Zxhvavy of t:ht t:heolo0ical ^tmimvy 
 
 PRINCETON • NEW JERSEY 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 the Estate of 
 the Rev. George G. Smith 
 
 J C 7 I 
 \90l 
 
Digitized by the Internet Arcliive 
 in 2015 
 
 littps://arcliive.org/details/republicstatesmaOOplat_0 
 
ARISTOTLE AND PLATO 
 
 From the original painting — '-'•The School of Athens,''^ by Raphael 
 — in the Vatican. 
 
Cop V RIGHT, 1901, 
 
 B Y 
 
 .WALTER DUNNE, 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Aristotle and Plato Frontispiece 
 
 From the original painting — « School of Athens,^ by Ra- 
 phael — in the Vatican. 
 
 The School of Athens 351 
 
 From the original painting by Raphael, in the Vatican. 
 
 (V) 
 
SPECIAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 TO THE REPUBLIC 
 
 HE mere fact that a publisher should venture at this 
 
 day to place before the public a new edition of a 
 
 work written twenty-three centuries ago ought to 
 be itself a sufficient introduction. Words can scarcely 
 add to the eloquence of that fact. So ancient a work, 
 however, might be republished simply as an historical 
 document or curiosity, to show what was thought and 
 written and taught long ages ago, in order that the con- 
 trast between those times and our own, and the progress 
 made in the intellectual development of humanity might 
 be more manifest. Or, again, and still from an historical 
 motive, it might be desirable and profitable to repro- 
 duce a work of antiquity which stands as the foundation 
 of some particular science or branch of knowledge, but 
 which is no longer of any other importance or value, 
 even in its own field, than is the seed which long years 
 ago fell into the ground and died that the great fruit- 
 bearing tree which our eyes now behold might grow 
 and live. What is remarkable in the present instance 
 is that " The Republic " of Plato can be put forth in a new 
 edition to-day, not as a mere historical monument or 
 document, not as a curiosity of barbarism or of infant 
 civilization, not as the outgrown beginning of some line 
 of intellectual development, but as a living, teaching 
 reality, fitted to awaken in men's minds the highest 
 thoughts and the noblest ideals, to direct men's conduct 
 in the paths of justice and righteousness, to lead human 
 civilization onward and upward to heights to which, 
 even after twenty-three hundred years from the time 
 when Plato first wrote this work, it has not yet reached. 
 
 (vii) 
 
viii 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 He who will read these dialogues for the first time will 
 wonder whether he be not dreaming, and will marvel at 
 their easy application to the conditions amid which the 
 twentieth Christian century begins its course. He who 
 will ponder over them for the hundredth time will see 
 deeper down into the abyss of their universal wisdom 
 and will find new beauties to hold him entranced. 
 
 The selection of " The Republic " as the work of Plato to 
 be republished is natural and prudent. In the first 
 place, it is said to have been his own favorite among 
 all his productions ; and well may this be true. The 
 Republic** may be considered as the compendium of all 
 Plato's teaching and philosophy. It constitutes, as it 
 were, the climax toward which all of his study and work 
 had tended, and contains the fruit of it all. Professedly 
 it undertakes simply to portray what Plato conceived as 
 an ideal civic society. Such a scope would, in the 
 modern method of classification, restrict the writer to 
 the treatment of the relations and obligations of one 
 man to another and to all others with whom he lives in 
 contact. But, by the ingenious use of the similitude 
 which may be legitimately found between the organism 
 uniting the many parts of the human composite into 
 one individual man and that organism by which a mul- 
 titude of men is reduced to one orderly whole, which 
 may be called a society, or a state, or a nation, or a 
 republic, Plato succeeds in teaching the duties which are 
 incumbent on man for the perfection and well-being of 
 his personal self, as well as those which he owes to his 
 fellow man in his intercourse with him. Thus, to begin 
 with, ** The Republic * may be said to constitute a com- 
 plete treatise on the ethics of the individual and of society, 
 and to contain Plato's entire doctrine concerning individ- 
 ual and social morality. Such a result could not have 
 been accomplished without manifesting more or less 
 fully the author's views concerning psychological and 
 metaphysical matters, since ethical doctrines are invari- 
 ably the consequences of such views. And so, indeed, 
 in this work we find the metaphysics and psychology of 
 Plato clearly indicated. " Music '* as it was called, em- 
 bracing belles-lettres, poetry and rhetoric, and mathe- 
 
SPECIAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 matics are touched upon as auxiliaries in the great work 
 of civic progress and perfection. The domain of the 
 human knowledge is finally covered by the addition in 
 the last dialogue of what may be justly considered theo- 
 logical doctrine. The result is that he who studies well 
 The Republic puts himself in possession of Plato's entire 
 philosophy. Deeper and fuller knowledge of the details 
 of that philosophy will be obtained from his other works, 
 and a most desirable effect of the study of The Republic * 
 must be the sharpening of the appetite to know more of 
 those details. 
 
 The plan of the work is simple, clear, and logical; and 
 the method is attractive. T here are ten dialogues, the 
 fir st seven of which are devoted to the development of 
 Plato's idea of a state. Since, however, justice is for 
 him the basic and riiTing civic virtue, he devotes nearly 
 the whole of the first two dialogues to establishing 
 clearly his idea of the meaning of that virtue, its re- 
 quirements and its violations. The other five dialogues 
 of this part are given to the discussion of the peculiar 
 characteristics with which he would have the various 
 classes of people who make up his republic endowed, and 
 of the special training by which such characteristics may 
 be developed. No philosopher more than Plato ever 
 appreciated the marvelous phenomenon of unified multi- 
 plicity so common in the universe. His whole Philos- 
 ophy may be considered as a study of that phenomenon 
 and a search for its tr^ie explanation. He discovered 
 that explanation in the orderly subjection of constituent 
 parts to one governing head, pre-eminent in knowledge, 
 power, and dignity. This was his theory of the individual 
 man, and this was the foundation of his plan for an 
 ideal republic. The necessity of authority in society 
 was not only not questioned by him, but the first and 
 most important class of people in his republic, the class 
 in whose selection and for whose special training the 
 most constant and scrupulous care must be exercised, is 
 the ruling or governing class — the magistrates. It is to 
 them that he turns his first attention, and what he says 
 of them may well be made the subject of perpetual 
 meditation by all rulers so long as civil society shall 
 
X 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 exist. Happy, indeed, would be the state whose magis- 
 trates should be such men as he describes — wise with 
 all possible knowledge; just beyond all chance of cor- 
 ruption, filled with zeal for the common weal alone; so 
 profoundly impressed by the responsibility of governing 
 that the dignity must seek them, never they the dignity; 
 so upright and righteous that they themselves, their 
 lives and their actions, might be the living laws of the 
 community which should need no other laws. In our 
 own day and country, where those who govern are called 
 to their office, theoretically at least, by the people, this 
 part of Plato's work merits continual study by every 
 citizen. Human wisdom in the progress of twenty-three 
 centuries of civilization has taught us nothing higher, 
 better, or nobler; and almost every word which Plato 
 says on this subject is applicable to our own actual con- 
 ditions. 
 
 Next to the magistrates Plato attaches importance to 
 the soldiers of his republic, and he would have the 
 utmost care bestowed on their training that they may be 
 intelligent, unselfish, patriotic, virtuous, and brave. It 
 must not be imagined from this that Plato was a pro- 
 moter of militarism, as it is called. All that is meant by 
 that term in its present-day use is unequivocally con- 
 demned by him. He distinctly warns against the use of 
 an army for purposes of conquest, and condemns in 
 strong language anything that could tend to the opres- 
 sion of the people by the military. He is strong in his 
 assertion that the greatness of a state is not to be 
 measured by the vastness of its territorial possessions 
 nor by the number of its tributary or subject peoples; 
 but rather by its own internal unity and the peace and 
 contentment and well-being of its citizens. If, then, 
 Plato puts his soldiers next to his rulers in importance, 
 it is because, consistently with his entire philosophical 
 system, he realizes that every composite entity must be 
 equipped with two faculties for the preservation of its 
 existence — first and most necessary, a faculty by which 
 it maintains the reasonable subordination of its constituent 
 parts and guides their several activities to the perfection 
 of one harmonious operation; and, second, a faculty to 
 
SPFXIAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 xi 
 
 ward off dang'crs which may threaten its existence from 
 without. Plato's soldiers are neither plunderers nor ty- 
 rants. They are rather brave, intrepid guards and pro- 
 tectors of their coimtry's integrity and honor. It is in 
 this connection, while treating of the training necessary 
 to produce such soldiers, that Plato is accused of an un- 
 expected condemnation of the poets, whom it is said 
 he would banish from his republic. I say an unex- 
 pected condemnation, for it is hard to believe that 
 Plato, surely an idealist and therefore somewhat of a 
 poet himself and a cultured Greek, which meant nec- 
 essarily an admirer and a lover of the beautiful in 
 all its manifestations, should name the poets as a class 
 unworthy of respect and dangerous to the welfare of 
 his state. But if Plato's words be carefully studied, I 
 think that it will become evident that he is unjustly ac- 
 cused of a wholesale attack on poets or of requiring 
 their universal banishment. It is for two clearly defined 
 offenses that he would drive them out: first, for such 
 unwarranted exaggeration as could not be excused even 
 by poetic license — which he is ready to admit within 
 reasonable limits — exaggeration which amounts to lying 
 pure and simple ; and, second, for the voluptuous retailing 
 of the licentious lives and conduct of gods and heroes. 
 The purveying of literature of such a character Plato 
 considered harmful to the morals not only of his soldiers 
 but of all citizens, and who shall say he was too rigid ? 
 Poets who were innocent of these offenses might remain 
 unmolested in his republic. To understand his position 
 more clearly and to see with what wisdom and desirable 
 results his discrimination might well be applied to the 
 conditions of the present day, it must be remembered 
 that the poets of his time practically filled the place and 
 did the work of our daily papers. It was in the songs of 
 the poets that the news of public events was spread 
 through the village, town, city, and country. The battles 
 fought, the victories won, the result of the games, the 
 doings of the great and powerful, the change of rulers, 
 alliances formed or broken, all these things the poets 
 made the subject of their song, which, wandering through 
 city street and country road, they poured mto the listen- 
 
xii 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 ing ears of the multitude. Recall then the kinds of 
 poems to which Plato takes exception and which he would 
 not have recited to his people whom he would keep 
 truthful, reverent, and virtuous, and then think whether 
 or not even to-day an edict of b?.nishinent might be timely 
 and wise. The poems which Plato condemns were the 
 sensational journals of his time, and who does not wish 
 that the evils of such journalism might be removed even 
 were banishment necessary ? 
 
 The dialogues up to and including the seventh continue 
 the discussion of the duties of citizens of various classes 
 in the republic and of the manner in which they should 
 be made to understand those duties and educated to meet 
 and fulfill them. Here will be found a perfect treasure- 
 house from which ideas of practical value in our own 
 times may be drawn. Many errors might be corrected 
 and many deficiencies supplied in our own system of 
 educating the people by following the suggestions made 
 by Plato. I doubt whether in any institution for the 
 training of the young in this country, whether conducted 
 under public or private auspices and direction, so high 
 an ideal of virtue and integrity is held before the future 
 citizens of the nation as Plato would have kept constantly 
 before the minds of his citizens. I doubt whether any 
 such care be exercised to-day to train our young people 
 to a realization of their responsibilities and obligations, 
 and to develop in them the strength to fulfill them as 
 Plato would have exercised. We may smile at some of 
 the methods suggested, which probably would be un- 
 fitted to present conditions. But in smiling at these, we 
 ought not to overlook the great mass of precepts which 
 are still apt and useful. It may be questioned whether 
 we have any real right to smile even at the exaggerated 
 importance which Plato seems to attach to matters of 
 apparently small moment. It is strange that the sugges- 
 tion of Plato regarding the training of the young which 
 is the latest to have been adopted in modern methods is 
 one from among those of least consequence. It was not 
 many months ago that the Board of Education in one of 
 our largest cities adopted a method of training the pupils 
 of the schools to ambidexterity. In the fifth dialogue 
 
SPECIAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 xiii 
 
 Plato explains the utility and the possibility of such 
 training and shows how it can be accomplished. It might 
 well be wished that some more important idea had been 
 selected and adopted. A much more serious care for 
 the education of our young would have been exhibited 
 by turning to the fourth dialogue and drawing inspira- 
 tion from it. There would have been found most valuable 
 instruction for any Board of Education. The young 
 should be taught thoroughly the virtues of fortitude, 
 temperance, and justice; they should be made to see 
 that virtue means the health and depravity the disease 
 of the individual and of the community; their physical 
 constitutions should be cared for and their bodily health 
 promoted by reasonable recreation. 
 
 It is at the beginning of this fourth dialogue that 
 Plato warns against the accumulation of great wealth by 
 individuals. What he says is of profound importance 
 and well deserves attention in these times of ours. Con- 
 vinced that the perfection of a state is to be measured 
 first of all by its internal unity, he points out the dan- 
 ger of division when there is found one class of citizens 
 possessed of great wealth and another sunk in extreme 
 poverty. The wealthy are bound to despise and oppress 
 the poor, and the poor are bound to hate and envy the 
 rich; and immediately you have two communities and 
 not one. Extreme wealth and extreme poverty are the 
 sources of crime, the one giving rise to luxurious and 
 riotous living and the other to rapine and violence. He 
 would have all his citizens comfortably provided with 
 means, none superfluously rich and none wretchedly poor. 
 With thoughts like these all must agree, and it could 
 do no harm even in this twentieth century to teach our 
 youth that the accumulation of wealth is far from the 
 highest object which a man can set for his attain- 
 ment, that the richest man is not the best man, that 
 the true citizen, the one who is of most real value to 
 the state, is not he who has devoted his energies to 
 the amassing of an enormous fortune for his own self- 
 ish possession, but he who gives his life and his highest 
 and best endeavors to the promotion of the common 
 good of all. 
 
xiv 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 Having prepared the way by this reference to the dan- 
 ger to the state from the uneqtial distribution of riches 
 among the citizens, in the next dialogue Plato puts forth 
 his communistic theories in all their extremity. Of course, 
 if his words are to be taken literally, it would be impos- 
 sible to follow him with approbation to the lengths to 
 which he goes. He would have all things possessed in 
 common. He would have it impossible for any man to 
 call anything his own. Not only property, but even 
 women and children, should be held in common. No 
 man should have a wife of his own. Parents should 
 not know their own children and children should not 
 know their own parents. When born children should 
 be taken in charge at once by the state which should 
 attend to their nourishment and education. The strong 
 and healthy and untainted by disease or deformity 
 should be carefully nurtured and trained to become good 
 and useful citizens; while the unsound, the unhealthy, 
 the diseased, and deformed should be segregated and left 
 practically to perish. This doctrine of the fifth dialogue, 
 if understood as literally serious, is the one dark spot in 
 the whole work. But who knows whether Plato ever in- 
 tended it as a calm and serious exposition of his true 
 ideas ? Look for a moment at the motive he had for 
 writing it. I have repeated that if Plato was thoroughly 
 persuaded of any one necessity in the building of his 
 republic, it was the necessity of unity. He knew, as 
 we know also, that inequality of any kind is a menace to 
 unity. 
 
 He was a keen observer of the conditions of his own 
 times and a profound student of those of other times. 
 He saw what we see to-day twenty-three centuries later, 
 and what we know that all observers have seen in the 
 meantime — that distinctions of wealth and of birth are 
 the sources of inequality. Who can doubt but that count- 
 less and serious evils have always befallen society be- 
 cause of the pretentions of the wealthy or of the sons of 
 their fathers. The general good means nothing to the 
 man bent on accumulating riches or to him who is all 
 intent on maintaining the prestige of his family. Had 
 Plato gone on living to the present day, he might have 
 
SPECIAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 XV 
 
 gathered a fund of examples to prove that the evils aris- 
 ing from these two sources alone have destroyed many 
 and many a state and nation. For him, then, these were 
 the extremcst evils. Is it not therefore just possible that, 
 not because he would seriously advocate their application, 
 but simply in order to impress as strongly as possible on 
 the minds of his pupils the magnitude of those evils, he 
 let his indignant imtigination run riot and described the 
 most extreme remedies he could devise ? Plato was 
 handling a problem the practical solution of which has 
 not been reached even yet — the combat between the 
 selfishness of the individual and the altruism of the citi- 
 zen. He realized one great truth — that the first step in 
 the solution of that problem must be a realization of the 
 civic equality of all men considered as members of so- 
 ciety. May it not be that his idea was to present in 
 even a violent manner a means of securing such equal- 
 ity, without for a moment believing that the means he 
 described could be adopted in practice ? But if we wish 
 to hold him responsible for the literal meaning of his 
 words, what is the worst we can say ? Simply that he, 
 like every one who has attempted the solution of the 
 problem by human means since his time down to our own, 
 failed. In failing he but gave an example of the truth 
 of his own doctrine, that for the absolutely perfect guid- 
 ance of men in their civic obligations there is needed a 
 teacher who shall have learned the truth from God. 
 Four hundred years after Plato there came such a teacher 
 and He too undertook the solution of the problem. He 
 did it without interfering in the least with the sanctity 
 or the individuality of the family. He too taught the 
 necessity of equality among men and showed how this 
 equality could be realized. He too taught us to call no 
 man Father since there is one God and Father of us all 
 from whom all paternity is derived. He showed us that 
 God is more truly the father of every one of us than is 
 the man who generated us, and that by this divine pa- 
 ternity all men are more truly brothers than are those 
 who proceed from the one mother's womb. He taught 
 us that in the eyes of this divine Father there is and 
 
xvi 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 can be no distinction of persons, and that no greater 
 crime can be committed against the divine paternal 
 goodness than by treating another of His sons as though 
 he were not our true brother. If we must condemn 
 Plato for this exaggerated and impossible failure to solve 
 the great problem, we must condemn ourselves much 
 more severely for failing to solve it practically after we 
 have been so well taught how to solve it. The other 
 part of the same problem — what is to be done to prevent 
 the propagation of physical disease and abnormality ? — 
 still troubles the minds of our sociologists, as is shown 
 by the fact that, within this very year, a project was 
 introduced in one of our State legislatures restricting 
 individual liberty in the contracting of marriages by re- 
 quiring that each of the parties should be provided with 
 a physician's certificate guaranteeing that he or she is 
 free from all disease that may be hereditary, from insan- 
 ity, and from every abnormality which might be propa- 
 gated. So long as practical solutions so impossible, so 
 unreasonable, so unjust as that are seriously proposed 
 and considered, our condemnation of Plato's scheme must 
 at least be tempered with a confession of our own im- 
 potence. 
 
 After building up his " Republic in the first seven 
 dialogues, and developing a form of government in which 
 the wisest and best, who might be styled the Optimates, 
 shall rule the others and guide them on the true road 
 to civic happiness, he shov/s in the eighth and ninth 
 dialogues how states may be defective in comparison 
 with his, and, consequently, of a lower degree of perfec- 
 tion. 
 
 Finally, in the last dialogue, he adds some considera- 
 tions concerning matters of supreme importance to all 
 men who would live high, noble, ideal lives both as 
 individuals and as citizens, and thus brings his work to 
 a close. 
 
 Such is the plan. The method, in which Socrates is 
 made the teacher and conveys his doctrine by means 
 of dialogue, is, as I have said, attractive and interest- 
 ing. 
 
SPECIAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 xvii 
 
 It is in harmony with the idea that true education 
 consists in the drawing out and developing of what is in 
 the pupil, rather than in cramming into him a mass of 
 material from without. It implies too that the teacher 
 himself, if he would be a true teacher, must remain 
 ever and always ready to learn. From this method 
 pedagogy of our own time might learn very valuable 
 lessons. It is very probable indeed that our youth to-day 
 is not being so truly and so well educated as was the 
 youth in the schools of Socrates, of Plato, and of Aristotle. 
 This method, the peripatetic, and the scholastic method 
 of disputation are discarded and smiled at nowadays as 
 primitive and antiquated, and are accused of opening 
 the way to quibbling over unimportant details. Any 
 good thing may be abused. But I doubt if any of these 
 methods, even in its most degenerate stage, could be 
 worse than the actual didactic method generally preva- 
 lent, especially in our own country. 
 
 One word more in closing. I would not leave the 
 impression that I think that in this or in any or all of 
 his works Plato has said the last word that can be said 
 on any subject. The human intellect in its never ending 
 search for infinite truth must go on, generation after 
 generation, finding more and more of its object. In 
 more ways than one, and along more than one line of 
 human knowledge Plato has been left twenty-three 
 centuries behind. In his own sjjecial realm of transcen- 
 dental truth he reached only its border-land; and what 
 he saw was indistinct and vague and unreal because of 
 its very dazzling brightness — a phenomenon which he 
 himself so beautifully describes in his similitude of the 
 man taken suddenly from the dark cave and brought 
 into the presence of the most brilliant light. Those 
 wonderful things which he felt must be visible to the 
 intellect somewhere and somehow it required Another to 
 make known to men. Some of the ^* invisible things of 
 God are seen by the understanding of those things 
 which are made," but only directly from the lips of God 
 can man learn all that Plato was striving to know. But 
 this much seems true. Men from the beginning have 
 
xviii THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 been building their Republics. Observing and thinking 
 men from the beginning have seen that the real structure 
 has ever fallen short of the ideal. Plato's ideal republic 
 is as worthy now of consideration, of study, and even of 
 imitation as are the ** Utopias of four centuries ago or 
 the " Altrurias " of to-day. 
 
THE REPUBLIC 
 
 (xix) 
 
PART I.— THE REPUBLIC 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAOB 
 
 General Introduction. 
 
 Part I. On the Platonic Philosophy Generally ... i 
 Part II. Plato's Views on Ethics and Politics — General 
 
 Sketch of the Subject Matter of the Republic . . i6 
 
 The Republic ( in Ten Books). 
 
 Book 1 27 
 
 Book II 61 
 
 Book III 92 
 
 Book IV 129 
 
 Book V 161 
 
 Book VI igg 
 
 Book VII 233 
 
 Book VIII 265 
 
 Book IX 2g5 
 
 Book X 320 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 PART I. 
 
 ON THE PLATONIC PHILOSOPHY GENERALLY. 
 
 Almost contemporaneously among the learned of Europe, 
 there has arisen a tendency to study the sublime, spirit- 
 ual philosophy of Plato, in preference to the cold ma- 
 terialism of Aristotle, on which have been erected so 
 many of the systems that have risen and had their day 
 in our literary world. That this has not hitherto been 
 the case, and that Platonism (which, in its spiritualizing 
 and purifying tendency, may be deemed to approach 
 Christianity) has not hitherto been exalted to its true 
 dignity and station in metaphysical history, is chiefly 
 attributable to the absurd mysticism and fanatical ex- 
 travagances which the New Platonists introduced in their 
 interpretations, and which have too frequently been re- 
 garded as true expositions of the great philosopher, by 
 modern writers either too lazy or too ignorant to go and 
 drink the clear waters at the fountain-head. Plato him- 
 self wrote wonderfully little that cannot be compre- 
 hended by a reflective mind; and the more his works 
 are studied in themselves, and apart from false interpre- 
 tations, the more will his acute intelligence, practical 
 good sense, and pure morality, become apparent, and 
 the higher will he rise in the respect and admiration of 
 the Christian philosopher. 
 
 Our present object is, to give a concise view of the 
 philosophic doctrines of Plato, as a sort of general key to 
 his Dialogpies viewed as a whole; and we propose to 
 give, by way of introduction, a short account of the life 
 I (0 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 of this man of niig-hty mind, this " Maximus philoso- 
 phorum," of whom Eusebius so beautifully observes, that 
 
 he alone, of all the Greeks, reached to the vestibule of 
 truth, and stood upon its threshold." 
 
 The true moral history of Plato is to be discovered 
 wholly in his writings. As for the details of his external 
 life, the records of antiquity furnish information so vary- 
 ing, contradictory, and uncertain, as to render it difficult 
 to distinguish the true from the false — the authentic 
 from the fabulous. The following statement, however, 
 may be relied on, as generally correct. 
 
 Plato, the son of Ariston and Perictione or Potona, was 
 bom (probably in the island of ^gina, then occupied by 
 Athenians) in the month Thargelion (May), anno 429 B. C, 
 in the third year of the eighty-seventh Olympiad, about 
 the time of Pericles's death. By his mother's side he 
 was descended from Codrus and Solon; and he was 
 connected with the most distinguished families and most 
 renowned political men of his day. His youth falls in 
 the time of the Peloponnesian Avar; and his whole life is 
 closely connected with that brilliant period when the 
 literature of Attica, historical, dramatic, and rhetorical, 
 was at the zenith of its glory, — at a time, however (we 
 must add), when the seeds of Athenian decay were being 
 rapidly brought to maturity by the substitution of a base 
 and bnitalizing ochlocracy for the rational government 
 of good and patriotic men, — and by the elevation of a 
 troop of superficial, seductive, truth-perverting, applause- 
 loving sophists to the throne of true, noble, elevating, 
 divine philosophy. He received the best education that 
 Athens could furnish; being taught reading, writing, and 
 literary knowledge (ypammTa), by Dionysius, gymnastics by 
 Ariston an Argive wrestler, music by Metellus of Agrigen- 
 tum and Draco of Athens, and the elements of the Her- 
 acleitean philosophy by Cratyltis and Hermogenes. He had 
 but little inclination for political life; for, besides being 
 unfitted for it by a retiring habit and weak voice, he was 
 utterly disgusted by the endless changes that occurred in 
 the governments of Greece, by the corruptions of the 
 Athenian democracy, and by the depravity of Athenian 
 manners. His studies were happily promoted by an early 
 
VIEW OF THE PLATONIC SYSTEM 
 
 3 
 
 cultivation of poetry, in which many of his essays were 
 far from nnsucccssf ill ; and his works betray a very con- 
 siderable acquaintance with mathematical science. It was 
 by Socrates, however, that his mind was imbued with 
 that true philosophic spirit, which gave a right direction 
 and exalted object to all his after-pursuits. His inter- 
 course with this pure, simple-minded moralist begun 
 when he was twenty years old (B. C. 410), and lasted 
 nearly eleven years ; during which time he carried on his 
 studies and inquiries by means of books or oral instriic- 
 tion from others, but in all cases consulting his favorite 
 master, as the interpreter, commentator, and critic of the 
 various philosophical studies in which he was engaged. 
 This, indeed, is the view which Plato has given us of 
 Socrates throughout the Dialogues; for the latter sel- 
 dom or never appears in them as a didactic expounder 
 of truth, but rather as the critic of opinions, doctrines, 
 and systems, — the judge, in short, to whom everything 
 is to be submitted for approval, or rejection, or modifi- 
 cation, as the case may be. 
 
 After the persecution and death of his divine master 
 (so beautifully and pathetically related in the Phaedo) 
 Plato went to Megara, where he is said to have attended 
 the Lectures of Euclid ; and he then spent several years 
 in travel, far distant from the past and the future scene 
 of his philosophical labors : — nor can there be any ques- 
 tion, but that they were years of great importance to him 
 for developing the peculiar character of his philosophy. 
 He visited Megara, Cyrene, the Greek cities in Magna 
 Graecia and Sicily (where he became acquainted with 
 Archytas, Philolaus and others of the Pythagorean school) ; 
 and he traveled even as far as Egypt, where he stayed 
 thirteen years in gaining an insight into the mysterious 
 doctrines and priest-lore of the sacerdotal caste. At three 
 different periods he visited the court of Dionysius, tyrant 
 of Sicily, and made several attempts to subdue his 
 haughty spirit. It was during the first of these residences 
 (B. C. 389), that he was employed in the instruction of Dion, 
 the king's brother-in-law; and in his efforts to rescue the 
 pupil from the general depravity of the court, he was not 
 disappointed. Dion, inspired with the love of wisdom, was 
 
4 
 
 GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 desirous of introducing his preceptor to Dionysius the 
 tyrant; but Plato's discourse with him being leveled 
 against the vices and cruelties of his reign, the tyrant con- 
 ceived a violent prejudice against him and formed a design 
 against his life, which, by the aid of Dion, Plato happily 
 managed to escape. His captivity in ^gina, which was 
 brought about by the agents of Dionysius the elder, hap- 
 pily ended in his manumission, through the kindness of his 
 friend Anicerris ; and he then returned to Athens, there to 
 found his celebrated School in the Academy, Here he 
 lectured during twenty-two years, and then undertook a 
 second journey to Syracuse at the instigation of Dion, who 
 hoped, by the philosophical lessons of Plato, to inform and 
 improve the ill-educated mind of his nephew, the new 
 ruler of Syracuse — Dionysius the younger. This prince, 
 it is said, had been brought up by his father wholly des- 
 titute of an enlightened education; and Plato no^w at- 
 tempted the improvement of his mind by philosophy. 
 This second journey is placed B. C. 367; and he stayed 
 four months in Sicily. It seems to have been a part also 
 of the plan laid down by Dion and himself, to bring 
 about a wholesome reform in the Sicilian constitution, 
 and to give it a more aristocratic character. Whatever 
 may have been their intentions, however, they were all 
 frustrated by the weak and luxurious character of Diony- 
 sius, who, however he might relish for a time the sage 
 and virtuous lessons of Plato, soon found it more comform- 
 able to his personal interests to follow the counsels of 
 Philiston, his father's friend and adviser. Dion there- 
 upon became the object of his nephew's jealousy, and was 
 banished on the ground of his ambitious designs. In this 
 juncture, Plato did not long stay in Syracuse, where his 
 position would have been, at best, only ambiguous. He 
 returned once more to Athens; but in consequence of some 
 fresh disagreements between Dionysius and Dion with 
 respect to the property of the latter, he was induced 
 (B. C. 361) to take a third journey to Syracuse. So far, 
 however, from effecting the expected reconciliation, he 
 came himself to an open rupture with the tyrant, and was 
 in great personal danger, till relieved by his philosophic 
 friends at Tarentum. From this time he appears to have 
 
VIEW OP" THE PLATONIC SYSTEM 
 
 5 
 
 passed his old age in tranquillity, engaged with the instruc- 
 tion of his numerous disciples and the prosecution of his 
 literary labors. He died, while yet actively employed in 
 teaching, Olyinp. io8, circ. anno 348 B. C. 
 
 He was succeeded as Lecturer in the Academy, by his 
 nephew Speusippus; and among his principal followers 
 may be mentioned, Hippothales and Callippus of Athens, 
 Xenocrates of Chalcedon, Aristotle of Stageira, Dion of 
 Syracuse, Demosthenes the orator, and the philosopher 
 Theophrastus. 
 
 The works of Plato, it scarcely need be mentioned, 
 consist of a long series of Dialogues, in all of which, ex- 
 cept the Laws, the principal interlocutor is Socrates. 
 The form of dialogue he was certainly not the first to 
 introduce into philosophy; and it seems probable, that 
 his adoption of this form of composition flowed rather 
 out of the subject than from any desire of direct imita- 
 tion. The Eleatic dialectics, with which Platonism is 
 strongly imbued, could only be explained in the form of 
 question and answer; and besides, that Plato should write 
 in the form of dialogue seems to be the natural conse- 
 quence of his wish to investigate and analyze dialectic- 
 ally, and after the manner of Socrates, the various 
 questions of philosophy then m vogue. And so Schleier- 
 macher remarks : — "In every way, not accidentally only 
 or from practice and tradition, but necessarily and nat- 
 urally, Plato's was a Socratic method, and, indeed, as 
 regards the uninterrupted and progressive reciprocation, 
 and the deeper impression made upon the mind of the 
 hearer, to be certainly as much preferred to that of his 
 master, as the scholar excelled him, as well in constructive 
 dialectics as in richness and compass of subjective intu- 
 ition. " And further, — * if we look only to the immediate 
 purpose, that writing, as regarded by himself and his 
 followers, was only to be a remembrance of thoughts 
 already current among them {aypacpa ypdiiiiara) — Plato 
 considers all thought so much like spontaneous ac- 
 tivity, that, with him, a remembrance of this 
 kind of what has been already acquired, must 
 necessarily be so of the first and original mode of 
 acquisition. Hence, on that account alone, the dialo- 
 
6 
 
 GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 gistic form, necessary as an imitation of that original and 
 reciprocal communication, would be as indispensable and 
 natural to his writings as to his oral instruction.** But, 
 however essentially different the form of the dialogues 
 adopted by Plato from that pursued by other writers, they 
 were composed, as respects their matter, with constant 
 reference to the labors of his predecessors. In fact, his 
 whole system is rather critical and eclectic than dogmati- 
 cal; and several of his dialogues assume the form of 
 criticisms on the notions of former philosophers, rather 
 than the formal developments of any doctrines of his own. 
 He was thoroughly conversant not only with the leading 
 principles and peculiar system of Socrates, but had no 
 mean acquaintance, besides, with the notions of Pytha- 
 goras, Heracleitus, Parmenides, Empedocles, Zeno, Anaxa- 
 goras, and Protagoras, — extracts from whose writings, with 
 animadvertions on their opinions, are abundantly scattered 
 throughout his works. Yet, however much Plato may 
 have learnt from the philosophic works of his predecessors, 
 while he borrowed some of his leading ideas from his 
 great master Socrates, we should nevertheless be treating 
 him most unjustly, were we to regard him merely as a 
 compiler and systematizer of what had been before 
 promulgated, and so deny him all claim to the merit of 
 being a great original thinker. His entire system is based, 
 in fact, on some grand and novel ideas, perhaps faintly 
 shadowed forth by others, but never clearly unfolded till 
 the time of Plato. The opposition between the general 
 law and the particular facts, between the objects of reflec- 
 tion and the objects of the senses, between the world of 
 intelligence and the visible world, was never clearly pro- 
 claimed till Plato announced it. Socrates, indeed, 
 awakened the germ of science, and laid the foundation 
 of dialectics ; but it was Plato who gave system and con- 
 sistency to the whole. Socrates had not the mental 
 capacity or education to arrange his thoughts on any 
 definite plan; whereas the kindred genius of Plato 
 was happily fostered by every encouraging influence, 
 and he stepped in to elaborate completely the plan of 
 which his master had merely sketched the first rude out- 
 line. 
 
VIEW OF THE PLATONIC SYSTEM 
 
 7 
 
 We proceed next to consider the chronological arrange- 
 ment of the Platonic Dialogues, and the natviral division 
 according to which they should be classified.* The most 
 obvious arrangement is according to their chronological 
 order; and viewing them in this light, we may divide 
 them into three classes. In the first are those written by 
 Plato before he set out on his travels, — namely, the Lysis, 
 Pha;drus, Laches, Hippias major, Protagoras, Charmides, 
 Ion, Menon, Alcibiades i., Euthydemus, Euthyphron, 
 Crito and the Apology of Socrates; in the second are 
 those which he drew up on his return from his travels, and 
 before his second journey to Sicily, — namely, the Gorgias, 
 Theaetetus, Sophistes, Politicus, Cratylus, Parmenides, the 
 Symposium, Menexenus, Philebus, and Pha;do ; and in the 
 THIRD we place those written in more advanced life, when 
 his views had become matured, and his doctrines thoroughly 
 digested into one harmonious system, — namely, that noble 
 trilogy comprising the Timaeus, Critias, and Republic, — to 
 which may be added the long dialogue of the Laws, which, 
 though perfectly genuine, is but loosely connected with 
 the general system of Plato's philosophy, and seems to be 
 quite an extraneous section of this part of his writings. 
 Schleiermacher, however, has presented us with a classi- 
 fication of a different kind, based on their subject-matter, 
 and on an acute and careful examination of the connection 
 of thought running through the Dialogues. He arranges 
 them under three heads: i. Elementary Dialogues, 
 containing the germs of all that follows, — of Logic as the 
 instrument of philosophy, and of Ideas as its proper object, 
 — vis., the Phaedrus, Protagoras, and Parmenides, the 
 Lysis, Laches, Charmides, and Euthyphron, to which he 
 appends also, the Apology, Crito, lo, and Hippias minor; 
 2. Progressive Dialogues, which treat of the distinction 
 between scientific and common knowledge in their united 
 application to Moral and Physical science, — viz., the Gor- 
 gias, Theaetetus, Menon, Euthydemus, Cratylus, Sophis- 
 
 * We have particularized here only those Dialogues which are 
 usually regarded as genuine. The Hipparchus, Minos, Alcibiades ii, 
 Clitophon, Theages, Eryxias, Demodocus, Epinomis, and the Letters, 
 are of disputable origin, and to be assigned, probably, to some of 
 Plato's followers. 
 
8 
 
 GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 tes, Politicus, the Symposium, Phaedo, and Philebus, with an 
 Appendix containing the Erast, first Alcibiades, Menexenus, 
 and Hippias major; 3. Constructive Dialogues, contain- 
 ing an objective scientific exposition, in which the practical 
 and speculative are completely united, — viz., the Timasus, 
 the Critias, and the Republic, with an Appendix com- 
 prising the Laws, Epistles, etc. It is clear also that the 
 Dialogues will allow of yet another mode of arrangement, 
 according to their contents, — as being either Dialectical, 
 Ethical, or Physical: this division, indeed, is clearly 
 discernible in his works, though several may not be as. 
 signable to any one part in particular: thus, the Theae- 
 tetus and its two connected dialogues, — the Georgias and 
 Protagoras, with the Cratylus and the Sophistes, are 
 clearly dialectical; the Phaedrus, Philebus, Republic, and 
 Laws are ethical, and the Timaeus is exclusively physical. 
 If, however, we would view the Dialogues as a whole, 
 with all its parts fully harmonizing, we should inquire 
 what was the philosopher's great object visible through- 
 out those writings. Mr. Sewell answers this very satis- 
 factorily; we shall give his own expressive, glowing 
 words: *^ Plato's great object was man. He lived with 
 man, felt as a man, held intercourse with kings, inter- 
 ested himself deeply in the political revolutions of Sicily, 
 was the pupil of one, whose boast it was to have brought 
 down philosophy from heaven to earth, that it might raise 
 man up from earth to heaven; and, above all, he was a 
 witness and an actor in the midst of that ferment of 
 humanity exhibited in the democracy of Athens. The 
 object constantly before the eyes of Plato was the incor- 
 porated spirit, the ulya dpiiiiia of human lawlessness ; he saw 
 it, indeed, in an exhausted state, its power passed away, 
 its splendor torn off, and all the sores and ulcers which 
 former demagogues had pampered and concealed, now 
 laid bare and beyond cure.** Indeed, as the same writer 
 well observes ; " the state of the Athenian democracy is 
 the real clue to the philosophy of Plato. It would be 
 proved, if by nothing else, by one little touch in the Re- 
 public. The Republic is the summary of his whole sys- 
 tem, AND the key-stones OF ALL THE OTHER DIALOGUES ARE 
 
 UNIFORMLY LET INTO IT. But the objcct of the Republic is 
 
VIEW OF THE TLATONIC SYSTEM 
 
 9 
 
 to exhibit the misery of man let loose from law, and to 
 throw out a general plan for making him subject to law, 
 and thus to perfect his nature. This is exhibited on a 
 large scale in the person of a State ; and in the masterly- 
 historical sketch which, in the eighth and ninth Books, 
 he draws of the changes of society, having painted in 
 the minutest detail the form of a licentious democracy, 
 he fixes it by the slightest allusion (it was perhaps all 
 that he could hazard) on the existing state of Athens; 
 and then passes on to a frightful prophecy of that tyr- 
 anny which would inevitably follow. All the other dia- 
 logues bring us to the Republic, and the Republic brings 
 us to this as its end and aim." 
 
 We may now proceed to take a general review of the 
 Platonic philosophy, and his theory of Ideas in particular, 
 an intelligent acquaintance with which is wholly indis- 
 pensable to the student of Plato. 
 
 The Platonic philosophy, be it understood, begins and 
 ends, as do the lessons of Socrates, with an acknowledg- 
 ment of human ignorance, — the only true starting-place 
 of sound scientific investigation. Imitating his master's 
 example, Plato did not so much endeavor to teach, in 
 the strict sense of the word, as to explore men's minds, 
 and ascertain how far they really comprehended the doc- 
 trines and opinions which they professed. Taking for 
 granted that all current opinions are true, because they 
 are current, was the great fault of the Sophists, who 
 taught entirely ■r:po<; So^av relative to opinion; whereas, 
 with Socrates and Plato, the preliminary investigation re- 
 specting their truth or falsehood was all in all, — any 
 prior assumption of their truth being positively inadmis- 
 sible ; because, without investigation, it was impossible to 
 KNOW and be sure of the truth of opinions. The method 
 of Plato, accordingly, is the reverse of the didactic method 
 employed by the Sophists, who assumed principles as 
 true, and on these grounds proceeded to argue and per- 
 suade. The Socratic method, on the other hand, con- 
 sisted in putting questions with the view of eliciting 
 replies bearing on the point in debate, — in simply 
 inquiring and pronouncing so far only as the an- 
 swer is approved or rejected, — in a word, educing the 
 
lO 
 
 GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 truth by simply bringing the answerer to teach him- 
 self : and hence it was, that the popular opponents 
 of this method decried it, as one producing doubt, 
 and therefore of dangerous tendency. With Plato, how- 
 ever, as with Socrates, the awakening of doubt was not 
 merely a vain display of logical skill and clever caviling, 
 but had for its object the removal of the unstable ground 
 on which opinions may have been rested, and the forma- 
 tion of more settled convictions: indeed, it was exalted 
 by him into a regular discipline of the mind set in operation 
 for the single purpose of investigating the truth. The 
 method and discipline by which he accomplishes this object 
 is, what he calls Dialectic, which, as opposed to the 
 plans of the Sophists may be termed the true art of Dis- 
 cussion ; and, as contrasted with the mere wisdom of opinion 
 (the doqo/To<j)ia of Sophists), it was philosophy — real science 
 — the knowledge of the truth. The ground of his whole 
 proceeding was the Fallaciousness of Opinion; and hence 
 Plato had to seek some criterion of Truth, apart from 
 mere opinion. Denying the sufficiency of subjective 
 truth ( i. c. the assumption that the mental perceptions 
 are true simply because they take place), he set himself 
 to search after objective truth — truth independent of the 
 mind of man and not affected by the variations of human 
 judgment — as a foundation of his system of knowledge. 
 Involved with the notion of the Fallaciousness of Opinion, 
 another is closely allied, — the Fallaciousness of the 
 Senses; and it is the joint application of these two funda- 
 mental principles, which unites his method and his philos- 
 ophy in one master-science, — Dialectic. True knowledge, 
 unlike that derived through the senses, is founded purely 
 on the apprehensions of the intellect, without any inter- 
 vention whatever of the senses; and so also Dialectic as 
 being philosophy, is occupied about that which exists 
 (ro ovTtu? 01*), or has Being, in opposition to the presen- 
 tations made to the senses, which are conversant only 
 with those things that have the semblance of being 
 (ra ipacvofiiva) ; while, as a method, it investigates the 
 reason on account of the Being of everything, — of every- 
 thing as it IS, and not as it appears, not being satisfied 
 with opinions, of which no account can be given, but 
 
VIEW OF THE PLATONIC SYSTEM 
 
 bringing all to the test of exact argument and definition. 
 Plato thought it his first business, therefore, to give his 
 method a firm basis by establishing at the outset a sound 
 Theory of Being, as a sure Criterion of Truth ; and this 
 is his celebrated Theory of Ideas. 
 
