 1, forms the complete "Morte d' Arthur."]

79 ESSAYS AND APHORISMS. BY SIR ARTHUR HELPS.

With an Introduction by E. A. Helps.

80 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. SELECTED, WITH A

Prefatory Note, by Percival Chubb.

81 THE LUCK OF BARRY LYNDON. BY W. M.

Thackeray. Edited by F. T. Marzials.

82 SCHILLER'S WILLIAM TELL. TRANSLATED, WITH

an Introduction, by Major-General Patrick Maxwell.

LONDON : WALTER SCOTT, Paternoster Square.

THE SCOTT LIBRARY— cbiitiuued.

83 CARLYLE'S ESSAYS ON GERMAN LITERATURE.

With an Introduction by Ernest Rhys.

84 PLAYS AND DRAMATIC ESSAYS OF CHARLES LAMB.

Edited, with au Introduction, by Kudoif Dircks.

85 THE PROSE OF WORDSWORTH. SELECTED AND

Ediied, with an Introduction, by Professor William Knight.

86 ESSAYS, DIALOGUES, AND THOUGHTS OF COUNT

Gi.icomo Leopardi. Translated, with an Introduction and Notes, by
Major-General Patrick Maxwell.

87 THE INSPECTOR-GENERAL. A RUSSIAN COMEDY.

By Nikolai V. Gogol. Translated from the original, with an Introduction
and Notes, by Arthur A. Sykts.

88 ESSAYS AND APOTHEGMS OF FRANCIS, LORD BACON.

Edited, with an Introduction, by John Buchaa.

89 PROSE OF MILTON. SELECTED AND EDITED, WITH

an Introduction, by Kichard Garuett, LL.D.

90 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO. TRANSLATED BY

Thomas I'aylor, with an Introduction by Theodore Wratislaw.

91 PASSAGES FROM FROISSART. WITH AN INTRO-

duction by Frank T. Marzials.

92 THE PROSE AND TABLE TALK OF COLERIDGE.

Edited by Will H. Dircks.

93 HEINE IN ART AND LETTERS, TRANSLATED BY

Elizabeth A. Sharp.

94 SELECTED ESSAYS OF DE QUINCEY. WITH AN

Introduction by Sir George Douglas, Bart.

95 VASARI'S LIVES OF ITALIAN PAINTERS. SELECTED

and Prefaced by Havelock Ellis.

96 LAOCOON, AND OTHER PROSE WRITINGS OF

LESSING. A new Translation by W. B. Rounfeldt.

97 PELLEAS AND MELISANDA, AND THE SIGHTLESS.

Two Plays by Maurice Maeterlinck. Translated from the French by
Laurence Alma Tadema.

98 THE COMPLETE ANGLER OF WALTON AND COTTON.

Edited, with au Introduction, by Chailes Hill Dick.

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THE SCOTT LIBRARY-continucd.

99 LESSING'S NATHAN THE WISE. TRANSLATED BY

Major-General Patrick Maxwell.

TOO THE POETRY OF THE CELTIC RACES, AND OTHER
Essays of Ernest Renan. Translated by W. G. Hutchison.

101 CRITICISMS, REFLECTIONS, AND MAXIMS OFGOETIIE.

Translated, with an Introduction, by W. B. Ronnfeldt.

102 ESSAYS OF SCHOPENHAUER. TRANSLATED BY

Mrs. Rudolf Dircks. With an Introduction.

103 RE NAN'S LIFE OF JESUS. TRANSLATED, WITH AN

Introduction, by William G. Hutchison.

104 TFIE CONFESSIONS OF SAINT AUGUSTINE. EDITED,

with an Introduction, by Arthur Symoiis.

105 THE PRINCIPLES OF SUCCESS IN LITERATURE.

By George Henry Lewes. Edited, with an Introduction, by T. Sharper
Knowlson.

1 06 THE LIVES OF D R. JOHN DONNE, SIR HENRY WOTTON,

Mr. Richard Hooker, Mr. George Herbert, and Dr. Robert Sanderson.
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107 WHAT IS ART? BY, LEO TpLSTOY. TRANSLATED

from the Original Russian MS., with an Introduction, by Aylmer

Maude.