 Plato conceived, that Opinion, in contradistinction from 
 Knowledge, is grounded on sensation and becoming 
 (to yiyvo/xevov). To man, indeed, such sensation is abso- 
 lutely necessary; because the soul resides in the body, 
 which is itself a compound thing, subject to continual 
 decay and reproduction, — the connection between the two 
 consisting in the reciprocal communication either of action 
 or passion by means of their respective faculties. Hence 
 sensation is clearly regarded as an effect produced by the 
 union of the soul with the body; and Plato did not fail 
 to observe that although sensation, strictly speaking, has 
 cognizance only of corporeal qualities, there are certain 
 internal states of the soul which have no immediate ref- 
 erence to the corporeal. The soul, in short, receives 
 sensations through the sensuous mechanism; but it has, 
 moreover (in addition to the power which it exercises 
 through the instrumentality of the bodily organs), a dis- 
 tinct faculty of investigating by itself the abstract prop- 
 erties of all sensations ; " appearing, * as it is said in the 
 Theaetetus, " to have the power of inspecting the common 
 properties of all things.* In accordance with this view, 
 Plato distinguishes what is apprehended by the senses 
 (to aiffOrjTov) from that of which we become cognizant by 
 means of reflection (Stdvoia) through the understanding or 
 rational contemplation (Xoyifffioij or vorjffci) ; — the former be- 
 ing in a continual state of transition or becoming (rd 
 ytyvofxeva), whereas the latter {rd Svra) are constant and per- 
 manent, unproduced, imperishable, and ever identical with 
 themselves, belonging to ouaia and capable of becoming 
 the objects of science or certain knowledge. Such are 
 the notions of genus and species, the laws and ends of 
 nature, as also the principles of cognition and moral 
 action, and the essences of individual, concrete, thinking 
 souls; — respecting all of which may be predicted an 
 eTooj, which closely corresponds with what we now des- 
 ignate — A general term. It is in this sense, then, that 
 
12 
 
 GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 he says of science in general (which seeks in the ideas 
 to seize the essence of things), that its object is to ex- 
 hibit everything as it is, by itself, absolutely, and that 
 the ideas themselves invariably maintain their proper 
 nature, character, and identity. All things else, there- 
 fore, besides ideas, have only so far a reality, as they 
 participate therein: all being formed out of ideas and 
 numbers, — sensible things merely resembling ideas and 
 being, as copies do originals, — just as Plato himself ob- 
 serves in the tenth Book of the Republic, — speaking of 
 a couch, ov TO iv, dikkd Ti TotouTov eilov TO 6v. Inquiry, however, 
 must necessarily lead men from one idea to others in 
 connection therewith ; and on this account Plato regarded 
 individual ideas as hypothetical notions, for which a true 
 foundation can only be given by an idea not requiring 
 explanation and confirmed also by some higher supposi- 
 tion or idea. He wished, indeed, through the realization 
 of the lower ideas to rise to a knowledge of the highest, 
 which represents the principle of all things, — in short, 
 the idea of God, — God, the measure of all things (not 
 man, as Protagoras held), — God, the beginning, the mid- 
 dle, and the end of all, — the Supreme Idea, containing in 
 itself all others, and the unity which in itself comprises 
 the true essence of all things. 
 
 In conclusion, as Ritter succinctly and well observes, 
 " Plato attempted to account for the existence of the 
 sensible world, by the ideas alone, without recourse to 
 any other nature, alien and foreign to them; and in this 
 attempt to make the transition from the ideal to the sen- 
 sible, there is much that is vague and indeterminate. 
 The source of this vagueness lies principally in the in- 
 sufficiency of the distinction which h6 makes between 
 different ideas, as indicating either a substantial and ab- 
 solute entity, or a mere relation or property. To this 
 must be added the vague and indeterminate sense of the 
 Platonic idea of the essence which is exhibited by the 
 ideas severally. In this respect Aristotle does not seem 
 to be to blame, when he asks how ideas or lifeless num- 
 bers can possibly have a desire, or longing, notwithstand- 
 ing that we are constrained to admit that, according to 
 Plato, some ideas, at least, that of the soul for instance, 
 
VIEW OF THE PLATONIC SYSTEM 
 
 13 
 
 — must be supposed to be endued with life. Again, the 
 distinction which is made between ideas in their unity 
 and totality, and ideas in their opposition to each other, 
 is extremely vague; although it is the basis on which 
 the whole theory rests. If, moreover, we admit that, ac- 
 cording to man's true and real nature, the world of ideas 
 is his proper home, and that he there contemplates the 
 true essence of things, as is implied in the doctrine of 
 reminiscence, it becomes difficult to account for his re- 
 moval from so perfect a state of being, into the present 
 imperfect existence. Finally, Plato was forced to have 
 recourse to the notion, that there is an impelling neces- 
 sity in the secondary causes, the ground of which was 
 the supposition, that there must be something opposite 
 to good. In this there is undoubtedly contained a very 
 ancient cast of thought, still the very indefinite nature 
 of this necessity shows that, after all his attempts to 
 reconcile the supra-sensible with the sensible, Plato still 
 found in it something inexplicable. Thus much at least 
 is certain, that on the one hand, the tendency of his 
 views was to refer all real entity to the immutable ideas, 
 and consequently to consider the sensible more as an un- 
 substantial shadow than a reality; while, on the other, 
 he seems never to have forgotten that the only point of 
 view from which philosophical speculation is possible, lies 
 on the sensible, and so again the reality of the sensible 
 appears to be a necessary supposition of his system. In 
 these two tendencies, we may recognize the well-balanced 
 and measured character of his mind. To discover their 
 true connection however, was granted neither to Plato 
 nor his age; nor can we wonder, then, that he should 
 have had recourse to many vague and loose conceptions 
 in order to explain it, none of which, however, event- 
 ually satisfied his own mind. 
 
 The dialetic of Plato, however great its defects may be 
 estimated, presents, nevertheless, a worthy image of 
 the pure philosophical feeling. This Plato assumed to be 
 grounded in love and in a longing after the eternal 
 ideas, by the contemplation of which the mortal soul 
 sustains itself, and by perpetual renovation becomes par- 
 ticipant in immortality. Stimulated by such a desire, 
 
14 
 
 GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 the philosophical mind or soul strives to attain, as far as 
 possible, to a perfect remembrance of ideas which are the 
 eternal essence of things, the memory of them being 
 awakened by sensible phenomena, which arc resemblances 
 of the ideas and real entity, and thereby serve as means 
 by which the cognition of real being becomes attainable. 
 But while tlje sensible, by bringing to mind this resem- 
 blance ,to real entity, is subservient to the efforts of the 
 reasonable soul, it also impedes and limits it in its pur- 
 suits of the true, since the sensuous representations con- 
 tain as much of irresemblance as of resemblance. But 
 the greatest impediment to philosophical investigation 
 arises from the constant flux of sensation which allows 
 it no stability. Flowing on in a continual series of pro- 
 duction and decay, sensible things are constantly chang- 
 ing their state and never exhibit the full perfection of 
 the subsistent. They comprise at once entity and non- 
 entity, and it is not the true standard and the all-sufficient 
 which they represent, but only the relative, which con- 
 stantly varies by greater or less from the measure of the 
 true and substantive entity. It was to this that Plato 
 looked when he thoiight he had discovered in the ideas 
 of the other and the relatively great and little, the 
 grounds of the sensible matter of mutability. But con- 
 tingent being is only for the absolute, a mean merely by 
 which the resemblance to ideas is manifested in sensible 
 things; and, viewed in this light, ideas must appear as the 
 ends of sensible existence, and as the standard by which the 
 true therein is to be measured. A multiplicity of ends hav- 
 ing been admitted, it followed that there must also be a last 
 end, — an ultimatum in the realm of ideas, — therefore a 
 SUPREME IDEA. This result follows from the consider- 
 ation of the mutual relation of ideas, for one idea must 
 be explained by another, and thus we proceed through a 
 series of subordinate ideas up to higher and higher, in 
 order to reduce them by a legitimate synthesis into unity, 
 until at last we arrive at the highest idea, and then 
 again, by a converse method, to descend by analysis 
 from the supreme unity to the multiplicity of subordinate 
 ideas. In this higher and lower ordination, each subordi- 
 nate idea requires merely as a supposition until it is shown 
 
VIEW OF THE PLATONIC SYSTEM 
 
 5 
 
 by the latter to be legitimate. But from such hypothe- 
 ses or suppositions the mind must at last arrive at that 
 which implies nothing else, and is in itself sufficient; of 
 this kind is the nature of good, which, exhausting all 
 true entity, is itself in want of nothing, but is desired 
 by all. This idea of good, or God, is consequently the 
 keystone of all rational investigation. It embraces what- 
 ever subsists without difference, in time or space, — all 
 truth and science, all substances and all reason, being 
 neither reason nor essence, but being superior to, unites 
 both within itself. It is the source of motion to all, for 
 all has a desire towards it, and consequently it is the 
 mistress of all generation, in which nought is true be- 
 yond its resemblance of the good. However, from some 
 impelling necessity, evil, the opposite of good, is in gen- 
 eration mixed up with it. Man, therefore, as living in 
 this scene of production and decay, cannot attain to a 
 complete knowledge of the unity of good; for to him 
 truth, and the science of truth, appear in opposition to 
 each other, and it is not permitted to mortal nature to 
 contemplate the eternal, in its absolute essence, but 
 merely as shadowed forth in the temporal. God, then, is 
 the good itself, of which this sensible world is only an 
 image. But in the present world it ought to be man's 
 endeavor to enlarge and cultivate his science, in order 
 that, by attaining to as pure a knowledge as possible of 
 the multiplicity of ideas, he may be able to discern therein, 
 however imperfectly, the unity of truth and science which 
 subsists in the good. 
 
PART II. 
 
 PLATO'S VIEWS ON ETHICS AND POLITICS- 
 GENERAL SKETCH OF THE SUBJECT- 
 MATTER OF THE REPUBLIC. 
 
 The notions entertained by Plato on Political Science 
 will be best understood by viewing them in connection 
 with his ethical doctrines, from which, indeed, he con- 
 sidered them inseparable. The two leading principles on 
 which his moral system reposes, are — first, that no one 
 is willingly evil /ca/co? fih Umv ouSe\i and, secondly, that 
 
 EVERY ONE IS ENDUED WITH THE POWER OF PRODUCING 
 MORAL CHANGES IN HIS OWN MORAL CHARACTER, which, 
 
 indeed, are only the counterpart ethical changes in his 
 MORAL character; — and these are only the correspond- 
 ing ethical expressions of the theory of Immutable Being, 
 on the one hand, and, on the other, of the world of 
 sensible things (ret yc^vo/ieva), — everything that is bom 
 and perishes, — a principle which places in the strongest 
 possible contrast the mutability and false appearances of 
 this world with the true and immutable of the Deity, 
 whom Plato conceived to be not only the measure of all 
 things and the pattern of his own perfections, having the 
 supreme good for the object of all his operations, but 
 likewise as the only real Idea of Good, in comparison 
 with which the best strivings and conceptions of man are 
 but tendencies and approximations. So truly is it said in 
 the Phasdo, that " all things desire to be of the same qual- 
 ity as the summum bonum, but yet are ever inferior to it. 
 Philosophy and morals in fact perfectly coincide in their 
 object, the love of truth being the love of good, and 
 the love of good the love of truth ; and morality, viewed 
 per se, is the one motive of the love of truth and good 
 predominating over, purifying, and absorbing into itself 
 every desire of human nature, — is, in fact, the purifying: 
 
 (X*) 
 
PLATO'S ETHICAL DOCTRINES 
 
 17 
 
 of the soul, the perfecting of virtue, the discipline of im- 
 mortality, the resemblance and participation of the Deity.* 
 Of Plato's moral doctrines, the most important are the 
 following: that, independently of other ends, virtue is 
 to be pursued as the true good of the soul, the proper 
 perfection of man's nature, the power by which the soul 
 fitly accomplishes its existence, whereas vice is a disease 
 of the mind arising from delusions or imperfect appre- 
 hension of our proper interests; that the real freedom 
 of a rational being consists in an ability to regulate his 
 conduct by reason, and that every one not guided by his 
 reason, encourages insubordination in the mental facul- 
 ties, and becomes the slave of caprice or passion; that 
 virtuous conduct, apart from its benefits to society, is ad- 
 vantageous to the individual practicing it, inasmuch as it 
 ensures that regularity of the imagination, — that tran- 
 quillity and internal harmony, which constitutes the mind's 
 proper happiness. He, throughout, and with great power, 
 contends for the earnestness of a virtuous mind in the 
 attainment of truth, and inculcates the propriety of pur- 
 suing the ordinary pleasures of life,f only so far as they 
 are subservient to, or compatible with, man's higher and 
 nobler duties. In the fourth Book of the Laws there is 
 a pretty complete summary of the salient features in 
 Plato's theory of morals, — a condensed view of which 
 will be found in the article " Plato "of the Encyclopaedia 
 
 * " As the rational soul can only involuntarily be subject to ignorance. 
 
 IT IS ONLY AGAINST ITS WILL THAT IT CAN BE EVIL. Eveiy VOHtiOD, 
 
 by its essential nature, pursues the good ; no one is willing to be sub- 
 ject to evil or to become bad, inasmuch as the end of volition is not 
 the immediate act, but the object for the sake of which the act is 
 undertaken; and no man enters on any act or undertaking, except 
 for the sake of ultimate good. Now a man, when engaging in any 
 act apparently good, may err, and choose the evil instead of the good ; 
 but in that case he labors under an involuntary error, and does 
 not what he really desires, but what, in spite of his wishes, seems 
 to him either as an immediate good or a mean to ultimate good.* — 
 Ritter's « History of Philos." (Morrison's Tr.), ii., p. 387. 
 
 t Democritus, Aristippus, and the Sophists had taught that good 
 CONSISTS IN pleasure; and Plato, in his refutation of this vicious 
 doctrine, does not deny that pleasure belongs to the good things of 
 life, but only seeks to determine its relative value. Pleasures, too, are 
 of two kinds, — some simple and pure, dependent on the bodily or 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 Metropolitana : the remarks with which it closes — on 
 the coincidence of the precepts of morality with the con- 
 clusions of prudence and enlightened self-love, — are both 
 happily conceived and well expressed. 
 
 Plato conceived that there were two great causes of 
 • human corruption, viz., bad or ill-directed education, 
 
 and THE CORRUPT INFLUENCE OF THE BODY ON THE SOUL. 
 
 His ethical discussions, therefore, have for their object, 
 the limiting of the desires, and the cure of the diseases 
 produced by them in the soul; while his political discus- 
 sions have for their immediate object, the laying down 
 of right principles of education, and enforcing them by 
 the constitution of the laws and the power of the State. 
 His two great works, in fact, — the Republic and the 
 Laws, — may be considered as theories and plans of civic 
 education, rather than schemes of legislation and details 
 of laws. The former, it is true, inquires more particu- 
 larly into the principles on which a right government 
 may be formed, and the latter presents a systematic view 
 of the principles of legislation: but, comprising, as both 
 works do, so much matter of a purely intellectual and 
 ethical character, we are compelled to conclude that their 
 primary object is, the improvement of human nature by 
 social institutions expressly formed for that purpose. We 
 are not to suppose, moreover, that Plato, in his Republic, 
 had in view the actual foundation of a State, but that he 
 presents rather an example of the most perfect life — 
 public as well as private — free from those impediments 
 which all existing governments and laws throw across 
 the path of the virtuous. Thus, in the Laws {lib. vii.), 
 he says — " Our whole government consists in the imita- 
 tion of a most excellent and virtuous life " ; and again , 
 "these excellent things are rather as wishes stated in a 
 fable than actual facts, though it would be best of all if 
 
 intellectual organization, — others mixed or impure, as being always 
 combined with more or less of pain. The latter are only relatively 
 pleasures, inasmuch as they are incapable of affording pleasure except 
 by the gratification of some want; whereas true enjoyment consists 
 in those pure delights which do not arise after pain, but which the 
 soul experiences, when filled with the contemplation of true being. — 
 Ritter's « History of Philos.,» ii,. p. 390. 
 
PLATO'S ETHICAL DOCTRINES 19 
 
 they could exist in all States. >* He thouj^ht, in fact, that 
 as Philosophy is the guide of private life, elevating it to 
 the knowledge of the true and the good, so it was seated, 
 likewise, on the throne of government, and exhibited the 
 eternal ideas of social good and truth, — modifying society 
 after their pattern; and hence is it, that (as Aristotle 
 observes in the second Book of his Politics, ch. 2) Plato 
 overlooks impossibilities in his arrangements, and sacri- 
 fices all to the one great object of sketching the idea of 
 GOOD AS A SOCIAL PRINCIPLE, apart from the evil influ- 
 ences of society. 
 
 We shall now proceed to describe at some length the 
 subject-matter of the Republic; and we shall just remark, 
 that if the work itself had been more studied, there would 
 have been far less difference of opinion respecting the 
 nature and object of this Dialogue. In fact, no exposi- 
 tion or theory can explain Plato, who is, above all others, 
 a writer to be studied in his own works ; and his charac- 
 ter as a writer and philosopher would have been far 
 higher in general estimation at the present day, if there 
 had been fewer to pronounce sentence on him without 
 having read a single syllable of his writings. 
 
 The Republic of Plato is a development of the anal- . 
 
 OGY between the IDEAS OF THE PERFECT MAN AND THE. 
 
 PERFECT State, — the two principles being elaborated 
 throughout the Dialogue, in perfect harmony and mutual 
 dependence on each other. He exhibits, indeed, the im- 
 age of perfect and consummate virtue, such as ought to 
 be seen in the whole life of man, whether in his private 
 capacity simply, as a sentient and moral agent, or in his 
 public position as the member of a State. As man, more- 
 over, has certain special social relations and social func- 
 tions, he considers him also collectively, as part of a 
 State, and is hence led to inquire into the best or pattern 
 form of a State, — a proceeding quite in unison with the 
 custom of the Greeks, who treated Politics rather as a 
 branch of Ethics than a separate science. This Dialogue, 
 therefore, — one of that splendid group of which the 
 Timaeus, the Critias, and the Laws are the other mem- 
 bers, — comprises two subjects constantly connected and 
 cohering, — the contemplation of the perfectly good man, 
 
20 
 
 GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 composed of body and soul on the one hand, and on the 
 other the perfectly good State, composed of many mem- 
 bers in different classes, performing their respective func- 
 tions. Justice, then, — the principle, ' cause, and uniting 
 bond of all the other virtues, — one, too, that is essen- 
 tially of a political character — forms a very suitable dis- 
 j cussion by way of introduction to this Dialogue. The 
 refutation of incorrect or inadequate definitions of this 
 virtue, occupies a large portion of the first Book; and 
 Socrates (the hero of this, as of most other of the Platonic 
 Dialogues) then proceeds, with the view of educing some 
 abstract definition of justice, to explain his notion of a 
 perfect State, as one in which all ranks of its members 
 accurately fulfill their respective functions, dwelling 
 together in harmony. 
 
 Commencing with the consideration of Virtue (which 
 consists in the harmonious cultivation of the different in- 
 tellectual and moral faculties), he opens the inquiry with 
 a kind of analysis of the human mind, which he divides 
 into three parts: first, the rational or reasoning prin- 
 ciple, (to XoyiaiKov) ; secondly, the spirit or will (to 
 ^ufiiKov or ^ufiosids?) ; and thirdly, the appetite or 
 PASSION (rd l-Kcdu/irjziKov) , — which last, however, indi- 
 cates nothing beyond that vital impulse which leads from 
 one sensation to another. Of these faculties the most 
 excellent is Reason, whose proper province is to direct 
 and control the other faculties; and of the operations of 
 this faculty Plato foiTns several divisions ( at the close of 
 the sixth Book), according as the ideas are abstract, 
 mixed, or material, — the v6rjffi<; constituting the knowl- 
 edge of pure ideas, the diduoca that of mixed ideas, -j^taTCi 
 that of actually existing materials and their affections, 
 and ekaffta the knowledge of the images or shadows of 
 bodies, — these divisions including — first, i-KiffTij/irj (true 
 science), and secondly, opinion true or false (S6^a).* 
 
 * Plato's system of Ideas (clSri) consists, strictly speaking, of what 
 we now term generalization and abstraction, — the main part of the defi- 
 nition REAL; and he seems to have constructed his theory as a mean 
 between the Heraclitean doctrine of a perpetual flux, modified into the 
 notion of Protagoras, -Trdiruv fierpov avOpunoc, (which set up yiyveadac in- 
 stead of dfai), and the Eleatic doctrine that all is one, without multi- 
 plicity, change, augmentation, or decay. He was convinced of the 
 
PLATO'S ETHICAL DOCTRINES 
 
 21 
 
 So much for Reason (ro XoytffTtKov). Now, — inter- 
 mediate between Reason and Passion {rd ir.i0uiJ.riTu6v) is 
 the Will or Spirit, which should be an assistant to Reason 
 {iT:iKoup()v uv tu> M>ytaTtKm (puasi) in the pursuit of virtue, 
 and should oppose the indulgence of base desires, — all 
 desires being legitimately under the control of the 
 Reason and the Will. Furthermore, — from the exercise 
 and combination of these three faculties there are gener- 
 ated four principal or cardinal virtues: i. Prudence or 
 Wisdom (^povrjm^) ; 2. Courage or Fortitude (di'dpsia), by 
 which Plato means the maintenance of right opinion as 
 to what is and is not to be feared (~s/5i ra>v dscvaiv), 
 i. c. as to good and evil ; 3. Temperance or Self-con- 
 trol (awi,po(Tuvri) ; and 4. Justice (Smaioauvri)^ which, with 
 Plato, does not simply mean the virtue of rendering to 
 all their due, but stands for that harmonious and pro- 
 portional development of the inner man, by means of 
 which each faculty of his soul performs its own functions 
 without interfering with the others. Just or virtuous 
 actions, then, says he, consist in the performance of 
 actions agreeable to the nature of the soul, whereas the 
 contrary comprise such as are discordant to a right nature, 
 and productive of mental disturbance and agitation. In the 
 realization of this Justice, in short, consists Virtue itself, 
 which Plato defines to be " a certain health and beauty 
 and good habit of the soul," exercising the nobler parts 
 of our nature in the contemplation of philosophy and 
 more particularly the sMmmum bonum (ro ayadov)^ the 
 practical realization of which should be the chief aim of 
 the State constituted in the soul. 
 
 The man, then, who studies to produce this harmony 
 in the mental faculties, is truly consistent with himself, — 
 
 reality both of the permanent being or genus {ovaia) and of the mutable 
 yheciLq of the phenomena: the science that contemplates these general 
 terms is called 7 Sialen-LKri — Dialectics. These ideas are recognized by 
 the vdrjci^ and diavoia — not by the senses ; and as they belong to ovaia, they 
 become the objects of true science or certain knowledge. Everything of 
 this kind is an uSog, or general term, or quiddity. He thought, more- 
 over, that there was a supreme standard Idea— God — in which were 
 comprised all other subordinate Ideas, and which contained nothing 
 whatever capable of being apprehended by the senses. This is not 
 exactly but nearly the view taken by Ritter, ii. 264-270. 
 
22 
 
 GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 truly entitled to the appellation — nouatKoi and woAtr/c^?, 
 
 — by which he means far more than is conveyed by the 
 modern terms, musician and politician. So great, indeed, 
 is the power and influence of virtue that, without it, there 
 can be neither true happiness nor mental tranquillity, — 
 all else of the nature of pleasure being mere shadow and 
 inanity [kirKiaypa^r^iiiv^ Tf'?). Now, with respect to Pleas- 
 ure, each mental faculty has its own peculiar species, 
 
 — the highest as well as purest of all being exclusively 
 enjoyed by the philosopher, through the exercise of 
 wisdom;* and those who cultivate wisdom and virtue are 
 to be deemed happy, even in the midst of misfortune, 
 and when it has no probability of proper reward. It is to 
 be cultivated, indeed, on its own intrinsic merits, without 
 any regard for expediency — any hope of reward. At the 
 same time, however, it is quite apparent that good men 
 are praised, loved, and honored, while the unjust are 
 eventually exposed and punished; nay, even by the 
 Deity, good and just men are not neglected, for God loves 
 and rewards those who practice virtue and seek to re- 
 semble Him. Independently of this, too, Plato derives 
 another motive to virtue from the immortality of the 
 soul, — viz., that, if we be not justly and adequately 
 compensated in this life, we shall meet with perfect and 
 unswerving justice, when arraigned before the judgment- 
 seat of God. 
 
 Having thus far explained Plato's notions respecting 
 Man's character individually, and respecting the dignity 
 and excellence of Virtue — and of Justice in particular — 
 that union and consummation of all the other virtues, — 
 we now proceed to show, how he applied these principles 
 to the formation of his ideal and perfect Commonwealth 
 {voXnsia), which he thought to be analogous to, and a 
 
 * The relation which, according to Plato, subsists between knowledge 
 and pure pleasure, seems to be in general of the following nature : In 
 the gradual growth of the human consciousness, pleasure is necessarily- 
 combined with cognition, — so however, as that at one time pleasure, at 
 another cognition, is the dominant and determining element. In the 
 former case, the pleasure is impure and immoderate, while in the latter 
 a pure pleasure arises, measured by the truth of Ideas. To avoid the 
 former and pursue the latter, ought, therefore, to be the object of a 
 truly intellectual life. — Ritter. ii. p. 398. 
 
PLATO'S ETHICAL DOCTRINES 
 
 23 
 
 sort of exhibition (napaSetyfia) of, a good and virtuous man. 
 Some few incidental remarks occur on the formation of 
 society for mutual aid and support; and he then proceeds 
 to classify the members or parts of his ideal Republics. 
 
 These he classes under three heads or divisions, corre- 
 sponding with the faculties of the soul, — viz., i. the 
 jSouhurcKuv (counsellors), those who employ reason in 
 the contemplation of what best suits the State; 2. the 
 imKoupcKov, — those who aid the ^ouXeurai with a ready will; 
 3. the xprjfiaTtaTtKov, who are bent on gain and selfish grati- 
 fication. Reason alone is, according to Plato, entitled to 
 and capacitated for the supreme government (just as reason 
 is the monarch of the properly energizing mind), to the 
 total exclusion of the commonalty [xpyjuaTtaTat), who are to- 
 tally unacquainted with wisdom or philosophy. The mili- 
 tary class or executive, however, (t^ iiziKoupmov), who are to 
 be the active guardians {(j>ukaKe<;) of the State, he requires 
 to be properly taught and disciplined, so that, while obey- 
 ing the counsellors, they may protect the State from both 
 internal and external danger. As these guardians, there- 
 fore, are necessarily to be chosen from the better class of 
 the citizens, they should be of a philosophic turn, of an 
 active will, and of a stern determination. 
 
 As respects the training of the military class, that must 
 be effected by a thorough discipline, — first, in Gymnastics, 
 which includes every exercise and training of the body, 
 whether patience under hardships, or endurance of hunger 
 and thirst — cold or heat; and likewise dancing, all being 
 practiced not only to invigorate the body, but to strengthen 
 the spirit and maintain the entire man — the passions, in 
 particular — in subjection to reason; and secondly, in 
 Music,* which Plato held to compromise all imaginative 
 art, the ordinary instruction in grammar, and also science 
 itself, all of which contribute to elevate and enlarge the 
 
 * These accomplishments, however, he wished to restrain within due 
 bounds, lest their simplicity should become luxurious, and lest they 
 should become incentives to passion and vice. Poetry, in particular, he 
 desires to restrain, dreading its evil influence on the moral habits; and 
 he almost wishes the expulsion of poets from his ideal State. He looks 
 upon poetry, indeed, as a mere art of imitation, little better than mere 
 illusion and childishness; useful, perhaps, for education, but to be 
 placed, for fear of abuse, under the strictest surveillance. 
 
24 
 
 GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 mind, protecting it, at the same time, from all that mili- 
 tates against virtue. More particularly, the <l>uXaK£<} must be 
 kept free from all ambition and avarice, which are un- 
 questionable obstacles to the proper performance of their 
 civic functions. From these <t>oXaKi<; the chief rulers and 
 counsellors of the State (^uuXeurai) are to be chosen; to be 
 chosen, too, for their general fitness and estimation : and 
 those only should be placed in charge, who are endowed 
 with high talent, and have all along maintained a life of 
 virtue, superior to that of the other citizens. Furthermore, 
 in the same way as human life can only attain to its high- 
 est happiness, under the guidance of reason conducting it 
 to the highest good, — so also, a State can only attain to 
 consummate virtue and prosperity, when its rulers apply 
 themselves to the investigation of eternal truth and the 
 contemplation of the highest good. Hence it is, that 
 Plato says, the rulers must be philosophers, — not, indeed, 
 necessarily occupied in subtle disputations on general sub- 
 jects of investigation, but rather engaged in contemplating 
 the eternal ideas of things — truth itself; and they must 
 not only admire the beauty of virtue, but earnestly seek 
 the individual cultivation of it, and teach it to others also* 
 by the exhibition of its development in their own persons. 
 
 Virtue, again, whether exercised by individuals or in 
 communities, is one and the same,f comprising, however, 
 four parts: first, Wisdom, the essential qualification of 
 rulers; ,secondly. Courage, the property of the military 
 class who defend the State; thirdly, Temperance, the 
 distinctive quality of a well-ordered and obedient common- 
 alty; and, fourthly, Justice, by virtue of which each 
 particular class or individual energizes in his own sphere, 
 without encroaching on that of his neighbors. The pure 
 
 ♦Virtue, according to Plato, in the Meno and Protagoras, may be 
 learned, so far as it rests on science, in the same sense as science itself is 
 teachable, — z. e., originally and naturally it dwells potentially in the 
 soul; and for the right attainment of virtue, nothing more is requisite 
 than a fitting direction of the mind, leading man to qontemplate the 
 good through the medium of reflection and memory. 
 
 t The question, whether virtue is one or many (often raised without 
 receiving any decisive solution), is connected with the more general 
 one, whether the one (to cv) can be manifold or the manifold one. 
 From the Dialectic, it must be clear, that on this point Plato came to the 
 
PLATO'S ETHICAL DOCTRINES 
 
 25 
 
 exercise of virtue, however, is exceedingly rare, either in 
 States or individuals; while, on the other hand, errors and 
 defects are constantly observable and ever likely to inter- 
 fere with correct action. Hence, applying this remark 
 to Politics, our pattern State [apisTOKparia) will insensibly 
 become vitiated; sinking- first into ntiafr/^ia, and thence 
 
 into SXtyapxia, drj/ioKparta^ and lastly downright rupawi?^ the 
 
 worst possible mode of social tmion. No wonder, for if 
 we compare them with the state of the human soul when 
 reason is on her throne, and also when she is dethroned 
 by the passions, we discover between them a close analogy. 
 From the dominance of the will over reason we realize 
 the idea of Ambition ; and this seems nearly allied to the 
 reiiapxta of the Cretans and Spartans (which Plato greatly 
 preferred to the democracy of Athens) ; again, when 
 rein is given to the appetite, still other and greater evils 
 arise, and among others. Avarice, which bears a close 
 analogy to dXcyapxt'a; thirdly, when the passions are 
 freely indulged, and in a base manner, without regard 
 to order or decency, we have before us 8rj;j.oi<paT{a or mob- 
 rule ; and lastly, when any one passion or violent emotion 
 exercises sway to the exclusion of all the more generous 
 feelings of our nature, we have an exact picture of 
 Tupavvi'S, which is the worst species of government, and 
 furtbest of all removed from political perfection. 
 
 To return to our pattern State : it must have the prin- 
 ciple of permanence in healthy operation ; and this is 
 best effected by harmony, or, as it were, unity of action 
 in all the members, just as individual virtue results from the 
 harmonious exercise of the collective mental faculties. 
 The various establishments in a State, therefore, must 
 
 conclusion that virtue must both be regarded as one, and in another 
 respect also as many. In a moral point of view, however, this question 
 of the unity of virtue must be taken in quite another sense, for as all 
 good is conside,red as a due measure and proportion, no single virtue, 
 by itself and apart from the rest, can be truly virtuous. Hence Plato 
 often describes some single virtue as comprising in itself the sum of all 
 virtues. Thus, Justice is often used for virtue in general, because no 
 action, which is not also just, can be virtuous ; and similarly with 
 wisdom, temperance, and valor. In the Protagoras, too, Plato adds a 
 fifth virtue — oaidrric, or piety, and in the Republic he mentions liber- 
 ality and magnanimity. 
 
26 
 
 GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 so cohere and harmonize, as mutually to aid each other; 
 and the most anxious pains must be taken to protect the 
 State from all influences likely to deteriorate good morals 
 and impair the authority of the government. To this 
 end, then, care must be observed, that no innovations 
 be introduced in the training of youth in Gymnastics 
 and Music; for such innovations, says this ancient Con- 
 servative, have an insiduous and destructive tendency. 
 The affairs of domestic life, also, must be so regulated, 
 that no base desires shall invade and disturb the State; 
 and to promote this object, as well as to show that the 
 defenders of the State should consider not so much their 
 own individual existence, or their own gratifications, as 
 their inseparable connection and membership with the 
 whole State, to the welfare of which the individual man 
 is ever subordinate; on this principle must be explained 
 those strange views of the community of wives and chil- 
 dren, that have always excited the astonishment of those 
 not fully acquainted with the moral ends of the Repub- 
 lic. Individuals are, according to this philosopher, mem- 
 bers of, and to be merged in, the State ; and hence he 
 suggests also, that even the women should tmdergo the 
 same kind of training with the young men, as they have 
 their respective aptitudes. Thus is a State to be main- 
 tained in permanent health, free from the incursions of 
 civil discord. With whatever ability, however, a State 
 may be formed, it cannot be permanently prosperous 
 without the constant and active exercise of virtue; and 
 just in proportion as sin entails misery and virtue hap- 
 piness, so, likewise. Tyranny produces disorder and 
 wretchedness; while Aristocracy, i. e., Plato's best form 
 of government, will not fail to exalt the State and its 
 .several members to the pinnacle of civil happiness and 
 prosperity. 
 
 We have thus briefly sketched the general and ethical 
 system of Plato's Philosophy, as well as given a general 
 survey of the subject-matter of the Republic; and it is 
 presumed that the student will now be enabled to take up 
 the writings of Plato with improved facilities, and a far 
 greater probability of getting thoroughly acquainted with 
 the notions of that great philosopher. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 The first Book opens with a pleasant and highly dramatic dialogue, 
 in the course of which the happy old Cephalus (a kind of Maecenas on 
 a small scale) sings the praises of an independent old age, free from 
 anxiety and debt ; and this leads Socrates to introduce the discussion 
 of justice, which, by way of provoking inquiry, he first generally de- 
 fines, as rd aXrjdfj re Xsyeiv mi, d av Adfioj rif, a.Kodt66vai. The more 
 complete definition, however, he first attempts by the negative 
 process, purposely selecting two species of (false or inadequate) justice 
 to be refuted, — thus to make way for the basis of a full and true defi- 
 nition. He then proceeds to consider the constituents of a state — 
 magistrates and subjects; the former of whom he cautions against 
 tyranny — the latter against indecent insubordination; insomuch as 
 neither the one party should have reference to his own private advan- 
 tage only, nor should the others live without care for the general ad- 
 vantage of the state, nor without a due regard for honest, upright 
 principle. 
 
 [The whole is in the form of a narrative related by Socrates 
 IN the presence of Tim^us, Critias, Hermocrates, and another 
 
 OF UNKNOWN NAME. ThE SCENE IS IN THE HOUSE OF CePHALUS AT 
 THE PlR^US.] 
 
 Chapter I. I went down yesterday to the Piraeus, with 
 Glaucon,* son of Ariston, to pay my devotion to the god- 
 dess, — and wishing, at the same time, to observe in what 
 
 * Glaucon and Adimantus were the brothers of Plato. Comp. Xen. 
 Mem. iii. 6. 
 
 SOCRATES, 
 CEPHALUS, 
 GLAUCON. 
 
 ADIMANTUS; 
 
 POLEMARCHUS, 
 
 THRASYMACHUS. 
 
 ( 27) 
 
28 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 manner they would celebrate the festival, as they were 
 now to do so for the first time.* The procession of the 
 natives themselves, indeed, seemed beautiful ; yet that 
 which the Thracians conducted appeared not less elegant. 
 After we had paid our devotions, and seen the solemnity, 
 we were going back to the city, when Polemarchus, son of 
 Cephalus, observing us from a distance, hurrying home, 
 bid his boy run and tell us to wait for him ; and the boy 
 taking hold of my robe behind, said : Polemarchus desires 
 you to wait. I turned then and asked, where he was. He 
 is coming after you, answered he : but pray wait for him. 
 Yes, we will wait, said Glaucon ; and just afterwards came 
 Polemarchus and Adimantus, the brother of Glaucon, and 
 Niceratus, son of Nicias,f and some others, as from the 
 procession. Then said Polemarchus: Socrates, you seem 
 to me to be hurrying to the city, as on your return. Aye, 
 you do not make a bad guess, said I. See you, then, said 
 he, how many we are ? Yes, of course. Well, then, said 
 he, you must either prove yourselves stronger than these, 
 or else remain here. One expedient, said I, is still left; 
 namely, to persuade you that you should let us go. How 
 can you possibly persuade such as will not hear ? By no 
 means, said Glaucon. Make up your mind then, that we 
 will not hear. But know you not, said Adimantus, that in 
 the evening there is to be a torch-race on horseback to the 
 goddess ?J On horseback, said I ; surely, this is a novelty. 
 Are they to have torches, and to hand them to one another, 
 contending together on horseback ; or how do you mean ? 
 Just so, replied Polemarchus. And besides, they will per- 
 form a nocturnal solemnity well worth seeing; for we 
 
 * The festival here alluded to is the Bevi^ldeta, in which Artemis or 
 Bendis was worshiped agreeably to the custom of the Thracians. 
 
 f Nicias was one of the leading Athenian generals in the Peloponne- 
 sian war. 
 
 X In the Panathensean, Hephsestian, and Promethean festivals, it 
 was customary for young men to run with torches or lamps lighted from 
 the sacrificial altar; and in this contest that person only was victorious, 
 whose lamp remained unextinguished in the race. We are here forcibly 
 reminded of the figure used by Plato in the Laws, vi. p. 776 b, and also 
 of Lucretius, ii. verse 78 : — 
 
 Inque brevi spatio mutantur strcla animantum. 
 , Et quasi cursores vita'i lampada tradunt. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 29 
 
 shall rise after supper and see it [the night festival],* and 
 shall be there with many of our young [friends], and have 
 a chat. Do you also stay and do the same. It is right, I 
 think, said Glaucon, that we should stay. Well, — if you 
 please, said I, we will so. 
 
 Chap. II. We went home therefore to Polemarchus's 
 [house], and there we found, both Lysias and Euthyde- 
 mus, brothers of Polemarchus, — likewise Thrasymachus 
 the Chalcedonian, Charmantides the Psconeian, and Clit- 
 ophon the son of Aristonymus. Cephalus, the father of 
 Polemarchus, was likewise in the house; and he seemed 
 to me to have become a good deal aged, for I had not 
 seen him for a long time. He was sitting crowned on a 
 cushioned seat; for he had been offering sacrifice in the 
 inner court. So we sat down by him ; for some seats 
 stood there in a circle. Immediately, therefore, on seeing 
 me, Cephalus saluted me, and said : Socrates, you do not 
 often come down to us to the Piraeus, though you ought ; 
 for, could I still easily go up to the city, there would 
 have been no need for you to come hither, but we should 
 have gone up to you. As it is, however, you should 
 come hither more frequently; for be assured that with 
 me, the more bodily pleasures decay, the more also do 
 the desires and pleasures of conversation increase. Do 
 not then fail us, but accompany these youths, and resort 
 hither, as to friends, and very dear friends too. As for 
 me, Cephalus, said I, I am delighted to converse with 
 persons well advanced in years; for it appears to me a 
 duty to learn from them as from persons who have gone 
 before us, on a road which we too must necessarily travel, 
 what kind of a road it is, — whether rough and difficult, 
 or level and easy. Moreover, I would gladly learn from 
 you (as you are now at that time of life which the poets 
 call the threshold of old age), what your opinion of it is, 
 
 * By this nocturnal solemnity are meant the lesser Panathenaea, 
 which as the name implies, were sacred to Athena. As in the greater 
 Panathenaea they carried about the veil of Athena, on which were 
 represented the giants vanquished by the Olympian gods, so in the 
 lesser Panathenaea another veil was exhibited, in which the Athenians, 
 who were the pupils of Athena, were represented victorious in the 
 battle against the inhabitants of the Atlantic island. 
 
3° 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 whether it be a burdensome part of life, or how you 
 describe it. 
 
 Chap. III. By Zeus!* said he, I will tell you, Socrates, 
 what I, for my part, think of it; for several of us, who 
 are of the same age, frequently meet together in the 
 same place, observing the old proverb. Most of us, therefore, 
 when we are together, complain of missing the pleasures of 
 youth, calling to remembrance the pleasures of love, those 
 of drinking and feasting, and such like; and they are 
 mightily in dudgeon as being bereaved of some great 
 things, — having once lived happily, but now scarce living 
 at all. Some of them, too, bemoan the contempt which 
 old age meets with from intimate friends; and, on this 
 account, they whine about old age, as being the cause of 
 so many of their ills. To me, however, Socrates, these 
 men seem not to blame the [real] cause ; for, if this were 
 the cause, I myself likewise should have suffered these 
 very same things through old age, — and all others, like- 
 wise, who have come to these years. Now I have met 
 with several not thus affected; and particularly I was 
 once in company with Sophocles the poet, when he was 
 asked by some one : How, said he, do you feel, Sophocles, 
 as to the pleasures of love; are you still able to enjoy 
 them ? Softly, friend, replied he ; most gladly, indeed, 
 have I escaped from these pleasures, as from some furious 
 and savage master. To me, then, he, at that time, 
 seemed to speak well, and now not less so: for, on the 
 whole, as respects such things there is in old age great 
 peace and freedom ; because, when the appetites cease to 
 be vehement and have let go their hold, what Sophocles 
 said, most certainly happens; we are delivered from very 
 many, and those too, furious masters. With relation to 
 these things, however, and what concerns our intimates, 
 there is one and the same cause; which is, not old age, 
 Socrates, but the disposition of [different] men: for, if 
 they be discreet and moderate, even old age is but moder- 
 
 * The translator wishes it to be understood, that in compliance with a 
 now pretty general custom, he has preserved the Greek mythological 
 names : Zeus for Jupiter, Athena for Minerva, Poseidon for Neptune, 
 Artemis for Diana, and so on. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 31 
 
 ately burdensome ; but if not, Socrates, — to such an one, 
 both old age and youth are grievous. 
 
 Chap. IV. Delighted to hear him say these things, 
 and wishing him to discourse further, I urged him, and 
 said: I fancy, Cephalus, the generality will not agree 
 with you in these opinions; but will imagine that you 
 bear old age easily, not owing to your natural bias, but 
 from possessing much wealth; for the rich, say they, 
 have many consolations. True, replied he, they do not 
 agree with me ; and there is something in what they say, 
 yet not so much as they imagine. The saying of The- 
 mistocles, however, is just; who, when the Seriphian 
 reviled him, and said, that he was honored, not on his 
 own account, but on account of his country, replied, that 
 neither would himself have been renowned, had he been 
 a Seriphian, nor would he, the [Seriphian], had he been 
 an Athenian. To those likewise, who are not rich and 
 bear old age with impatience, the same saying fairly 
 applies; that neither would the worthy man bear old 
 age with poverty quite easily, nor would he who is 
 unworthy, though enriched, ever be agreeable to him- 
 self. But [tell me], Cephalus, said I, was the greater 
 part of what you possess left you, or did you acquire 
 it [ yourself] ? Somewhat, Socrates, replied he, I have 
 acquired : as to money-getting I am in a medium between 
 my grandfather and my father; for my grandfather of 
 the same name with myself, who was left almost as 
 much property as I possess at present, increased it 
 manifold; while my father Lysanias made it yet less 
 than it is now: I, on the other hand, am content, if I 
 can leave my sons here not less, but some little more 
 than I received. I asked you, said I, for this reason, — 
 because you seem to me to have no excessive love for 
 riches; and this is generally the case with those who 
 have not acquired them; while those who have acquired 
 them [themselves] are doubly fond of them: for, as 
 poets love their own poems, and as parents love their 
 own children, — in the same manner, too, those who 
 have enriched themselves, value their wealth, as 
 their own production, as well as for its utility, — 
 
32 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 on which ground it is valued by others. True, re- 
 plied he. 
 
 Chap. V. Aye, entirely so, said I. But further, tell 
 me this; what do you conceive to be the greatest good 
 realized through the possession of extensive property ? 
 That, probably, said he, of which I shall not persuade 
 the generality, were I even to mention it. For, be assured, 
 Socrates, continued he, that, after a man begins to think 
 he is soon to die, he becomes inspired with a fear and 
 concern about things, that had not entered his head before : 
 for those stories concerning a future state, which tell us, 
 that the man who has been unjust here must be punished 
 hereafter, have a tendency, much as he formerly ridiculed 
 them, to trouble his soul at such a time with apprehen- 
 sions, that they may be true ; and the man, either through 
 the infirmity of old age, or being now, as it were, in closer 
 proximity to them, views them more attentively, and con- 
 sequently becomes full of suspicion and dread, and reflects 
 and considers whether he has in any thing done anyone 
 a wrong. That man, then, who discovers in his own life 
 much of iniquity, and, like children, constantly starting 
 in his sleep, is full of terrors, and lives on with scarce a 
 hope of the future. But with the man who is not con- 
 scious of any such iniquity, 
 
 Hope, the solace of old age, 
 Is ever present, 
 
 As Pindar says: for this, Socrates, he has beautifully 
 expressed, that whoever lives a life of justice and holi- 
 ness. 
 
 With him to cheer his heart, the nurse of age. 
 Sweet hope abides, companion blest, that sways 
 With power supreme the changeful mind of man. 
 
 In this he speaks well, and with great elegance. In con- 
 formity with this thought, therefore, I deem the posses- 
 sion of riches to be chiefly valuable, not to every man 
 indeed, but to the man of worth: for as respects liberat- 
 ing us from the temptation of cheating or deceiving against 
 our will, — or again from departing thither in fear, because 
 we owe either sacrifices to God, or money to man, — for 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 33 
 
 this, indeed, the possession of money has great advantages. 
 It has many others also; but for my part, Socrates, that 
 seems not the least, among all others, which proves its 
 high advantage to a man of understanding. 
 
 You speak admirably, Cephalus, replied I : but this 
 very thing. Justice, — shall we call it Truth, simply, 
 and the restoring what one has received from another, 
 — or shall we say that it is possible to do the very same 
 things at one time justly and at another unjustly ? My 
 meaning is somewhat as follows: Every one would 
 probably be of opinion, that if a man received arms 
 from a friend in sound mind, and that person should 
 demand them back when mad, it would not be proper 
 to restore such articles, nor would the restorer be just; 
 nor again [would he], who, to a man so situated, should 
 willingly tell the whole truth. Right, replied he. This, 
 then, is not the definition of justice, [namely], to speak 
 the truth, and restore what one has received. Of course 
 it is, Socrates, replied Polemarchus, taking up the sub- 
 ject, if at least we are to believe Simonides. However 
 that be, said Cephalus, I leave this conversation to you; 
 for I must now go to attend to the sacred rites. Well, 
 then, is not Polemarchus, said I, the heir of your [argu- 
 ment] ? Certainly, replied he, smiling, and went off to 
 the sacred rites. 
 
 Chap. VI. Tell me, then, said I, you who are heir 
 in the conversation, what is it, that you affirm Simonides 
 to have correctly alleged about justice ? That to restore 
 to each his due is just, replied he : in saying this, he 
 seems, to me, at least, to speak correctly. Aye, indeed, 
 said I, we cannot easily discredit Simonides; for he is a 
 wise and divine man: but as to his meaning in this 
 passage, you, Polemarchus, are probably acquainted with 
 it, but I am not; for it is plain he does not mean what 
 we were saying just now, — that, when one has deposited 
 any thing with us, we should return it to him, even if 
 he demand it in his insanity: and yet the thing deposited 
 is in some sense due, is it not ? It is. At least, then, 
 [you will grant] it must on no account whatever be 
 restored, when a man asks for it in his insanity ? True, 
 3 
 
34 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 replied he. Simonides, then, it would seem, has some 
 other meaning than this, in saying that to deliver up 
 what is due is just ? Yes, — one quite different, replied 
 he : for he is of opinion that friends ought to do their 
 friends good — not ill. I understand, said I; that man 
 does not give back what is due, who restores money- 
 deposited with him, if the repayment and receipt be 
 really hurtful, and the receiver and restorer be friends: 
 is not this what you allege Simonides to say? Surely. 
 What then ? are we to give our enemies, also, what 
 may chance to be their due ? By all means, said he, 
 what is really due to them ; and from an enemy to an 
 enemy, there is due, I imagine, what is fitting too, — 
 namely, some evil. 
 
 Chap. VII. Simonides, then, it would seem, replied 
 I, defined the nature of justice somewhat enigmatically, 
 and after the manner of the poets; for it seems he had 
 a notion, that justice consists in giving every one what 
 was expedient for him; and this he called his due. But 
 what is your opinion ? said he. By Zeus, replied I, if 
 any one, then, should ask him thus, — Simonides, what 
 is the art, which, dispensing to certain persons something 
 fitting and due, is called medicine, what, think you, would 
 he answer us ? That art, surely, replied he, which dis- 
 penses drugs to the body, and also meats and drinks. 
 And what is the art, which, dispensing to certain things 
 something fitting and due, is called cookery ? The art 
 which gives seasonings to victuals. Granted. What, then, 
 is that art, which may be called justice, as dispensing 
 to certain persons something fitting and due ? If we ought 
 to be at all directed, Socrates, by what has been 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, can best serve his friends, when they are sick, and 
 most ill to his enemies, as either in sickness or health ? 
 A physician. And who to those at sea, as respects danger 
 on the sea ? A pilot. But what as to the just man ? In 
 what business, and with respect to what action, can he 
 most serve his friends and harm his foes ? In fighting 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 35 
 
 in alliance with the one, and against the other, — so far 
 as I think. Just so; but at any rate, to those who are 
 not sick, Polemarchus, the physician is useless ? Aye. 
 And the pilot, to those who do not sail ? He is. And is the 
 just man, in like manner, useless to those not engaged 
 in war ? This, at any rate, is not at all my opinion. Is 
 justice, then, useful also in time of peace? Yes, useful, 
 too. And so is agriculture, is it not ? Yes. Towards 
 the getting in of crops ? Yes. And is not shoemaking 
 useful too ? Yes. Towards the possession of shoes methinks 
 you will say ? Certainly. But what then ? For the use 
 or possession of what is it, that would you say justice 
 were useful in time of peace ? For contracts, Socrates ! 
 By these contracts do you mean copartnerships, or what 
 else ? Copartnerships, certainly. Well, then, is the just 
 man or the dice player, a good and useful copartner for 
 playing at dice ? The dice player. But, in the laying of 
 tiles or stones, is the just man a more useful and a bet- 
 ter partner than the builder ? By no means. In what 
 copartnership, then, is the just man a better copartner 
 than the harper, as the harper is better than the just 
 man for touching the strings of a harp ? In one about 
 money, as I imagine. And yet perhaps, with regard to 
 the use of money, Polemarchus, when it is necessary 
 jointly to buy or sell a horse, then, I should think, the 
 jockey is the better copartner, is he not ? He would appear 
 so. And with respect to a ship, the shipwright or pilot ? 
 It seems so. When is it, then, 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 leave it on deposit ? Certainly. When 
 money, then, is useless, justice is still useful with regard 
 to it ? It seems likely. When, therefore, one wants to 
 put by a pruning hook, justice is useful, both for a com- 
 munity and for a particular person; but when one wants 
 to use it, then the art of vine dressing [is useful]. It 
 seems so. You will say, likewise, that when a shield or 
 a lyre is to be kept and not used, then justice is useful; 
 but when they are to be used, then the arts of warfare 
 and music ? Of course. And with reference to all other 
 
36 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 things, when they are to be used, justice is useless; but 
 when they are not to be used, it is useful ? It seems so. 
 
 Chap. VIII. Justice, then, my friend, can be no very 
 important matter, if it is useful only in respect of things 
 not to be used. But let us consider this matter: is not 
 he who is the cleverest at striking in a fight, whether with 
 the fists or some other way, the cleverest likewise, in 
 self-defense? Certainly. And as to the person who is 
 clever in warding off and escaping from a distemper, is 
 he not very clever also in bringing it on ? So I suppose. 
 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 is a clever thief. It seems so. If, 
 therefore, the just man be clever in guarding money, he 
 is clever likewise in stealing. So it would seem, said 
 he, from this reasoning. The just man, then, has been 
 shown to be a sort of thief; and it is likely you have 
 learned this from Horner; for he not only admires Autoly- 
 cus, the maternal grandfather of Ulysses, but says, that 
 he was distinguished beyond all men for thievishness and 
 swearing. Justice, then, seems in your opinion as well 
 as in that of Homer and Simonides, to be a sort of 
 thieving carried on for the benefit of our friends on the 
 one hand, and for the injury of our enemies on the other: 
 did not you say so ? No, by Zeus, I did not ; nor, 
 indeed, do I any longer know what I was saying: yet 
 it is still my opinion, that justice benefits friends, but 
 injures foes. But [tell me] whether you pronounce such 
 to be friends, as seem to be honest; or such merely as 
 are so, though not seeming so; and in the same way as 
 to enemies ? It is reasonable, said he, to love those whom 
 one deems honest, and to hate those [one deems] wicked. 
 But do not men fall into error on this point, so that many 
 appear to them honest who are not so, and many the 
 contrary ? Yes, they do. To such as these, then, the 
 good are enemies, and the bad friends ? Certainly. But 
 still is it, in that case, just for them to benefit the wicked, 
 and hurt the good ? So it seems. The good, moreover, 
 are just, and incapable of doing any ill. True. According 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 37 
 
 to your argument, then, is it just to do those harm who do 
 no harm [themselves]? By no means [think that], 
 Socrates, replied he ; for that opinion seems to be vicious. 
 With respect to the unjust, then, said I, is it right to 
 injure these but to do good to the just ? This opinion 
 seems fairer than the other. To many, then, it will occur 
 [to think] Polemarchus, — that is, to as many as have 
 formed wrong opinions of men, — that they may justly hurt 
 their friends (for they are wicked to them), and, on the 
 other hand, benefit their enemies, inasmuch as they are 
 good: and thus we shall state the very reverse of what 
 we alleged Simonides to say. That is precisely the case, 
 said he: but, let us change our definition; for we seem 
 not to have rightly defined a friend and a foe. How were 
 they defined, Polemarchus ? That he who seems honest is 
 a friend. How then are we now to alter our definition, 
 said I ? That the person, replied he, who seems, and also 
 is honest, is a friend; but that he who is apparently 
 honest, but not really so, seems to be, yet is not [really] 
 a friend: the definition, too, respecting an enemy, exactly 
 corresponds. The good man, according to this reasoning, 
 will, it seems, be a friend ; and the wicked man a foe ? 
 Yes. Do you bid us then make an addition to our former 
 definition of justice by saying that it is just to serve a 
 friend and harm a foe : and are we now to say, in addition 
 to this, that it is just to serve a friend who is good, but 
 to hurt an enemy who is bad ? This last, said he, seems to 
 me perfectly well expressed. 
 
 Chap. IX. Is it the just man's part, then, said I, to 
 hurt any one mortal whatever ? By all means, said he ; 
 the wicked at least, and his enemies, he ought certainly 
 to injure. And horses, when hurt, do they become bet- 
 ter or worse ? Worse. Do they so, as regards the virtue 
 of dogs or horses ? That of horses. And, do not dogs, 
 when hurt, become worse as regards the virtue of dogs, 
 but not of horses ? Necessarily so. As to men, then, 
 friend, may we not likewise say, that when hurt, they be- 
 come worse with reference to man's virtue ? Certainly. 
 But is not justice a human virtue ? This too we must 
 [allow]. It follows, then, friend, that those men who are 
 
38 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 hurt become more unjust ? It seems so. Can musicians, 
 then, by music, make men unmusical ? Impossible. Or 
 horsemen, by horsemanship, make men unskilled in 
 horsemanship ? They cannot. Is it possible, either, that 
 by justice the just [can make men] unjust; or in general 
 that by virtue, the good can make men wicked ? It is 
 impossible. [Yes], for it is not, methinks, the effect of 
 heat to make cold, but [the effect] of its contrary ? Yes. 
 Nor of drought to make moist, but that of its contrary ? 
 Certainly. Neither is it the part of a good man to hurt, 
 but that of his contrary ? It appears so. But, at any 
 rate, the just is good ? Certainly. Neither, then, is it 
 the part of a just man, Polemarchus, to hurt either friend 
 or any other, but [that] of his contrary, the unjust man. 
 In all respects, Socrates, said he, you seem to reason 
 truly. If, then, an)^ one affirms it just to give every one 
 his due, and consequently thinks this within himself, that 
 injury is due from a just man to enemies, but service to 
 friends, — he was not wise who said so, for he spoke not 
 the truth: for in no case has the justice been proved 
 of injuring any one at all. I agree, said he. You and 
 I then will jointly dispute the point, said I, if any one 
 allege, that Simonides, or Bias, or Pittacus, or any other 
 of those wise and happy men said so. I am ready, for 
 my part, said he, to take part in this discussion. But know 
 you, said I, whose saying I conceive it to be, — that it is 
 just to serve friends, and hurt enemies ? Whose, said he ? 
 I conceive it to be Periander's, or Perdiccas's, or Xerxes's, 
 or Ismenius's, the Theban, or of some other rich man, 
 who thought himself mightily important. You say most 
 truly, said he. Be it so, said I; but as this has not 
 been shown to be justice nor the just, what else may 
 one say it is ? 
 
 Chap. X. Now Thrasymachus had frequently during 
 our discourse been on the point of breaking in upon the 
 discussion with some objection, but was hindered by the 
 sitters-by, who wanted to hear out the conversation. 
 When, however, we came to a pause, and after my 
 making these last remarks, he could no longer keep 
 quiet; but, taking his spring like a wild beast, attacked 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 39 
 
 US, as if he would tear us in pieces. Both myself and 
 Polemarchus were frightened and terror-struck. But he, 
 raising his voice in the midst, cried out: What is this, 
 Socrates, which has so long possessed you; and why do 
 you thus play the fool together, conceding mutually to 
 one another ? But if in particular you really want to 
 know the nature of justice, do not only ask questions, 
 and value yourself in refuting the answers you may get, 
 well knowing that it is easier to ask than to answer ; but 
 answer yourself, and state your own view of the nature 
 of justice. And [take care] that you do not tell me that 
 it is what is fit, or what is due, or what is profitable, or 
 what is gainful, or what is expedient; but, whatever you 
 mean, express it plainly and accurately; for I will not 
 allow you to utter such trifles as these. I was astounded 
 on hearing this; and*when I looked at him, I was fright- 
 ened; and, metliinks, had I *not perceived him before he 
 perceived me, I should have become speechless.* But 
 just when he began to grow fierce under our discussion, 
 I observed him first, so that I was now able to answer 
 him, and said, somewhat in a flutter: Be not hard on 
 us, Thrasymachus ; if I and he [Polemarchus] err in the 
 working out of our arguments, be well assured we err 
 unwittingly: for, think not, that if we were searching for 
 gold, we would ever wittingly yield to one another in 
 the search, thus frustrating all chance of discovering it, 
 and yet searching for justice, — a matter far more valu- 
 able than gold, foolishly make concessions to each other, 
 and not labor with the utmost ardor for its discovery: 
 think you so, friend ? Nay, methinks, we could not. 
 That we should be sympathized with by your clever per- 
 sons is far more to be expected, then, than that we should 
 be treated with contempt. 
 
 Chap. XI. On hearing this he [Thrasymachus] gave a 
 disdainful sort of laugh, and said: By Heracles, this is 
 Socrates's wonted irony; and this I both knew, and fore- 
 told to these here, — that you never incline to answer, but 
 
 *This alludes to the popular belief that men were rendered speech- 
 less by the fixed look of a wolf ; but this, they thought, was not the case 
 if they saw the wolf first. 
 
40 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 use your irony, and do any thing rather than answer, if 
 any one asks you any thing. Aye ; you are a wise man, 
 Thrasymachus, said I ; for you knew well, that if you 
 asked any one, how many make twelve ; and, if asking, you 
 should tell him, you mUst not tell me, man, that twelve 
 are twice six, — or three times four, — or four times three ; 
 because I will not admit it, if you are such a trifier; it 
 was plain to you, methinks, that no man would answer 
 one so inquiring. But if he should say to you, What mean 
 you, Thrasymachus, may I not answer in any of these 
 ways you have told me, — not even though the real answer 
 happen to be one of them ; but am I rather to say some- 
 thing else than the truth ? Or, how is it you mean ? What 
 would you say to him in reply to these things ? If they 
 were alike, I should give an answer; for the one, forsooth, 
 is like the other. That is no real objection, said I;* but 
 even if it be not like, but only appears so to him who 
 has been asked, do you think he would the less readily 
 express his opinion, whether we should forbid him or not ? 
 And, will you do so now ? said he. Will you state, in 
 reply, some of those things which I forbade you to say ? 
 I should not wonder if I did, said I, if it appeared so to me 
 on inquiry. What, then, said he, if I should show you 
 another answer, besides all these about justice, and better, 
 too, than these, — what will you deserve to suffer? What 
 else, said I, but what the ignorant ought to suffer? — and 
 it is proper, perhaps, to learn from a wise man. I conse- 
 quently deserve to suffer this. You are merry now, said 
 he; but besides learning you must pay money, too. Aye, 
 when I have it, said I. We have got some, said Glaucon; 
 but, as for the money, Thrasymachus, say on, for all of us 
 will club for Socrates. By all means, I think, said he, in 
 order that Socrates may go on in his usual manner, — not 
 answer himself, but when another answers, take up the 
 discourse and confute. How, then, in the first place, my 
 good fellow, said I, can a man answer, when he neither 
 knows, nor pretends to know ; and when, supposing him to 
 have any opinion at all about these matters, he is for- 
 
 * Thrasymachus here alleges with a sneer, that the example ad- 
 duced by Socrates had no connection with the subject treated in 
 the last chapter. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 41 
 
 bidden to say what he thinks by no ordinary person ? 
 But it is more reasonable, then, that you speak, as you 
 say you know, and can tell us. Do not refuse, then, but 
 oblige me by answering, and do not begrudge instructing 
 Glaucon here, and the rest of the company. 
 
 Chap. XII. On my saying this, both Glaucon and the 
 rest of the company entreated him not to decline it: 
 and Thrasymachus in particular, was evidently most anx- 
 ious to speak, in order to gain applause, reckoning he 
 had a mighty clever answer to make, and pretending to 
 be earnest that I should be the answerer; but at last he 
 agreed. Nov/, this, forsooth, said he, is the wisdom of 
 Socrates, that he himself is unwilling to teach, but goes 
 about learning from others, and gives no thanks for it. 
 That I learn from others, Thrasymachus, is quite true, 
 said I ; but in saying, that I do not thank persons for it, 
 you are wrong. I pay as much as I am able, and I can 
 only give them praise, for money I have none; but how 
 readily I do this, when any one appears to me to speak 
 well, you shall perfectly know directly, whenever you 
 make your answer; for methinks you will speak well. 
 Hear, then, said he, for I say that the just is nothing 
 else but what is expedient for the strongest. But why 
 do not you commend ? Ah ! you do not like that. Let 
 me learn first, said I, what it is you are talking about; 
 for as yet I know not. That which is expedient for the 
 strongest you say, is the just. And what, at all, is it 
 that you are talking of now, Thrasymachus ? for you cer- 
 tainly do not mean any thing like this. If Polydamas, 
 the wrestler, be stronger than we, and if beef be better 
 for his body, this food is likewise both just and beneficial 
 to us, who are weaker than himself. You are a saucy 
 fellow, Socrates, and lay hold of my argument just on 
 that side where you may damage it most. By no means, 
 my good fellow, said I ; but say more plainly what is your 
 meaning. Know you not, then, said he, that with refer- 
 ence to States, some are tyrannical, others democratical, 
 and others aristocratical ? Of course. And is not the 
 governing part of each State the more powerful ? Cer- 
 tainly: and every government makes laws precisely to 
 
42 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 suit itself, — a democracy, democratic laws; a tyranny, 
 tyrannic; and the rest in like manner: and when they 
 have made them, they declare that to be just for the 
 governed, which is advantageous for themselves, and any 
 one who transgresses it, they punish as one acting con 
 trary both to law and justice. This, then, most excel- 
 lent Socrates, is what I say, that in all States the same 
 thing constitutes justice, viz., what is expedient for the 
 established government. This, then, is the fact with 
 him who reasons rightly, that in all cases whatever that 
 same is just which is expedient for the more powerful. 
 Now, said I, I understand what you mean. But as to 
 its truth or otherwise, I will try to find out. As for the 
 expedient, then, even you yourself, Thrasymachus, have 
 affirmed it to be the just; and yet, though you forbade 
 me to give the answer, still you are adding the expres- 
 sion OF THE MORE POWERFUL. Quitc a trifling addition, 
 perhaps, said he. It is not clear yet, whether it is small 
 or great; but it is clear that we must inquire whether 
 you speak the truth, since I, too, acknowledge that the 
 just is something that is expedient; but you say, in ad- 
 dition, that it is that also which belongs to the most 
 powerful. This I am not sure of; but that is what we 
 have to inquire. Inquire then, said he. 
 
 Chap. XIII. We will do so, said I: and, tell me, — 
 do you not say, that it is just to obey governors ? Yes, 
 I do. Are the governors in the several states infallible, 
 or are they capable of errmg ? Certainly, said he, they 
 are liable to err. When they set about making laws, 
 then, do they not make some of them right, and some 
 of them wrong ? I think so. To make them right, then, 
 is to make them expedient for themselves, and to make 
 them not right [is that] inexpedient; or how mean 
 you ? Just so. And what they enact is to be observed 
 by the governed ; and this is what is just ? Of course. 
 According to your reasoning, then, it is just, to do what 
 is expedient to the stronger, while the contrary is what 
 is not expedient: what say you ? replied he. I am of 
 the same opinion as yourself. But let us inquire better. 
 Is it not granted, that governors in bidding the governed 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 43 
 
 do certain things, may sometimes be in error as to what 
 is best for themselves; and that what the governors en- 
 join, is just for the governed to do ? Have not these 
 [truths] been granted ? I think so, said he. Consider, 
 also, therefore, said I, that you have allowed it to be 
 just to do what is inexpedient for governors and the 
 more powerful, whenever governors unwillingly enjoin 
 what is ill for themselves; and yet you say, that it is 
 just for the others to do what these enjoin. Must it not 
 necessarily happen, then, most sage Thrasymachus, that, 
 in this case, 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 on the inferiors ? Yes, 
 by Zeus, said Polemarchus, these things are quite clear, 
 Socrates. Yes, if you bear him witness, said Clitophon 
 in rejoinder. What need, said I, of a witness ? for 
 Thrasymachus himself acknowledges that governors some- 
 times order what is ill for themselves, and that it is just 
 for the governed to do these things. Aye, Polemarchus; 
 for he laid it down, that it is just to do what is bid- 
 den by the governors, and he has also defined that as 
 just, Clitophon, which is expedient for the more pow- 
 erful; and, having laid down both these propositions, 
 he has granted that the more powerful sometimes bid 
 the inferiors and governed to do what is inexpedient 
 for themselves; and, from these concessions, what is 
 expedient for the more powerful can no more be just 
 than what is not expedient. But he alleged, said Clito- 
 phon, that what was expedient for the strongest was 
 what the strongest judged expedient for himself; this, 
 too, was to be done by the inferior, and this he 
 defined as the just. Aye, — but that was not stated, 
 said Polemarchus. There is no difference, Polemarchus, 
 said I; but, if Thrasymachus says so now, so let us 
 understand him. 
 
 Chap. XIV. Now tell me, Thrasymachus; was this 
 what you meant by justice, — namely, the advantage of 
 the more powerful, such as appeared so to the more 
 powerful, whether it really were so, or not: shall we 
 say that you mean this ? Not at all, said he : for, think 
 
44 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 you, I call him who errs, the more powerful, at the time 
 he errs ? For my part, said I, I thought you meant this, 
 when you acknowledged that governors were not infal- 
 lible, but that in some things even they erred. You are 
 a sycophant, said he, in reasoning, Socrates!* For, for 
 instance, do you call him a physician, who errs about 
 the treatment of the sick, in respect of that very thing 
 in which he errs ; or him a reasoner, who errs in reason- 
 ing, at the very time he errs, and with reference to that 
 very error ? , But, we say, in common language, I fancy, 
 that the physician erred, the reasoner erred, and the 
 grammarian likewise; but in fact, I think, each of these, 
 so far as he is what we designate him, never errs; so 
 that, strictly speaking ( especially as you are a strict 
 reasoner), no artist errs; for he who errs, errs through 
 defect of science, in what he is not an artist; and hence 
 no artist, or wise man, or governor, errs, in so far as 
 he is a governor. Yet every one would say ^*the phy- 
 sician erred, and the governor erred. " You must under- 
 stand, then, that it was in 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 him- 
 self, and this must be observed by the governed. So 
 that as I said at the beginning, I call justice the doing 
 that which is for the advantage of the strongest [i. e., 
 the best] . 
 
 Chap. XV. Be it so, said I, Thrasymachus ; but do I 
 seem to you to act the sycophant ? Aye, surely, said he. 
 Do you think that I insidiously misled you in the argu- 
 ment, to put the question to you as I did ? I know it 
 well, said he, and you shall gain nothing by it ; for neither 
 shall you mislead me unawares, nor can you unawares 
 get the better of me in argument. I shall not attempt 
 it, said I, my excellent friend, but, that nothing of this 
 
 * There was a prevalent corruption in the law-courts o£ Athens, 
 which at length gave rise to a separate class, — the infamous syco- 
 phants, who lived by extortion and making criminal charges against 
 the opulent citizens of timid natures and quiet habits, who were ordi- 
 narily led to purchase the silence of these informers, who hence rose to 
 wealth and importance. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 45 
 
 kind may happen to us again, — define in which way you 
 speak of a ruler, and superior, according only to com- 
 mon talk, or in the strict sense of the word, as you just 
 now said, he, whose advantage, in that he is the more 
 powerful, it is just for the inferior to observe. [I speak 
 of him] who is a ruler in the strictest sense of the word. 
 For this now abuse and calumniate me, as you like. I 
 do not deprecate your doing so; but you are quite unable. 
 Do you think me so mad, said I, as to attempt to shave 
 a lion,* and traduce Thrasymachus ? You have just at- 
 tempted it, said he, but with no effect. Enough of such 
 matters, said I ; but tell me he who is, strictly speaking, 
 a physician, whom you just now mentioned, is he a gainer 
 of money, or a tender of the sick ? — and mind — tell us 
 of him who is really a physician. A tender of the sick, 
 said he. But what of the pilot ? Is he who is really a 
 pilot, a master of sailors, or a sailor ? A master of sail- 
 ors. It matters not, I fancy, that he sails in a ship, 
 and is not to be called a sailor; for he it is not called a 
 pilot from his sailing, but from his art, and his mastery 
 of the sailors. True, said he. Has not each of these, 
 then, something that is advantageous for him ? Certainly. 
 Was not the art, then, acquired for this very purpose, 
 said I, to seek out and supply to each what is advan- 
 tageous for him ? For that purpose, said he. To each of 
 the arts, then, is any other advantage wanting, than to be 
 as perfect as possible ? How mean you by this question ? 
 If you were to ask me, said I, whether it is sufficient for 
 the body to be a body, or whether it needs something 
 else, I should say, that it certainly does stand in need of 
 something else. For this reason, indeed, has the medici- 
 nal art been already invented, because the body is infirm, 
 and it is not sufficient for it to be such as it is: in 
 order, then, to supply what is advantageous for it, art 
 has been provided. Do you think then, said I, that I 
 am right, or not, in thus speaking ? Right, said he. But 
 what then ? Is this very art of medicine, or any other 
 whatever, imperfect, as "being deficient in a certain virtue ; 
 just as the eyes, when deficient as to sight, and the ears 
 
 *A proverb, meaning — To undertake any thing above one's 
 POWER. There is a similar one in Latin. 
 
46 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 as to hearing; and for these reasons need they a certain 
 additional art to seek out and furnish what is expedient 
 for these very organs ? Is there then in art itself some 
 imperfection, and does every art need another art, to 
 consider what is expedient for it, and does that which 
 considers again need another,- and so on to infinity; or 
 will each art consider what is expedient for itself; or 
 will each need neither itself, nor any other, to consider 
 what is expedient for it with reference to its own imper- 
 fection ? For there is no imperfection nor error in any 
 art whatever; nor is it the business of art to seek what 
 is expedient for anything else, but that of which it is 
 the art; but as for itself, it is infallible and pure, be- 
 cause it is right, so long as each, whatever it is, be an 
 accurate whole: and consider now, in that same strict 
 sense of the words, whether it be thus or otherwise. It 
 seems so, said he. The art of medicine, then, said I, 
 does not consider what is expedient for the art of medi- 
 cine, but for the body ? Yes, said he. Nor the art of 
 managing horses, what is expedient for that art, but for 
 horses. Nor any other art for itself (for that is need- 
 less), but only for that of which it is the art ? So it ap- 
 pears, he said. However, Thrasymachus, the arts rule 
 and govern that of which they are arts ? He assented to 
 this, though with great difficulty. No science whatever, 
 then, either considers or dictates what is expedient for 
 the superior, but only what is so for the inferior, — that, 
 namely, which is governed by it ? To this also he at 
 length assented, though he attempted to contend about 
 it. But when he had assented. What else is this, said I, 
 but saying that no physician, so far as he is a physician, 
 either considers or dictates what is expedient for the 
 physician, but only what is expedient for the sick ? For 
 the physician, strictly so called, has been acknowledged 
 to be one who has charge of the body, and is not an 
 amasser of wealth. Has it not been acknowledged ? He 
 assented. And likewise that the pilot, so called, is the 
 master of the sailors, and not a sailor ? It has been ac- 
 knowledged. Such a pilot and master then, will not con- 
 sider and dictate what is expedient for the pilot, but what 
 is so to the sailor and the governed ? He acquiesced, but 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 47 
 
 unwillingly. Nor yet, Thrasymachus, said I, does any 
 other in any government whatever, so far as he is a 
 governor, consider or dictate what is expedient for him- 
 self, but only for the governed and those to whom he 
 acts as steward; and, with an eye to this, and to what 
 is expedient and suitable for this, he both says what he 
 says, and does what he does. 
 
 Chap. XVL When we were at this part of the dis- 
 cussion, and it was evident to all, that the definition of 
 jvistice stood now quite contrary [to that of Thrasyma- 
 chus] Thrasymachus, instead of replying, said: Tell me, 
 Socrates, have you a nurse ? What now, said I ; ought 
 you not rather to answer, than put such questions ? Be- 
 cause, forsooth, said he, she neglects you when your nose 
 is stuffed, and does not wipe it when it needs it, you, who 
 as well as she, understands neither about sheep nor shep- 
 herd. What is the meaning of all this ? said I. Because 
 you think that shepherds and herdsmen consider the good 
 of the sheep or oxen, to fatten and tend them, having their 
 eye on something else than their master's good and their 
 own; moreover, that those who rule in cities, those, 
 who rule truly, are somehow differently disposed towards 
 the governed, than [a shepherd] would be towards sheep, 
 and that they attend day and night to somewhat else than 
 the question, how they shall be gainers themselves; and 
 so far are you from the notion of the just and justice, 
 and the unjust and injustice, that you seem ignorant that 
 both justice and the just are, in reality, a foreign good, 
 expedient for the stronger and ruling party, but posi- 
 tively injurious to the subject and servant, — while injus- 
 tice, on the contrary, takes the rule of such as are truly 
 simple and just, and the governed do what is expedient 
 for him, since he possesses the most power, and promote 
 his happiness, by serving him, but themselves not at 
 all. In this case, most simple Socrates, we should con- 
 sider, that a just man gets less on all occasions than an 
 unjust. First, in mutual contracts with one another, 
 where a certain party joins with another, you will never 
 find on the dissolution of the partnership, that the just 
 man gets more than the unjust, but less: then, again, in 
 
48 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 civil affairs, when public imposts are to be paid, the just 
 man, from equal means, pays more, the other less; and 
 when anything is to be gained, the one gains nothing, the 
 other much; and when each of these holds any public 
 office, if no other loss befalls the just man, at any rate his 
 domestic affairs become deteriorated through neglect, and 
 from the public he derives no benefit, because he is just ; 
 besides which, he becomes hated by his domestics and 
 acquaintance, since he will never serve them, beyond 
 what is just. But with the unjust man, all the contrary 
 of this occurs; for I maintain, what I lately said, that 
 such an one has a great power of becoming unfairly 
 rich. Consider the case of this man, therefore, if you 
 would discern how much more it conduces to his private 
 interest to be unjust, rather than just. This you will 
 most easily of all understand if you come to the most 
 finished injustice, such as renders the unjust man most 
 happy, but the injured and those who are unwilling to do 
 injustice, most wretched. This, now, is tyranny, which 
 takes away the goods of others, as well by secret fraud as 
 open violence, both things sacred and holy, private and 
 public, and these in no small portions, but all at once. 
 In all particular cases of such crimes, when a man undis- 
 giiisedly commits injustice, he is both punished and 
 treated with the greatest ignominy : and as a proof of this, 
 they are called sacrilegious, kidnappers, housebreakers, 
 pilferers, and thieves, according to the several kinds of 
 the wickedness committed. But when a inan, in addition 
 to the property of the citizens, takes prisoners and en- 
 slaves the citizens themselves, instead of these ugly 
 names, he is called happy and blest, not only by the citi- 
 zens, but likewise by all the rest, whoever may get 
 informed that he has committed [such] enormous injus- 
 tice; for those who revile wickedness, revile it — not 
 because they are afraid of doing, but because they are 
 afraid of suffering what is unjust. Thus, Socrates, is it, 
 that injustice, when it attains a certain point, is both 
 more powerful, more free, and more absolutely despotic 
 than justice: and (as I said at the beginning) the advan- 
 tage of the stronger happens to be just while that is 
 unjust which profits and benefits one's self. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 49 
 
 Chap. XVII. Saying this, Thrasymachus purposed 
 going off, after pouring on our ears, as a bath-keeper, 
 this impetuous and lengthened discourse. Those present, 
 however, would not suffer him, but forced him to stay 
 and give account of what he had advanced ; and I myself, 
 also, strongly urged him, and said: Oh! wonderful 
 Thrasymachus; do you purpose, after throwing on us 
 such strange talk, to go away without rightly instructing 
 us, or informing yourself whether the case be as you 
 say, or otherwise ? Do you think that you are trying to 
 determine some small matter, and not the guide of life, 
 by which each of us being conducted may pass his life 
 most profitably ? Can I think that the case is otherwise ? 
 said Thrasymachus. You seem, at any rate, said I, to 
 care nothing at all about us, nor to be any way con- 
 cerned whether we shall live well or ill, through our 
 ignorance of what you say you know; but, my good 
 friend, be so obliging as to show it to us also; nor will 
 the favor be ill-placed, whatever you may bestow on 
 so many of us as are here present. And I, for my part, 
 can say that I am not persuaded, nor do I think, that 
 injustice is more gainful than justice, — not even should 
 we allow it play, and not prevent it doing what it likes. 
 But, my good friend, even supposing him to be unjust 
 and able to do unjustly, either secretly or by open force, 
 yet I at least am not persuaded that injustice is more 
 gainful than justice; and on this point probably some 
 of us here are of the same mind, and not I alone. 
 Persuade us, therefore, sufficiently, my admirable friend, 
 that we are wrong in deeming justice of more value 
 than injustice. But how, said he, am I to persuade you ? 
 for if you are not persuaded by what I have said already, 
 what further can I do for you ? Shall I take and implant 
 my arguments in your very soul ? By Zeus, no, said I ; 
 but, first of all, whatever you have said, abide by it: or, 
 if you do change, change openly, and do not deceive us. 
 Now, you see, Thrasymachus — (for we will reconsider 
 what has been above said) — that in first defining the true 
 physician, you did not think it needful afterward, that 
 the true shepherd should strictly keep his flock, but fancy, 
 that so far as he is a shepherd, he may feed his flock 
 4 
 
5° 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 without regarding the best interests of the sheep, but 
 rather as some glutton going to feast on them at some 
 entertainment, or to dispose of them as a merchant, and 
 not [care for them] as a shepherd. The shepherd art, 
 however, has certainly no other care but that for which 
 it is appointed, namely, to afford it what is best, since its 
 own affairs are already so sufficiently provided for, as to 
 be in the very best state without needing any of the shep- 
 herd art. So likewise, I, for my part, conceived that 
 there you must necessarily agree with us in this, that 
 every government, in as far as it is government, considers 
 what is, best for nothing else but for that which is gov- 
 erned and tended, whether in political or private govern- 
 ment. But with respect to rulers in cities, think you that 
 such as are really rulers govern willingly ? No, by Zeus, 
 said he, [I do not think so] ; but I am quite certain. 
 
 Chap. XVIII. Why now, Thrasymachus, said I, do 
 you not perceive, as regards all other governments, that 
 no one undertakes them willingly, but men ask for rec- 
 ompense, since the benefits likely to accrue from governing 
 are not to come to themselves, but to the governed ? 
 Tell me this, then ; do we not always say that each 
 several art is distinct in this, in having a distinct func- 
 tion ? And my admirable friend, do not answer contrary 
 to your opinion, that we may make some real progress. 
 In this respect, at any rate, said he, it is distinct. And 
 does not each of them afford us some certain peculiar 
 advantage, and not a common one; as, for instance, the 
 medicinal, health; the pilot art, safety in sailing, — and 
 the rest in like manner ? Certainly. And has not the 
 mercenary art mercenary reward ? for this is its function. 
 Do you call both the medicinal art and the pilot art one 
 and the same ? Or, if you mean to define them strictly, 
 as you proposed, though one in piloting recover his health, 
 on account of the expedience of his going to sea, you will 
 not at all the more on this account call it the medicinal 
 art ? Not at all, said he. Nor [will you call] the mer- 
 cenary art the medicinal, I fancy, though in earning a 
 reward one may recover his health ? No, indeed. What 
 then ? Will you call the medicinal the mercenary art, if, 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 5> 
 
 in performing- a cure, one earn a reward ? No, said he. 
 Have we not acknowledged, then, that each art has its 
 peculiar advantage ? Granted, said he. Whatever, then, be 
 that advantage, with which all artists in common are advan- 
 taged, it must plainly be by using some same thing in com- 
 mon to all, that they are advantaged by it. It seems so, said 
 he. Still we say that the advantage accruing to artists 
 from receiving a reward comes to them from the adop- 
 tion of a mercenary art. He acquiesced unwillingly. This, 
 then, is not the advantage which each receives from his 
 own art [namely], the receiving a reward ? But if we 
 strictly consider it, the art of medicine produces health, 
 that of money-getting a reward, masonry a house, and 
 the mercenary art accompanying it, a reward ; and all the 
 others in like manner, — every one performs its own work, 
 and confers advantage on that for which it was designed; 
 but if it meet not with a reward, is the artist benefited 
 at all by his art ? It appears not, said he. But confers 
 he no service when he works gratuitously ? I think he 
 does. This, then, is now evident, Thrasymachus, that no 
 art or government provides what is advantageous for 
 itself ; but, as we said long ago, it both provides and pre- 
 scribes for the governed what is advantageous to him, 
 having in view the interest of the inferior and not that 
 of the more powerful. For these reasons, then, friend 
 Thrasymachus, I even just now said, that no one is will- 
 ing to govern and undertake the settling right of others' 
 troubles without asking a reward; because, whoever in- 
 tends to practice his art well, never himself does nor 
 enjoins [on others] what is best for himself, if he enjoins 
 according to his art, but rather what is best for the gov- 
 erned; for which reason, therefore, as it seems a recom- 
 pense must be given to those who are likely to be willing 
 governors, — either money, or honor, or punishment, on 
 the other hand if a man will not govern. 
 
 Chap. XIX. How say you this, Socrates ? said Glau- 
 con: the two rewards, indeed, I understand; but the 
 punishment, that you mention, and how you can speak 
 of it under the head of reward, I know not. As for the 
 reward, then, of the best of men, said I, do you not under- 
 
52 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 stand why the most worthy govern, when they are will- 
 ing to govern : or, do you not know, that to be ambitious 
 and covetous, is both deemed a reproach, and is so ? I 
 do, said he. For these reasons, then, said I, good men 
 are not willing to govern, either for money or for honor ; 
 inasmuch as they neither wish to be called mercenary, 
 for openly making gain by governing, — nor thieves, 
 for taking clandestinely from what belongs to their 
 office: nor again [are they willing to govern] for honor, 
 since they are not ambitious. Hence if they are 
 to be induced to govern willingly, there must be laid 
 on them both compulsion and punishment; and hence 
 it seems likely, that a willing undertaking of govern- 
 ment, without waiting for compulsion, has been reck- 
 oned dishonorable. The greatest part of the punishment, 
 however, in case he is not willing to govern himself, is 
 the being governed by one who is inferior. It is chiefly 
 through fear of this, methinks, that the good govern, 
 when they do govern: and in that case they enter on 
 the government, not as on anything good, or as about 
 to derive any advantage therefrom, but as on a neces- 
 sary task, and finding none better than, or even like, 
 themselves, to intrust with the government. It seems 
 likely, indeed, that if there were a state of good men, 
 the contest would be, not to govern, and now it is to 
 govern; and, hence, it would be manifest, that the 
 really true governor does not naturally aim at his own 
 advantage, but at that of the governed; so that any one 
 who has sense would rather choose to be benefited by 
 another, than have trouble in benefiting another. This, 
 therefore, I, for my part, by no means grant to Thrasy- 
 machus; that justice is what is expedient for the stronger: 
 but this, indeed, we shall consider again hereafter. 
 What Thrasymachus says now, however, seems to me 
 of much more importance, — when he says, that the life 
 of the unjust man is better than that of the just. You, 
 then, Glaucon, said I, which opinion do yovi choose; 
 and which of the two seems to you most consistent with 
 truth ? The life of the just, said he, is in my opinion 
 the more profitable. Have you heard, said I, how many 
 good things Thrasymachus just now enumerated in the 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 S3 
 
 life of the unjust ? I heard, said he, but I am not 
 persuaded. Do you wish, then, that we should persuade 
 him (if we can find any means of doing so), that there is 
 no truth in what he says ? How should I not vish it ? 
 said he. If then, by way of opposition, said I, we advance, 
 as argument against argument, how many good things 
 are involved in being just, — and again, he on the other 
 side, and we again rejoin, it will be requisite to compute 
 and estimate what either of us says on either side; and 
 we shall want also some judges to decide thereon. But 
 if, as just now, we investigate these matters, by agreeing 
 with each other, we shall ourselves be both judges and 
 counsel! Certainly, said he. Which of these plans, then, 
 said I, do you choose ? The latter, said he. 
 
 Chap. XX. Come then, said I, Thrasymachus ; an- 
 swer us from the beginning. Say you, that complete 
 injustice is more profitable than complete justice ? As- 
 suredly I do say so, replied he; and why, too, I have 
 already told you. Come, now, how can you affirm any- 
 thing like the following concerning them ? Do you call 
 one of them virtue ; and the other vice ? How not ? Is 
 not justice, then, a virtue, — and injustice a vice ? Likely, 
 indeed, that I should say so, facetious man; since I say 
 that injustice is profitable, but justice not so! What then ? 
 Quite the contrary, said he. Do you call justice a vice ? 
 No; but a very generous folly. Do you, then, call in- 
 justice a want of principle ? No, said he, but sagacity. 
 Do the unjust, Thrasymachus, seem to you both wise and 
 good ? Such, at least, said he, as are able to do injustice 
 in perfection, and can subject states and nations to them- 
 selves; but you think, perhaps, that I speak of cut-purses. 
 Even such employment as this, said he, is profitable, if 
 concealed; but yet is of no value in comparison with 
 what I just mentioned. I am not ignorant, said I, of 
 what you mean to say: but at this I am surprised, — that 
 you should reckon injustice as a part of virtue and wis- 
 dom, and justice among their contraries. But, I certainly 
 do reckon it so. This, my good friend, said I, is some- 
 what too hard, and it is no longer easy to know what 
 one can say : for if you had alleged that injustice is prof- 
 
54 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 itable, and had still allowed it to be a vice, or base, as 
 some others do, — we should have had something to say, 
 speaking according to received opinions. But now it is 
 evident that you will say it is beautiful and strong, and 
 will attribute to it all other properties which we ascribe 
 to the just man, because, forsooth, you have ventured to 
 class it with virtue and wisdom. You augur very truly, 
 said he. I must not grudge, however, said I, to pursue 
 our inquiry, so long as I conceive you speak what you 
 really think; for you appear to me, Thrasymachus, without 
 doubt; not to be jesting, but only to speak what you con- 
 ceive to be the truth. What difference is it to you, said 
 he, whether I think so, or not; and why do you not 
 refute my reasoning ? No difference at all, said I : but 
 try further to reply to this likewise : does one just man 
 appear to you to wish to have more than another just 
 man ? By no means, said he ; for otherwise he would not 
 have been accommodating and silly, as we just conceived 
 him. What; not even in a just action! No, — not even 
 in one that is just, said he. But, would he deem it right 
 to overreach the unjust man, and reckon it just ; or would 
 he not think it just ? He would both count it just, said 
 he, and deem it right; but yet he would not be able [to 
 do it]. That, said I, I do not ask, — but, whether the 
 just man would neither deem it right, nor feel a wish to 
 overreach a just man, but yet would do so to the unjust ? 
 Such is the case, said he. What, then, would the unjust 
 man [ do ] ? Would he deem it right to overreach the 
 just man, even in a just action ? How not, said he, since 
 he deems it right to overreach all men ? With respect, 
 then, to the unjust man and unjust action, will not the 
 unjust man desire to overreach both; and eagerly strive 
 himself to receive most of all ? Such is the fact. 
 