1 08 KENAN'S ANTICHRIST. TRANSLATED, WITH AN

Introduction, by W. G. Hutchison.

109 ORATIONS OF CICERO. SELECTED AND EDITED,

with an Introduction, by Fred. W. Norris.

1 10 REFLECTIONS ON THE REVOLUTION IN FRANCE.

By Edmund Burke. With an Introduction by George Sampson.

in THE LETTERS OF THE YOUNGER PLINY. SERIES I.
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Scholar of Queen's College, Oxford.

112 THE LETTERS OF THE YOUNGER PLINY. SERIES II.

Translated by John B. Firth, B.A.

113 SELECTED THOUGHTS OF BLAISE PASCAL. TRANS-

lated and Edited, with an Introduction and Notes, by Gertrude Burfoid
Rawlings.

114 SCOTS ESSAYISTS: FROM STIRLING TO STEVENSON.

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MANUALS OF EMPLOYMENT FOR
EDUCATED WOMEN.

EDITED BY CHRISTABEL OSBORN.

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II.— ELEMENTARY TEACHING.

BY CHRISTABEL OSBORN.

With an Introduction by SIR JOSHUA FITCH, LL.D.

This manual sums up clearly the chief facts which need to be known
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BY CHRISTABEL OSBORN.

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IBSEN'S PROSE DRAMAS.

EDITED BY WILLIAM ARCHER.

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" We seem at last to be shown men and women as they are ; and at first it
is more than we can endure. . . . All Ibsen's chai acters speak and act as if
they ^vere hypnotised, and under their creator** imperious demand to reveal
themselves. There never was such a mirror held iip to nature before : it ts
too terrible. . . . Yet we must return to Ibsen, with his remorseless surgery ,
his remorseless electric-light, until we, toot have grown strong and learned to
face the naked — if necessary^ the flayed and bleeding — reality." — SPEAKER
(London).

VOL. I. "A DOLL'S HOUSE," "THE LEAGUE OF
YOUTH," and "THE PILLARS OF SOCIETY." With
Portrait of the Author, and Biographical Introduction by
WILLIAM ARCHER.

VOL. II. "GHOSTS," "AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE/'
and "THE WILD DUCK." With an Introductory Note.

VOL. III. "LADY INGER OF OSTRAT," "THE VIKINGS
AT HELGELAND," "THE PRETENDERS." With an
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VOL. IV. "EMPEROR AND GALILEAN." With an
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VOL. V. " ROSMERSHOLM," "THE LADY FROM THE
SEA," "HEDDA GABLER." Translated by WILLIAM
ARCHER. With an Introductory Note.

The sequence of the plays in each volume is chronological ; the complete
set of volumes comprising the dramas thus presents them in chronological
order.

"The art of prose translation does not perhaps enjoy a very high literary
status in England, but we have no hesitation in numbering the present
version of Ibsen, so far as it has gone (Vols. I. and II.), among the very
best achievements, in that kind, of our generation," — Academy.

" We have seldom, if ever, met with a translation so absolutely
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CD

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OWEN MEREDITH. With Portrait of late Lord Lytton.
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PRAED. With Portrait.

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HUGO. With Portrait.

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BERANGER. With Portrait.

HEINE. With Portrait.

SEA MUSIC. With View of Corbiere Rocks, Jersey.

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CRAB BE. With Portrait.

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MATTHEW ARNOLD. With Portrait.

AUSTIN'S DAYS OF THE YEAR. With Portrait.

CLOUGH'S BOTHIE, and otlvu Poems. With View.

BROWNING'S Pippa Passes, etc. ~\

BROWNING'S Blot in the 'Scutcheon, etc. '/With Portrait.

BROWNING'S Dramatic Lyrics.

MACKAY'S LOVER'S MISSAL. With Portrait.

K1RKE WHITE'S POEMS. With Portrait.

LYUA NICOTIAN A. With Portrait.

AURORA LEIGH. With Portrait of E. B. Browning.

NAVAL SONGS. With Portrait of Lord Nelson.

TENNYSON : In Memoriam, Maud, etc. With Portrait.

TENNYSON : English Idyls, The Princess, etc. With View of

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A IS'EW SERIES OF CRITICAL BIOGRAPHIES.
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