 Chap. XXI. This, then, is what we mean, said I: the 
 just man does not try to overreach one like himself, but 
 one that is unlike, while the unjust man does so both to 
 one like, and one unlike himself. You have expressed 
 yourself admirably, said he. Well, then, said I, the unjust 
 man is both wise and good; but the just man is neither. 
 Well, again, said he. In that case, said I, is not the unju?t 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 55 
 
 man like the wise and the good, and the just man unlike ? 
 Of course, said he, a person of a certain character is likely 
 to resemble one of like character ; and he who is otherwise, 
 not. Well said: such an one then, of course, is either 
 of those whom he resembles ? Why doubt it ? said he. 
 Granted, Thrasymachus ; now do you call one man musi- 
 cal, and another unmusical ? I do. Which of the two do 
 you call wise, and which unwise ? The musical, surely, 
 wise, and the unmusical unwise. As being wise, then, is 
 he not good ; but as unwise, bad ? Yes. And what as to 
 the physician, is it not the same ? The same. Do you 
 think, then my excellent friend, that any musician, when 
 he is tuning a harp, wants to overreach, or deems it right 
 to have more skill than a man who is a musician, in strain- 
 ing and slackening the strings ? Not I. But what with 
 respect to one unmusical ? He could not help it, said he. 
 And what as to the physician ? In prescribing meats or 
 drinks, would he try to overreach either another physician, 
 or the art he professes ? No indeed. But one who is no 
 physician [ would ] ? Yes. Just consider then, as respects 
 all science and ignorance, whether any skillful man, be he 
 who he may, appears to you to have a desire to grasp at, 
 or do, or say more than another skillful man, — and not 
 rather to do the same things, in the same business as one 
 equally skillful with himself ? Aye, it seems, it must be 
 so, said he. But what, as to him who is unskilled, will not 
 he like to overreach both alike the skillful and the un- 
 skilled ? Probably. But the skillful man [ is ] wise ? I 
 admit it. And the wise, good ? I admit it. Both the 
 good and the wise, then, will not want to overreach his 
 like, but rather one unlike, and contrary to himself ? It 
 seems so, said he. But the bad and the ignorant man 
 [ will want to overreach ] both his like and his contrary ? 
 It appears so. In that case, Thrasymachus, said I; the 
 unjust man desires to overreach both one unlike and one 
 like himself: did not you say so? I did, said he. The 
 just man, however, on his side, will not overreach his like, 
 but one unlike ? Yes. The just man then, said I, resem- 
 bles the wise and the good, but the unjust, the evil and the 
 ignorant ? It seems so. But we agreed, that each of them 
 was such as what he resembled ? We did agree so. The 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 just man, then, has been clearly shown to be good and 
 wise, but the unjust ignorant and evil. 
 
 Chap. XXII. Thrasymachus at last agreed to all these 
 things, — not easily, as I now narrate them, but dragged 
 to it, and with difficulty, and with a wondrous deal of 
 sweating, just as if it was summer. Then, indeed, did I 
 behold — I never did before — Thrasymachus blushing. 
 And after we had agreed that justice was virtue and wis- 
 dom, and injustice, vice and ignorance, — well, said I, let 
 this be so settled; but we said also, that injustice is 
 powerful : do not you remember, Thrasymachus ? I do 
 remember, said he; but to me at least, what you now 
 say is not pleasing, and I have somewhat to say about 
 it; but should I mention it, I well know you would say 
 I am declaiming.* Eithei", then, let me say what I please, 
 or, if you wish to question me, do so, and I will say to 
 you, as to gossiping old women, Be it so, " and will 
 assent and dissent. Not by any means, said I, if against 
 your own opinion. Just to please you, said he, since you 
 will not let me speak ; though what else do you wish ? 
 Nothing, by Zeus, said I ; but if you will do this, do it, 
 and I will ask questions. Ask, then. This, then, I ask, 
 as just now (that we may regularly examine our argu- 
 ment), of what quality is justice, compared with injus- 
 tice ? For I think it has been said that injustice was 
 more powerful and stronger than justice. But now, at 
 any rate, said I, if justice be both virtue and wisdom, it 
 will easily, methinks, be seen to be more powerful also 
 than injustice, since injustice is ignorance; no one can 
 any longer be ignorant of this. For my part, however, 
 Thrasymachus, I am not desirous of getting rid of the 
 question at once, but to consider it somehow thus. 
 Would you say that a state may be unjust, and attempt 
 to enslave other states unjustly, and have enslaved them, 
 and besides that actually hold many in slavery under her- 
 self ? How not ? said he : and this for the most part the 
 best state will do, and one that is most completely un- 
 just. I am aware, said I, that this was your assertion: 
 
 *A sly hit at the Sophists, of which dogmatic set Thrasymachus 
 is throughout a very apt representative. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 57 
 
 but this is what I wish to inquire; whether the state, 
 which becomes more powerful than another state, is to 
 hold, this power without justice, or must necessarily do so 
 with justice ? If indeed, as yovi now alleged, said he, 
 justice is wisdom — with justice; but if, as I said, — with 
 injustice. I am quite delighted, Thrasymachus, said I, 
 that you not merely assent and dissent, but also that you 
 answer quite capitally. For I oblige you, he said. Therein 
 doing well; oblige me, then, in this too, and tell me, — 
 think you that a city, or camp, or robbers, or thieves, or 
 any other company of men, such as jointly undertake 
 anything unjustly, can meet with any success, if they 
 injure one another. No, indeed, said he. But what, if 
 they do no wrong ? Will they not [get on] better ? Cer- 
 tainly. For, somehow or other, Thrasymachus, injustice 
 induces seditions, and hatreds, and contentions among 
 men, — while justice [brings] harmony and friendship. 
 Does it not ? Granted, said he, that I may not differ 
 from you. 
 
 Chap. XXIII. You are very kind, my excellent friend, 
 then tell me this too; if this be the work of injustice 
 to engender hatred wherever it exists, will it not, when exer- 
 cised both among freemen and slaves, make them hate one 
 another, and become seditious and incapable of doing any- 
 thing in concert for the common advantage ? Certainly. But 
 what if it happened in the case of two only ; will they not 
 differ, and hate, and become enemies both to one another 
 and to the just also ? They will, said he. If then, my 
 admirable friend, injustice reside in a person, — will it lose 
 its power, or still retain it ? It will still retain it, he replied. 
 Seems it not, then, to have some such power as this; 
 that, in whatever it exists, whether in a city, or race, or 
 camp, or anywhere else, it first of all renders it unable 
 to act of itself, owing to seditions and differences ; besides 
 which, it becomes an enemy not only to itself, but to 
 every opponent, especially to the just — is it not so? 
 Certainly. And methinks, when injustice residing in one 
 man will have all these effects, which it is natural for it 
 to produce, it will, in the first place, render him unable 
 to act, while at variance and discord with himself: and, 
 
58 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 secondly, as being an enemy both to himself and the just : 
 is it not so ? Yes. But, at any rate, friend, the gods 
 are just ? Granted, said he. As respects the gods, then, 
 Thrasymachus, the unjust man will be a foe, but the just 
 man a friend ? Feast yourself boldly on this reasoning, 
 said he ; for I will not oppose you, that I may not render 
 myself odious to those who think so.* Come then, said I, 
 and satiate me with the rest of the feast, by answering 
 as you were doing just now: for as respects the just ap- 
 pearing wiser and better and more able to act, but the 
 unjust being capable of doing nothing in concert; and 
 besides that, as to what we said with reference to the unjust, 
 that they are ever at any time able strenuously to act in 
 mutual concert, — this we advanced not quite correctly, 
 for being thoroughly unjust, they would not spare one 
 another; but yet it was evident that there was a justice 
 in them, which made them refrain at any rate from injur- 
 ing one another and those of their party, — owing to which 
 they performed what they did; and they rushed into unjust 
 actions, through injustice, in a kind of half-wicked feeling; 
 for the completely wicked are both perfectly unjust, and 
 also quite incapable of action: that this is really so, I 
 understand, but not in the way that you first defined it. 
 Besides, whether the just live better than the unjust, and 
 are more happy (which we propose to consider afterward), 
 is now to be considered: and, methinks, they appear to 
 do so even at present, for what we have said: but let 
 us consider the matter still better; for the discussion is 
 not about a casual matter, but about the manner in which 
 we ought to live. 
 
 Consider, then, said he. I am considering, said I; 
 and tell me, does there seem to you to be any work 
 peculiar to a horse ? Yes. Would you not call that the 
 [peculiar] work both of a horse, and indeed of any being 
 whatever, which he can do, or best do, with him alone? 
 I do not understand, said he. But thus; see you with 
 anything else than the eyes ? Surely not. What then ? 
 Could you hear with anything else than the ears ? By 
 no means. Should we not, then, justly call these the 
 
 *A clever way of extricating himself from the dilemma in which 
 his general scepticism has involved him. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 59 
 
 works peculiar to them ? Certainly. And what — could 
 you not with a sword, a knife, and many other things, 
 lop off a vine-branch ? How not ? But with nothing, at 
 any rate, methinks, so well as with a pruning-knife made 
 for that purpose. True. Shall we not then define this 
 to be its [peculiar] work ? We will so define it then. 
 
 Chap. XXIV. Now, methinks, you may understand 
 better what I was asking when I inquired whether 
 the work of each be not that which, of all others, one 
 performs either alone or in the best manner. I under- 
 stand you, said he ; and this seems to me to be each 
 one's peculiar work. Granted, said I : and does there 
 not likewise appear to you to be a virtue belonging to 
 everything, to which a certain work is assigned ? But 
 let us run over the same ground once more: We say 
 that the eyes have a certain work ? Yes. Is there not 
 then a virtue belonging to the eyes ? A virtue also. 
 Well, then, have the ears a certain work ? Yes. 
 And of course a virtue also ? A virtue also. And, 
 about all the rest ; is it not thus ? It is. But, 
 hold; could the eyes ever cleverly perform their 
 work, when not possessed of their own proper virtue, 
 but vice instead of virtue ? How could they ? said 
 he; for perhaps you mean blindness instead of sight. 
 Whatever, said I, be their virtue, that I mean, — for I 
 do not yet enter on this question ; but whether by their 
 own proper virtue they will perform their own proper 
 work well, whatever they undertake ; and by vice badly ? 
 In this, at least, said he, you speak the truth. And will 
 not the ears also, when deprived of their virtue, per- 
 form their work ill ? Certainly. And, are we to settle 
 all other things by the same reasoning ? So I suppose. 
 Come then, after this, consider what follows: has the 
 soul a certain work, which you can perform by no other 
 living thing, — such as this, to take care, to govern, to 
 consult, and all such [acts] ? Is there any other than 
 the soul, to which we can justly ascribe them, and say 
 they are its proper functions ? No other. But what of 
 this ? To live ; shall we say it is the work of the soul ? 
 
 1 
 
6o 
 
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 Most assuredly, said he. Do not we say, then, that there 
 is some virtue, also, peculiar to the soul ? We do. And 
 can the soul, then, Thrasymachus, ever perform its own 
 work cleverly, whilst deprived of its proper virtue ; or, 
 is this impossible ? Impossible. Of necessity, then, a 
 bad soul must govern and take care of things badly, 
 and a good soul perform all these things well ? Neces- 
 sarily so. Did we not then agree, that justice was the 
 virtue of the soul, and injustice its vice ? We did so 
 agree. The just soul then, and the just man, will live 
 well, and the unjust ill ? It appears so, said he, accord- 
 ing to your reasoning. Surely, then, he who lives well 
 is both blessed and happy; and he who does not, the 
 opposite ? How not ? The just, then, is happy, and the 
 unjust miserable ? Granted, said he. But at any rate, 
 it is not advantageous to be miserable, but happy ? How 
 not ? In that case, excellent Thrasymachus, injustice 
 is never more profitable than justice. Well, now, So- 
 crates, said he, you have been capitally well feasted at 
 these Bendideia. Aye, by you, Thrasymachus, I cer- 
 tainly have; for you are grown quite mild, and have 
 ceased to be troublesome : and if I have not feasted 
 handsomely, it is owing to myself, not you. But just 
 as greedy guests, ever gloating on what is fresh brought 
 before them, taste thereof, without having properly 
 enjoyed what went before, — so I, methinks, without 
 having first ascertained what we were before investigat- 
 ing, — namely the nature of justice, have omitted this, 
 and rushed eagerly forward to inquire concerning it, 
 whether it be vice and ignorance, or wisdom and virtue; 
 and when an assertion was afterwards introduced, that 
 injustice is more profitable than justice, I could not re- 
 frain from coming to this, from the other; so that now, 
 from this conversation, I have learnt nothing at all; 
 for since I do not know what justice is, I can scarcely 
 know whether it be a virtue or not, — and whether he 
 who possesses it be unhappy or happy. 
 
BOOK II. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 In the second book he illustrates justice by a pretty long discourse 
 about injustice, its contrary, and the social evils thence arising. 
 From such a comprehensive view of society itself he is not unnatur- 
 ally led into his main argument, the subject of civil govern- 
 ment ; carefully distinguishing between the head and the members 
 — the governors and the governed; but also bearing in mind 
 that society is the stage on which alone the virtues of the just 
 man can be seen in perfection. The governors, says he, should 
 be spirited and shrewd, so as to be able both to repel the violence 
 of the state's enemies, and severely to punish wicked citizens, as 
 well as peaceably to maintain their own subjects or dependants 
 under the law's protection, and to appoint proper rewards for 
 virtuous and deserving actions. The principal study then should, 
 as respects a state, be devoted jointly to music and gymnastics — 
 the former referring to mental, the other to bodily training ; but 
 above all these he places religion, which though he does not 
 statedly define it, yet he proves to be wholly distinct from the 
 superstition of his own time. 
 
 Chap. I. Having said these things, I thought to have 
 been relieved from the debate ; but this it seems was 
 only the introduction ; for Glaucon is on all occasions most 
 courageous, and then especially did not approve of Thrasy- 
 machus's withdrawal from the debate, but said; Socra- 
 tes, have you any desire of seeming to have persuaded 
 us, or to succeed in really persuading us that it is in every 
 respect better to be just than unjust ? I, for my part, 
 said I, would prefer to do so in reality, if it depended 
 on me. You are not doing then, said he, what you desire; 
 for, tell me, does there appear to you any good of this 
 kind, such as we would accept as a possession, without 
 regard to its results, but embracing it [simply] for its 
 own sake; such as joy and all kinds of harmless pleasures,* 
 though for the future no other advantage springs from them 
 
 * a/3Aa/3eZf means not only harmless pleasures, but those which 
 
 (6i) 
 
62 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 than the delight arising from their possession. To me, 
 indeed, said I, there does seem to be something of this 
 kind. But what; is there not some species of good which 
 we both love for its own sake, and also for what springs 
 from it, — as wisdom, sight, and health? for such goods 
 we surely embrace on both accounts. Yes, said I. But 
 do you see, said he, a third species of good, — among 
 which are bodily exercise, being healed when sick, the 
 practice of medicine, or any other lucrative employment ? 
 for these things, we should say, are laborious, yet ben- 
 eficial to us, and we should not choose them for their own 
 sake, but on account of the rewards and other advantages 
 that spring from them. There is, indeed, said I, this third 
 species also ; but what then ? In which of these species, 
 said he, do you place justice ? I think, indeed, said I, in 
 the most beautiful, — as being a good, which both on its 
 own account and for what springs from it, is desired by a 
 man bent on being happy. It does not seem so, how- 
 ever, said he, to the multitude, but rather to be of that 
 laborious kind which is pursued on account of rewards and 
 honors [gained] through high repute, but on its own ac- 
 count to be shunned, as fraught with trouble. 
 
 Chap. II. I am aware, said I, that it seems so; and 
 it was in this view, that it was some time since con- 
 demned by Thrasymachus, but injustice praised; it seems, 
 however, that I am one of those who are dull in learn- 
 ing. Come now, said he, listen to me too, if you please ; 
 for Thrasymachus seems to me to have been charmed 
 by you just like a snake, more quickly than he ought; 
 while, with respect to myself, the proof has not yet been 
 made to my satisfaction in either case, for I desire to 
 hear what each is, and what intrinsic power it has by 
 itself, when residing in the soul, — letting alone the re- 
 wards and what springs from them. I will proceed, in 
 
 are pure and unalloyed with pain. We may remark here, that he 
 divides goods raayada into three classes, — one, to be pursued for 
 its own sake only, without reference to advantage, — another, which 
 is to be loved both for its own sake, and for the advantages thence 
 accruing, — and a third, which of itself perhaps is not worthy to 
 be pursued, but only on account of the advantages thence accruing. 
 In the second or mixed class Socrates places justice. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 63 
 
 this manner, therefore, if it be your pleasure. I will take 
 up Thrasymachus's argument in another shape ; and, first 
 of all, I will tell you what they say justice is, and whence 
 it arises — and, secondly, that all who cultivate it, culti- 
 vate it unwillingly, as necessary, but not as good, — and 
 thirdly, that they do this with reason, inasmuch as, ac- 
 cording to their notion, the life of an unjust man is much 
 better than that of one that is just. Though, for my own 
 part, Socrates, it by no means appears so to me, still I 
 am thrown into a state of doubt, from having my ears 
 stunned by hearing Thrasymachtis and innumerable 
 others . But as for the statement respecting justice, that 
 it is better than injustice, I have never yet heard it 
 explained as I wish. I wish, therefore, to hear it eulo- 
 gized on its own account, and am quite of opinion that I 
 shall hear it from you: wherefore, by way of opposition, 
 I shall speak in praise of an unjust life, and in so speak- 
 ing will show you in what manner I want to hear you in 
 turn condemn injustice and commend justice. But see 
 if my proposal be agreeable to you. Quite so, said I; 
 for about what would any man of intellect delight more 
 frequently to speak and hear ? You speak excellently 
 well, said he: and now, as to what I said I would first 
 speak about, listen, both what justice is and whence it 
 springs. 
 
 They say, forsooth, that to do injustice is naturally 
 good, and to suffer injustice bad, — but that suffering 
 injustice is attended with greater evil than doing injustice 
 with good; so that, when men do each other injustice, 
 and likewise suffer it, and have a taste of both, it seems 
 advantageous for those, who are not able to avoid the 
 one and choose the other, to agree among themselves 
 neither to act unjustly nor y^t to be treated so ; and also, 
 that hence they began to form for themselves laws and 
 compacts, and to call what is enjoined by law lawful and 
 just. This, then, is the origin and essence of justice, — 
 a medium between what is best, namely, when a man 
 acts unjustly with impunity, and what is worst, that is, 
 when one injured is unable to obtain redress; and this 
 justice being half-way between both these, is desired, 
 not as good, but as being held in honor, owing to an 
 
64 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 incapacity for doing injustice; because the man who had 
 ability to do so would never, if really a man, agree with 
 any one neither to injure nor be injured; for he would 
 be mad to do so. This, then, Socrates, and such like, is 
 the nature of justice ; and such, as they say, is the source 
 whence it arises. 
 
 Chap. III. Again, — that those who cultivate it through 
 an incapability of doing injustice, cultivate it unwillingly, 
 we shall best be made aware, if we should mentally con- 
 ceive such a case as follows : Let us give full liberty to 
 each of them, both the just and the unjust, to do what- 
 ever they please, — and then follow them, observing 
 whither inclination will lead each. We should then detect 
 the just man going the same way with the unjust, through 
 a desire of having more than others, — which every nature 
 naturally pursues as good, but by law and compulsion is 
 led to respect equality. And the liberty of which I speak 
 may be chiefly of such a kind, as if they possessed such 
 a power, as they say once belonged to Gyges (the pro- 
 genitor of the Lydian king), and of him, forsooth, they 
 say, that he was a hired shepherd with the then governor 
 of Lydia, but when a portion of ground was torn up by 
 a prodigious rain and earthquake, and an opening made 
 in the place where he was grazing [his flocks], that, in 
 astonishment at the sight, he descended and saw other 
 wonders besides, which men hand down in fables, espe- 
 cially a brazen horse, hollow, provided with doors, leaning 
 against which, he beheld inside a dead body, apparently 
 larger than that of a man, and that it had nothing else 
 except that it wore a gold ring on its hand, which he 
 took off and came out. And when there was a meeting 
 of the shepherds, as usual, for making their monthly 
 report to the king about their flocks, he also came with 
 the ring; and while sitting with the rest, he happened to 
 turn the stone of the ring towards himself into the inner 
 part of his hand and when this was done, he became 
 invisible to those who sat beside him, and they talked of 
 him as absent : and astonished at this, he again handled 
 his ring, turned the stone outward and on turning it 
 became visible. On observing this, then, he made trial of 
 
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 65 
 
 the ring- whether it had this power; and it always happened 
 so, that when he turned the stone inward he became invis- 
 ible, — when outward, visible. Perceiving this, he in- 
 stantly contrived to be made one of the embassy to the 
 king; and on his arrival he debauched his wife, and, with 
 her, assaulted and killed the king, and took possession of 
 the kingdom. If now, there were two such rings, and the 
 just man had one and the unjust the other, no one, we 
 should think, would be so case-hardened as to persevere 
 in justice and dare to refrain from others' property and 
 not touch it, when it was in his power both to take fear- 
 lessly, even from the market place, whatever he pleased, 
 and to enter houses and embrace any one he pleased, 
 — both to kill and loose from chains whomever he pleased, 
 — and to do anything else likewise, as a god among men: 
 acting in this manner he would in no respect differ from 
 the other, but both would go the same road. This, in 
 truth, one may say is a strong proof, that no one is will- 
 ingly just, but only by constraint, as if it were not an 
 intrinsic good, because every one, where he thinks he 
 can, does injustice. Every man, then, thinks that injus- 
 tice is intrinsically much more profitable than justice, 
 thinking truly, as he says, who argues on such a sub- 
 ject as this: inasmuch as, if any one possessed of such a 
 liberty were never to act unjustly, nor touch others' 
 property, he would be deemed by men of sense to be 
 most wretched, and most void of understanding; yet 
 would they praise him in each others' presence, mutually 
 deceiving one another through fear of being injured. 
 Thus much, then, concerning these things. 
 
 Chap. IV. With respect, again, to the decision on the 
 life of those of whom we are speaking, — if we distinguish 
 the supremely just and the supremely unjust, we shall 
 be able to come to a right judgment, — but not otherwise; 
 and what, then, is this distinction ? It is this ; let us, 
 from the unjust man, take nothing of injustice, nor from 
 the just man, of justice ; but let us make each of them 
 perfect in his own pursuit. First, then, let the unjust 
 man act as clever artists [do]. For instance, a skillful 
 pilot or physician comprehends both the possible and 
 impossible in his art, the former of which he attempts, 
 
 5 
 
66 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 but relinquishes the latter; and again if he meet with 
 any failure, he is able to rectify it; so, in like manner, 
 let the unjust man when he attempts clever acts of in- 
 justice remain concealed, if he intends to be exceedingly 
 unjust; but, as for him that is caught, he must be deemed 
 worthless; for the most complete injustice is — to seem 
 just, when not so. To the completely unjust, then, we 
 must ascribe the most complete injustice, and not take 
 it from him, but allow him, while doing the greatest in- 
 justice, to win the highest reputation for justice; and, if 
 he should fail at all, he should be able to rectify it, and 
 be capable of speaking persuasively, if any report of his 
 unjust deeds get abroad, and be able also to effect by 
 force what requires force, owing to his courage and 
 strength, and through the instrumentality of his friends 
 and his wealth ; supposing him, then, to be such as this, 
 let us for argument place in contrast with him a just, 
 simple-minded, and generous-hearted man, who, accord- 
 ing to ^schylus, desires less the seeming than the reality 
 of goodness: let us take from him, then, the mere seem- 
 ing of goodness, for, should he seem just, honors and 
 rewards will be his lot, because he merely seems so: and 
 thus [it may be] uncertain whether he be such for the sake 
 of justice, or rewards and honors. Let him be stripped, 
 then, of everything but justice, and be placed in direct 
 contrast to the other; without doing injustice too, let 
 him have the reputation of doing the greatest, — in order 
 that he may be put to the test for justice, and not be 
 moved to reproach and its consequences, but rather be 
 unchangeable like death, seeming, indeed, to be unjust 
 through life, though really just ; and that thus both arriv- 
 ing at the extreme, — one of justice, the other of injustice, 
 we may judge which of the two is the happier. 
 
 Chap. V. Bah, bah, said I, dear Glaucon, how ex- 
 ceedingly anxious you are to cleanse each of these 
 men for trial, just as [you would] a statue! As much, 
 said he, as I can: but, as they are such, there 
 will be no difficulty, I suppose, in ascertaining what 
 life will be the lot of either. It shall be told, then: 
 and, even if it should be told with more than usual 
 
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 67 
 
 ■bluntness, think not, that it is I who tell it, Socrates, 
 but those who praise injustice before justice. This 
 then will they say, that the just man, thus situated, 
 will be scourged, tortured, fettered, have his eyes burnt 
 out, and lastly, suffer all manner of evils, and be cru- 
 cified ; and he will know too, that a man should desire 
 not to be, but to appear just. As for that saying of 
 ^schylus, too, it applied far better against the unjust 
 man: for in reality men will say, that the unjust 
 man, as being in pursuit of an object connected with 
 truth and not living according to opinion, has no 
 desire to appear, but to be unjust, — 
 
 Reaping the hollow furrow of his mind, 
 Whence all his cherished councils blossom forth. 
 
 In the first place, he holds the magistracy in the state, 
 because he is thought jtist, — next, he marries out of 
 whatever family he pleases, and gives his children in 
 marriage to whom he pleases, forms agreements and 
 joins in partnership with whom he likes, — and, be- 
 sides all this, succeeds in all his projects for gain, 
 because he scruples not to commit injustice. When he 
 engages, therefore, in competitions, he both in private 
 and public surpasses and overreaches his adversaries; 
 and by this overreaching gets rich, serves his friends, 
 hurts his foes; and to the gods, as respects sacrifices 
 and offerings, he not only sufficiently but even mag- 
 nificently both sacrifices and makes offerings, serving 
 far better than the just man, not only the gods, but 
 of men also whomsoever he pleases; so that it is very 
 likely that he should be a greater favorite of the 
 gods than the just man. Thus, they say, Socrates, 
 that with gods and men a better life awaits the un- 
 just than the just. 
 
 Chap. VI. Glaucon having said this, I was thinking of 
 saying something in reply ; but his brother Adimantus said 
 — Do you not think, Socrates, that enough has been al- 
 ready said on the matter ? What then ? said I. The very 
 point has not been mooted, said he, which ought most 
 especially to have been discussed. Why then, said I, as 
 
68 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 the saying is, let a brother help a brother, — so that, if he 
 fail at all, do you help him out: yet, as far as I am con- 
 cerned, what he has alleged is quite sufficient to defeat 
 me, and disable me from defending justice. 
 
 And he in reply said: Oh, it is a mere nothing you 
 allege; but still hear this in addition; for we must go 
 through all the arguments in opposition to what he has 
 said [those, namely], which praise justice and condemn 
 injustice, — in order that it may be more clearly seen, 
 what, I think, Glaucon means: and perhaps parents tell 
 and exhort their sons, as all those do who care for them, 
 that they ought to be just, — not commending justice for 
 itself, but for the reputation arising therefrom; and 
 hence to a man reputed to be just, there may accrue from 
 that very repute both state-offices and marriage -connec- 
 tions, and whatever Glaucon just now enumerated as the 
 consequences of being reputed just: these, however, carry 
 this notion of repute too far; for, throwing in the ap- 
 probation of the gods, they can speak of abundant bless- 
 iilgs, which, they say, the gods bestow on the holy. Just 
 as noble Hesiod and Homer say; the former, that the 
 gods make oaks produce for just men 
 
 Acorns at top, and in the middle bees ; 
 Their woolly sheep are laden thick with fleece ; 
 
 and a great many other good things of the same nature 
 — similarly, also, the latter : 
 
 [Unrivalled, like the praise] of some great king, 
 Who o'er a numerous people and renown'd 
 Presiding like a deity, maintains 
 Justice and truth. The earth under his sway 
 Her produce yields abundantly ; the trees 
 Fruit-laden bend ; the lusty flocks bring forth ; 
 The ocean teems with finny swarms beneath 
 His joint control, and all the land is blest. 
 
 Musseus, too, and his son [Eumolpus] tell us, that the 
 gods give just men far more splendid blessings than these ; 
 for carrying them into his poem into Hades, and placing 
 them at table in company with holy men, at a feast pre- 
 pared for them, they crown them, and make them pass the 
 whole of their time drunken, — deeming eternal inebria- 
 
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 69 
 
 tlon to be the best reward of virtue. Some, however, 
 extend down still further than these the rewards from the 
 gods; for they say, that children's children, and a future 
 generation of the holy and faithful, are left on earth. 
 These, then, and such as these, are their eulogies of justice. 
 As for the unholy and tinjust, however, they bury them 
 in Hades, in mud, and compel them to carry water in a 
 sieve; and as for those that are yet living, if they lead 
 them into wrong notions, as Glaucon did in enumerating 
 the punishments of just persons, but reputed unjust, — 
 this they can allege about the unjust, but nothing else. 
 The praise then or blame belongs to either party [as they 
 please]. 
 
 Chap. VII. In addition to this, however, consider, 
 
 Socrates, another species of argument about justice and 
 injustice, referred to both privately and by poets ; for all 
 with one mouth celebrate temperance and justice as beau- 
 tiful, but still difficult and laborious, but intemperance 
 and injustice as sweet and easy of attainment, though by 
 repute only and law disgraceful : and they mostly say, 
 that unjust are more profitable than just actions; and 
 wicked rich men, and such as have power of any kind, 
 either public or private, they are quite willing to pro- 
 nounce happy and to honor both publicly and privately, 
 but to despise and overlook those who may be at all weak 
 and poor, even though they acknowledge them to be bet- 
 ter than the others. But of all these arguments, the most 
 marvelous are those concerning the gods and virtue, — 
 as if it were a matter of course, that the gods allot mis- 
 fortunes and evil life to many good men, and to the 
 opposite, an opposite fate. Pedlar-priests* also, and 
 prophets, frequenting the gates of the rich, persuade 
 them, that they possess a power granted them by the 
 gods, of expiating by sacrifices and incantations in the 
 midst of pleasures and feastings, whatever injustice has 
 
 * The ayvprai were a species of itinerant sacrificers, who went about 
 collecting money for the expense of sacrifices to certain gods or 
 goddesses, and contrived to eke out a subsistence by imposing on 
 the vulgar, whom they supplied also with nostrums, and cheated with 
 lying prophecies. 
 
70 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 been committed by any one, or his forefathers : and if he 
 wishes to blast a foe, he can at small expense injure the 
 just, as well as the unjust, by certain blandishments and 
 magic ties, persiiading the gods as they say, to succor 
 them : and to all these discourses they bring the poets 
 as witnesses; who, mentioning man's predisposition to 
 vice, say, — 
 
 How vice at once and easily we choose; 
 The way so smooth, its dwelling too so nigh; 
 Toil before virtue, thus forewill'd the gods — * 
 
 and a certain road, both long and steep; while others 
 make Homer witness as to the persuasive power of men 
 over the gods, inasmuch as that poet says, — 
 
 . . . the gods 
 In virtue thy superiors, are themselves 
 Yet placable; and if a mortal man 
 Offend by transgression of their laws. 
 Libation, incense, sacrifice, and prayers 
 In meekness offer'd turn their wrath away. 
 
 They bring forward, too, a crowd of books of Musseus 
 and Orpheus, the offspring of the Moon and the Muses, 
 as they say, in accordance with which they perform their 
 sacred rites, persuading not only private individuals, but 
 states likewise, that both absolutions and purgations from 
 iniquities are effected by sacrifices, and sportive pleasures, 
 — and this, too, for the benefit of the living as well as 
 the dead; which purgations they call mysteries, which 
 absolve us from the evils of another life, — whereas a 
 dreadful fate awaits those who perform no sacrifice. 
 
 Chap. VIII. As respects all such and so much as 
 has been said, dear Socrates, about virtue and vice, and 
 what reward both men and gods attach thereto, — what 
 do we suppose the souls of our youth do when they hear 
 them, such at least as are of good natural parts, and able 
 to rush, as it were, to all that is said, and thence infer 
 in what sort of character, and by what procedure one 
 may best pass through life ? He might probably say to 
 himself, according to Pindar: 
 
 * Hes, Op. et D. v. 285-288 ; and they are cited also in the Laws, 
 iv, p. 718, e. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 Shall I yon rampart, loftier far 
 Than justice, dare ascend, — or crooked fraud 
 
 Invite, to cheat the world, and thus 
 Myself live cased in guilt's base panoply? 
 
 For what is said happens to me, if I am just, though I 
 am not reputed so, they say it is no profit, but clearly, 
 mere trouble and punishment, — whereas the unjust man, 
 who has procured for himself the reputation of justice, 
 is said to have a divine life. Since then, as the sages 
 tell me, appearance both does violence to reality, and is 
 the arbiter of happiness, I ought surely to turn wholly 
 thereto, drawing round myself, as a covering and picture, 
 an image of virtue, but still dragging after me the cunning 
 and versatile fox of that very clever Archilochus.* Per- 
 haps, however, someone will say, — it is not easy for a 
 bad man always to practice his wickedness in secret. 
 Neither is any thing else easy (will we say) of important 
 matters: but still, would we be happy, thither we must 
 go where the tracks of reasoning lead us: for, with a 
 view to concealment, we shall form conspiracies and asso- 
 ciations; and there are masters of persuasion, who teach 
 a popular and forensic wisdom, — by which, partly through 
 persuasion and partly by force, we may escape punish- 
 ment after all our overreaching. However, it is not pos- 
 sible either to escape the notice of the gods, or to 
 overpower them. 
 
 Wherefore, if they have no existence, and have no care 
 about human affairs, neither need we care about con- 
 cealment; and as respects their existence 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 persuaded by sacrifices and pro- 
 pitiatory vows, and offerings, — both of which we are to 
 believe, or neither. If, however, we are to believe both, 
 we may do injustice, and offer sacrifice from the fruits of 
 unjust deeds. For if we be just, we shall escape punish- 
 
 * That is, apparently, virtue; but, in reality, mere cunning. 
 Archilochus has written more than one piece, in which the fox plays 
 the part of a cunning and deceitful personage. See Archil. Fragm. 
 ed. Gaisf. i. pp. 307, 308. 
 
72 
 
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 ment from the gods, and then deprive ourselves of the 
 gains of injustice: but if, on the other hand, we be unjust, 
 we shall make gain, and after transgressing and offending 
 shall appease them by prayers, and so escape punishment. 
 Nevertheless, we shall suffer in Hades the punishment of 
 our misdeeds here, either ourselves, or our children's 
 children. But the reasoner may say, Friend, the mys- 
 teries again can do much, and the gods who expiate, — as 
 say the mightiest states, and those children of the gods, — 
 the poets and prophets, who declare that these things 
 are so. 
 
 Chap. IX. For what reason, then, should we prefer 
 justice before the greatest injustice ? Should we acquire 
 it by any unfair pretenses, we shall, both with reference 
 to gods and men, fare according to our wishes both in life 
 and death, as we are told by the sayings both of the mul- 
 titude and the learned, too. From all that has been said, 
 then, Socrates, how shall a man contrive to acquire a will 
 for honoring justice, who has any power of mind or 
 wealth, or body, or birth, and not rather laugh at hear- 
 ing its praises ? Although, therefore, a man may be able 
 even to show what we have said to be false, and fully 
 knows that justice is best, he will, perhaps, greatly excuse 
 and not be angry with the unjust, because he knows, that 
 unless a man through a divine instinct abhor injustice, or 
 from knowledge abstain from it, — of all the rest not one 
 is willingly just, but either through cowardice, old age, or 
 some other weakness, condemns injustice, when unable to 
 to do it. That it is so, is plain; for the first of such 
 persons, who arri^-es at the power, is the first to commit 
 injustice, as far as he is able. 
 
 The reason of all this, again, is no other than that, from 
 whence all this discussion set out between my brother and 
 me and you, Socrates, because, among all of you, my 
 wonderful man, who call yourselves the eulogists of jus- 
 tice, from these ancient heroes downwards, of all whose 
 arguments are left to the men of the present time, no one 
 has ever yet condemned injustice, nor praised justice, 
 otherwise than as respects the repute, honors, and emolu- 
 ments arising therefrom ; while, as respects either of them 
 
THE REPUBLIC OP PLATO 
 
 73 
 
 in itself, and subsisting by its own power in the soul of 
 the possessor, and concealed both from gods and men, no 
 one has yet sufficiently investigated, either in poetry or 
 prose-writing, — how, namely, that the one is the greatest 
 of all the evils that the soul has within it, and justice the 
 greatest good: for had it from the beginning been thus 
 stated by you all, and you had so persuaded us from our 
 youth, we should not need to guard against injustice from 
 our fellows, but every man would be the best guardian 
 over himself, through fear, lest by doing injustice he 
 should dwell with the greatest evil. These things, Socra- 
 tes, and, perhaps also, yet more than these, Thrasymachus, 
 and others, too, might say respecting justice and injustice, 
 perverting their power, disagreeably as I conceive: but, 
 I, for I wish to conceal nothing from you, am very anxious 
 to hear your refutation, and so say the most I can by way 
 of opposition. Do not, therefore, merely show us in your 
 reasoning, that justice is better than injustice, but in what 
 way each by itself affects the mind, the one as in itself 
 evil, and the other as good; and put out of the question 
 mere opinion, as Glaucon recommended; for if you do not 
 set aside the true opinions on both sides, and add those 
 that are false, we will say you do not praise justice, but its 
 appearance, and do not condemn injustice, but its appear- 
 ance, — advising the unjust man to hide himself, and agree- 
 ing with Thrasymachus that justice is a foreign good 
 expedient for the more powerful, while injustice is what 
 is expedient and profitable for one's self, but inexpedient 
 for the inferior. Since, then, you have granted that justice 
 is one of those greatest goods, which on account of their 
 results are worthy to be possessed, but yet far more in 
 themselves for their own sake, — such as sight, hearing, 
 wisdom, health, and all other genuine goods, such as are 
 so in their own nature, and not merely in opinion; for 
 this very reason we may praise justice, as intrinsically, in 
 itself, profitable to its owner, and injustice harmful; but 
 as for rewards and repute, let others sing their praises. 
 I could endure, perhaps, that the rest of the world should 
 thus praise justice and condemn injustice, complimenting 
 and reviling the opinions and rewards that concern them ; 
 but certainly [ I could not endure] it in you (except you 
 
74 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 absolutely require it), because you have passed the whole 
 of life, engaged in no other inquiry but this. Show us, 
 then, in course of the discussion, not only that justice is 
 better than injustice, but also what either intrinsically by 
 itself makes its owner, whether concealed or not from gods 
 and men, the one being good, and the other evil. 
 
 Chap. X. On hearing this, pleased, as I always am, 
 with the disposition of Glaucon and Adimantus, I was 
 then, in particular, perfectly delighted, and replied: O 
 sons of that worthy sire [the Sophist] with good reason 
 does the lover of Glaucon thus begin his elegies [which 
 he made] on you, when you distinguished yourselves in 
 the battle of Megara. 
 
 Ariston's sons! of sire renown'd afar, 
 That race divine . . . 
 
 This, friends, seems well observed; for you must be 
 under some influence quite divine, if you are not per- 
 suaded that injustice is better than justice, when you can 
 thus speak in its defense. Still, methinks, you are not 
 really persuaded; and I reason from the rest of your be- 
 havior; because, according to your mode of talking, I 
 should certainly have disbelieved you: but the more I 
 trust you, the more I anl at a loss, as to the kind of 
 argument I should use. I know not, indeed, how I am 
 to defend it, — as I seem unable; and the proof of it is, 
 that, as respects what I thought I had clearly shown in 
 arguing with Thrasymachus, that justice is better than 
 injustice, you did not admit my proofs; nor, on the 
 other hand, have I any excuse for not defending it; be- 
 cause I fear it may be impious to abandon justice, and 
 see it accused when I am present, without defending it, 
 so long as I have breath and am able to speak. It is 
 best, then, to assist it in such a manner as I can. Here- 
 upon Glaucon and the rest entreated me by all means to 
 defend it, and not relinquish the discussion, but rather 
 investigate thoroughly the nature of each, and what the 
 truth is, as to their respective advantages. I then stated 
 what I thought, — that the inquiry we were attempting 
 was no trifling one, but one, as appears to me, suited for 
 
THE REPUBLIC OP PLATO 
 
 75 
 
 sharp-sighted persons. Since, then, said I, we are not 
 very expert, it seems proper to make such an investiga- 
 tion of it, as if a person should order persons not very 
 sharp-sighted to read small letters at a distance, and then 
 find out that the same letters are rather larger elsewhere, 
 and in a larger field; it would then appear desirable, 
 methinks, first to read these, and then examine the lesser, 
 whether they happen to be the same. By all means, said 
 Adimantus. But what analogy do you perceive, Socrates, 
 in the inquiry about justice? I will tell you, said I: 
 do we not say that justice affects an individual man and 
 an entire state also ? Certainly, replied he. Is not a state 
 a greater object than an individual ? Greater, said he. 
 Perhaps, then, justice will be more fully developed in 
 what is greater, and also more easily intelligible : we will 
 first, then, if you please, inquire what it is in states; and 
 then, we will in like manner examine it in the individual, 
 searching for the similitude of the greater in the idea of 
 the less. Yes, — you seem to me, said he, to speak rightly. 
 If, then, said I, we contemplate in argument the rise of 
 a state, shall we not also perceive the rise of justice and 
 injustice ? Perhaps so, said he. Well, then, if this be 
 the case, is there no ground for hoping that we shall 
 more easily find the object of our inquiry ? Just so. 
 Does it not seem, then, that we ought to try after suc- 
 cess ? for I imagine this is a work of no small impor- 
 tance. Consider then. We have considered, said Adi- 
 mantus, and do you the same. 
 
 Chap. XI. A state then, said I, takes its rise, methinks, 
 — because none of us individually happens to be self- 
 suflficient, but stands in need of many things; do you 
 think that there is any other origin of the settlement of 
 a state ? None, said he. Thus, then, one assisting one 
 person for the want of one thing, and another another 
 for the want of another, as we stand in need of many 
 things, we collect into one dwelling many companions and 
 assistants, and to this joint dwelling we give the name 
 of city ; do we not ? Certainly. One then imparts to 
 another, if he does impart anything, or receives in ex- 
 change, thinking it will be for his advantage ? Certainly, 
 
76 
 
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 Come then, said I, let us, for argument's sake, form a 
 city from the beginning; our necessity, as it seems, will 
 form it ? Of course. But the first and the greatest of 
 wants is the provision of food, in order that we may 
 subsist and live ? Assuredly. The second is of lodging, 
 the third of clothing, and the like ? Just so. But come, 
 said I, how will the city be able to make so great a pro 
 vision ? Shall not one be a husbandman, another a builder, 
 a third a weaver; and must we not add to them a shoe- 
 maker, or some one else of those that minister to our 
 bodily wants ? Certainly. The state then, that is most 
 in need, will consist of only four or five men ? It appears 
 so. What then ? must each of these contribute his work 
 for the whole in common ? — as, for instance, must the hus- 
 bandman, though only one, provide food for four, and 
 spend fourfold time and labor in providing food and 
 sharing it with others; or is he, without any care for 
 them, to prepare for himself alone the fourth part of 
 this food in the fourth part of the time, while of the 
 other three parts of his time, he employs one in the pro- 
 viding a house, another clothing, the other shoes, — 
 and not trouble himself to share with others, but give 
 his whole attention to his own affairs ? And Adimantus 
 said — Aye. but perhaps the former way, Socrates, is 
 easier than the latter. By Zeus, that is not amiss, said 
 I : for, while you are speaking, I am thinking that first 
 of all we are born not each perfectly alike to each, but 
 differing in disposition, — one fitted for doing one thing, 
 and another for another : does it not seem so to you ? 
 It does. What then ? Will a man do better, when, as 
 a single individual, he works in many arts, or only in 
 one ? When one works in one, said he. This, moreover, 
 is also plain, methinks; that if one miss the seasonable 
 time for any work, it is ruined ? Clearly. Aye, — for 
 the work, methinks, will not wait on the leisure of the 
 workman, but the workman must necessarily attend closely 
 on his work, not in the way of a by-job ? He must. 
 And hence more will be done, and better, and with greater 
 ease, when every one does but one thing, according to 
 his genius, at the proper time, and when at leisure from 
 all other pursuits. Quite so, said he. Surely, Adimantus, 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 77 
 
 we need more citizens than four for the provisions that 
 we mentioned: for the husbandman, it seems, will not 
 himself make his own plow, if it is to be good, nor yet a 
 spade or any other instruments of agriculture: neither, 
 again, will the builder, — for he, likewise, needs many 
 things; and in the same way, the weaver also and the 
 shoemaker: is it not so? True. Carpenters, then, and 
 smiths, and many other such workmen, by becoming mem- 
 bers of our little city, make it throng ? Certainly. Yet 
 it would be no very great matter, either, if we added to 
 them herdsmen also, and shepherds, and all other sorts 
 of graziers, — in order that both the husbandmen may 
 have oxen for plowing, and the builders by aid of the 
 husbandmen may have cattle for their carriages, and the 
 weavers also, and shoemakers, hides and wool. Yet it 
 would be no very small city, said he, that had all these. 
 Moreover, said I, it is all but impossible to settle the city 
 itself in such a place that it will not require imported 
 goods. Impossible. Surely, then, it will require others 
 in addition, to bring to it what it needs from other 
 cities. It will require them. And, moreover, if the 
 servant were to go empty, taking with him nothing that 
 they need from whom what they themselves require is 
 imported, he will return empty ; will he not ? I think so. 
 It is necessary for them, then, not only to produce what 
 is sufficient for themselves, but such and as many things 
 also, as are required by those whose services they require. 
 It ought. Otir city, then, certainly wants many more hus- 
 bandmen and other kinds of workmen. Aye, many more. 
 And all other servants besides, to import and export the 
 several articles ; and these are merchants, are they not ? 
 Yes. We shall want merchants then, as well ? Certainly. 
 And if the traffic is carried on by sea, it will want many 
 others besides, skilled in navigation. Many others, truly. 
 
 Chap. XII. What then in the city itself, how will 
 they exchange with one another what each has produced 
 for the sake of which, we have formed a city and estab- 
 lished a community ? It is plain, said he, that by selling 
 and buying [they will do so]. A market-place, therefore, 
 and an established coinage, as a symbol for the purposes 
 
78 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 of exchange, must spring up from hence. Certainly. If 
 then the husbandman, or any other workman, bring any 
 of his work to the market, but does not come at the same 
 time as those who want to make exchanges with him, 
 will he not, while sitting in the market, be unoccupied 
 at his trade ? By no means, said he ; for there are some, 
 who, observing this, devote themselves to this service and, 
 in well-regulated cities, they are chiefly such, as are weakest 
 in body and unfit for any other work ; these then should 
 attend about the market, to give money in exchange for 
 what people wish to sell, and goods in exchange for 
 money to such as want to buy. It is this want, said I, 
 that provides our city with a race of shopkeepers ; for do we 
 not call those shopkeepers, who sit in the market, and serve 
 both in selling and buying ; whereas such as travel to other 
 cities we call merchants ? Certainly. There are certain other 
 servants still, I conceive, who, though as regards intellectual 
 power unworthy to be taken into society, yet possess bodily 
 strength adequate for labor ; and these selling the use of their 
 strength, and calling the reward of it higher, are called, I 
 think, hired laborers; are they not ? Just so. Hired 
 laborers then, as it seems, form the complement of a 
 city. Aye, it seems so. Has our city then, Adimantus, 
 so increased on us already, as to be complete ? Perhaps. 
 Where, then, will justice and injustice be placed in it; 
 and, in which of the matters that we have considered is 
 it engendered ? I do not know, said he, Socrates, unless 
 it be somehow in a certain use of these very things with 
 one another. Perhaps, said I, you are right: but yet we 
 must consider the point, and not avoid it. First, then, 
 let us consider how the persons thus procured are to be 
 supported. In making bread and wine, and clothes, and 
 shoes, and building houses, will they not work in summer, 
 chiefly without clothes and shoes, but in winter, sufficiently 
 clad and shod ? and will they be supported partly on barley 
 made into meal, and partly on wheat made into loaves, 
 partly boiled and partly toasted, with fine loaves and 
 cakes placed over a fire of stubble or dried leaves, and 
 will they feast, they and their children, resting on couches 
 strewed with smilax and myrtle leaves, — drinking wine, 
 crowned, and singing to the gods, pleasantly living 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 79 
 
 together, begetting- children not bej ond their means, and 
 cautiously guarding against poverty or war ? 
 
 Chap. XIIL Glaucon then, in answer, said: You make 
 the men feast, it seems, without esculents.* You say 
 true, said I: I forgot that they were to have esculents 
 too; and they will clearly have salt, and olives, and 
 cheese, and will boil bulbous roots, and potherbs, such 
 as are cooked in the fields: and we will set before them 
 desserts of figs, peas, and beans; and they will toast at 
 the fire myrtleberries and beechnuts, drinking in mod- 
 eration; and thus passing their life in peace healthily, 
 they will die in old age, probably, and leave a similar 
 mode of life to their children. Socrates, said he, if you 
 had been making a city of hogs, on what else but these 
 would you have fed them ? But what ought we to do 
 then, Glaucon ? said I. What is usual, said he : let them 
 lie down on beds, I think, unless they are to live miser- 
 ably, and take their meals from tables, and have escu- 
 lents, as the present men have, and desserts. Be it so, 
 said I: I understand. We are considering, it seems, 
 not only how a city, but how a luxurious city may exist ; 
 and perhaps it is not amiss: for, in considering one of 
 this character, we may probably see how justice and 
 injustice arise in cities. But the true city, which we 
 have lately described, seems to me just like a person 
 that is in health; but if you are desirous that we should 
 inspect, also, a city that is inflated, there can be no objec- 
 tion to it : for these things [that concern a merely simple 
 mode of life] will not of course suffice for some, nor will 
 this sort of life satisfy them; but there must be beds, 
 tables, and all other articles of furniture, — seasonings, 
 unguents, and perfumes, mistresses, confections, and 
 many miscellaneous articles of this description. And 
 especially as to what we before mentioned, we must no 
 longer consider these as alone necessary, — namely, houses, 
 and clothes, and shoes; but we must set in operation 
 
 * The Greek &->pov is not to be translated, except by a periphrasis. 
 It strictly means boiled meat, as opposed to bread, — but more gener- 
 ally, as here, anything eaten with bread or other food to give it flavor 
 and relish. 
 
8o 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 painting too, and all the refined arts, and must possess 
 gold and ivory, and all things of that kind ; must we not ? 
 Yes, said he. 
 
 Chap. XIV. Must we not, then, increase the size of 
 our city ? For that healthy one is no longer sufficient, 
 but already full of repletion and abundance of such things 
 as are in nowise requisite for cities, — such as all kinds of 
 sportsmen, and imitative artists, rnany of whom imitate in 
 figures and colors, and many in music: poets, too, and 
 their assistants, rhapsodists, actors, dancers, contractors, 
 and manufacturers of all sorts of trinkets, especially of 
 those belonging to female attire ; and in that case, too, 
 we shall require many more servants ; and think you not 
 they will require teachers, nurses, tutors, hair-dressers, 
 barbers, confectioners too, and cooks ? Aye, and further 
 still, we shall want swine-herds. Of these, indeed, there 
 were none in the other state (for there needed none) ; but 
 in this we shall need these also; and shall require, too, 
 many other sorts of cattle, if any one eats them ; shall we 
 not ? Of course. Shall we not, then, in this mode of life, 
 require physicians far more than in the former one ? 
 Much more. 
 
 And the land, perhaps, which at first sufficed to support 
 the inhabitants, will instead of being sufficient, become 
 too little ; or how shall we say ? Just so, said he. Must 
 we not then cut off a part from the neighboring country, 
 if we would have enough for arable and pasture, and 
 they in turn from ours, if they on their part devote them- 
 selves to the accumulation of boundless wealth, going 
 beyond the limits of mere necessity? 
 
 We must, Socrates, said he. Shall we go to war after- 
 wards, Glaucon, or how shall we do ? Certainly, said he. 
 But let us not yet, said I, consider the question, whether 
 war produces harm or good, — but thus much only, that we 
 have found the origin of war, and whence especially arise 
 mischiefs to cities, both privately and publicly. Aye, in- 
 deed. We shall require, then, friend, a still larger city, — 
 not for a small, but for a large army, which may go out 
 and fight with those who assail it, for their whole sub- 
 stance and everything that we have now mentioned. What, 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 8i 
 
 said he, are not these sufficient to fight? No, said 1; not 
 if you and all of us were rightly agreed, when we formed 
 our state: and we agreed, if you remember, that it was 
 impossible for a single person to practice many arts well. 
 True, said he. What then, said I, do not struggles in war 
 seem to require art ? Very much so, said he. Ought we, 
 then, to take more care of the shoemaking- art than that of 
 warfare ? By no means. But we charged the shoemaker 
 not to attempt to be at the same time a husbandman, or a 
 weaver, or a builder, in order that the work of shoemaking 
 might be well done ; and in like manner we allotted to 
 each of the others a single calling, to which each was 
 adapted by nature, and at which, each by abstaining from 
 the rest, and applying to it the whole of his life, and not 
 neglecting the proper opportunities, he would be likely to 
 work well; but is it not of the greatest importance that 
 what concerns war should be well performed ? or is it so 
 easy that one who is a husbandman may also be a soldier, 
 and a shoemaker, and one who practices any other art, — 
 while no one could become a skillful chess or dice player, 
 who does not study it from childhood, but makes it a mere 
 by-work ? and can a person who takes a spear or other 
 war-like arms and instruments, instantly become an expert 
 combatant in an armed encounter or aught else relating to 
 war ; while, as respects the tools of any other art whatever, 
 one cannot become a good artist, or even a wrestler to any 
 useful extent, without having correct knowledge and be- 
 stowing sufficient attention ? In that case, such tools, said 
 he, would truly be very valuable. 
 
 Chap. XV. — Therefore, said I, by how much more im- 
 portant is the work of the state-guardians, by so much 
 will it require the greatest leisure from other pursuits, 
 and likewise the greatest art and study! I really think 
 so, replied he. And will it not also require natural tal- 
 ents suited to this particular profession ? Of course. I 
 think, then, we should make it our special business, if 
 possible, to choose what men and what talents are suited 
 for the guardianship of a state. Aye, our special business. 
 By Zeus, said I, in that case we have undertaken no 
 trifling business; but, still we must not despair, as long, 
 
82 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 at least, as we have any ability. Of course not, said he. 
 Think you, then, said I, that the genius of a high-bred 
 whelp at all differs as respects guardianship, from that 
 of a high-bred youth ? What do you mean ? For instance, 
 must not each of them be acute in perception, swift in 
 pursuing what he perceives, and strong likewise, if he 
 wants, when he has taken, to overcome it ? Of all these 
 there is great need, said he. And surely he must be 
 brave also, if he is to fight well. Of course. But is he 
 likely to be brave, who has not a high spirit; whether 
 horse or dog, or any other animal ? Have you not ob- 
 served how irresistible and invincible is anger, and, 
 when it is present, that every soul is fearless of every- 
 thing and indomitable ? I have. It is plain, then, what 
 species of guardian we ought to have, as respects the 
 body ? Yes. And with reference to his soul, moreover, 
 that he should be spirited. That is clear, also. How, 
 then, said I, Glaucon, can they be otherwise than savage 
 toward each other and the other citizens, when of such 
 a temper ? By Zeus, said he, not easily. Still it is neces- 
 sary, that towards their friends they should be mild, but 
 towards their enemies fierce: for otherwise they would 
 not wait for others to destroy them, but rather be be- 
 forehand with them in doing it. True, said he. What 
 shall we do, then, said I; whence shall we find a dispo- 
 sition at the same time mild and magnanimous ? for 
 the mild nature is surely opposed to the high-spirited ? 
 It appears so. Nevertheless, if he be deprived of either 
 of these, he cannot be a good guardian; but this seems 
 to be impossible: and thus it turns out that it is im- 
 possible there should be a good guardian. It seems so, 
 said he. Then I, being at a loss, and considering what 
 had passed, said: We very justly hesitate, my friend, 
 for we have departed from the image that we first es- 
 tablished. How say you ? Did we not observe that there 
 are such kinds of tempers as we imagined did not exist, 
 having these opposite qualities ? Where ? One may see 
 it also in other animals, and not a little in that, to which 
 we compared our guardian; for you know it is the nat- 
 ural temper of generous dogs to be as gentle as possible 
 towards their intimates and their acquaintances, but the 
 
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 83 
 
 reverse to those whom they know not. Aye, — I know 
 it. This, then, said I, is quite possible; and we do not 
 unnaturally require our guardian to be so. It seems not. 
 
 Chap. XVL Are you, further, of opinion, that he who 
 is to be our guardian should, besides being spirited, have 
 a philosophic nature also ? How ? said he : for I do not 
 understand. This, too, said I, you will observe in dogs, 
 what is also well worthy of admiration in the brute. What ? 
 He is angry at every unknown person that he sees, though 
 he has never suffered ill from him before; but one that 
 is known he fawns upon, even though he may never have 
 received any good from him. Did you never wonder at 
 this ? I never, said he, thought of it before ; but he does 
 so, it is clear. Moreover, this affection of his nature 
 appears elegant at least, and truly philosophic. In what 
 respect ? Because, said I, it distinguishes a friendly and 
 unfriendly aspect by nothing else but this, — that it knows 
 the one, but not the other: and how can we refuse to 
 consider that as the love of learning, which defines the 
 friendly and the foreign by intelligence and ignorance ? 
 By no means, said he: it cannot be otherwise. Never- 
 theless, 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 [the principle] that in man, too, if any 
 one be mild towards his intimates and acquaintances, he 
 must by nature be a philosopher and a lover of learning ? 
 Let us so lay it down, said he. 
 
 He, then, who intends to be a good and worthy state- 
 guardian, should be by nature a philosopher, spirited, 
 swift, and strong. By all means, said he. Let him, then, be 
 just such as this, said I. In what manner, then, shall they 
 be trained and instructed ? and will the consideration of 
 this at all aid us in perceiving the object, for the sake of 
 which we are considering all these things; that is to say, 
 how justice and injustice arise in a state ? that we may 
 not omit any necessary part of our argument, or wade 
 through what is superfluous ? Then, said Glaucon's 
 brother: I, for my part, quite expect that this inquiry 
 will conduce to this end. By Zeus, said I, friend Adiman- 
 tus, we must not dismiss it ; even though it be somewhat 
 
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 too long-. No, truly. Come, then, let us, as if we were 
 
 talking- in the way of fable, and at our leisure, give some 
 ideal training to these men. It is right to do so. 
 
 Chap. XVII. What, then, is the education ? Is it diffi- 
 cult to discover a better than has been discovered for a 
 long time ? that is, surely, gymnastics for the body, and 
 music for the mind ? It is. Must we not first, then, 
 begin by teaching music, rather than gymnastics ? Of 
 course. When you say music, you mean arguments, do 
 you not ? I do. But of arguments there are two kinds, 
 — the one true, the other false. Yes. And they must 
 be instructed in both, — but first in the false. I do not 
 understand, said he, what you mean. Know you not, said 
 I, that first of all we tell children fables; and this 
 [surely], to speak generally, is falsehood; though there 
 is some truth in it; but we employ fables with children 
 before gymnastic exercises. We do. This was what I 
 meant, then, by saying that we must begin music before 
 gymnastics. Right, said he. And know you not, that the 
 beginning of every work is most important, especially to 
 any one young and tender; because then that particu- 
 lar impression is most easily instilled and formed, which 
 any one may wish to imprint on each individual. En- 
 tirely so. Shall we then let children hear any kind of 
 fables composed by any kind of persons, and receive 
 into their minds opinions in a great measure contrar}' to 
 those which we think they should have when they are 
 grown up ? We should by no means allow it. First of 
 all, then, as it seems, we must exercise control over the 
 fable-makers; and whatever beautiful fable they may 
 invent, we should select, and what is not so, we should 
 reject: and we are to prevail on nurses and mothers to 
 repeat to the children such fables as are selected, and fash- 
 ion their minds by fables, much more than their bodies by 
 their hands. But very many of those that they now tell 
 them must be cast aside. What, for instance, said he ? In 
 the more important fables, said I, we shall see the lesser 
 likewise : for the fashion of them must be the same ; and 
 both the greater and the less must have the same kind of 
 influence : do not you think so ? I do. said he : but I do not 
 
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 85 
 
 at all understand which of them you call the greater. 
 Those, said I, which both Hesiod and Homer told 
 us, and the other poets also: for they composed and 
 related false fables for mankind, and do still relate 
 them. What class, said he, do you mean; and what 
 do you blame in them ? That, said I, which ought 
 first and most of all to be blamed, — especially when 
 one does not falsify well. What is that ? When a poet, in 
 his composition, exhibits bad representations of the nature 
 of gods and heroes, — just as a painter draws a picture not at 
 all resembling what he was intending to paint. Yes, it is 
 quite right, said he, that such as these should be blamed: 
 but how do we say, and in what respect ? First of all, 
 said I, with reference to that greatest falsehood, in matters 
 of grave importance too, in saying which he did not falsify 
 well, that Uranus made what Hesiod says he did ; and then 
 again how Kronos punished him, and what Kronos did, 
 and suffered from his son : for though these things were 
 true, yet I think they should not be so readily told to the 
 unwise and the young, but rather concealed from them; 
 and were there need to tell them, they should be heard in 
 secrecy, by as few as possible, after sacrificing not a 
 [valueless] hog,* but some great and wonderful sacrifice, 
 in order that it may fall to the lot of the fewest possible to 
 hear them. These fables, said he, are indeed injurious. 
 Neither are they to be told, Adimantus, said I, in our 
 state : nor should it be said in the hearing of a youth, 
 that he who commits the most extreme injustice, or that 
 he who punishes in every possible way a father who com- 
 mits injustice, does nothing strange, but only does the 
 same as the first and the greatest of the gods. No truly, said 
 he, nor do such things as these seem to me proper to be 
 said. Neither, generally, 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, it be the duty 
 of those who are to guard the state to esteem it most 
 
 * Allusion is here made to the mysteries of Eleusis, in which all 
 about to be initiated sacrificed a hog, — a circumstance referred to by 
 Aristophanes, Pax, v. 373-5; Acharn. vv. 747 and 764. The verb 
 QKovaai refers to the cabalistic oaths and secrets that were listened to 
 during the process of initiation. 
 
86 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 shameful to hate each other on slight grounds. As little 
 ought we to describe in fables, and with ornamental aids, 
 the battles of the giants, and other many and various feuds, 
 both of gods and heroes, with their own kindred and re- 
 lations: but if we would persuade them that never at all 
 should one citizen hate another, and that it is not holy, 
 such things as these are rather to be told them in early 
 childhood, by the old men and women and those well ad- 
 vanced in life ; and the poets should be obliged to com- 
 pose consistently with these views. And [the fables of] 
 Hera fettered by her son, and Hephaestus hurled from 
 heaven by his father for going to assist his mother when 
 beaten, and all those battles of the gods which Homer has 
 composed, we must not admit into our state; either in 
 allegory or without allegory; for young persons are not 
 able to judge what is allegory and what is not, but what- 
 ever opinions they receive at such an age are wont to be 
 obliterated with difficulty, and immovable. Hence, one 
 would think, we should of all things endeavor, that what 
 they first hear be composed in the best manner for excit- 
 ing them to virtue. 
 
 Chap. XVIII. There is reason for it, said he: but, 
 if any one should ask us about these, what they are, and 
 what kind of fables, which should we name ? Adimantus, 
 I replied, you and I are not poets at present, but founders 
 of a city, and it is the founder's business to know the 
 models on which the poets are to compose their fables, 
 contrary to which they are not to be tolerated; but it is 
 not our province to make fables for them. Right, said 
 he. But as to this very thing, — namely, the models to 
 be taken in speaking about the gods, what must they 
 be ? Some such as these, said I : God is always to be 
 represented such as he is, whether we represent him in 
 epic, in song, or in tragedy. Necessarily so. Is not God 
 essentially good, and is he not to be described as such ? 
 Without doubt. But nothing that is good is hurtful, is 
 it ? I do not think so. Does then what is not hurtful 
 ever hurt ? By no means. Does that, which hurts not, 
 do any evil ? Nor this either. And what does no evil 
 cannot be the cause of any evil ? Of course not. But 
 
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 87 
 
 what? — good is beneficial. Yes. It is, therefore, the 
 cause of prosperity ? Yes. Good, therefore, is not the 
 cause of all things, but the cause of those things only 
 which are in a right state — not the cause of those things 
 which are in a wrong state. 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 only the cause of a few 
 things to men, but of many things not the cause ; for our 
 blessings are much fewer than our troubles : and no other 
 must be assigned as the cause of our blessings; whereas 
 of our troiibles we must seek some other causes, and not 
 God. You seem to me, said he, to speak most truly. 
 We must not admit, then, said I, that error of Homer 
 or any other poet who foolishly errs with respect to the 
 gods, and says how — 
 
 Fast by the threshold of Jove's courts are placed 
 Two casks ; one stored with evil, one with good, 
 From which the God dispenses as he wills. 
 For whom the glorious, Thund'rer mingles both, 
 He leads a life chequer'd with good and ill 
 Alternate ; but to whom he gives unmix'd 
 The bitter cup, he makes that man a curse, 
 His name becomes a by-word of reproach. 
 His strength is hunger- bitten, and he walks 
 The blessed earth unblest, go where he may, — 
 
 Nor, that Zeus — 
 
 Grants mortal man both happiness and woe. 
 
 Chap. XIX. As regards the violation of oaths and 
 treaties which Pandarus effected, if any should say it W3S 
 done by the agency of Athena and Zeus, we cannot ap- 
 prove; neither [if he were to relate] the dissension 
 among the gods, and the judgment by Themis and Zeus ; 
 nor yet must we suffer the youth to hear what -^schylus 
 says; how. 
 
 Forthwith to mortals God invents a cause, * 
 Whene'er he wills their dwellings to destroy; 
 
 and, besides, if any one is making poetical compositions, 
 in which are these iambics, the sufferings of Niobe, of 
 the Pelopides, or the Trojans, or others of a like nature, 
 we must either not suffer him to say, that they are the 
 
88 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 works of God, — or, if of God, we must discover that 
 principle of action which we now require, and say, that 
 God did what was just and good, and that they were bene- 
 fited by being chastised ; and we must not let a poet say, 
 that those are miserable who are punished, and that it is 
 God who does these things. If they say, however, that 
 the wicked, as being miserable, need correction, and that, 
 in being punished, they are benefited by God, we may suf- 
 fer the assertion. To say, however, that God, who is good, 
 is the cause of ill to any one, this we must by all means 
 oppose, and suffer no one to say so in our state; if at 
 any rate we wish it well governed; neither must we 
 allow any one, young or old, to hear such things told in 
 fable, either in verse or prose, — as their relation is neither 
 consistent with holiness, nor profitable to us, nor consistent 
 with themselves. 
 
 I vote along with you, said he, as respects this law, — 
 for it quite pleases me. This, then, said I, is probably 
 one of the laws and models as respects the gods, by 
 which it will be necessary for those who speak to speak 
 and for those who compose to compose, that God is not 
 the cause of all things, but of good. Yes, said he, of 
 course. But what as to this second law ? Think you 
 that God is a sorcerer, and appears designedly, at differ- 
 ent times, in different shapes, — sometimes like himself, — 
 and, at other times, changing his form into many shapes, — • 
 sometimes deceiving us and making us conceive false 
 opinions of him; or, that he is simple, and that he by 
 no means quits his proper form ? I cannot, now, at least, 
 say so, replied he. But what as to this; if anything be 
 changed from its proper form, must it not be necessarily 
 changed by itself, or by another ? Undoubtedly. Are 
 not those things which are in the best state, changed and 
 moved least of all other by another; as the body, by 
 meats and drinks, and labors, and all kinds of plants 
 by droughts and winds, and such like accidents ? Is not 
 the most healthy and vigorous least of all changed ? 
 Surely. And as to the soul itself, will not external ac- 
 cidents least of all disorder and change the bravest and 
 wisest ? Yes. And surely all are mantifactured vessels, 
 and buildings, and vestments, such as are properly made 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 89 
 
 and in a right state, are according to the same reasoning 
 least of all changed by time, or other accidents ? Such 
 is the case. Everything, then, which is in a good state, 
 either by nature or art, or both, receives the smallest 
 change from another. It seems so. But God, and all 
 that belongs to divinity, are in the best state ? Of course. 
 In this way, then, God should least of all have many 
 shapes ? Least of all, truly. 
 
 Chap. XX. Again, — should he change and alter him- 
 self ? Clearly so, said he, if he be changed at all. 
 Does he then change himself to what is better, and 
 fairer, or to the worse, and more deformed ? To the 
 worse, surely, replied he, — if he be changed at all; for 
 we can never say, that God is at all deficient in beauty 
 or excellence. You speak most correctly, said I. And 
 this being so, think you, Adimantus, that any one, 
 either of gods or men, would willingly make himself 
 any way worse ? Impossible said he. It is impossible, 
 then, said I, for a god to desire to change himself; but, 
 as it seems, each being most beautiful and excellent, 
 continues always to the utmost of his power invariably 
 in his ovm form. This seems a necessary conclusion, 
 said he. Well, then, said I, most excellent Adimantus, let 
 not any of the poets tell us, how 
 
 . . . in similitude of strangers oft 
 The gods, who can with ease all shapes assume, 
 Repair to populous cities ... 
 
 Neither let any one belie Proteus and Thetis, nor intro- 
 duce Hera in tragedies or other poems, as having trans- 
 formed herself into a priestess, collecting for 
 
 Those life-sustaining sons 
 
 Of Inachus, the Argive streams ; 
 
 nor let them tell us many other such falsehoods: nor 
 again, let mothers, persuaded by them, terrify their 
 children, telling the stories wrong, — as, that certain 
 gods wander by night. 
 
 Resembling various guests, in various forms, 
 
 lest they should, at one and the same time, blaspheme 
 against the gods, and make their children cowards. 
 
 1 
 
90 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 Surely not, said he. But do the gods, said I, who in 
 themselves never change, still make us imagine that they 
 appear in various forms, deceiving us, and playing the 
 sorcerer ? Perhaps they do, said he. What said I ; 
 can a god wish to deceive, — holding up a mere phantom, 
 either in word or deed ? I know not, said he. Know 
 you not, said I, that a real falsehood (if we be allowed 
 to say so), both all the gods and men abhor? How mean 
 you ? replied he. Thus, said I : that to be deceived in 
 the most excellent part of oneself, and that about one's 
 highest interests, is what no one wishes of his own ac- 
 cord; but of all things, every one is most afraid of this 
 happening to him. Even yet, said he, I do not under- 
 stand you. Because, said I, you think I am saying some- 
 thing awful: but I am saying, that for the soul to be 
 deceived with respect to realities, and to be so deceived 
 and ignorant, and in that to have obtained and to maintain 
 a falsehood, is what every one would least of all choose; 
 and would most hate it in the soul. Most especially, said 
 he. But this, as I was now saying, might very correctly 
 be termed a real falsehood — ignorance in the soul of the 
 deceived person ; for imitation in words is a kind of image 
 of the affection the soul feels, and springs up afterwards, 
 and is not altogether a pure falsehood : is it not so ? 
 Assuredly. 
 
 Chap. XXI. But a real falsehood is not only hated by 
 the gods, but also by men. It appears so to me. But 
 what as to a falsehood in words ? when is it of such ser- 
 vice, so as not to deserve hatred ? Is it not when em- 
 ployed towards enemies, and some even of those called 
 friends, — when during madness, or other folly, they at- 
 tempt to do some mischief; in that case, is it not use- 
 ful for dissuasion as a drug; and in the fables we just 
 mentioned, because we know not how the truth stands 
 about ancient things, do we not forge a falsehood resem- 
 bling the truth as much as possible, and so make it use- 
 ful ? It certainly is so, said he. In which of these cases, 
 then, is a falsehood useful to God ? Does he invent a 
 falsehood resembling the truth, because he is ignorant of 
 ancient things ? That were ridiculous, said he. In God, 
 then, there is not a lying poet ? I think not. But would 
 
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 9' 
 
 he invent a falsehood through fear of his enemies ? Far 
 from it. Or on account of the folly or madness of his 
 friends ? No, said he, none of the foolish and mad are 
 beloved of God. There is no occasion at all, then, for a 
 god to invent a falsehood ? None. The divine and god- 
 like nature, then, is altogether free from falsehood ? 
 Entirely so, said he. God, then, is quite simple and true, 
 both in word and deed; neither is he changed himself, 
 nor does he deceive others — neither by visions, nor dis- 
 course, nor the pomp of signs, neither when we are 
 awake nor when we sleep ? So it appears to me, said he, 
 just as you say. You agree then, said I, that this shall 
 be the second principle which we are to lay down both 
 in speaking and composing concerning the gods, — namely, 
 that they are neither sorcerers and change themselves, 
 nor mislead us by falsehoods, either in word or deed ? 
 I agree. While, then, we commend many other things 
 in Homer, this we shall not commend, — namely, the 
 dream sent by Jupiter to Agamemnon; nor that in 
 .^schylus, when he makes Thetis say that Apollo had 
 sung at her marriage, that 
 
 . . • her happy lot should be 
 
 To bear an offspring fair, from ailment free, 
 
 And blest with lengthen'd days; and then the God, 
 
 Unfolding all, with pseans high proclaim'd 
 
 Thy heaven-blest fortunes, welcome to my soul 
 
 I hoped that all was true that Phoebus sang 
 
 So sweetly tuned with high prophetic art; 
 
 But he who at my nuptials joy foretold, 
 
 The same is he, who now hath slain my child. 
 
 When any one alleges such things as these about the gods, 
 we must show disapproval, and not grant them the privi- 
 lege of a chorus; neither should we suffer teachers to 
 employ them in the training of youth, — if at least our 
 guardians are to be pious and divine men, as far as man 
 can be. As to all these models, I entirely agree with 
 you, said he, and I should adopt them as laws. 
 
BOOK III. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 In the THIRD BOOK he continues to dilate on music and gymnastics, and 
 then proceeds to treat of the talents, habits, and education suitable 
 for the inferior magistrates of a state. Lastly, from the interpretation 
 of a certain Phoenician fable, he demonstrates the need of a commu- 
 nity and general harmony between citizens, as being truly brethren 
 and members of the same family. It is quite necessary, however, 
 that there should be a distinct and well-ordered evra^ia, because some 
 are capable of being xp^'^o^t others only apyvpoc, and so on, accord- 
 ing to caste, talent, and conduct, all together composing the state ; 
 and lastly, he expresses disapprobation at the great weight given to 
 the sayings of poets whom accordingly he wishes to be excluded from 
 his ideal republic, though he willingly accords them honor on account 
 of their great learning. 
 
 Chap. I. Concerning the gods, then, said I, such 
 things as these are, it seems, to be both heard, and not 
 heard, from childhood upwards, by those who will honor 
 the gods and parents, and not lightly esteem mutual 
 friendship. Aye, — and methinks, said he, these things 
 are rightly so understood. But what then ? If men are 
 to be brave, must not these things be told them, and 
 such others likewise, as may make them least of all 
 afraid of death; or, think you, that any one can ever be 
 brave, who has this fear within him ? Not I, truly, said 
 he. But what ? think you any one can be free from the 
 fear of death, while he conceives that there is Hades — 
 and a dreadful place, too, — and that in battles he will 
 choose death in preference to defeat and slavery ? Surely 
 not. 
 
 We ought then, it seems, to take the command, also, 
 of those who undertake to discourse about these fables, 
 and entreat them not so sweepingly to abuse what is in 
 Hades, but rather to praise it; since they neither speak 
 what is true nor what is expedient for those who mean 
 (92) 
 
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 93 
 
 to be soldiers. We ought indeed, said he. Beginning 
 then, said I, at this verse, we will omit all such as 
 these : 
 
 I had rather live 
 The servile hind for hire, and eat the bread 
 Of some man scantily, himself sustained, 
 Than sovereign empire hold o'er all the shades; 
 
 And this — 
 
 Lest Neptune o'er his head 
 Shattering the vaulted earth, should wide disclose 
 To mortal and immortal eyes his realm 
 Terrible, squalid, to the gods themselves 
 A dreaded spectacle ; 
 
 And — 
 
 Oh, then, ye gods! there doubtless are below, 
 The soul and semblance both, but empty forms ; 
 
 And — 
 
 He's wise alone, the rest are flutt'ring shades ; 
 
 And — 
 
 Down into Hades from his limbs dismiss'd 
 His spirit fled sorrowful, of youth's prime 
 And vigorous manhood suddenly bereft; 
 
 And — 
 
 . . . His soul, like smoke, down to the shades 
 Fled howling . . . 
 
 And — 
 
 As when the bats within some hallow'd cave 
 Flit screaming all around ; for if but one 
 Fall from the rock, the rest all follow him ; 
 In such connection mutual they adhere ; 
 So. . . . the ghosts 
 
 Troop'd downward, gibbering all the dreary way. 
 
 As to these and all such like passages, we must request 
 Homer and the other poets not to be offended at our 
 erasing them, — not as unpoetical and displeasing to the 
 ears of the multitude; for the more poetical they are, 
 the less they should be listened to by children, or men 
 either, who would be free, and fear slavery more than 
 death. Aye, by all means. 
 
 Chap. IL Further, are not all dreadful and frightful 
 titles also, about these things, to be rejected: Cocytus 
 
94 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 and Styx, the infernals, the life-lorn, and many other 
 appellations of this character, such as make all hearers 
 shudder ? and perhaps they may well serve some other 
 purpose ; but we fear for our guardians, lest by such ter- 
 ror they be made more effeminate and soft than is fitting. 
 We are in the right too, to be afraid of that, said he. 
 Are these then to be suppressed ? Yes. And must they 
 speak, then, and compose on a contrary model to these ? 
 Plainly so. And are we likewise to suppress the wailings 
 and lamentations of illustrious men ? We must, said he, if 
 we do the former. Consider then, said I, whether we shall 
 suppress them rightly or not, — and do we say, that the 
 virtuous man to another virtuous man — whose friend he 
 is — deems death dreadful ? We do. He would not then, 
 at any rate, lament over him, as if he had suffered some- 
 thing dreadful ? No, indeed. And we say this likewise, 
 that such an one is most of all self-sustained as regards 
 living happily, and distinctively above all others, least 
 in need of foreign aid. True, said he. To him, then, 
 it is least dreadful to be deprived of a son, a brother, or 
 property, or other like things ? Aye, least of all, so. 
 Least of all, then will he lament, but rather endure with 
 the utmost meekness whatever trouble befall him ? Cer- 
 tainly. We should be right then in suppressing the lamen- 
 tations of famous men, and should assign them to women, 
 (and among these even not to the better sort), and to such 
 men as are cowards; in order that, as regards those whom 
 we propose to educate for the guardianship of the country, 
 they may disdain to act thus. Right, said he. Again, 
 then, we will entreat Homer and the rest of the poets 
 not to say in their compositions about Achilles, the sop^ 
 of a goddess, that 
 
 Now on his side he lay, now lay supine, 
 
 Now prone; then starting from his couch he roam'd 
 
 Forlorn the beach . . . 
 
 Nor how — 
 
 . . . grasping with both hands the ashes, 
 Down he pour'd them burning on his head . . . 
 
 Nor the rest of his lamentation and wailing, — of what- 
 ever kind and quantity he made them; nor Priam, near 
 as he was to the gods, who — 
 
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 9S 
 
 . . . to all — kneel'd 
 
 In turn, then roll'd himself in dust, and each 
 By name solicited to give him way. 
 
 Still much more must we entreat them not to represent 
 the gods as bewailing, and saying, 
 
 Ah me, forlorn ! ah me, parent in vain 
 Of an illustrious birth. 
 
 And if they are not thus to introduce the gods, far less 
 should they dare thus unbecomingly to represent the 
 greatest of those gods: 
 
 Ah ! I behold a warrior dear to me, 
 
 Around the walls of Ilium driven, and grieve 
 
 For Hector, — 
 
 And again, — 
 
 Alas, he falls! my most beloved of men, 
 Sarpedon, vanquished by Patroclus, falls: 
 So will the Fates! 
 
 Chap. III. Supposing then, friend Adimantus, our 
 youths should seriously hear such things as these, and not 
 ridicule them as spoken unworthily,— hardly any one 
 would think it unworthy of himself as a man, or reprove 
 himself [for it], if he should chance either to say or do 
 anything of the kind, — but would rather, without shame 
 or endurance, sing many lamentations and moanings over 
 trifling sufferings. You speak most truly, replied he. 
 But they must not, — as our argument has just evinced; 
 which we must believe, till some one persuades us by some 
 better. They must not, of course. Neither ought we, 
 moreover, to be over fond of laughing: for commonly 
 where a man gives himself to violent laughter, such a 
 disposition requires a violent change. I think so, said he. 
 Neither, if any one should represent worthy men as over- 
 come by laughter, should we allow it, much less if [he 
 thus represent] the gods. Much, indeed, said he. Neither, 
 then, ought we to receive such statements as these of 
 Homer concerning the gods : 
 
 Heaven rang with laughter inextinguishable — 
 Peal after peal, such pleasure all conceived 
 At sight of Vulcan in his new employ.* 
 
 * Namely, as cupbearer to the gods. — II. i. v. 599. 
 
06 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 This cannot be admitted, according to your reasoning. 
 If you please to call it my reasoning, said he, — this, 
 indeed, cannot be admitted. Besides this, however, the 
 truth must be held of great importance: for if we 
 just now argued rightly, and falsehood be. really of no 
 service to the gods, but useful to men, in the form of 
 a drug, it is plain that such a thing should be trusted 
 only to physicians, but not meddled with by private 
 persons. Quite plain, said he. To the governors of the 
 state, then, if to any, it especially belongs to speak 
 falsely either about enemies or citizens, for the good of 
 the state; whereas, for all the rest, they must venture 
 on no such a thing. For a private person, moreover, to 
 speak falsely against such governors, we shall deem the 
 same and even a greater ofEense, than for a patient not 
 to speak the truth to his physician, or for one who is 
 learning his exercises to his gymnastic master about the 
 ailments of his body, — or for one not to tell the pilot 
 the real state of what concerns the ship and sailors, 
 how himself and the other sailors are performing their 
 duty. Most true, said he. If, however, he should de- 
 tect any other citizen in a falsehood — 
 
 . . . of those, who by profession serve 
 The public, prophet, healer of disease, 
 Or him who makes the shafts of spears, 
 
 he will punish him, as introducing a practice subversive 
 and destructive of the city, as well as of a ship. If, at 
 least, it is on speech that actions are completed. But 
 what ; will our youths have no need of temperance ? 
 Certainly. And are not such as these in general the 
 principal parts of temperance ; namely, obedience to gov- 
 ernors, — and also that the governors themselves be tem- 
 perate in drinking, feasting, and pleasures of love ? I 
 am quite of that opinion. And we shall say, I believe, 
 that such views are just, — just as in Homer Diomedes 
 says : — 
 
 Sit thou in silence, and obey my speech, — 
 
 and what is in connection therev/ith, — thus: 
 
 So moved the Greeks successive, ev'ry chief 
 His loud command proclaiming, while the rest, 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 97 
 
 As voice in all those thousands none had been, 
 Heard mute . . . 
 
 and SO on. Well spoken. But what of such as these ? 
 
 Oh! charged with wine, in steadfastness of face 
 Dog uuabash'd, and yet at heart a deer, 
 
 and as respects what follows, and whatever other childish 
 effusions arc uttered in prose or verse by private individ- 
 uals, are they well [pronounced] ? No, not well : for, 
 methinks, even as respects temperance, such [discourses] 
 are not fit for the young to hear ; and supposing they do 
 afford some other sort of pleasure, it is no wonder: but 
 what is your notion of the matter ? The same as your 
 own, said he. 
 
 Chap. IV. What ? To make the wisest man say, that 
 it appears to him supremely beautiful, when 
 
 . . . the steaming table's spread 
 
 With plenteous viands, while the cups, with wine 
 
 From brimming beakers fill'd, pass brisk around — 
 
 does it seem proper to you that a youth should hear, in 
 order to obtain a command over himself; or yet this: 
 
 . . most miserable it is, 
 
 To die of famine and have adverse fate; 
 
 or that Zeus, through desire for the pleasures of love, 
 could easily forget all that in solitary watching he had 
 revolved in his mind, while other gods and men were 
 asleep, and could be so struck on seeing Hera, as not even 
 to care to enter his chamber, but to desire connection with 
 her on the very spot to embrace her on the ground, and 
 at the same time to declare that he was possessed with a 
 desire, exceeding even what he felt on their first acquaint- 
 ance, 
 
 . . . Hidden from their parents dear; 
 
 nor yet how Ares and Aphrodite were bound by Hephaestus, 
 and other such things ? No, by Zeus, said he ; these seem 
 quite unfit. But if, said I, any instances of self-denial in 
 all matters are both to be spoken of and practiced by men 
 of eminence, these should be held up for a spectacle and 
 celebrated in verse, — such as this: 
 7 
 
98 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 . . . Smiting on his breast, thus he reproved 
 The mutinous inhabitant within. 
 
 Just SO, by all means, said he. Of course, then, we can- 
 not by any means allow men to receive bribes, or be cove- 
 tous. By no means. Neither must we sing to them, 
 that 
 
 Gifts gain the gods and venerable kings;* 
 
 neither can we commend Phoenix, the tutor of Achilles, 
 as if he spoke correctly, when counselling him to accept 
 of presents and assist the Greeks, but, without presents, 
 not to desist from his wrath : nor again, should we com- 
 mend Achilles himself, or approve of his being so covetous 
 as to receive presents from Agamemnon, and, likewise 
 for giving up the dead body of Hector, on receiving a 
 ransom, when otherwise he would not do so. Of course 
 it is not right, said he, to commend such conduct as this. 
 I am loth, said I, for Homer's sake, to say, that it is 
 not allowable to allege these things against Achilles, or 
 to believe them, when said by others; nor, again, that 
 he spoke thus to Apollo : 
 
 Oh ! of all the powers above, 
 To me most adverse, archer of the skies ! 
 Thou hast beguiled me, leading me away. . . 
 And hast defrauded me of great renown. 
 Ah ! had I power, I would requite thee well, 
 
 and how he disobeyed the river [Xanthus], though a divin- 
 ity, and was ready to fight ; and again, how he says to that 
 other river, Spercheius, with his sacred locks, 
 
 Thy lock to great Patroclus I could give, 
 Who now is dead. . . . 
 
 Now, that he actually did this, we cannot believe. And 
 again, the dragging of Hector round the tomb of Patro- 
 clus, and the murder of the captives at his funeral pile, 
 — tve shall deny that all this is spoken truly; nor shall 
 we suffer our people to believe, that Achilles, the son of 
 a goddess, and of Peleus, the most wise of men, and the 
 third from Jupiter, educated also by that sage Chiron, 
 
 * This verse is not to be found in any of Homer's writings ; 
 and Suidas ascribes it to Hesiod. Euripides has a similar sentiment, 
 Med. v., 934. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 99 
 
 could be of so disordered a constitution as to have within 
 him two positively opposite moral ailments, — illiberality , 
 and covetousness, and moreover a contempt both of gods 
 and men. You say right, replied he. 
 
 Chap. V. Let us not, then, believe these things, said I, 
 nor yet suffer any to say, that Theseus, son of Poseidon, 
 and Pirithous, son of Zeus, were impelled to such dire ab- 
 ductions ; nor that any other son of a deity, or hero either, 
 would dare to commit horrible and impious deeds, such 
 as now they falsely ascribe to them; but let us compel 
 the poets to say, either that the actions do not belong to 
 these persons, or that these persons are not the children 
 of gods, — but not to say both, nor yet try to persuade 
 our youth that the gods are the origin of evil, and heroes 
 no better than men: for just as we said before, these 
 [statements] are neither holy nor true; inasmuch as we 
 have somewhere or other shown, that evils cannot pos- 
 sibly proceed from the gods. Of coui-se not. But, be- 
 sides this, they are hurtful to the hearers also ; for every 
 one will pardon his own depravity, through the persua- 
 sion that even the near relatives of the gods, near to 
 Zeus himself, do, and have done, things of a similar 
 nature, of whom it has been written, — 
 
 They, on the top o£ Ida, have uprear'd 
 To parent Jupiter an altar; — 
 
 And, 
 
 Whose blood derived from gods is not extinct. 
 
 Wherefore, we should suppress all such fables, lest they 
 create in our youth a great readiness for committing 
 wickedness. We should so, of course, replied he. What 
 other species of argument, then, said I, — since we are 
 speaking about arguments — have we still remaining, 
 which ought, or ought not, to be maintained ? For in 
 what manner we ought to speak of the gods we have 
 already mentioned, and likewise of demons and heroes, 
 and those, too, in Hades. Certainly. Does it not remain, 
 then, to speak concerning men ? Clearly so. Still it is 
 impossible for us, my friend, to regulate this, at present. 
 How ? Because we shall say, I think, that the poets and 
 orators speak amiss in most important respects concern- 
 
lOO 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 ing mankind, as [ for instance], that many are unjust, 
 and yet happy, while the j ust are miserable ; and that in- 
 justice is profitable, if it escape observation, while justice 
 is another's gain, indeed, but injury to one's self; such 
 things, as these, we must forbid them to say, but yet bid 
 them sing and compose in fable the very contrary. Do 
 you not think so ? I know it well, said he. If, then, 
 you acknowledge that I am right, shall I conclude that you 
 have admitted what all along we were seeking for ? Yot- 
 judge right, said he. Shall we not allow, then, that such 
 arguments may be stated about men, whenever we shall 
 have discovered the nature of justice, — and how it is 
 naturally profitable for the just man to be such, whether 
 he seem so or not ? Most true, replied he. 
 
 Chap. VI. Concerning the arguments, then, let what 
 we have said suffice, and now we should consider, me- 
 thinks, the manner of stating them; and then we shall 
 have completely considered, both what is to be spoken, 
 and the manner how. Adimantus here said: What you 
 now say, I do not tmderstand. Nevertheless, replied I, 
 it needs you should. Perhaps, then, you will understand 
 it better in this way: is not everything told by the 
 mythologists or poets, a narrative of the past, present, 
 or future ? Of course, replied he. And do not they 
 execute it, either in simple narrative, or through the 
 medium of imitation, or both ? This, too, replied he, I 
 yet require to understand more plainly. I appear, said 
 I, to be a ridiculous and dull instructor: like those, 
 then, who are unable to speak, I will endeavor to explain 
 my meaning, — not the whole generally, but by a par- 
 ticular case. And tell me, — are you acquainted with the 
 opening of the " Iliad, where the poet says, Chryses 
 entreated Agamemnon to ransom his daughter; but that 
 he was angry, whereupon the former, since he did not 
 obtain his request, besought the god, against the Greeks ? 
 I know it. You know, then, that down to these verses, — 
 
 His supplication was at large to all 
 
 The host of Greece ; but most of all to two. 
 
 The sons of Atreus, highest in command, — 
 
 the poet himself speaks, and does not attempt to divert 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 lOI 
 
 our attention elsewhere, as if any other person were 
 speaking except himself; but as to what he says after 
 this, he speaks as though he himself were Chryses, and 
 tries all he can to make t;s think that the speaker is not 
 Homer, but the priest, an old man: and thus he has 
 composed nearly all the rest of the narrative of what hap- 
 pened at Troy, and in Ithaca, and the adventures through- 
 out the "Odyssey. " Yes, certainly, replied he. Is it not 
 narrative, then, when he recites the several speeches, and 
 also when [he recites] what intervenes between the 
 speeches ? Of course. But when he speaks in the person 
 of another, do we not say, that then he assimilates 
 his speech as much as possible to each person whom 
 he introduces as speaking ? We will grant it ; why 
 not ? And is not [ a poet's ] assimilation of himself 
 to another, either in voice or figure, an imitation of that 
 person to whom he assimilates himself ? Of course. In 
 such a case as this, then, it seems, both he and the 
 other poets execute their narrative by rrieans of imitation ? 
 Certainly. But if the poet were not to conceal himself 
 at all, his whole action and narrative would be without 
 imitation. That you may not say, however, that you do 
 not again understand how this can be, I will tell you. If, 
 for instance, in relating how Chryses came with his 
 daughter's ransom, beseeching the Greeks, but chiefly 
 the kings. Homer had subsequently spoken, not in the 
 character of Chryses, but still as Homer, you know it 
 would not be imitation, but only simple narrative: 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 would allow them to take Troy, and return 
 in safety; and begged them also to restore him his 
 daughter, and accept the presents, out of respect, to the 
 god. When he had said this, all the rest showed respect, 
 and consented; but Agamemnon became enraged, and 
 charged him to depart instantly, and not return, lest his 
 sceptre and the garlands of the god should not avail him, 
 and added also, that, before his daughter should be ran- 
 somed she should grow old with him in Argos; and he 
 ordered him to be gone, and not irritate him if he would 
 get home in safety. The old man on hearing this was 
 
I02 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 terrified and went away in silence. And after his retir- 
 ing from the camp he offered numerous prayers to Apollo, 
 calling on the god by his various names, and reminding 
 as well as imploring him, that, if ever, either in the 
 building of temples, or the offering of sacrifices, he had 
 made any acceptable presents, — for the sake of these 
 then he besought him, to avenge with his shafts on the 
 Greeks the tears [that had been shed] by himself." Thus 
 far, said I, friend, the narrative is simple, without imita- 
 tion. I understand, said he. 
 
 Chap. VII. Understand, then, said I, that the oppo- 
 site of this happens, when one takes out the poet's words 
 between the speeches, and leaves only the dialogue. This 
 too, said he, I understand, that something like this takes 
 place with tragedies. You have apprehended my mean- 
 ing quite correctly, said I. And methinks, I can now 
 make plain to you what before I could not, — that in 
 poetry, and all fabulous writing, one species of it is 
 wholly imitative, as, for instance (just as you say), trag- 
 edy and comedy ; another species employs the narration 
 of the poet himself (you will find this chiefly in dithy- 
 rambics) ; and another again by both, as in epic poetry, and 
 many other kinds besides : if you understand me. Aye, 
 — I now understand, replied he, what you meant before. 
 Remember, too, that we were before saying, that it had 
 already been settled what were to be the subjects of 
 speech, hxit it yet remained to be considered how they 
 should be spoken. I do remember. This then, is the 
 very thing that I was saying, — namely that we ought 
 to have agreed, Avhether we will allow the poets to 
 make us narratives wholly through the medium of imi- 
 tation, or partly through imitation, partly not so, — 
 and, of what kind in each, — or lastly whether they are 
 not to employ imitation at all. I guess, said he, you 
 are inquiring, whether we are to receive tragedy and 
 comedy into our state, or not. Perhaps so, said I, and 
 something more too, — for I as yet know not; but wher- 
 ever our reason, wind-like, carries us, there must we 
 go. You say well, said he. Let us then consider, Ad- 
 imantus, whether our guardians ought to be practiced 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 103 
 
 imitators or not: does not this follow, from what has 
 been above stated, that each may exercise one busi- 
 ness well, but many, not, — and should he attempt it, 
 that, in grasping at many things, he will fail in all, 
 and excel, perhaps, in none ? Of course he will. Well 
 then, does not the same reasoning apply to imi- 
 tation, that the same man cannot so well imitate 
 many things as one ? Of course he cannot. In that 
 case he can perform scarcely any of the more emi- 
 nent employments, and at the same time imitate many 
 things, and be an apt imitator, — since the same persons 
 cannot well execute two different sorts of imitations, 
 apparently similar to each other ; as, for instance, com- 
 edy and tragedy: and as for that, did you not, just 
 now, call both of these imitations ? I did ; and you 
 are right in saying, that the same persons cannot suc- 
 ceed [in both]. Nor can they, at the same, be rhap- 
 sodists and actors ? True. Nor can the same persons 
 be actors in comedies and in tragedies: and all these 
 are imitations, are they not? Aye, — surely. The genius 
 of man, Adimantus, seems to have been cut up even 
 into a still greater number of minute particles, — so much 
 so, indeed, that it cannot properly imitate many things, 
 or perform [in earnest] those very things, of which even 
 the imitations are the resemblances. Most true, said he. 
 
 Chap. VIII. If we are to hold to our first reasoning, 
 therefore, that our guardians, though unoccupied in any 
 productive art whatever, ought to be the most skillful 
 laborers for the liberty of the state, and to mind noth- 
 ing but what refers thereto, it were surely proper that 
 they should neither perform nor imitate anything 
 else, — but, should they imitate at all, to imitate from 
 their childhood upward just what correspond with these, 
 — brave, temperate, pious, generous-hearted men, and 
 the like; but neither to perform nor desire to imitate 
 what is illiberal or base, lest from the very imitation 
 they come to experience the positive reality. Have you 
 not also observed, that imitations, if from earliest youth 
 onward they be long continued, become established in 
 the manners and natural temper, both as to body and 
 
104 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 voice, and intellect too ? Very much so, replied he. 
 Surely we are not to allow those, said I, for whom we 
 profess to be anxious, and who ought to be good men, 
 to imitate a woman either young or old, whether revil- 
 ing her husband, or contending against the gods, and 
 speaking boastingly from the idea of her own hap- 
 piness; neither should we imitate her in her misfor- 
 tunes, sorrows, and lamentations, when sick, or in love, 
 or in the throes of childbirth ; we shall be far from allow- 
 ing this. By all means, replied he. Nor to imitate male 
 or female servants in doing servants' duties ? Nor this 
 either. Nor yet, it seems, depraved men, dastards, and 
 those who do the contrary of what has been just men- 
 tioned, who revile and rail at one another; and speak 
 abominable things, whether drunk or sober, or [do] any 
 other misdeeds, such as this class of persons are guilty 
 of, either in words or actions, either as respects them- 
 selves or others ? I think too, that they should not even 
 accustom themselves to resemble madmen, in words or 
 actions, for one may know both the mad and wicked, 
 whether men or women ; yet we must not either do or imi- 
 tate any one of their actions. , Most true, said he. But 
 what, said I ; are braziers or other craftsmen, or such as 
 row vessels, or pilot the sailors, or any others connected 
 therewith to be imitated ? How can it be so, said he, by 
 those at least who are not allowed to give their mind up 
 to those pursuits ? But what, — are they to imitate horses 
 neighing, or bulls lowing, or rivers murmuring, or the 
 sea roaring, or thunder, and all such like things ? No 
 surely, said he: we have forbidden them either to get 
 mad, or resemble madmen. If then I understand what 
 you mean, replied I, there is a sort of speech and nar- 
 rative in which the truly good and worthy man expresses 
 himself, when required to say anything, — and another 
 again quite dissimilar, to which a person quite oppositely 
 born and bred always adheres, and in which [he always] 
 expresses himself. But what sorts are they ? asked he. 
 That man, said I, seems a worthy man, who on coming 
 in his narrative to any speech or action of a good man, 
 will willingly tell it, as if he were himself the man, and not 
 be ashamed of such an imitation, — the more especially, 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 he be imitating a good man acting cautiously and sen- 
 sibly, one who is seldom and but little led astray 
 through ailments, or love, or drink, or any other mishap. 
 But when there arises [in his narrative] anything un- 
 worthy of himself, he will not be in any hurry to assimi- 
 late himself to one that is worse, except it be for a short 
 time when he is doing some good; and besides, he will 
 be ashamed of it, both as being unpracticed in the imi- 
 tation of such characters, and also, as unwilling to mold 
 himself, and stand among the models of baser men, 
 whom all the while he despises in his heart [bear- 
 ing with them] only for mere amusement. Probably, 
 said he. 
 
 Chap. IX. Will he employ a narrative such as that we 
 not long since described in the case of Homer's poems; 
 and will his language partake both of imitation and sim- 
 ple narrative, but have only a small portion of imitation 
 inserted in a great quantity [of plain ■ narrative] ? Do 
 you think I speak to the purpose or not ? Yes, certainly, 
 replied he ; that must needs be the type of such an ora- 
 tor. In that case, said I, will not such a man, the more 
 he is depraved, the more readily narrate any matter 
 whatever, thinking nothing unworthy of him, — so much 
 so, indeed, that he will undertake to imitate everything 
 zealously and in public, and such especially as we just 
 mentioned, thunderings and noises of w4nds and tempests, 
 and of axles and wheels, and of trumpets, pipes, whistles, 
 and sounds of all kinds of instruments, and the cries of 
 dogs likewise, and sheep, and birds ? and of course the 
 whole expression of this is to be by imitation, both in 
 voice and gestures, partaking but slightly of narrative. 
 This too, said he, is a matter of course. These, said I, 
 are what I termed the two kinds of diction. Yes, they 
 are, replied he. Has not one of the two, then, very 
 trifling' variations; and to give the diction a becoming 
 harmony and rhythm, he who would speak correctly must 
 always speak in the same style, in one harmony, — for 
 the variations are but trifling, — and of course in a rhythm 
 closely corresponding ? It is so, clearly, replied he. But 
 as to the other kind, does it not require the contrary, — 
 
io6 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 all kinds of harmonies and all kinds of rh3'thms, if, 
 indeed, it is to be naturally expressed, on account of its 
 having" all sorts and shades of variation ? That is pre- 
 cisely the case. Do not, then, all the poets, and writers 
 of narrative generally, use one or other of these models 
 of diction, or a blending of the other two ? They must, 
 replied he. What are we to do then, said I: shall we 
 admit into our state all of these [models], or only one of 
 the unmixed, or the one compounded ? If my opinion, 
 replied he, is to prevail, [you should employ] that uncom- 
 pounded one, which imitates only what is worthy. But 
 surely, Adimantus the mixed is at least pleasant: the 
 most pleasant of all, both to children and pedagogies, is 
 the opposite or what you choose, and it is so to the crowd 
 likewise. Yes, it is the most pleasant. But probably, 
 said I, you will not deem it suited to our civil establish- 
 ment, because with us no man can be engaged in two or 
 more occupations, but each individual is employed in one 
 only ? Of course, it is not fit. Shall we not find then, 
 that in such a state alone, a shoemaker is only a shoe- 
 maker, and not a pilot as well as a shoemaker; and that 
 the husbandman is only a husbandman, and not a judge 
 as well as a husbandman; and that the soldier is a sol- 
 dier, and not a money-maker as well; and so with the 
 rest ? True, replied he. With respect to the man then, 
 who is enabled by his talents to become everything and 
 imitate everything, if that person were to come into our 
 state and wish to show us his poems, we should respect 
 him as a pious, wonderful, and pleasant person, but 
 would say that we have no such person in our state, nor 
 could such be allowed; and then we should send him to 
 some other state, pouring oil. on his head, and crowning 
 him with a v/oolen chaplet, while we ourselves would 
 call in, to our advantage, a more austere and less pleas- 
 ing poet and mythologist, to imitate for us the diction of 
 what is becoming, and say whatever he says, in accord- 
 ance with those models which we regularly set forth on 
 first undertaking the education of our soldiers. So we 
 should do, replied he, if it depended on us. Now, then, 
 friend, it seems that we have thoroughly discussed that 
 part of music which concerns oratory and fable ; for what 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 107 
 
 is to be spoken, and how spoken, we have already con- 
 sidered. I think so, too, observed he. 
 
 Chap. X. Are we not next to speak, said I, about the 
 style of song and melody ? Clearly so. Cannot one al- 
 ready find out, then, what we ought to say about these 
 things, and of what kind they should be, if we would be 
 consistent with what we have above said ? Here Glaucon, 
 smiling, said, — I seem, indeed, Socrates, to be a stranger 
 to the whole business, for I cannot at present conceive 
 what we ought to say, though I have some inkling. You 
 can, surely, said I, at any rate, fully state this much, — 
 that melody has three constituents, — sentiment, harmony, 
 and rhythm ? Yes, replied he, this much, at any rate. 
 And as concerns the sentiment, — that differs in nothing 
 from the sentiment which is not sung, inasmuch as it 
 ought to be performed on the same models, as we just 
 said, and after the same fashion. True, said he. Surely, 
 then, the harmony and rhythm should correspond with 
 the sentiment ? Of course. But yet we said there was 
 no need for wailings and lamentations in written compo- 
 sitions? None, certainly. Which, then, are the querulous 
 harmonies? Tell me, — for you are a musician. The 
 mixed Lydian, replied he, and the sharp Lydian, and 
 some others of this kind. Are not these, then, said I, 
 to be rejected, as being useless even to well-conducted 
 women, not to speak of men ? Certainly. Drunkenness, 
 moreover, is highly unbecoming in our guardians, as well 
 as effeminacy and idleness ? Of course. Which, then, are 
 the effeminate and convivial harmonies ? The Ionic, re- 
 plied he, and the Lydian, which are called relaxing. 
 Can you use these, my friend, for military men ? By no 
 means, replied he; but it seems you have yet the Doric 
 remaining, and the Phrygian. I am not learned, said I, 
 in harmonies ; but let us put out of the question that har- 
 mony, which would fitly imitate the voice and accents of 
 a brave man, engaged in military action, and every sort 
 of rough adventure, and, should he fail of success, rush- 
 ing on wounds or death, or any other distress, all the 
 while regularly and resolutely battling with fortune: let 
 us put out of the question, also, that kind of harmony 
 
io8 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 which suits 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 to another's entreaties, in- 
 structions, or persuasion, and in all these points acts in ac- 
 cordance with intellect, and does not behave haughtily, but 
 demeans himself soberly and moderately, gladly embracing 
 whatever may happen : put out of the question, too, these 
 two harmonies, the vehement and the voluntary, which so 
 capitally imitate the voice both of the unfortunate and 
 fortunate, — the moderate and brave. Aye, you are anxious, 
 replied he, to leave no others but those I now mentioned. 
 We shall have no need, then, said I, in our songs and 
 melodies, for many strings or instruments expressive of 
 all the harmonies. We shall not, it seems, replied he. 
 We are not to maintain, then, such craftsmen as make 
 harps and spinets, and instruments of many strings that 
 produce a variety of harmony. We are not, it seems. 
 But what, — will you admit into your city flutemakers or 
 fluteplayers ? for, are not those instruments which consist 
 of the greatest number of strings,* and those that produce 
 all kinds of harmony, imitations of the flute ? Plainly so, 
 replied he. There are still left you, then, said I, the 
 lyre and the harp, as useful for your city; and, as respects 
 the fields again, a reed or so for the shepherds ? This is 
 quite reasonable, said he. We are doing nothing new, 
 then, replied I, in preferring Apollo and Apollo's instru- 
 ments, to Marsyas and his instruments. Truly not, it 
 seems, replied he. By the dog, too, said I, we have been 
 once more unconsciously cleansing our city, which, we 
 just now said, had become luxurious. Aye, we were 
 wise to do so, replied he. 
 
 *A11 musical instruments are here rejected, which, from having 
 many chords, have the power of soothing the ear with a variety of 
 harmonies, and yet do not improve the mind, but rather render it 
 effeminate and fill it with sensual desires. Among these is classed the 
 lyre, — which is rejected also by Pythagoras, who (according to lambli- 
 chus) Tovg av?MVQ vneXaiiPuviv vjipLariKdv -e kcu iravriyvpiKhv kol ovdafiCiq 
 ilevOkpLov Tov 7IX0V ixeiv. See also Plato's Gorgias, p. 501 e, where he 
 conceives the art of fluteplaying — r^v rjdovrjv ijfiuv fi6vov Siui:rn\ a?M cT 
 ovdtv (ppovTi^eiv. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 Chap. XI. Come, then, said I, and let us cleanse the 
 remainder; for what concerns rhythm will follow after 
 harmonies, — namely, that our citizens pursue not ever- 
 varying rhythms having a variety of cadences, but ob- 
 serve what are the rhythms of an orderly and manly life ; 
 and observing these, should compel the time and the 
 melody to subserve the sentiment, and not the sentiment 
 to subserve the time and melody. Now, what these 
 rhythms are, it is your business to tell, as you did with 
 the harmonics. Nay, by Zeus, replied he, I cannot 
 tell: so far, indeed, as that there are three forms from 
 which all measures are composed, just as there are four 
 primitive sounds, from which all harmony is derived, 
 this I can say from observation ; but what kind of imita- 
 tions they are, and of what kind of life, I am not able to 
 tell. These things, however, said I, with Damon's* aid 
 we will consider, — what measures suit illiberality and in- 
 solence, or madness and any other ill disposition, — and 
 what rhythms also must be left for their opposites. And 
 I have a confused recollection of having heard him call 
 a certain [measure] enoplion, which was compound, 
 another a dactyl, and a third an heroic measure, — em- 
 bellishing them I know not how, — making them equal 
 above and below, in breadth and length: and methinks 
 he called one an iambus, and another a trochee, and reg- 
 ulated also the long and short measures. In some of 
 these, too, I fancy, he both blamed and praised the meas- 
 ure of the foot, no less than the numbers themselves, or 
 something compounded of both. As for these matters, 
 however, as I said, let them be thrown on Damon : for 
 to define them distinctly, indeed, would require no 
 small discourse : do not you think so ? No small one, 
 truly. But as for this point, — whether the propriety or 
 impropriety is dependent on the good or ill rhythm, — can 
 you at all discern that ? Of course. Moreover, with re- 
 spect to good or ill rhythm, the one depends on elegant 
 expression, and conforms to it, while the other is the 
 reverse ; and, in the same way, as to the harmonious and 
 discordant, the rhythm and harmony being subservient to 
 
 * A celebrated musician who instructed Pericles in that art. Comp. 
 Rep. iv. ch. 3, p. 424 c. See also Plutarch, "Life of Pericles, » ch. 4. 
 
I !0 
 
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 the sentiment, as we just said, and not the sentiment to 
 the former. These, indeed, said he, should subserve the 
 sentiment. And what, said I, as to the manner of ex- 
 pression, and as to the sentiment itself, must it not be 
 suited to the temper of the soul ? Of course. And all 
 the rest to the expression ? Yes. Well, then, fine ex- 
 pression, fine harmony, perfect propriety, and perfect 
 rhythm, are dependent on good disposition, — not that 
 dullness which in flattering language we call good temper, 
 but the intellect itself, adorned with excellent and amia- 
 ble moral feelings ? Surely, altogether so, replied he. 
 Must not all these then be always pursued by the youth, 
 if they would perform their duties ? They should, indeed, 
 be so pursued. Painting, indeed, is, somehow, full of 
 these things, and so is every other such kind of crafts- 
 manship ; and weaving, too, is full thereof, and embroid- 
 ery and architecture, and all craftship of all kinds of 
 implements; and yet further, the nature of animal bodies 
 and of all plants, — for in all these is found either pro- 
 priety or impropriety: and, moreover, impropriety, want 
 of rhythm, and want of harmony, arc close akin to bad 
 language and depraved manners, — their opposites being 
 likewise related, and imitations of discretion and good 
 morals. Entirely so, replied he. 
 
 Chap. XII. Must we, then, merely superintend the 
 poets and oblige them to present in their poems the idea 
 of good morals, or else not write at all with us; or 
 should we superintend all other craftsmen also, and re- 
 strain this immoral, undisciplined, illiberal, indecent style, 
 so as not to exhibit it either in the representation of 
 animals, or in buildings, or in any other craftsmanship, — 
 so that he who cannot do this may not be suffered to work 
 with us ? [This we must do] for fear that our guar- 
 dians, being trained by images of evil, as in bad pasture- 
 land, by every day plucking and eating many different 
 things, should establish imperceptibl}^ by little and little, 
 some mighty evil in their soul ; but rather should we 
 seek for such craftsmen, as by the help of a good natural 
 genius, can investigate the nature of the beautiful and 
 becoming, — in order that our youths, dwelling, as it were, 
 
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 1 1 1 
 
 in a healthful place, may receive advantage on all sides, 
 and so receive some service, either by sight or hearing, 
 from fine productions, just as a breeze brings health from 
 healthy places, and imperceptibly lead them from childhood 
 onward to resemblance, friendship, and harmony with 
 right reason. Thus indeed, said he, they would be 
 brought up in the best possible manner. In this case, 
 then, Glaucon, said I; is not musical training of the 
 utmost importance, inasmuch as rhythm and harmony 
 enter largely into the inward part of the soul, and most 
 powerfully affect it, at the same time introducing decorum, 
 and rendering every one becoming, if properly trained, 
 and, if not so, the reverse ? Moreover, the man, who 
 has thus been brought up as he ought, very soon per- 
 ceives whatever workmanship is defective and badly exe- 
 cuted, or what productions are of such description, — and 
 through a right feeling of disgust will praise and rejoice in 
 the beautiful, and receiving it in his soul will be fostered 
 thereby, and thus become a worthy, good man, — while, 
 as to all that is base, he will rightly despise and hate it, 
 even from early youth, and before he can partake of 
 reason; and again, when reason comes, having been thus 
 trained, he will heartily embrace it, because he clearly 
 recognizes it from its intimate familiarity with himself. 
 This appears to me, replied he, the very reason, why there ,/ 
 should be musical training. Just as in learning our let- 
 ters, said I, we are only then sufficiently instructed, when 
 we are acquainted, on meeting them, with the few elemen- 
 tary letters through their various combinations, and do not 
 more or less despise them as unnecessary to be learned, but 
 take all pains to understand them thoroughly, — as we can- 
 not be good grammarians till we do so. True. And suppos- 
 ing the images of letters were seen anywhere, either in water 
 or in mirrors, should we not recognize them before the let- 
 ters themselves ? — or is this a part of the same art and 
 study ? Surely. Is it then true, what I say, by the gods, that 
 in this case we shall never become musicians, neither 
 ourselves nor the guardians we talk of training, unless 
 we understand the ideas of temperance, fortitude, liber- 
 ality, and magnificence, and whatever are akin to these, 
 are acquainted also with their contraries, so familiar to 
 
112 
 
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 all, and unless, wheresoever they are, we observe both 
 the virtues themselves and the images thereof, and despise 
 them neither in small nor great instances, but conceive 
 them to be rather a part of the same art and study. It 
 must be so, said he. Must not that person, then, said I, 
 whose lot it is to have virtuous habits in his soul, and 
 what is proportioned and corresponding thereto in his 
 appearance, partake of the same impression and be a fine 
 spectacle to any one who is able to behold him ? Quite 
 so. Yet, what is most beautiful is most lovely ? Of course. 
 He, then, who is most musical should surely love those 
 men, who are most eminent in this way; but if a man 
 be unmusical, he will not love them ? He will not, replied 
 he, if he be at all defective in his soul: still, if it were 
 in his body, he would bear with it, and be willing to 
 associate with him. I understand, said I, that your favor- 
 ites are or have been of this kind : and I too agree to that ; 
 but tell me this, — is there any communion between tem- 
 perance and excessive pleasure ? How can there ? said he, 
 for such pleasure causes a privation of intellect, not less 
 than grief. But has it communion with any other virtue ? 
 Not at all. "What then, — has it communion with inso- 
 lence and intemperance ? Most certainly. Can you 
 mention a greater and more acute pleasure than what 
 respects the matter of love ? I cannot, said he, nor yet 
 one that is more insane. But right love is of a nature 
 to love the beautiful and the good temperately and har- 
 moniously ? Certainly. Nothing, then, which is mad, or 
 allied to intemperance, may approach real and right love. 
 It may not approach it. Nor may pleasure approach it; 
 neither may the lover and the person he loves have com- 
 munion with it, if they are rightly to love and be beloved ? 
 No, truly, said he; they may not, Socrates. Thus, then, 
 it seems, you will lay down a law in the city you are 
 establishing, that the lover shall love, converse, and asso- 
 ciate with the objects of his love, as with a son, — from 
 a virtuous motive and with his consent; and as to every- 
 thing else, every one will so converse with him whose 
 love he solicits, as never to wish to associate for any other 
 purpose but what we have said; for otherwise he would 
 undergo the reproach of being unmusical and unac- 
 
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 113 
 
 quainted with the beautiful. It must be so, replied he. 
 Do not you think then, said I, that our discourse eoneern- 
 ing music is now concluded ? For it has now terminated 
 where it ought, — as what is concerned with the art of 
 music somehow ought to terminate in the love of the 
 beautiful. I agree, said he. 
 
 Chap. XIII. After music, then, our youths must be 
 trained in gymnastics. What then ? In this likewise they 
 must needs be accurately trained, from infancy upward 
 through their whole life: — For the matter, methinks, 
 stands somehow thus ; and do you also consider. I do not 
 think that any sound body can, by its own virtue, render 
 the soul good; and contrariwise, that a good soul can, by 
 its own virtue, render the body the best possible : what 
 think you ? I think so too, replied he. If then, after hav- 
 ing sufficiently trained the intellect, we commit to it the 
 careful management of what concerns ths body, shall we 
 not, as we are only laying down patterns (that we may 
 not be tedious), act in a right manner ? Entirely so. We 
 say then, that they must abstain from drunkenness; for 
 any one, rather than a guardian, might be allowed to get 
 drunk, and not know where he is. It were ridiculous, said 
 he, for a guardian to need a guardian himself. But what 
 as respects meats; for these men are wrestlers in most 
 important combats ; are they not ? Yes. Would not then 
 the bodily state of the wrestlers suit such as these ? Per- 
 haps so. But, said I, they are a sluggish set, and of 
 dubious health: do you not observe, that they sleep out 
 their life ; and, that if they only ever so little depart from 
 their regular diet, such wrestlers become extensively and 
 deeply diseased ? I do observe it. But a more elegant 
 kind of exercise, said I, is required for our military wrest- 
 lers, — who, as dogs, ought to be wakeful, and see and hear 
 most acutely, and endure in their expeditions, many 
 changes of water and food, of heat and cold, that so they 
 may not fail in their health ? I think so. Is not then the 
 best kind of gymnastic exercise very like the simple music 
 which we just before described ? How mean you ? That 
 the gymnastics should be simple and moderate, and of 
 that kind most especially which concern war. Of what 
 
114 
 
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 kind ? Even from Homer, said I, one may learn such 
 things as these : for yon know, that in their military expe- 
 ditions, at their heroes' banquets, he never feasts them 
 with fish, not even while they were by the sea at the Helles- 
 pont, nor yet with boiled flesh, but only with roast meat, 
 as what soldiers can most easily procure: for, in short, 
 one can everywhere more easily use fire, than carry vessels 
 about ? Yes. Neither does Homer, I think, make any 
 mention of seasonings : and this is what every wrestler 
 knows, — that the body, to be in good condition, must 
 abstain from these. They are right, said he, and do 
 abstain. You do not then approve, friend, it would seem, 
 of the Syracusan table, and the various Sicilian made- 
 dishes, since you think the other right ? It seems I do 
 not. You will disapprove also of a Corinthian girl, as a 
 mistress, for such as would be in good bodily condition ? 
 By all means. And likewise of those celebrated delicacies 
 of Attic confections ? Surely. As respects all such feeding 
 and dieting, if we compare it to the melody and song pro- 
 duced in full harmony and universal rhythm, will not the 
 comparison hold good ? Of course. And does not that 
 diversity cause insubordination in this case — disease in the 
 V other ? But simplicity in music, engenders temperance in 
 the soul, — and in gymnastics, bodily health. True, said 
 he. And when insubordination and diseases multiply in a 
 city, must not many law-courts and medicine halls be 
 opened ; and will not the forensic and medicinal arts be in 
 reqtiest, when many, even of the free, will earnestly apply 
 to them ? Of course. 
 
 Chap. XIV. Can you then adduce any greater proof 
 of bad and shameful training in a city, than the fact of 
 their needing physicians and supreme magistrates, and 
 these too, not only for base and low craftsmen, but for 
 those also, who boast of having been liberally educated; 
 and again, does it not seem base, and a great proof 
 of defective education, to be obliged to see justice pro- 
 nounced on us by others, as our masters and judges, 
 and yet to have no sense of it in ourselves ? This, 
 replied he, is of all things the most base. And deem 
 you not this far more base, said I; when a person not 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 "5 
 
 only spends a groat part of his life in courts of justice, 
 as defendant or plaintiff, — but, from ignorance of the 
 beautiful, thinks he is renowned for his very dexterity 
 in doing injustice, and his cleverness at turning through 
 all sorts of windings, and using every kind of subterfuge, 
 with the idea of evading justice, — and all this for the 
 sake of small and contemptible things, — ignorant how 
 much better and more noble it were so to regulate life 
 as not to need a sleepy judge ? This, replied he, is still 
 baser than the other. And to need the medicinal art, said 
 I, not on account of wounds, or some incidental epidemic 
 complaint, but through sloth, and such diet as we men- 
 tioned, being filled with rheums and wind, like lakes, 
 and obliging the skillful sons of ^sculapius to invent 
 new names for diseases, — such as dropsies and catarrhs: 
 do not you think this abominable ? Truly, replied he, 
 those are very new and strange names of diseases. 
 Such, said I, as I think, existed not in the days of 
 .^sculapius: and I guess so from this, that when Euryp- 
 ylus was wounded at Troy, and was getting Pramnian 
 wine to drink with much flour sprinkled in it, and cheese 
 grated (all which seemed to be of inflammatory tendency), 
 the sons of ^sculapius neither blamed the woman who 
 presented it, nor reproved Patroclus, for presenting the 
 cure. Surely such a potion, said he, is absurdly im- 
 proper for one in such a case. Not so, said I, if you con- 
 sider, that the descendants of -^sculapius, as they tell us, 
 did not, before the time of Herodicus, practice the method 
 of cure nov/ in use, which puts the patient on a regimen ; 
 whereas Herodicus, being a teacher of youth, and in 
 weak health too, confounded gymnastics and medicine, 
 and made himself first very uncomfortable, and after- 
 ward many others besides. How was that ? said he. 
 By procuring himself a lingering death, said I ; for while 
 he was constantly attending to his disease, which was 
 mortal, he was not able, as I imagine, to cure himself; 
 though, to the neglect of everything else, he was con- 
 stantly using medicines, and thus passed his life, always 
 most uneasy, if he departed in the least from his usual 
 diet ; and through this wisdom of his, struggling long with 
 death, he arrived at old age. A mighty reward, said he, 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 he reaped for his cleverness! Such as became one, said I, 
 who was unconscious that it was not from ignorance or 
 inexperience of this method of cure, that ^sculapius did 
 not discover it to his descendants, but simply because 
 he was aware, that in all well-regulated states there every 
 one had a certain work enjoined him, necessary to be. 
 done, and no one could be permitted to have time or lei- 
 sure to get sick throughout life, or busy himself with 
 taking medicine; a fact that we amusingly discover in 
 the case of laboring people, but do not see it in that of 
 the rich, and those reputed happy. How ? said he. 
 
 Chap. XV. A builder, replied I, when he falls sick, 
 gets from the physician some potion for throwing up 
 his disease, or purging it downward, or else, by means 
 of caustic or amputation, for getting freed from trouble; 
 but if any one prescribe him a system of regimen, put- 
 ting caps on his head and so on, he quickly tells him that 
 he has no leisure to lie sick, and it does not suit him 
 to live in that manner, attending to his troubles, and 
 neglecting his duty; and so bidding the physician farewell, 
 he returns to his ordinary diet, and, should he recover, 
 he goes on managing his affairs, but should his body be 
 unable to bear up against the disease, he dies, and gets 
 rid of his troubles. Such an one, said he, ought to use 
 the art of medicine just in this manner. Is it not, said 
 I, because he has a certain business, — and which, if he 
 does not do it, it is no profit for him to live ? Plainly, 
 replied he. But the rich man, as we say, has no such 
 work allotted him, from which, when compelled to re- 
 frain, life is not worth the having ? It is said so of 
 him, at least. You do not mind, said I, what Phocy- 
 lides says, — that one ought, throughout life, to practice 
 virtue. I think, replied he, we attended to that for- 
 merly. "We shall not differ on this point, said I. But 
 let us learn, whether excessive attention to one's disease 
 is to be the business of the rich, and life is not worth 
 keeping, if he does not give this attention; inasmuch, 
 as such a life hinders the mind from attending to build- 
 ing and other arts, — but, as respects the exhortation of 
 Phocylides, it is no hindrance. Yes, by Zeus, said he, 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 117 
 
 it is, and that in the greatest degree, when this vtnusual 
 care of the body goes beyond gymnastics. It agrees 
 neither with attention to private economy, or military 
 expeditions, or sedentary magistracies in the city. But 
 what is of most importance is, that such application to 
 health ill suits any sort of learning and inquiry and 
 solitary study, because one is then perpetually dreading 
 certain pains and swimmings of the head, and blaming 
 philosophy as the cause thereof, — so that, where there 
 is this attention to health, it greatly hinders the prac- 
 tice of virtue and improvement therein, as it makes us 
 always imagine that we are ill and ailing. Very prob- 
 ably, said he. And shall we not say, that ^sculapius 
 too tmderstood these things, when to persons in health, 
 and such as used a wholesome diet, but were afflicted 
 by some particular disease, to these and such kind of 
 constitution he prescribed medicine, resisting their ail- 
 ments by drugs and incisions, but still ordering them 
 their usual diet, that the public might not be injured; 
 but he did not attempt, either by low or nourishing 
 diet, to cure thoroughly diseased systems; and so to 
 afford a long and miserable life to the man himself, and 
 his descendants too, who would probably be of the 
 same kind; for he did not think that a man ought to 
 be cured, who could not live in the ordinary course, as 
 in that case he would be of no service either to himself 
 or the state. You make -iEsculapius, a politician, observed 
 he. Plainly so, said I ; and his sons may evince that he 
 was so. See you not again, that at Troy they proved their 
 bravery in war, and, as I say, practiced medicine likewise ? 
 And do not you remember, that when Menelaus was 
 Wounded by Pandarus, — 
 
 . . . they sucked the wound, then spread it o'er 
 With drugs of balmy power; 
 
 but as for what he wanted to eat or drink, afterward, 
 they prescribed for him no more than for Eurypylus, 
 because they deemed external applications sufficient to 
 heal men, who, before they were wounded, had been 
 healthy and moderate in their diet, whatever potion they 
 might have dinank at the time, but conceived, that a 
 
ii8 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 diseased constitution and an intemperate life were bene- 
 ficial neither to the men themselves nor to others, and 
 that their art ought not to be employed on, nor minister 
 to, them even were they richer than Midas. How vastly 
 clever, said he, you are making- the sons of ^sculapiust 
 
 Chap. XVI. It is quite right, replied I; though in 
 opposition to us, the tragedy-writers, and Pindar also, say 
 that -^sculapius was the son of Apollo, and was induced 
 by gold to undertake the cure of a rich man, already in a 
 dying state, — for which indeed he was struck with a thun- 
 derbolt: but we, in accordance with what has been 
 before said, will not believe them as to both these state- 
 ments, but assert, that were he really a god's son, he 
 would not have been given to filthy lucre, — or else, if he 
 were given to filthy lucre, he was not a god's son. This 
 at least, said he, is quite correct. But what say you to 
 this, Socrates ? Must we not provide good physicians for 
 the state ; and must not these probably be such as have 
 been conversant with great numbers both of healthy and 
 sick people ; and judges also, who have had experience of 
 all varieties of dispositions ? I am speaking particularly, 
 said I, of those who are good: but [tell me], are you 
 aware who they are, that I deem such ? [I shall be], if 
 you will tell me, replied he. I will try to do so, said I ; 
 but you are inquiring in one and the same question about 
 two different things. As how ? said he. Physicians, re- 
 plied I, woiild become extremely skilled, if, from child- 
 hood upward, they would, in course of learning their art, 
 gain experience from a large number of bodies, and these 
 too of a very sickly character, — especially if they should 
 be themselves afflicted with all kinds of maladies, and not 
 be altogether of a healthy constitution, — for it is not by 
 the body, methinks, that they cure the body (else their 
 own bodies would never be allowed to be diseased, or be- 
 come so), but they cure the body by the soul, which, while 
 in a diseased state, or becoming so, is incapable of prop- 
 erly performing any cure whatever. Right, said he. But 
 as for the judge, friend, said I, he governs the soul by the 
 soul ; and if it has been bred up from childhood with de- 
 praved souls, has constantly associated with them, and 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 119 
 
 has itself committed all sorts of crime, it cannot so far 
 emancipate itself, as of itself to judge correctly about 
 others' ill deeds, just as happens with respect to bodily 
 ailments: no, it must even in youth be unacquainted 
 with and unpolluted by bad habits, if it would be fair and 
 honorable itself and judge correctly of what is just. 
 Hence, therefore, the virtuous, even in youth, appear sim- 
 ple, and easily deceived by the unjust, because they have 
 within them, forsooth, no dispositions corresponding in 
 sentiment with those of the wicked. Aye, indeed, said 
 he, this very often happens to them. For this reason, said 
 I, the good judge must not be a youth, but old, — one who 
 has been late in learning the nature of wickedness, which 
 he apprehends not as a peculiar quality resident in his 
 own soul, but from having, as a foreign one, long studied 
 it in the souls of others, and from having ascertained the 
 nature of its evil by positive science, rather than personal 
 experience. Such an one as this, said he, is likely to be 
 a very noble judge. And a good one too, said I; the 
 very thing you required : for the man with a good soul is 
 good ; while on the other hand, the clever, slyly suspicious 
 man, — he, namely, who has himself committed much sin, 
 and is deemed subtle and wise when in the society of his 
 equals, has the repute of being a clever, wary kind of per- 
 son, because he has constantly in his eye those models 
 that reside within himself; but whenever he approaches 
 the good, who are his seniors, he appears mightily inferior, 
 unseasonably suspicious, and wholly ignorant of moral in- 
 tegrity, having within him no models of any such quality; 
 but, on the other hand, as he has more frequent inter- 
 course with the wicked than with the wise, he appears, 
 both to himself and others, unusually wise rather than 
 ignorant. Quite true, said he. 
 
 Chap. XVII. We must not then, said I, in such a 
 man as this, look for a wise and good judge, but in the 
 former one. Vice, indeed, can never know both itself 
 and virtue; but virtue, where the moral temper is grad- 
 ually instructed, will attain to a scientific knowledge both 
 of itself and depravity also: this man, then, and not 
 the wicked one, is, as I think, wise. I, too, said he, am 
 
1 20 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 of the same opinion. You will establish, then, in your 
 state a science of medicine such as we have described, 
 and along with it a corresponding system of judicature, 
 both of which together may carefully provide for such 
 of your citizens as are nati;rally well disposed both in 
 body and in mind; while, as regards the opposite, such as 
 are diseased in their bodies, they should let die; but as 
 for those who are thoroughly evil and incurable as to the 
 soul, these they are themselves to put to death ? It 
 seems, at any rate, the best, said he, that can happen, 
 both for those who are thus afflicted and for the state 
 itself. As respects your youths, however, it is quite 
 plain, said I, that they will be cautious in calling in the 
 aid of judicial science, so long as they are employed on 
 that simple music, which, we said, generates temperance. 
 Of course, said he. Will not then, the musician who 
 pursues gymnastics, on the very same principles as his 
 own art, prefer doing so in such a way as not to want 
 medicine except when absolutely necessary ? I think so. 
 His exercises too, and his labors, he will perform with 
 reference more to the spirited portion of his nature thus 
 stirred into action, than to mere physical strength, — dif- 
 ferently, indeed, from all other wrestlers, who take food 
 and undergo toil with a view to the promotion of bodily 
 strength ? Most true, said he. In that case, said I, 
 Glaucon, they who propose to teach music and gymnas- 
 tics, propose them, not for what some imagine, namely, 
 to cure the body by the one, and the soul by the other. 
 If not, what is their motive ? asked he. They seem to 
 propose them both, said I, chiefly on the soul's account. 
 As how ? Perceive you not, said I, how those persons have 
 regulated their intellect itself, who have all their life been 
 conversant with gymnastics, yet never studied music, — 
 or how those are affected who have lived in a manner 
 quite the re- erse of this ? What are you speaking about ? 
 said he. Of savageness and fierceness, said I, and again 
 of effeminacy and mildness. Yes, I understand, said he; 
 that is, persons who apply themselves to unmixed 
 gymnastics become more savage than they ought; and 
 those again [who attend] to music alone, are softer than 
 becomes them. And moreover, said I, this very savage- 
 
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 121 
 
 ness imparts probably a certain spirit to the disposition, 
 and, if rightly disciplined, will become fortitude; but 
 when stretched too far, it will probably become inde- 
 cently fierce and troublesome. So I think, said he. But 
 what; will not the philosophic nature partake of the 
 mild also; and when this disposition is carried to excess, 
 may it not prove softer than it ought, and if rightly dis- 
 ciplined, both mild and modest ? Just so. We say also, that 
 our guardians ought naturally to be possessed of both. 
 They ought. Ought they not, then, to be made to suit one 
 another? Of course. And the soul of the person thus suited 
 is temperate and brave ? Certainly. But the soul of a per- 
 son not so suited is cowardly and savage ? Especially so. 
 
 Chap. XVIII. As a matter of course, then, when one 
 consents to be soothed with the charms of music, and to 
 have poured into his soul through his ears (as through a 
 pipe) those lately called the sweet, effeminate, and dole- 
 ful harmonies, and spends the whole of his life humming 
 ditties and charmed with melody, — such an one, first of 
 all, — should he possess any spirit, — hardens it like iron, 
 and makes it serviceable, instead of useless and harsh. 
 When, however, he positively declines desisting, and be- 
 comes the victim of a kind of fascination, — after this, he 
 is melted and dissolved, till his spirit is quite spent and 
 the nerves are, as it were, cut out from his soul, making 
 him an effeminate warrior. Quite so, indeed, said he. 
 Aye, — said I; if he had originally possessed a nature 
 devoid of spirit, he would quickly have done thus; but, 
 if [he possesses] one of high spirit, it makes the mind 
 weak, and causes it to be quickly overbalanced, speedily 
 either excited and overcome ; and hence men become out- 
 rageous and ill-tempered, rather than high-spirited. Quite 
 so, indeed. But what; if a man labor much in gym- 
 nastics and live on extremely good diet, but pay no 
 attention to music and philosophy; is he not first of all, 
 from having his body in good condition, abundantly filled 
 with prudence and spirit, and does he not become braver 
 than he was before? Surely. But what; supposing he 
 does nothing else, and has no commerce with the Muses, 
 not even if he had any love of learning in his soul, as 
 
122 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 neither having a taste for investigation, nor sharing in 
 any inquiry or reasoning, or other musical pursuit what- 
 ever, does it not become feeble, deaf, and blind, as being 
 neither awakened, nor nurtured, nor his perceptions puri- 
 fied? Just so. Such an one then becomes, I suppose, a 
 hater of argument, and indisposed to music, — one who 
 cannot at all be reasoned into anything, but conducts him- 
 self in all matters with violence and ferocity, like a wild 
 beast; and thus he lives in ignorance and barbarity out 
 of measure, and unpolished? Quite so, said he. Corre- 
 sponding then to these two tempers, it seems, I would say, 
 that some deity has furnished men with two arts, — 
 music and gymnastics, — relating respectively to the high- 
 spirited and the philosophic nature, — not indeed, for the soul 
 and body, otherwise than as a by-work and accessory, 
 but with a view to those two tempers, that they may be 
 mutually suitable to each other by being tightened and 
 loosened at pleasure. Aye, — it seems so. Whoever then 
 can most cleverly mingle gymnastics with music, and 
 introduce them in justest measure into the soul, this per- 
 son we may most properly call completely musical, and 
 most harmoniously disposed, — far more, indeed, than the 
 man who puts in tune the strings of an instrument. 
 Very likely, Socrates, said he. Shall we not then, al- 
 ways need, Glaucon, such a president in our city, if its 
 government is to be kept entire ? It will indeed be quite 
 needful, as far at least as we can. 
 
 Chap. XIX. The above then are probably the true 
 models both of education and discipline: for why should 
 one go through the dances, the hunts of wild beasts with 
 dogs and nets, the wrestlings and the horse-races expedient 
 for such persons ? for it is almost manifest that they 
 follow as a matter of course, nor are they at all hard to 
 discover. Well, said he, perhaps they are not difficult. 
 Granted, said I: but after this, what had we next to 
 determine ? Is it not, which of these shall govern, and 
 be governed ? What else ? Is it not plain that the gov- 
 ernors should be the elder, and the governed the younger ? 
 Plain. And also, that the best of them [should govern] ? 
 Aye,— that too. And the best husbandmen; are they not 
 
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 123 
 
 the cleverest in tillage ? Yes. Now, if it be fit that our 
 guardians be the best, will they not be most strictly 
 watchful over the city ? Yes. With this view should we 
 not make them prudent, and able, and careful also of the 
 city ? It is the fact. At any rate a man would be most 
 careful of what he happens to love ? Necessarily so. And 
 this at least one must especially love, — namely, what he 
 deems to have a community of interest with himself, 
 especially when he conceives, that in another's good for- 
 tune he may find good fortune too, — but if otherwise, the 
 reverse ? Just so, said he. We must choose then, from 
 the rest of the guardians such men, as on inquiry most 
 of all seem to perform with all cheerfulness through an 
 entire life whatever they deem expedient for the state, — 
 while, as to the inexpedient, they will not do it by any 
 means at all. These are jtist the proper persons, said he. 
 I really think that they ought to be observed at all stages 
 of life, whether they act consistently with this opinion, 
 without either being reduced or forcibly compelled in- 
 considerately to throw up the opinion, of its being 
 a duty to do what is best for the state. What throw- 
 ing up do you mean ? said he. I will tell you, said 
 I. Opinion seems to me to come from the intellect either 
 voluntarily or involuntarily, — voluntarily indeed as regards 
 false opinion [when it comes] from him who unlearns it, — 
 but involuntarily, as regards every true one. The case 
 of the voluntary one, replied he, I understand; but that 
 of the involuntary I want to learn. What; are not even 
 you of opinion, said I, that men are deprived of good 
 things involuntarily, but of evil things voluntarily ? Is 
 being deceived respecting the truth no evil, and the attain- 
 ment of truth no good ? and think you not, that to form 
 opinions respecting things as they really exist is attaining 
 the truth ? Aye, said he, you speak correctly : they do 
 indeed seem to me to be deprived unwillingly of true 
 opinion. Are they then thus affected by being robbed, 
 or enchanted, or forced ? Now, at any rate, said he, I 
 do not understand you. I am probably expressing myself, 
 said I, just like the tragedians : * for, I say, that those 
 
 * Plato here alludes to the obscure style sometimes adopted by 
 them to mystify the hearers. 
 
124 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 [have their opinions] stolen, who change them through 
 persuasion, or else forget them; because, in the one case, 
 they are imperceptibly removed by time, and in the other 
 by reasoning: now perhaps you understand ? Yes. And 
 those, I say, are forced out of their opinions, whom grief 
 or agony obliges to change them ? This too, said he, I 
 understand, and you are right in saying so. Those, more- 
 over, methinks, you will say, are enchanted out of their 
 opinions, who change them, either bewitched by pleasure 
 or appalled by fear. For whatever deceives, said he, seems 
 to exercise a kind of magical enchantment. 
 
 Chap. XX. We must now then inquire, — as I was say- 
 ing before, — who are the best guardians of their own 
 particular maxim, that they should do whatever they deem 
 to be best for the state; and they should observe them 
 too quite from childhood, setting before them such work, 
 as may lead them most readily to forget such a matter and 
 delude themselves ; and we should choose one who is mind- 
 ful and hard to be deluded, while one who is not so we 
 should reject: is that it? Yes. And we must appoint 
 them labors and pains and contests, in which we must 
 observe these very same things. Right, said he. Should 
 we not, also, said I, appoint a third contest, that of the 
 mountebank kind; and look to see, just as persons lead 
 young colts amidst noises and tumults, to find out 
 whether they are frightened ? and thus, while yet 
 young, they must be led into various fearful situations, 
 and again be thrown back into pleasures, trying them 
 far more than gold in the fire, whether a person appears 
 hard to be beguiled by mountebank tricks, and is of 
 composed demeanor amidst all, because he is a good 
 guardian of himself, and of that music in which he had 
 been instructed, proving himself in all these respects to 
 be in just rhythm and harmony. Being of such charac- 
 ter, he would truly be most useful both to himself and 
 the state. And he who in childhood, youth, and man- 
 hood, has been thus tried, and come out pure, may be 
 appointed governor and guardian of the state ; honors are 
 to be paid him while he lives, and at his death he should 
 receive the highest rewards of public burial and other 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 12$ 
 
 memorials: while one that is not such wc must reject. 
 Somewhat like this, mcthinks, Glaucon, said I, — for we 
 have only drawn it in outline, not defined it accurately, 
 — sho;ild be the mode of choosing and establishing our 
 governors and guardians. I think so too, rejoined he. 
 Is it not then really most correct to call these the perfect 
 guardians, both as to what relates to enemies abroad and 
 friends at home, for taking from one party the will, and 
 from the other the power of doing mischief, while the 
 youth (whom we just now called gi:ardians) will be allies 
 and auxiliaries to the decrees of the governors ? Yes, I 
 think so, replied he. 
 
 Chap. XXI. What then, said I, should be our plan, 
 when we are falsifying by one of the well-intentioned 
 and necessary untruths, such as we just mentioned, with 
 a view to persuade chiefly the governors themselves; 
 but, if not these, the rest of the state ? What kind of 
 untruth do you mean ? Nothing new, said I, but some- 
 thing like the Phosnician fable,* which has often taken 
 place heretofore, as the poets say and have persuaded 
 us, but which has not happened in our times, nor do I 
 know whether it is likely to happen, — to persuade one 
 of which indeed requires great suasive power. You seem 
 to me, said he, to hesitate to tell it! I shall appear to 
 3^ou, said I, to hesitate with very good reason, whenever 
 I shall tell it. Speak, said he, and be not afraid. I will 
 tell you then, though I know not with what courage, or 
 what words I am to use in telling you; and I will at- 
 tempt, first of all to persuade the governors themselves, 
 and the soldiers, and then also the rest of the state, that, 
 whatever training or education we gave them, all these 
 particulars seemed to effect a.nd befall them like dreams, 
 while really they were in course of formation and de- 
 velopment beneath the earth, where are fabricated not 
 only themselves, but also their armor and other equip- 
 ments: but after they were completely fashioned, the 
 
 * The scholiast tells us that the Phcenician fable had reference 
 to the myths related about the dragon and the sown men that 
 arose at the bidding of Cadmus, the son of Agenor, and grandson 
 of Poseidon and Libva. whose native country was Phoenicia. 
 
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 THE REPUBLIC OP PLATO 
 
 earth, who is their mother, brought them forth; and now 
 they ought to consult the interests of the country in 
 which they reside as for a mother and nurse, and to de- 
 fend her in case of invasion, and to look upon the rest 
 of the citizens as their brethren, and sprung from the 
 same soil. It is not without reason, said he, that some- 
 time back, you were ashamed to tell this falsehood. 
 Quite so, said I: but still hear the remainder of the 
 fable. All of you in the state truly are brethren (as we 
 shall tell them by way of fable) ; but the god, in form- 
 ing you, mixed gold in the formation of such of you as 
 are able to govern; on which account they are the 
 most honorable; in such as are auxiliaries, silver; and in 
 the husbandmen and other craftsmen, iron and brass. 
 Since then you are all of the same kindred, you would 
 for the most part beget children resembling yourselves; 
 and sometimes perhaps silver will be generated out of 
 gold, and out of silver there might be a golden offspring; 
 and thus in all other ways [are they generated] out of 
 one another. Governors then, first and chieiiy, the god 
 charges, that over nothing are they to be such good guard- 
 ians, or to keep such vigilant watch, as over their children ; 
 [to know] with which of these principles their souls are 
 imbued; and should their descendants be of brass or 
 iron, they will show them no indulgence whatever, but 
 assigning them honor just proportioned to their natural 
 temper, will thrust them down to the rank of craftsmen 
 or husbandmen. And if again any from among these 
 latter shall exhibit a golden or silver sort of nature, they 
 are to pay them honor and elevate them ; some to the 
 guardianship, others to the rank of auxiliaries, — the 
 oracle having declared that the state shall perish when- 
 ever iron or brass shall hold its guardianship. With 
 respect to this fable then, have you any means of per- 
 suading them of its truth ? None, said he, of persuading 
 these men themselves; but I have as respects their sons 
 and posterity, and the rest of mankind afterward. Even 
 this, said I, would act well in making them more anxious 
 about the state's welfare, and for one another; for I 
 almost understand what you mean; and this truly will 
 lead the same way as the oracle. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 127 
 
 Chap. XXII. As for ourselves, having- armed these 
 earthborn sons, let us lead them forward under the con- 
 duct of their leaders; and when they are come into the 
 city, let them consider where they may best pitch their 
 camp, so as best to keep in order those within it, should 
 any one be unwilling to obey the laws ; and likewise how 
 they may defend it against those without, should any 
 enemy come, like a wolf, on the fold. And when they 
 have pitched their camp, and sacrificed to the proper 
 divinities, let them erect their tents: is that the way? 
 Just so, said he. They should be such then as may suf- 
 fice to defend them, both from winter's cold and summer's 
 heat? Of course; for I think, said he, you are alluding 
 to houses. Yes said I, those of the military class, not 
 those of the money-makers. How, replied he, do you 
 say that the latter differs from the former ? I will try to 
 tell you, said I; for, of all things, it is the most dread- 
 ful, and disgraceful to shepherds, to breed, as guardians 
 of the flocks, such kind of dogs, and in such a manner, as 
 that, either through want of discipline, or hunger, or 
 some other ill habit, the dogs should themselves attempt 
 to hurt the sheep, and so resemble wolves rather than 
 dogs. It is dreadful, of course, said he. Must we not 
 then take all care, lest our allies act thus toward our 
 citizens, as being the more powerful, and, instead of gen- 
 erous allies, resemble savage masters ? We must take 
 care, said he. Would they not be prepared to exercise 
 the greatest caution, if they were really well educated ? 
 They are so, moreover, replied he. I then, for my part, 
 observed: that you cannot properly insist on, friend 
 Glaucon; but what we were just now saying is proper; 
 namely, that they should have a good education, what- 
 ever its nature, if they are to possess what is most 
 important toward rendering them mild, both among 
 themselves and toward those under their guardianship. 
 Right, said he. In addition then to this training, any 
 intelligent person would say, that their houses and all 
 other effects ought to be so contrived, as neither to impede 
 their guardians in becoming the very best possible, nor 
 to excite them to the injury of the other citizens. Aye, 
 and he will say true. If then they intend to be such, 
 
1^8 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 consider, said I, whether they ought to live and arrange 
 their household in some such manner, as follows: First, 
 let none possess any private property unless it be abso- 
 lutely necessary: next, let none have any dwelling or 
 storehouse, into which any one that pleases may not 
 enter: then, as for necessaries, let them be such as both 
 temperate and brave champions in war may require; 
 making for themselves this law, not to receive such a 
 reward of their guardianship from the other citizens, as 
 to have either surplus or deficiency at the year's end. 
 Let them also frequent public meals, as in camps, and 
 live in common; and we must tell them, that they have 
 ever in their souls from the gods a divine gold and sil- 
 ver, and therefore have no need of that which is human ; 
 and that it were profane to pollute the possession of the 
 divine ore, by mixing it with the alloy of the mortal 
 metal; because the money of the vulgar has produced 
 many impious deeds, while that which they have is pure ; 
 and that of all men in the city, they alone should not 
 be allowed to handle or touch gold or silver, or harbor 
 it under their roof, or carry it about, nor to drink out of 
 silver or gold. By such means they will be likely to 
 preserve both themselves and the state ; but whenever 
 they shall possess private lands and houses, and money, 
 they will become stewards and farmers instead of guar- 
 dians, and hateful masters instead of allies to the other 
 citizens; in hating indeed, and being hated, in plotting, 
 and being plotted against, they will pass the whole of 
 their life ; much more frequently and more really terrified 
 by the enemies from within than by those from without, 
 as they and the rest of the state are hastening very 
 near to destruction. For all these reasons, said I, we 
 must say, that our guardians should be thus regulated, 
 both as to their houses and all other matters. And let 
 us consider these things as law ; shall we not ? By all 
 means, said Glaucon. 
 
BOOK IV. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 In the FOURTH Book, after defining the true position and functions of 
 the (j}vXa^ and the arrangement of a model state, — which he fur- 
 ther conceives to comprise, as essentials, wisdom, temperance, forti- 
 tude, and justice, the necessary union and coherence of which he 
 demonstrates by analogy with the numerous mental faculties, which, 
 like the members of a state, exist by mutual connection and depend- 
 ence. This concord of faculties is at the bottom of Plato's notion 
 of a state; and this constitutes justice, the benefits of which are 
 negatively proved by the exposure of injustice. This justice, how- 
 ever, he proves to have numerous ramifications, just in the same 
 way as both himself and Aristotle conceive that under the term 
 politics is included everything that concerns civil administration 
 when placed in the hands of the people themselves, both generically 
 and in its specific departments. 
 
 Chapter I. Adimantus hereupon rejoining said: What 
 answer will you make, Socrates, if one were to say that 
 you do not make these men very happy, — and that owing 
 to themselves, whose property the state really is, — -yet they 
 enjoy no advantage in the state, such as others do who 
 possess lands, build beautiful and large houses, purchase 
 suitable furniture, offer sacrifices to the gods at their own 
 expense, entertain strangers, and, as you were just now 
 saying, possess gold and silver, and everything generally 
 supposed to contribute toward making men happy. Aye, 
 doubtless, he may say, they seem, like hired auxiliaries, 
 to be settled in the state for no other purpose than keep- 
 iiig guard. Yes, said I; and that too only for their 
 maintenance, without receiving, like the rest, pay as well 
 as rations ; so that they are not to be allowed so much as to 
 travel abroad privately, though they wish it, nor bestow 
 money on mistresses, nor spend it in such other ways as 
 those do who are reputed to be happy. These and many 
 such like things you leave oiit of the accusation. Well, 
 9 (129) 
 
130 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 let these charges too, said he, be made against them. 
 What answer then, are we to make, you ask ? I do. While 
 traveling on the same road, we shall find, methinks, what 
 is to be said: for we shall state, that it would be nothing 
 strange, were these men, under these circumstances, to 
 be the happiest possible : yet it was not with an eye to 
 this, that we are establishing our state, — to have any one 
 tribe in it remarkably happy, but that the whole state 
 might be so to the fullest extent; for we judged, that in 
 such an one more particularly we should meet with jus- 
 tice, and again in that the worst established injustice; and 
 that, on thoroughly examining these, we might determine 
 what we have long been seeking. Now, then, as we 
 suppose, we are forming a happy state, not by selection, 
 making some few only so in it, but the whole : and we 
 will next consider one its reverse. Just as if, when we 
 were painting human figures, a person should come and 
 blame us, saying, that we do not place the most beautiful 
 colors on the most beautiful parts of the creature, 
 ■ — inasmuch as the eyes, the most beautiful part, were not 
 painted with purple, but black; we should seem perhaps 
 to make a sufficient answer to him, by saying. Clever 
 fellow, do not suppose that we ought to paint the eyes 
 so beautifully, as that they should not appear to be eyes, 
 and so with the other parts; but consider, rather, 
 whether, in giving each particular part its due, we make 
 the whole beautiful. And especially now, do not oblige 
 us to confer such happiness on our guardians as shall 
 make them anything rather than guardians: for we know 
 too, how to dress out the husbandmen in fine robes and 
 gird them with gold, and bid them till the ground with a 
 view to pleasure only, — and in like manner, those who 
 make earthenware, to lie at their ease by the fire, drinking 
 and feasting, and placing the wheel near them to work 
 just so much as they like ; and so also how to confer 
 happiness on every one in such a manner as to render 
 the whole state happy. But do not advise us in this way; 
 because, if we obey you, neither will the husbandman be 
 really a husbandman, nor the potter a potter; nor will 
 any one else be really of any of those professions of which 
 the state is composed. As to all the rest, it is of less 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 consequence : for, when shoemakers become bad and 
 corrupt, and profess to be shoemakers when they are not 
 so, no great mischief befalls the state ; but when guardians 
 of the laws and of the state arc not so really, but only in 
 appearance, you see how entirely they destroy the whole 
 state, and, on the other hand, that they alone have the 
 opportunity of managing it well and effecting its happi- 
 ness. If then we would appoint men who shall be really 
 guardians of the city, [let us choose] those who will be 
 least hurtful to it; but he who says that they should be 
 a kind of farmers, and as in a festival meeting, not in a 
 state, jolly entertainers, must speak of something else 
 rather than a city. We must consider, then, whether we 
 establish guardians with this view, that they may enjoy 
 the greatest happiness, — or, looking to the entire state, 
 we regard whether it is to be found therein; and we 
 must compel these allies and guardians to do this, and 
 persuade them to become the best performers of their 
 own particular work, and act also toward all others in 
 the same manner ; and thus, as the whole city becomes pros- 
 perous, and well constituted, we must permit its several 
 classes to share in that degree of happiness which their 
 nature admits. 
 
 Chap. II. I think you say well, said he. Well, then, 
 said I, what is near akin to this, shall I be thought to say 
 rightly. In what particularly ? With respect to all other 
 artificers again, consider whether these things corrupt 
 them, so as to make them bad workmen. To what do 
 you allude ? Riches, said I, and poverty. As how ? 
 Thus: Would the potter, think you, after he has become 
 rich, have any desire still to mind his art ? By no means, 
 said he. But will he not become more idle and care- 
 less than he was before ? Much more so. Will he not 
 then become a worse potter ? This too, much more so, 
 said he. And, moreover, being unable through poverty 
 to supply himself with tools, or other requisites of his 
 art, his workmanship will be more imperfectly executed, 
 and his sons, or others whom he instructs, will be inferior 
 artists. Of course they will. Owing to both these causes, 
 then [namely], poverty and riches, the workmanship in 
 
132 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 the arts becomes inferior, and [the artists] themselves 
 inferior too. It appears so. We have then, it seems, 
 found out other things for our guardians, against which 
 they must by all means watch, that they may not steal into 
 the state without their knowledge. Of what sort are 
 these ? Riches, said I, and poverty; the one engender- 
 ing luxury, idleness, and a love of innovation ; the other 
 illiberality and mischief, as well as a love of innovation. 
 Quite so, said he. But, Socrates, pray consider this; 
 how is our state to have the power of engaging in war, 
 when she is possessed of no money, especially if com- 
 pelled to wage war against a great and opulent one ? It 
 is plain, said I, that to fight against one is somewhat dif- 
 ficult ; but against two such is more easy. How say you ? 
 replied he. First of all, now, said I, if there is any occa- 
 sion for fighting, will they not, being practiced warriors, 
 fight against rich men ? Yes, surely, said he. What then, 
 said I, Adimantus, would not a single boxer, trained as 
 highly as possible to this exercise, seem to you easily able 
 to fight against two who are not boxers, but, on the other 
 hand, are rich and fat ? Not perhaps with both at once, 
 said he. Not even, said I, if he should be enabled to re- 
 tire a little, and then turn back and give a blow to the 
 furthest in advance, and repeat this frequently in the sun 
 and heat ? would not a person of this kind easily defeat 
 many such as these ? Clearly so, and no wonder, said he. 
 But think you not, that the rich have more science and 
 experience in boxing than in the military art ? I do, said 
 he. In that case, according to appearances, our wrestlers 
 will easily combat with double and threefold their number. 
 I will agree with you, said he ; for I believe you say right. 
 But what, — supposing they were to send an embassy to 
 another state, informing them of their true situation, 
 telling them. We make no use either of gold or silver, 
 neither is it lawful for us to use them, while for you it is 
 so: if then you become our allies in war, you shall 
 receive the enemy's spoils; think you that any, on hear- 
 ing this, would choose to fight against stanch and resolute 
 dogs, rather than in alliance with the dogs to fight against 
 fat and tender sheep ? I think not ; but, if the wealth of 
 all the rest be accumulated in one single state, take care 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 >33 
 
 that it [the wealthy state] does not endanger that which is 
 poor. How good you are, said I, to think that any other 
 deserves to be called a state except such as we have estab- 
 lished. Why not ? said he. To those others, said I, we 
 must give a more magnificent appellation; for each of 
 them comprises very many states, and is not one, as was 
 said in the game ; * for there are always in them, however 
 small they be, two parties hostile to each other, — the poor 
 and the rich ; and in each of these again there are very 
 many; to which, if you apply as to one, you would be 
 entirely mistaken; but if, as to many, giving one party 
 the goods and power, or even persons, of the other, 
 you will always have the many for your allies, and the few 
 for enemies ; and, so long as your state be managed tem- 
 perately, as lately established, it will be the greatest, — 
 not I mean in mere repute, but really the greatest, though 
 its defenders were no more than one thousand; for a 
 single state of such size you will not easily find, either 
 among Greeks or barbarians, but many which have the 
 repute of being many times larger than one such as this. 
 Are you of a different opinion ? No, by Zeus, said he. 
 
 Chap. III. This, then, said I, will probably be the 
 best boundary mark for our rulers as to the size that 
 a state should attain, and what extent of ground should 
 be marked off for it in proportion to its bulk, without 
 reference to anything further ? f What boundary ? said 
 he. I suppose, said I, [it should be] this: So long as 
 the city, as it increases, continues to be one, so far 
 it may increase, but no further. Very right, said he. 
 We will impose, then, this further injunction on our 
 guardians, to take care by all means that the city be 
 neither small nor great, but of moderate extent, and 
 
 *The scholiast tells us that «to play at cities'* {irdXeig Trai^civ) is a 
 kind of game at dice, in which the players cried, — «One city,» or 
 "Many cities;* and he informs us, moreover, that the expression 
 was proverbial. 
 
 t From the previous discussion respecting the unity and harmony of 
 a state, Socrates conceives that it may be inferred also what decision 
 should be formed respecting its size and boundaries ; and he wishes it to 
 be increased only in such way as may be consistent with moderate bulk, 
 and not endanger its unity and the harmony of its several parts. 
 
134 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 one only. This probably said he, will be a trifling in- 
 junction. A more trifling one still, said I, is what we 
 previously mentioned, when we observed, that if any 
 descendant of the guardians be depraved, he should be 
 dismissed to the other classes; and if one from the 
 other classes be worthy, he should be promoted to that 
 of the guardians; by all which it was intended to show 
 that all the other citizens should apply themselves each 
 to that particular art for which he has a natural genius, 
 that so, each minding his own proper work, should not 
 become many, but one; and thus, consequently, the 
 whole state would have the nature of unity; not plu- 
 rality. Well, — this, indeed, said he, is a still more 
 trifling injunction than the other. We do not here, 
 said I, good Adimantus, as any one might suppose, im- 
 pose on them many and grave injunctions, but all of them 
 rather trifling, if they take care of one grand point that 
 we speak about, or rather not so much great as suf- 
 ficient. What is that ? said he. The education, said I, 
 and nurture of children; for if, by being well edu- 
 cated, they become temperate men, they will easily see 
 through all these things, and such other things as we pass 
 by at present, — women, marriages, and the propagation 
 of the species, — inasmuch as these things ought all, ac- 
 cording to the proverb,* to be made entirely common 
 among friends. Yes, — for that, said he, would be 
 most right. And moreover, said I, if once a republic 
 is set a-going, it proceeds as a circle, constantly on 
 the increase. For nurture and good education, when 
 maintained, engender good dispositions, and good dis- 
 positions, partaking of such education, turn out still 
 better than the former, especially with reference to prop- 
 agation, just as with all other animals. Probably, said 
 he. To speak, then, in brief, this, particularly, the guard- 
 ians of the state must guard against, that it may not 
 be corrupted unawares, — nay, above all things, must 
 they guard against this, not to nake innovations in 
 gymnastics and music, contrary to the established order 
 of the state, but as far as possible maintain it, through 
 
 * Allusion is here made to the well-known Pythagorean adage, — rd 
 t€iv <l>'tXuv Koivd, all the property of friends should be held in common. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 '35 
 
 fear that while a man adopts that poetical expres- 
 sion, 
 
 . . . Men most admire that song 
 Which most partakes of novelty,* 
 
 one might often think that the poet means not new songs, 
 but some new style of song, and so commends it ; but 
 such as this one ought neither to commend nor admit ; 
 for as to receiving a new kind of music one should be 
 specially cautious, as endangering the whole : for never 
 as Damon says, and I quite agree with him, are the 
 measures of music altered without affecting the most 
 important laws of the state. And me, too, you may place, 
 said Adimantus, among those who are of that opinion. 
 
 Chap. IV. We must erect, then, said I, in music, as 
 it seems a kind of citadel for our guardians. Neverthe- 
 less, neglect of the laws even here, said he, easily and 
 imperceptibly steals in. Yes, said I, in the way of diver- 
 sion, and as if it were doing no mischief. No, for it 
 does nothing else, said he, but by gradually insinuating 
 itself into it, insensibly flow into their manners and pur- 
 suits; and afterward in a greater degree it finds its way 
 into their contracts with each other; and from contracts 
 it enters with much boldness into the laws and political 
 establishments, Socrates, till at last it overturns every- 
 thing, privately as well as publicly. Well, then, said I, 
 is this the case ? It appears so to me, he replied. Ought 
 not our children, then, as I said at the beginning, even 
 from infancy, to be allowed diversions more conformable 
 to the laws ? because if their diversions are inconsistent 
 with the laws, and the children such themselves, it is 
 impossible that they should grow up men obedient to the 
 laws and virtuous. How can it be otherwise ? said he. 
 
 *Hom. Odyss. i. v. 353; but with slight variation, — the original hav- 
 ing oKovovTcaai, not aeig-dvreaac. Great stress is here laid on the neces- 
 sity of keeping up the severe old style of music, inasmuch as the 
 introduction of a new and more luxurious style would infallibly produce 
 a general corruption of national morals. The importance attached to 
 this point will be more truly seen from considering the close relation 
 which, in the opinion of the Greeks, subsisted between all the liberal 
 arts. Plato alludes to the subject at length in the «Laws,» ii. pp. 
 656 c, 659 e, and iii, pp. 700 a, etc,, and vii. throughout. 
 
136 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 When, therefore, children beginning well set about their 
 diversions conformably to the laws, with music, quite the 
 contrary to what happens in the former case attends 
 them in everything, and grows up with them, and cor- 
 rects in the state whatever was before neglected. True, 
 indeed, said he. And regulations, even, said I, that seem 
 but of little importance, these persons discover anew, 
 which the others had allowed altogether to perish. What 
 regulations ? Such as these : That the younger should 
 keep silence before the elder, as is proper, and give 
 them place, and rise up before them, and show rever- 
 ence to parents; likewise what shaving, what clothes 
 and shoes are proper, with the whole bodily dress, 
 and all similar matters. Do not you think so ? I do. 
 But to make laws about these things, would, I think, 
 be silly; neither is it done anywhere; nor would it 
 stand, though established both by word and writing. For 
 how can it ? It seems then, said I, Adimantus, that in 
 whatever way a man sets out in his education, such accord- 
 ingly will be its consequences ; for does not the like always 
 attract the like ? Of course. And we may say, I suppose, 
 that it results at last in something complete and vigor- 
 ous, whether it be good or the contrary ? Of course, 
 said he. I would not then, said I, for these reasons, un- 
 dertake as yet, to make laws about such matters as these. 
 Very properly, said he. But what, by the gods, said I, 
 as to those laws relative to matters of contract, and to 
 the traffic which they severally transact with each other 
 in the market, and, if you please, their traffic likewise 
 among their handicrafts, their abusiveness and bodily 
 assaults, their entering of actions at law, their institution 
 of judges, and likewise such imposts and payments of 
 taxes as might be expedient either in the markets or at 
 the ports, — or generally, as to laws commercial, muni- 
 cipal, or marine, or any other the like, — shall we venture 
 to establish any of these ? It is improper, said he, to 
 prescribe them to good and worthy men; for the greater 
 part of them, such as ought to be established by law, 
 they will easily find out for themselves. Yes, said I, my 
 friend, if at least God grant them security for those laws 
 which we have above described. But if not so, said he, 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 137 
 
 they will spend the whole of their life making and amend- 
 ing many such [regulations], imagining that they will 
 thus attain to what is best. You say that such as these, 
 said I, will lead a life like that of sick persons, and such 
 as are unwilling, through intemperance, to relinquish a 
 a bad mode of living ? Quite so. And truly, these at least 
 pass their time very pleasantly; for though they undergo 
 remedial treatment, they do nothing but make their ail- 
 ments greater and more complex; and they are ever in 
 hopes, when any one recommends any medicine to them, 
 that by these means they shall soon get well. Aye, that is 
 just the case with diseased persons like these. But 
 what, said I, is not this pleasant of them, to reckon 
 that man the most hateful of all, who tells them the 
 truth, namely, that, till one abandons drunkenness, glut- 
 tony, unchaste pleasures, and laziness, neither drugs nor 
 caustics, nor the use of the knife, nor charms, nor amu- 
 lets, nor any other such things as these, will be of any 
 avail ? That, said he, is not very pleasant ; for to be 
 angry with one who tells us what is right, has nothing 
 in it that is pleasant. You seem to be no admirer, said I, 
 of such men as these. No, truly. 
 
 Chap. V. You cannot then surely approve of it, even 
 though the entire city (as we were lately saying) should 
 act so; or rather, do they not seem to be doing the same 
 that is done by all those cities, which, hov/ever ill-gov- 
 erned, command their citizens not to alter any part of 
 the constitution, for that death will be inflicted on all 
 who do any stich things; while on the other hand, who- 
 ever most cheerfully serves those who thus govern, grati- 
 fying them with insinuating flattery, and exhibits great 
 dexterity in anticipating and satisfying their desires, will 
 be deemed both good and wise in matters of highest im- 
 portance, and will be held by them also in the greatest 
 honor ? They seem to me at least, said he, to do the 
 very same thing, and I cannot by any means commend 
 them. But what again as to those who desire to man- 
 age such states, and are even fond of it, do you not admire 
 their courage and dexterity ? I do, said he ; excepting, 
 indeed, such as are imposed on by them, and fancy that 
 
138 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 they are really politicians, because they are praised by 
 the multitude. How do you mean ? Do you not pardon 
 those men ? said I. Do you think it even possible that 
 a man ignorant of the art of measuring, supposing he 
 should hear many other such men tell him that he is four 
 cubits high, would not believe this of himself ? Impos- 
 sible, said he. Be not angry then ; for such as these are 
 of all the most ridiculous ; because, as they are ever making 
 laws about such things as we have just mentioned, and 
 ever mending them, they conceive they shall find some 
 end to the frauds respecting commerce, and what else I 
 just now spoke about, through ignorance of the fact that 
 they are in fact, as it were, trying to destroy a hydra. 
 Nevertheless, it is nothing else, said he, that they are 
 now attempting. I think, then, said I, that a true law- 
 giver ought not to give himself much trouble about such 
 sorts of laws and police, either in an ill or well-ordered 
 state; in the one, because it is unprofitable and of no 
 avail; in the other, because, as for some of the laws, 
 any one whatever can find them out, while others flow 
 quite of their own accord out of their former habits and 
 pursuits. 
 
 What then, in the enactment of laws, said he, yet re- 
 mains for us to consider ? And I said : We have nothing, 
 indeed, remaining: to the Delphian Apollo, however, there 
 remains the greatest, noblest, and most important of legal 
 institutions. Of what kind ? said he. The erection of 
 temples, sacrifices, and other services to the gods, demons, 
 and heroes; likewise the rites of the dead, and what 
 other ceremonies should be gone through, with a view to 
 their propitiation. Such things as these, indeed, we 
 neither know ourselves, nor, in founding the state, would 
 we intrust them to any other, if we be wise ; nor would 
 we employ any other interpreter than that of the coun- 
 try: for surely this god being the nati:ral interpreter to 
 all men about such matters, interprets to them sitting in 
 the middle, and, as it were, navel of the earth. Aye, 
 you say well, said he; and we must act accordingly. 
 
 Chap. VI. Thus then, son of Ariston, said I, is our 
 state established. And, in the next place, having pro- 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 vided from some source or other sufificient light for it, 
 do you yourself observe, and call on your brother and 
 Polemarchus and these others also to do so also, whether 
 we can at all perceive where justice lies, and where in- 
 justice, and in what respect they differ from each other; 
 and likewise which of the two that man ought to pos- 
 sess, who proposes to be happy, whether with or with- 
 out the knowledge of gods and men. You say nothing 
 to the purpose, replied Glaucon; for you yourself prom- 
 ised to inquire into this, as it was unholy for you not to 
 assist by all possible means the cause of justice. What 
 you remind me of, said I, is true ; and I must act ac- 
 cordingly; still it is proper, that you too should assist in 
 the inquiry. Aye, that we will, said he. I hope then, 
 said I, to be able to find what I want in the following 
 manner: I think that our city, if at least it has been 
 rightly established, should be perfectly good. Necessarily 
 so, said he. It is evident then, that it is wise, and brave, 
 and temperate, and just. Manifestly so. Whatever then 
 of these [virtues] we shall find in it, the remainder will 
 be that which is not found ? Of course. Supposing of 
 any four things whatever, if we were in quest of one, 
 were we to discover this one at first, we should be 
 satisfied ; and were we first to discover the other three, we 
 should discover from this itself what we were inquiring 
 after; for it would be manifestly no other than what 
 was left behind. You say right, said he. Well then, 
 since of the virtues above mentioned there happened 
 to be four [in our state], shall we not inquire about 
 them in a similar manner ? Plainly so. 
 
 Chap. VII. First of all, indeed, to my mind at least, 
 wisdom appears to hold in it a very conspicuous place ; 
 and there appears to be something very peculiar about 
 it. What is that ? said he. The state which we have 
 described appears to me to be really wise, for it is well 
 advised ; is it not ? It is. And surely this very thing, 
 the ability of advising well, is evidently a kind of science ; 
 for in no case do men advise well through ignorance, 
 but only by means of science. Plainly so. But there are 
 many and various kinds of science in the state ? Of 
 
140 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 course there are. Is it then owing to the science of 
 builders, that the state is to be termed wise and well- 
 advised ? By no means through this, said he ; for it 
 would only be clever in building. A state, then, is not 
 to be called wise on account of its skill in advising the 
 best methods of building ? Surely not. And what, as 
 respects skill in brass-work or anything else of a similar 
 nature ? For none of these, said he. Nor yet for its 
 knowledge of the productions of the earth [is it said to 
 be wise], but only skilled in agriculture. I think so. 
 But what, said I ; is there any science among any of the 
 citizens in the state which we have just founded, which 
 deliberates, not about any particular thing in the city, 
 
 ' but about the whole, how it may best be conducted, both 
 as regards itself and its intercourse with other cities ? 
 Yes, there is. What is it, said I, and among whom to 
 be found ? This very guardianship, said he ; and [it may 
 be found] among those very governors, whom we lately 
 termed perfect guardians. On account then of this skill, 
 what do you term the state ? Well-advised, said he, and 
 really wise Whether then, said I, do you imagine that 
 the braziers, or these true guardians, will be the more 
 numerous in the state ? The braziers, said he, far more 
 so. And of all, said I, who owing to their skill are to be 
 held in account, will not these guardians be the fewest 
 in number ? By far. By this smallest class and portion 
 of the state then, and by the science that presides over 
 and governs it, is the whole city wisely established on 
 
 Lnatural principles; and this class, as it seems, is by nature 
 the smallest, whose business it is to have a share in that 
 science, which of all others ought alone to be denomi- 
 nated wisdom. Your remark, replied he, is perfectly true. 
 We have found then, I know not how, one of the four, 
 both as respects its nature and the part of the state in 
 which it resides. And for my part, said he, I think it 
 has been sufficiently described. 
 
 Chap. VIII. But as to fortitude, both as respects itself, 
 and the particular part of the state in which it resides, 
 on account of which the state is termed brave, that can 
 be no difficult matter to discover. How so ? Who, said 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 141 
 
 I, would call a state brave or cowardly, with relation to 
 any other than that particular portion which makes war 
 and fights in its defense ? No one would, said he, with 
 relation to any other. No, said I, for I do not think 
 that the other classes therein, whether cowardly or brave, 
 can have any influence to make it either the one or the 
 other. No, indeed. The state then is brave in a certain 
 part of itself, because it contains such a power as will 
 constantly maintain its opinion about things dreadful, as 
 to their being these very things, and such like, just as 
 the lawp-ivp|- inmlppitprl dnrino- training: Do you not call 
 this fortitude ? I have not thoroughly comprehended, said 
 he, what you say; so tell it over again. Fortitude, said 
 I, I term a kind of preservative. What sort of preservative ? 
 
 A preservative of npi'rjinn fnrijifrl hy laiv in n COUrSC of 
 
 education about things dreadful, as to their nature a nd, 
 quality; and I called it a constant preservative, because 
 one retains it both in pains and pleasures, desires and 
 fears, and never casts it off ; and, if you please, I will 
 liken it to what I think it closely resembles. Pray do. 
 Do not you know then, said I, that dyers, when they 
 want to dye their wool, that it may be purple, choose 
 out of ever so many colors only the white, and then 
 prepare and manage it with no trifling pains, so that it 
 may best take a bright hue, and then they dye it ? And 
 whatever is dyed in this manner is of an indelible dye; 
 nor can any washing, either without or with soap, take 
 away its hue; but as for wool not thus managed, you 
 know of what sort it proves, whether one dye either this or 
 other colors, without previous preparation. I know, said 
 he, that they are easily washed out, and get shabby. 
 Suppose then, that we, too, were to perform according to 
 our ability a similar operation, when selecting our soldiers, 
 and instructing them in music and gymnastics; and that 
 we should attend to no other object, than that they should 
 obediently and in the best manner receive the laws, as 
 they would a color, and so acquire indelible opinions 
 about the dreadful, and other things as well, through hav- 
 ing had a suitable temper and education; these lyes 
 then, however strongly detersive, could not wash away 
 their dye, whether they be pleasure (which is more power- 
 
142 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 ful in effecting this than any alkali or lyes whatever), or 
 pain, fear, and desire, which exceed in power all other 
 solvents. Such a power then, and constant maintenance 
 of right and legitimate opinion about what is dreadful or 
 not so, I term and define to be fortitude, unless you 
 offer some other meaning. No; I can offer none, said 
 he; for you seem to me to hold, that when a right 
 opinion about these matters arises without education, it 
 is both savage and slavish, and not at all according to 
 law; and you give it some other name besides fortitude. 
 Your remark is quite true, said I. I admit, then, that 
 this is fortitude. Admit further, said I, that it is polit- 
 ical fortitude, and you will admit rightly; but we will 
 inquire about it, if you please, more perfectly some other 
 time; for, at present, it is not this, but justice, that we 
 are seeking; and with regard to the inquiry about the 
 other, that has, in my opinion, been carried far enough. 
 You say well, he rejoined. 
 
 Chap. IX. There yet remain, said I, two [virtues] in 
 the state which we must consider, — namely, temperance, 
 and that, for the sake of which we have been searching 
 after all the rest, — that is justice. Certainly. How then 
 can we find out justice, so as to trouble ourselves no 
 further about temperance ? I truly neither know, said 
 he, nor do I wish it to be developed before the other, if 
 at least we are on that account to dismiss altogether the 
 consideration of temperance; but, pray oblige me, and 
 consider this before the other. I for my part am quite 
 willing, said I ; for I should be acting wrongly not to do 
 so. Consider then, said he. We must consider, I replied; 
 and as it appears from this point of view, it seems to 
 resemble a sort of symphony and harmony more than the 
 virtues formerly mentioned. How ? Temperance, said I, 
 is somehow a certain decorum, and a restraint, as one 
 may say, exercised over certain pleasures and desires; 
 and when one boasts of being superior to oneself, and 
 many other such-like expressions, these are mentioned as 
 indications of it; are they not ? Yes, — they are its lead- 
 ing indications, said he. But is not the expression, 
 "superior to oneself," ridiculous? for he who is superior 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 '43 
 
 to himself must somehow also be inferior to himself ; and 
 the inferior be the superior, — for the same person is 
 spoken of in all these cases. How otherwise ? To me, 
 however, said I, the expression seems to denote, that in 
 the same man, as regards his soul, there is one part bet- 
 ter, and another worse ; and that when the better part of 
 his nature governs the inferior, this is what is termed 
 being superior to himself, and expresses a commendation; 
 but when, owing to bad education or associations, that 
 better and smaller part is swayed by the superior power 
 of the worse part, — then one says, by way of reproach 
 and blame, that the person thus affected is inferior to 
 himself and altogether in disorder. Aye, — it would seem 
 so, said he. Look then, said I, at our new state, and 
 you will find one of these in it: for you will agree, that 
 it may justly be addressed as superior to itself, if that 
 state, in which the better part governs the worse, is 
 called temperate and superior to itself. I do see it, said 
 he ; and you say true. And moreover one may find very 
 many and various desires, and pleasures, and pains, 
 especially among children, and women, and domestics, 
 and likewise among the greatest and most depraved por- 
 tion of those who are called free. Certainly. But as for 
 the simple and moderate desires which are led by the 
 intellect, with judgment and right opinion, you will meet 
 with them only in the few, those, namely, of the best 
 temper and best educated. True, said he. And do not 
 you see that these things are contained in our state, and 
 that there are too, the desires of the many and the baser 
 part are restrained by the desires and prudence of the 
 smaller and more moderate part ? I do, said he. 
 
 Chap. X. If then, we are to call any state superior 
 to pleasures and desires, and to itself also, this may be 
 so called. Yes, by all means, said he. And is it not on 
 all these accounts temperate ? Quite so, said he. And 
 if, again, in any other state, the governors and the 
 governed agree in opinion on the point, as to the fit 
 governing party, it is to be found in this: do you not 
 think so ? I am strongly of that opinion. In whom, then, 
 of the citizens will you say that temperance resides, 
 
144 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 when they are thus situated; in the governors, or the 
 governed ? In both of them probably, said he. Do you 
 see then, said I, that we just now rightly guessed, that 
 temperance resembles a kind of harmony ? How so ? 
 Because — not as fortitude and wisdom (each of which 
 resides in a certain part, the latter making the state wise, 
 and the former courageous), not after this manner does 
 temperance render the state temperate ; but it is naturally 
 diffused through the whole, making the weakest and the 
 strongest and the intermediate all to agree, either in pru- 
 dence, if you will, or if you will, in strength, magnitude, 
 or in substance, or anything else of the same kind,; so 
 that most justly may we say, that this concord is tem- 
 perance, a natural consent between the worse and the 
 better part, [with reference to the question] which of 
 them ought to govern, either in the state or in each indi- 
 vidual. I am quite of the same opinion, said he. Well 
 then, said I, three qualities in our state, it would seem, 
 have been clearly discovered; but with respect to the 
 remaining species, owing to which the state has the 
 quality of virtue ; what can it be ? It is plain that it is 
 justice. It is plain. Ought we not then, Glaucon, like 
 huntsmen, closely surrounding a thicket, to tak,e great care 
 that justice does not somehow or other escape, and vanish 
 from our sight ? for it is clear that it is somewhere here. 
 Look earnestly, therefore, to spy it out, if you can any- 
 how see it sooner than me, and then point it out to me. 
 Would that I could, said he ; but if you will use me rather 
 as an attendant, and one able only to perceive what is 
 pointed out to him, you will then be treating me just as 
 you ought. Call on the gods with me, said I, and^ follow. 
 I will do so, said he ; do you only lead the way. To me, 
 said I, this seems a place somehow hard of access, and 
 overcast with shadow; it is indeed dark, and hard to 
 penetrate; but still we must go on. We must, said he. 
 And I perceiving, said Ho! Ho! Glaucon, we seem to 
 have some track; and I think that it will not altogether 
 escape us. You tell good news, said he. Verily, said I, 
 our senses are somewhat blunted. As how ? Long since, 
 even from the first, my fine fellow, has it been rolling at 
 our feet; and we perceived it not, but made the most 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 US 
 
 ridiculous fi<^ure, like those who sometimes seek for what 
 they already have in their hands : so we did not perceive 
 it, but were looking out to a distance ; and thus perhaps 
 it escaped us. How mean you ? Said he. Thus, said I ; 
 that I think, although we have been long talking and 
 hearing of it, we do not understand ourselves, as to the 
 manner in which we expressed it. A long preamble, said 
 he, to one who is eager to hear. 
 
 y'^HAP. XI. Well, now, said I, listen whether I say any- 
 thing to the point: for what we at first settled, when 
 regulating the state, as what ought always to be done, 
 that, I think, or a species thereof, is justice: this 
 surely we settled, and frequently mentioned, if you re- 
 member; that every one ought to apply himself to one 
 thing, with reference to the state, to that, namely, to 
 which his genius most naturally inclines him ? Yes, we 
 did say so. And also, that attending to one's own affairs, 
 and not busying oneself about many things, is justice, 
 and this we have not only heard from many others, but 
 have frequently said ourselves. We have said so. This 
 then, my friend, said I, somehow seems to be justice, to 
 attend to one's own business. Do you know whence I 
 infer this ? No ; pray tell me, said he. Besides what we 
 have already considered in the state, namely, temper- 
 ance, fortitude, and wisdom, this, said I, seems to 
 remain, which enables all these both to have a being in 
 the state and to afford safety to its indwellers as long as 
 it continues therein; and we said likewise, that justice 
 would be that remaining part, if we found the other three. 
 It must be so, said he. But if, said I, you want to judge, 
 which of these, by its presence in the state, will do it 
 the greatest proportionate good; it would be difficult to 
 determine whether the coincidence of opinion between the 
 governors and the governed, or the maintenance of legiti- 
 mate opinion among the soldiers about what is dreadful, 
 and what is not so, or what is wisdom and guardian- 
 ship in the rulers, or whether this, by its existence in the 
 state, makes it proportionably best, namely, when child 
 and woman, bond and free, artificer, magistrate, and sub- 
 ject, every one in short, attends to his own business, and 
 
 lO 
 
146 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 does not meddle. Yes, it is hard to decide, said he, of 
 course. With reference, then, to the virtue of a state, 
 that power which makes each person in it attend to his 
 own business, rivals, as it seems, its wisdom, temperance, 
 and courage. Undoubtedly so, said he. Will you not 
 then, constitute justice as a co-rival with these, with ref- 
 erence to the virtue of a state ? By all means. Consider, 
 then, whether you agree with me in this: will you enjoin 
 the rulers to give just decisions in judgment ? Of course. 
 And in giving judgment, what else are they to aim at in 
 preference to this, namely, that no one shall have what 
 belongs to others, or be deprived of his own ? No ; they 
 [must aim] at this. And [do they not aim at it], when 
 acting justly ? Yes. And thus justice is acknowledged 
 to be the habitual practice of one's own proper and special 
 work ? It is so. See then, if you agree with me: sup- 
 pose a carpenter to take in hand the work of a shoemaker, 
 or a shoemaker the work of a carpenter, exchanging 
 either their tools or wages; or if the same man under- 
 take both, and make all the other exchanges ; think you that 
 the state would be much injured ? Not very much, said 
 he. But methinks, if a craftsman, or one born to a money- 
 getting employment, should afterward, through being 
 elated by wealth, popularity, strength, or any thing else 
 of the kind, try to advance into the military class, or out 
 of the military class into that of counsellor and guardian, 
 when unworthy of it, and these should exchange tools 
 and rewards; or if the same man should undertake to do 
 all these things at once; then, I suppose, you will be 
 of opinion, that this interchange of things and this multi- 
 plicity of employments by a single person is the destruc- 
 tion of the state. By all means. A meddling spirit, then, 
 in these three classes, and the change from one to another, 
 is the greatest injtiry to the state, and may be most 
 correctly called its depravity. Aye, truly so. But will 
 not you say that injustice is the greatest ill a state can do 
 itself ? Of course. This then is injustice. 
 
 Chap. XII. Again we say, as follows: The peculiar 
 occupation of the money-getting, the auxiliary, and the 
 guardian class, when each of them does his own work in 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 147 
 
 a state, will be contrary of the other, that is justice, and 
 will make the state just. The case appears to me, said 
 he, to be no otherwise than thus. Let us not as yet, 
 said I, affirm this for certain: but if it shall be conceded 
 by us, that this kind enters into each individual, and 
 that there is justice, we will then agree; for what shall 
 we say ? but if not, then we must push our inquiries 
 further. But now let us finish the inquiry on which we 
 were engaged, — namely, whether, in judging, we should 
 be better able, by first contemplating justice in some of 
 the greater objects that possess it, to distinguish its nature 
 in a single man, and that as a state appeared to us this 
 very object; we thus therefore formed it as well as we 
 possibly could, in the assurance that justice would be 
 found in one that is good. As to what we have discovered 
 in the state, then, let us now transfer and apply it to a 
 single person; and if the two correspond, it will be well; 
 but if there be any difference in the individual, we will 
 go back again to the state, and put it to the test; and, 
 perhaps, in considering them side by side, and by strik- 
 ing them, we shall make justice shine forth, like fire 
 from flints; and when once clearly apparent, we can then 
 firmly establish it among ourselves. Aye, you are speak- 
 ing quite in the right way, said he; and thus, too, we 
 must act. 
 
 With respect then, said I, to what may be termed the 
 same, whether greater or less, does it happen to be dis- 
 similar in that respect in which we call it the same, or 
 is it similar ? Similar, said he. The just man then, said 
 I, will not at all differ from the just state, as respects 
 the idea of justice, but will be similar to it. Aye, simi- 
 lar, said he. However a state appeared to be just, be- 
 cause three kinds of dispositions being in it, each per- 
 forms its own work; but it appeared to be temperate, 
 brave and wise, on account of certain other affections 
 and habits of these very same kinds. True, said he. 
 And in that case, my friend, we shall deem it proper, 
 that the individual, who has these very same principles 
 in his soul (namely, temperance, fortitude, wisdom), 
 should have a good right, from having the same affec- 
 tions with the state, to be called by the same names ? 
 
148 
 
 THE REPUBUC OF PLATO 
 
 He needs must, said I. Here again, my clever fellow, 
 we have fallen into a trifling discussion about the soul, 
 whether it does or does not contain within itself these 
 three principles. I do not think it is a trifling one, said 
 he: for probably Socrates, the common saying is true, 
 that things excellent are difficult. They seem so, said I, 
 And be assured of this at least, Glaucon, that, in my opin- 
 ion, we shall never comprehend this matter accurately by 
 such methods as we are now using in our conversation, 
 because the road which really leads to it is longer and of 
 greater extent : still we will consider it in a manner con- 
 sistent with our former disquisitions and inquiries. Ought 
 we not to acquiesce in this ? said he : for to me at least, 
 and for the present, it would be satisfactory enough. Aye, 
 and for me too, said I, it will be quite sufficient. Do not 
 get tired then, said he; but pursue the inquiry. Is it 
 then necessary, said I, that we should acknowledge the 
 very same characters and manners to exist in every indi- 
 vidual that are found in the state ? because there is no 
 other source whence they arrived thither. It were ridicu- 
 lous, indeed, to imagine that the high spirit for which the 
 Thracians, Scythians, and nearly all the northern nations 
 are reputed, does not arise from individual personages; 
 and the same may be said respecting the love of learning, 
 which one may especially deem natural to the people of 
 this country, — or, with reference to the love of riches, 
 which we may say prevailed especially among the Phoeni- 
 cians and the people of Egypt. Quite so, said he. It is 
 so, of course, said I; and it is not hard of recognition. 
 No, indeed. 
 
 Chap. XIII. This, however, is truly hard [to decide], 
 whether we perform our separate acts by one and the 
 same power, or whether, as they are three, we per- 
 form one by one, and another by another; that is, 
 learn by one, get angry by another, and by a third 
 covet the pleasures of nutrition and propagation, and 
 others akin to these; or whether, when we devote our- 
 selves to them, we act on each with the whole soul: 
 these matters are difficult adequately to determine. I 
 think so, too, said he. Let us try to define these things, 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 149 
 
 whether they are the same with one another, or differ- 
 ent. How can we ? It is plain that the same thing 
 evidently cannot at the same time produce or experi- 
 ence contrary effects in the same respect, and rela- 
 tively to the same object; so that, if we ever find 
 anything thus occurring, we shall know that it was 
 not one and the same thing, but several. Granted. 
 Attend now to what I am saying. Proceed, replied 
 he. is it possible for the same thing, considered in 
 the same relation, to be both at rest and in motion ? 
 By no means. Let us define this more accurately still, 
 lest, as we proceed, we be inclined to waver: for, if 
 one were to say that, when a man stands, though 
 yet moving his hands and head, the same person is 
 at once still and in motion; we should not, I con- 
 ceive, reckon this a correct mode of speaking, but 
 that one part of him is at rest, and another part in 
 motion : is it not so ? Just so. But if a person ar- 
 guing thus were to proceed jestingly and facetiously 
 allege that tops are wholly at rest, but yet are at the 
 same time in motion, when, fixed on the same point, 
 they are whirled about their centre, — or that anything 
 else going round in a circle in the same position does 
 the same,— we should not admit it, as it is not in the 
 same respect that they both stand still and are in 
 motion; but we should say that they have in them 
 the straight line [z. e., the axis] and the circumference; 
 and that, with relation to the axis they are at rest 
 (because it inclines to neither side) ; but with relation 
 to the circumference, they move in a circle: and again, 
 if, while it is whirling round, its perpendicularity in- 
 clines either to the right or the left, forward or back- 
 ward, then it is by no means at rest. Very right, 
 said he. No assertion then of this kind will frighten 
 us; nor shall any one persuade us, that anything, 
 being one and the same, can do and suffer contraries 
 at one and the same time, in the same respect, and 
 relatively to the same object. Me, at any rate, he 
 shall not, said he. But once more, said I, not to be 
 tedious in going over and refuting all these quibbles, 
 let us proceed on the supposition, that this is really 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 the case, acknowledging, also, that if at any time 
 these things are found to be different from what they 
 now are, all that we have gained will be lost. This 
 then, said he, is what we must do. 
 
 Chap. XIV. Well, then, — nodding an assent, said I, 
 and making a sign of dissent, desiring to take a thing 
 and refusing it, attracting or repelling — will you reckon 
 all such things contraries, respectively, whether actions 
 or passions ; for it matters not which ? Contraries, cer- 
 tainly, said he. What, then, said I, — thirst, hunger, and 
 the desires generally, — and further, to wish and to will, 
 may not all these be considered as of the same kind with 
 the species just mentioned ? As, for instance, will you 
 not always say of a man who desires, that his soul aims 
 after what it desires, or attracts to itself what it wishes 
 to have ? Or again, so far as the soul wishes something 
 to be given to it, does it not make a sign for it, as 
 if a person were asking for it, through desire of acquiring 
 its possession? I should say so. But what? — to be un- 
 willing, not to wish, and not to desire, — shall we not 
 deem them synonymous with repelling and driving off 
 from the soul, and so all things else that are contrary 
 of the former ? Of course. This being the case, shall we 
 say that there is a certain species of desires, and that 
 the most conspicuous are those which we call thirst and 
 hunger ? We shall say so, he replied. Is not one the 
 desire of drinking, the other of eating ? Yes. In the case 
 of thirst, then, is it, so far as it is thirst, a desire in 
 the soul of any thing more than what we were saying; 
 and as far as thirst goes, — is there a thirst for hot drink, 
 or cold, for much or little, or in short, for some particular 
 kind of drink ? — or again, if heat be added to the thirst, 
 will it not readily occasion a desire for cold drink ; but if 
 cold [be added to it], then [a desire] for warm drink: 
 and if the thirst be great, owing to numerous causes, will 
 it not occasion a desire for much drink, but if small, [a 
 desire] for little ; while as for the desire of thirst itself, 
 it never becomes the desire of anything else, but of that 
 only to which it naturally belongs, — and so, also, of 
 hunger, with reference to meat ? Just so, said he, every 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 '5' 
 
 desire belongs in itself to that alone of which it is the 
 desire; but whether they be desires of such or such a 
 particular kind, are adventitious circumstances. Let no 
 one, then, said I, trouble us, as if we were inadvertent, 
 [by objecting to us] that no one desires drink, but good 
 drink, — nor meat, but good meat; inasmuch as all men 
 desire what is good. If, then, thirst be a desire, it is one 
 of something good; whether it be of drink, or any thing 
 else whatever, — and in the same way with all the other 
 desires. Aye, perhaps, replied he, the man who says 
 this may be deemed to say something to the purpose. 
 But in truth, said I, things naturally relative, refer in 
 each particular, as I think, to this or that object, to 
 which they belong, while in their individual character 
 they refer only to themselves individually. I do not 
 understand, said he. Do not you understand, said I, 
 that greater is relatively greater than something ? Cer- 
 tainly. Is it not greater than the lesser ? Yes. And 
 that which is much greater than that which is much less ; is 
 it not ? Yes. And that which was formerly greater than 
 that which was formerly less, and that which is to be 
 greater than that which is to be less ? Of course, said he. 
 And in like manner the more numerous has reference to 
 the less numerous, and the double to the half, and so in all 
 such-like cases; and further, the heavier to the lighter, 
 and the swifter to the slower; and further still, the hot 
 to the cold; and all such like, are they not thus related ? 
 Entirely so. But what as to the sciences; is not the 
 case the same ? — for science itself is the science of pure 
 learning, or of whatever else one sees fit to make it the 
 science ; while, on the other hand, a certain particular 
 science, of a particular kind, refers to a certain particular 
 kind, and also to a particular object. My meaning is as 
 follows: when the science of building houses arose, was 
 it not so far separated from the other sciences as to ac- 
 quire the name of architecture ? Of course. Was it not 
 so because it was of a kind like none else ? Yes. Was 
 it not, then, from its being the art of such a particular 
 thing, that it became itself such a particular art; and 
 are not all other arts and sciences in like manner ? They 
 are so. 
 
152 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 Chap. XV. Consider, then, said I, that this is what I 
 wanted to express, if you now understand me; namely, 
 that things which are relative, taken by themselves alone, 
 relate to themselves alone, hut considered as of such a 
 quality, relate to particular objects. I do not say, how- 
 ever, that a science altogether resembles that of which 
 it is the science ; (as if, for example, the science of healthy 
 and sickly were itself healthy and sickly, or the science 
 of good and evil itself good and evil) ; but as science is 
 not constituted the science of that generally of which it 
 is the science, but only of a certain quality of it (that is, 
 of its healthy and sickly state), so it comes to be itself 
 a particular science; and hence it is no longer called 
 simply a science, but the medicinal science, the particular 
 class to which it belongs being superadded. I understand 
 you, said he; and I think it is so. As for thirst, then, 
 said I, will you not class it among those things which have 
 relation to something else, so far as it is what it is ? and 
 is not thirst a thirst for something ? I should, certainly, 
 said he, for drink. And does not a particular thirst desire 
 a particular drink? — whereas thirst in general is neither 
 of much nor of little, nor of good nor bad, nor, in one 
 word, of any particular kind; but abstractly and in gen- 
 eral, the natural desire of drink. Assuredly. The soul 
 of the man, then, who thirsts, so far as he thirsts, wishes 
 nothing further than to drink; and this he covets, and to 
 this he hurries ? Clearly so. If therefore, when the soul 
 is athirst, anything draws it back, must it not be some 
 different principle from that which excites thirst, and 
 leads it as a wild beast to drink; since it is impossible, 
 we say, for the same thing, by itself, and at the same 
 time, to produce contrary results from the same cause ? 
 It is indeed impossible. Just as it is not proper, methinks, 
 to say of an archer, that his hands at once propel and 
 draw in the bow, but that one of his hands propels it, 
 and the other draws it in ? Assuredly, said he. Can 
 we say, then, that there are some, who when athirst are 
 not willing to drink ? Certainly, said he, many, and often. 
 What then, said I, is one to say of these persons ? Might 
 it not be said, that there is something in their soul that 
 prompts them to drink, and likewise something that 
 
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 153 
 
 restrains them, quite different, and that prevails over the 
 prompting principle ? I think so, said he. Does not the 
 restraining principle then, whenever it arises, arise from 
 reason; while those that lead and urge men onward, 
 proceed from affections and ailments ? It appears so. We 
 shall not then, said I, be unreasonable in defining these 
 as distinctly two, and separate from one another, if we 
 call that with which one reasons, the rational part of the 
 soul, but that part with which it loves, and hungers, and 
 thirsts, and is carried away by desires, the irrational and 
 concupiscent part, as associated with certain gratifications 
 and pleasures. We shall not, said he ; but we may reason- 
 ably regard them in this light. Let these two then, said 
 I, be defined as distinct principles in the soul. But as 
 to that of anger, and by which we are angry, is it a third 
 principle, or is it of like nature with one or other of these 
 two ? Perhaps, said he, with one of them, the concupis- 
 cent. But I believe, said I, what I have somewhere heard: 
 Leontius, son of Aglaion, as he was returning from the 
 Piraeus, along the outside of the northern wall, perceiv- 
 ing some dead bodies lying close to the place of public 
 punishment, had a desire to look at them, but yet at the 
 same time revolted therefrom and turned away; and for 
 a while he resisted, and covered his eyes, but, at last, 
 overcome by his desire, ran with eyes wide open toward 
 the dead bodies, and said : " Here now, ye wretched eyes 
 of mine! glut yourselves with this fine spectacle.'* I too 
 have heard it, said he. This story now shows, said I, 
 that anger sometimes opposes the desires, as being dis- 
 tinct from each other. Yes, said he, it does show it. 
 
 Chap. XVI. Do we not then in other cases, and very 
 frequently, perceive, said I, when the appetites compel 
 any one against his reason, that he reproaches himself, 
 and is angry at the compelling principle within him ; and 
 that like two persons at variance, the anger of such a per- 
 son becomes an ally to reason ; but that it sides with the 
 desires when reason decides that no opposition is to be 
 offered, you will say, I think, that you have never per- 
 ceived anything of this kind either in yourself, nor yet in 
 any other ? No, by Zeus, replied he. What then, said I, 
 
154 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 is it not the case, when a man imagines he is doing a 
 wrong, that the more generous he is, the less is he apt 
 to be angry, however he may suffer hunger or cold, or 
 other like privations, from one who, as he thinks, inflicts 
 them with justice ? And, as I have said, his anger will 
 not incline him to rise up against such an one. True, 
 said he. But what; when a man thinks himself injured 
 does he not in this case boil with rage and become in- 
 dignant and ally himself on the side of what seems just; 
 and under all the sufferings of hunger, cold, and the like, 
 does he not bear up and strive to conquer; nor does he 
 cease from his generous toils, until he has either accom- 
 plished them, or dies, or, like a dog by the shepherd, is 
 called off and pacified by the rational principle within 
 him ? Certainly, said he, it is precisely like what you say, 
 for, in our state, we appointed the auxiliaries to be obedi- 
 ent, like dogs, to the state rulers, as being shepherds of 
 Ithe state. You quite understand, said I, what I mean to 
 Bay : but have you considered this also ? What ? That 
 here apparently, as regards the irascible, the reverse takes 
 place from what took place in the former instance, — for 
 then we reckoned it the same as the concupiscent; but 
 now we say it is far from it, or rather that, in the sedi- 
 tion of the soul, it more willingly arrays itself on the side 
 of the rational part. Entirely so, said he. Is it then as 
 something entirely distinct, or as a species of the rational ; 
 so as that there are not three species, but only two in the 
 soul, the rational and concupiscent ? or, as there were 
 three species which completed the city, the money-getting, 
 the auxiliary, the deliberative ; so, in the soul, is this 
 irascible a third natural principle, auxiliary to the rational, 
 when not corrupted by bad education ? Of course, it must, 
 said he, be a third. Yes, said I, if at least it seem at 
 all different from the rational, just as it seemed to be dis- 
 tinct from the concupiscent. Aye, that is not hard to see, 
 said he ; and as a proof of this, one may see, even in 
 little children, that quite from their infancy they are full 
 of anger, while some of them, at least in my opinion, 
 never have any share in reason, the majority indeed only 
 arriving at it but late in life. Aye, truly, said I, you are 
 right. And in the brute beasts, too, one may observe yet 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 155 
 
 further, that what you say is really the case ; and besides 
 this, it is attested also by what we formerly cited from 
 Homer — 
 
 His breast he struck, and thus his heart reproved; 
 
 for, in this passage. Homer has plainly made one part 
 reprove the other; that part, namely, which reasons about 
 good and evil, to reprove the part which is unreasonably 
 angry. You are quite right, said he. 
 
 Chap. XVII. These things, said I, we have agreed to 
 after some difficitlty; and it is now sufficiently acknowl- 
 edged, that the same sort of principles that are in a 
 state reside also in the soul of every individual, and 
 equal in number. Must it not, then, necessarily follow, 
 that in whatever manner the state is wise, and in what- 
 ever respect, after the same manner and in the same 
 respect, the individual is so also ? Of course. And in 
 whatever respects, and after whatever manner, the indi- 
 vidual is brave, in the same respect, and after the same 
 manner, a state is brave also ? and so in all other 
 respects, both are the same as regards virtue ? Neces- 
 sarily so. And I think, Glaucon, it may be said that a 
 man is so just in the same way as a state is so. This 
 also must needs be the case. Aye; but have we not 
 somehow or other forgotten this, that the state is just, 
 when every one of the three species in it does its own 
 particular work ? No, said he, I do not think we have 
 forgotten that point. We must remember then likewise, 
 that each of us will be just, and do his own work, each 
 part of whose soul does its own proper duty. Aye, said 
 he, we must be sure to recollect that. Is it not proper, 
 then, that the rational part should govern, as being 
 wise, and charged with the care of the whole soul ; and 
 that the spirited part should obey and ally itself to the 
 other ? Certainly. Will not the mixture then, as we 
 said, of music and gymnastics, make the two to har- 
 monize by exalting and nurturing the one with excel- 
 lent arguments and good discipline, while it unbends 
 the other by soothing and rendering it mild through 
 harmony and rhythm ? Assuredly, said he. And when 
 
156 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 these two are thus nurtured and have been truly taught 
 and practiced in their own affairs, they will preside over 
 the concupiscent part, which in every one occupies the 
 largest part of the soul, and by its nature is insatiable 
 of wealth ; and they will take care, lest, having acquired 
 growth and strength by being filled with bodily pleas- 
 ures, as they are termed, it become discontented with its 
 own work, and so attempt to enslave and rule over those 
 it ought not, and thus wholly upset the entire system of 
 life. Certainly, said he. And by this principle, said I, 
 will not the two maintain a good guard against enemies 
 from without, owing to their joint influence over , both 
 soul and body, the one laying down the plans, and the 
 other fighting in obedience to its leader, and executing 
 with fortitude the plans laid down ? Such is the case. 
 And I think we call a man brave, when, through all the 
 pains and pleasures of life, the spirit maintains the opinion 
 dictated by reason about what is terrible, and what is not 
 so. Right, said he. And we call a man wise, from that 
 small part which governs him, and dictates this, inasmuch 
 as it possesses the knowledge of what is expedient for eacll 
 separately, and for the whole of the three togetherJR 
 Certainly. And, do we not moreover term a man tem- 
 perate, from the association and harmony of these very 
 principles, when the governing and governed agree ii^ 
 one, — namely, when reason governs, and when the others^ 
 are not at variance therewith ? Temperance, said he, is 
 no other than this, either as respects the state or the in- 
 dividual. But he will be just, owing to those causes and 
 in the manner which we have often before mentioned ? 
 He must. What then, said I; has anything blunted us, 
 that we should regard justice as anything else than what 
 it is seen to be in a state ? Not in my opinion at least, 
 said he. In this manner then (if there yet remain any 
 doubt in the soul), let us, by all means, satisfy ourselves 
 by bringing the man into difficult circumstances. As 
 what ? For instance, if we be compelled to declare, con- 
 cerning such a state and a man bom and educated con- 
 formably thereto, whether such a man, if intrusted with 
 gold or silver, is likely to embezzle it, — who do you 
 think would imagine, that such an one would do it sooner 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 than those of a diflferent character ? No one would, said 
 he. Will not such an one then be free from sacrileges, 
 thefts, and treacheries, either privately against his friends, 
 or publicly against the state ? He will. Nor will he ever, 
 in any shape, be faithless, either as to his oaths, or other 
 compacts ? How should he. Adulteries, neglect of par- 
 ents, and impiety against the gods, will be found then 
 in any one rather than such a man as this ? Aye, in any 
 one else, truly, said he. And is not this the cause of all 
 these things, — that, of all the parts within him each 
 separate one does its own work, as to governing and 
 being governed ? This is it, and nothing else. What 
 else do you wish justice to be, except such a power as 
 produces men and states like these ? Not I, truly, said 
 he, for my part. 
 
 Chap. XVIII. Our dream then, which we conjectured, 
 is at last accomplished ; that on our very first attempt to 
 found our state we have apparently arrived by divine 
 assistance at a principle and pattern of justice ? Quite 
 so. And that, Glaucon, was a certain image of justice, 
 that the man naturally fitted for the office of a shoemaker, 
 should make shoes properly, and do nothing else; and 
 that he also, who is a carpenter, should do that work, — 
 and so also, of the rest. It appears so. In truth, then, 
 of such a kind was justice, as it seems; nor does it re- 
 gard merely a man's external action, but what is really 
 internal, relating to the man himself, and what is prop- 
 erly his own ; not allowing any principle in him to attempt 
 what is another's province, or to meddle and interfere 
 with what does not belong to it; but really well estab- 
 lishing his own proper affairs, and maintaining proper 
 self-government, keeping due order, becoming his own 
 friend, and most naturally attuning these three principles, 
 as three musical strings, base, tenor, and treble, or what- 
 ever others may intervene: thus will he be led to com- 
 bine all these together, and out of many to form one whole, 
 temperate, attuned, and able to perform whatever is to be 
 done, either in acquiring wealth, or managing the body, 
 or any public affair or private bargain, and in all these 
 cases reckoning that action to be just and good, which 
 
158 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 always sustains and promotes this habit ; and so also call- 
 ing the knowledge which presides over this action wisdom, 
 — and on the contrary, calling that an unjust action, which 
 destroys this habit, — and the opinion which presides over 
 this, folly. Perfectly true^ Socrates, said he. Be it so, 
 said I: If then we should say, that we have found out 
 a just man and state, and the nature of justice in both, 
 I think we should not be considered altogether in error. 
 No, by Zeus, said he. May we assume it, then ? We 
 may. 
 
 Chap. XIX. Be it so, said I. But we were next, I 
 think, to consider injustice ? Clearly so. Is it not then 
 necessarily a kind of variance between the three princi- 
 ples, a kind of meddling and interfering spirit in things 
 foreign to their proper business, and an insurrection of 
 some one principle against the whole soul, to govern 
 where it is not its province, though it be really of such 
 a nature, that it ought to be in subjection to the govern- 
 ing principle ? I imagine then we are to call this tumult 
 and error by some such names as these, — injustice, in- 
 temperance, cowardice, folly, and in a word, all vices ? 
 Just so, said he. To commit injustice then, said I, and 
 to be injurious, and likewise to act justly, all these must 
 be very manifest, if indeed injustice and justice are so. 
 How ? Because, said I, they do not differ from what is 
 salutary or noxious; as the latter are in the body, so 
 are the former in the soul. In what way ? said he. Such 
 things as are healthy produce health, and such as are 
 noxious, disease. Yes. And does not acting justly pro- 
 duce justice, — and acting unjustly, injustice ? Necessarily 
 so. To produce health, however, is to establish every- 
 thing in the body, so that they shall mutually govern and 
 be governed, conformably to nature, — while the production 
 of disease, on the other hand, consists in one part govern- 
 ing and being governed, by another contrary to nature. It 
 is indeed. Then again, said I, to pr-oduce justice, is it not 
 to establish all in the soul, so that its parts shall mutu- 
 ally govern and be governed according to nature; and 
 does not injustice consist in governing and being gov- 
 erned by one another contrary to nature ? Plainly so, said 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 he. Virtue then, as it seems, is a kind of health, beauty, 
 and good habit of the soul ; and vice its disease, deformity, 
 and infirmity ? It is so. Do not honorable pursuits then 
 lead to the attainment of virtue, but dishonorable to that 
 of vice ? They must. What remains for us to consider 
 then is, — whether it be profitable to act justly, and 
 pursue what is honorable, and to be just and whether 
 a man can be of such a character unconsciously or 
 not; or to act unjustly, and to be unjust, though 
 one be never punished, or reformed by correction ? 
 But, said he, Socrates, this inquiry seems, to me at 
 least, quite ridiculous; that if in a corrupt state of 
 the body life be deemed not worth possession, not 
 even though accompanied by all kinds of meats and 
 drinks, and all wealth and power, yet when the nature 
 of the vital principle is disordered and thoroughly cor- 
 rupted, life will then be worth having, though a man 
 were to do everything else that he likes, except ascer- 
 taining how he shall get released from vice and injustice, 
 and cultivate justice and virtue, — since both these things 
 have been proved such as we have represented them. 
 Aye, it would be truly ridiculous, said I. However, 
 since we have arrived at such a point as enables us most 
 distinctly to perceive that these things are so, we must 
 not get weary. On no account, by Zeus, said he, must 
 we be weary. Come then, said I, and let us see also 
 how many principles vice possesses, — principles indeed 
 that are worthy of attention. I am all attention, said 
 he; only tell me. And truly now, said I; since we 
 have reached this part of our discourse, it appears to me, 
 as to one looking from a height, that there is but one 
 principle of virtue, while those of vice are infinite: and 
 of these there are four, particularly deserving of mention. 
 How say you ? replied he. There seems to be as many 
 classes of the soul as there are forms of government. 
 How many then ? Five, said I, of governments, and five 
 of the soul. Name them, said he. What we have just 
 described, replied I, is one species of government; and 
 it may have a twofold appellation; for, if among the 
 rulers one prevails over the rest, it may be termed a 
 Monarchy, — but if there be several, an Aristocracy. 
 
i6o 
 
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 True, said he. I call this then, said I, one species; 
 for whether there be several, or whether it be but 
 one who governs, they will never alter the principal 
 laws of the state, — because they will observe the na- 
 ture and education we have described. It is not likely, 
 said he. 
 
BOOK V. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 In the FIFTH BOOK he shows how the magistracy is to be constituted, so 
 as to establish a prosperous state. True philosophy, says he, is its 
 basis ; and this, so far from being superficial and affecting only the 
 outward bearing and life of the citizens, turns the mind away from 
 all these fleeting subjects to that which is real, positive, and con- 
 sistent with the knowledge of God. Carrying the subject somewhat 
 back, therefore, he considers in detail the subject matter of philos- 
 ophy, proving that it is the knowledge both of virtue and of God, 
 both of which are indispensable to a well-ordered state, in which 
 either philosophers must be rulers or vice versa. As however he had 
 said in the third book, that a state's welfare depended on the com- 
 munity of ideas and of property, he now shows in detail, how the 
 duties of men and women are common in a state, and how conse- 
 quently themselves and their property too should be common, — a notion 
 which Aristotle rather severely handles in the second book of the 
 « Politics » (ch. 3), where he says, that, though the state be one, but with 
 this restriction, that we must bear in mind that to different men 
 belong different dispositions, and if evrafia is gently to be maintained, 
 we must specially guard against confusion and unnecessary interfer- 
 ence, the certain means of downfall to a state. 
 
 Chapter I. Such a state and government then, and 
 such a man as we have described, I term good and up- 
 right: and if this government be an upright one, I reckon 
 the others bad and erroneous, both as to the regnlations in 
 states, and the establishment of the moral nature in 
 individuals, inasmuch as there are four species of deprav- 
 ity.* Of what kind are these ? said he. I was about to 
 mention them in order, as they each appeared to me to 
 rise one out of 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 toward him, he spoke something in a 
 
 * The argument here interrupted respecting the four kinds of de- 
 pravity, individually or in states, is resumed at the commencement of 
 the eighth book. 
 
 II (I6l) 
 
l62 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 whisper, of which we heard nothing but this: Shall we 
 let that pass, then ? said he, or what shall we do ? By 
 no means, said Adimantus, now speaking aloud. And I 
 replied, What will not you let pass ? You, indeed, said he : 
 for it was to you I alluded. You seem to us to be get- 
 ting careless and to be stealing through a whole branch 
 of the discourse, and that not the least important, that 
 you may not have the trouble of going through it ; and you 
 think you escaped our notice, when you made this speech 
 so simply, viz., that it is clear to every one both as to 
 wives and children, that whatever belongs to friends will 
 be common. Did not I say right, Adimantus ? Yes, 
 said he : but this, which was rightly said, like the rest of 
 your discourse, requires explanation; namely, to show 
 what is the mode of that community; for there must be 
 many: do not omit saying then which mode you mean; 
 for we have been expecting it for some time past, think- 
 ing you would, some time or other, speak of the propa- 
 gation of children, how they are to be propagated; and 
 when born, how they should be brought up, and every- 
 thing relating to this community that you were mentioning 
 both of wives and children ; for we suppose it to be of 
 great, nay — paramount importance to the state, whether 
 this be rightly performed or not. Now then, since you 
 are taking in hand another kind of state-government 
 before you have sufficiently discussed this, we have deter- 
 mined, as you just heard, not to let you pass, without 
 going over all these things, as you did the others. And 
 me too you may reckon, said Glaucon, as joining in this 
 vote. Be quite sure, Socrates, said Thrasymachus, that 
 this is the opinion of us all. 
 
 Chap. II. What have you done, said I, in seizing 
 me thus ? What a mighty talk is this you are again 
 raising, as you did at the beginning, about your republic, 
 which I was so glad at having completely described, 
 pleased [to think] that any one would let these things 
 pass, and admit what was then said! And as to what 
 you now challenge me to, you know not what a swarm 
 of disputes you are stirring up: I foresaw them, and 
 let them pass at that time, for fear of making a great 
 
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 163 
 
 disturbance. What, then, said Thrasymachus, think you 
 that these are now come hither to melt gold, and not 
 to hear reasonings ? Aye, said I, but in moderation. 
 As for moderation, Socrates, said Glaucon, the whole of 
 life serves for hearing such reasonings as these: but 
 let pass what relates to us; and as to what we are 
 inquiring, do not begrudge explaining what you think 
 about it, — what sort of community of wives and children 
 is to be observed by our guardians, and how the latter 
 ought to be reared while very young, in the period 
 between their birth and their education, which seems to 
 be the most troublesome of all. Try and tell us now, 
 how that is to be accomplished. It is not easy, my good 
 fellow, said I, to describe them; for many of them are 
 very hard to be believed, even more than those we have 
 before described; for even their possibility we might 
 well disbelieve; and even were they possible, one might 
 still doubt, whether they would best be done in this 
 particular way: on this account, my dear friend, I 
 somewhat hesitate to touch on these topics, lest our 
 reasoning appear to be a mere wish, rather than abso- 
 lute reality. Do not hesitate now, said he; for your 
 hearers are neither unreasonable, nor incredulous, nor 
 ill-disposed. Now, my very good Glaucon, said I, is it 
 with the desire of reassuring me, that you say this ? I 
 do, said he. Then you have produced quite a contrary 
 effect, said I ; for could I trust to myself, that I thoroughly 
 know what I am to say, your encouragement would 
 have been quite right; for among intelligent and friendly 
 persons, one who understands the truth, may speak with 
 safety and confidence about the most important matters; 
 but when one speaks, as of course I do, with diffidence 
 and a sort of searching spirit, there is both fear and 
 danger, not only of being exposed to ridicule (for that 
 is but a trifling thing), but lest, mistaking the truth, I 
 not only fall myself, but draw my friends along with 
 me into an error about matters, in which we ought least 
 of all to be mistaken. I conjure Adrasteia,* therefore, 
 
 * Adrasteia or Nemesis was a daughter of Zeus, and regarded as 
 the punisher of murderers and homicides, — even those involuntarily so. 
 See Bloomfield's note to .iEschyl. Prom. v. 972. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 Glaucon, with respect to what I am going to say: For 
 I hope it is a smaller offense to be unintentionally a 
 murderer, than an impostor about what is good and 
 excellent, just and lawful: and as for this risk, it were 
 better to risk it among enemies than friends; so that 
 you are not giving me proper encouragement. Then, 
 said Glaucon, laughing: Aye, but Socrates, even if we 
 should suffer aught amiss from your discourse, we 
 acquit you as clear of homicide, and as no impostor: so 
 proceed boldly. But the man, said I, who is acquitted 
 in a court of justice is, at any rate, deemed clear of 
 the crime, as the law says; and if it be so in that case, 
 it should be so in this. As respects this, then, said he, 
 pray proceed. We must now, said I, once more return 
 to what perhaps in strict order should have been con- 
 sidered before; and thus perhaps it would be correct, 
 after having entirely completed the men's part, to com- 
 plete also the women's; especially since you challenge me 
 to do so. 
 
 Chap. IIL Men who have been born and educated as 
 we have described, cannot, in my opinion, otherwise 
 rightly acquire and employ their wives and children than 
 by following the same track, in which we have proceeded 
 from the beginning : for we surely undertook, in our argu- 
 ment, to represent men as the guardians of a flock. Yes. 
 Let us proceed, then, to give the children a corresponding 
 birth and education; and let us consider, whether it be 
 proper for us or not. How ? replied he. Thus : Are we 
 to reckon it proper for the females among our guardian 
 dogs to watch and hunt, and do every thing else in com- 
 mon with the males ; or rather to manage domestic affairs 
 ■within doors, as being disabled from other exercises on 
 account of bearing and nursing the whelps, while the 
 males are to labor and take the entire charge of the 
 flock ? All in common, said he ; except that we employ 
 the females as the weaker, and the males as the stronger. 
 Is it possible, then, said I, to employ an animal for the 
 same purposes [with another], without giving it the same 
 nurture and education ? It is not possible. If, therefore, 
 we are to employ the women for the same purposes as the 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 men, must we not give them also the same kind of instruc- 
 tion ? Yes. Were both music and gymnastics bestowed 
 on the males ? Yes. To the women too, then, we must 
 impart these two arts, and those likewise that refer to 
 war; and we must employ them in the same manner. It 
 is probable from what you say, said he. Perhaps, how- 
 ever, said I, many things, concerning what we are now 
 speaking, may appear ridiculous, because contrary to cus- 
 tom, — if they shall be practiced in the way now men- 
 tioned. Quite so, replied he. But which of them, said I, 
 do you conceive to be the most ridiculous ? Would it not 
 clearly be to behold the women naked in the palaestra 
 wrestling with the men, and not only the young women, 
 but even those more advanced in years, just like the old 
 men in the wrestling "schools, who are still fond of the 
 exercises, though wrinkled, and not at all comely to the 
 eye ? Aye, by Zeus, said he ; it would appear truly ridic- 
 ulous, as present fashions go. Ought we not, then, said I, 
 since we have entered on this discourse, to fear the raillery 
 of wits, which they would probably bestow pretty abun- 
 dantly on such innovations [as respects exercising the 
 women] in gymnastics, music, and more especially in the 
 use of arms, and the management of horses ? You say 
 right, he replied. But since we have entered on this dis- 
 course, let us go to the rigor of the law, and beg- these 
 men not to be the slaves of prejudice, but to think seri- 
 ously, and remember, that not long since the sight of 
 naked men appeared base and disgusting to the Greeks, 
 just as now, indeed, it does to most of the barbarians : and 
 when first the Cretans, and afterward the Lacedaemoni- 
 ans, began their exercises, the wits of that day might 
 have made a jest of all this : do not you think so ? I do. 
 But, methinks, when those experienced in the art thought 
 it better to strip themselves, than to cover up such parts, 
 the merely apparent ridiculousness of the thing is set aside 
 by the advantage stated in our reasoning; and this, too, 
 manifestly shows that the man is a fool who deems any- 
 thing ridiculous except what is bad, and tries to run down 
 as ridiculous any other idea but that of the foolish and 
 the vicious, or employs himself seriously with any other 
 end in view but that of the good. Assuredly, said he. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 Chap. IV. Must we not then, first of all, agree on 
 this, — whether these things be possible or not; and set 
 forth a question, whether any one, either in jest or 
 earnest, can doubt, if the human nature in the female 
 can in all cases share with the male, or in no case share 
 at all; or in some cases, but not in others; and this, too, 
 with reference to what concerns war ? Would not the 
 man who thus sets out so also probably conclude ? Cer- 
 tainly, said he. Do you wish, then, said I, that we should 
 argue against ourselves about these things, in order that 
 the opposite side may not, if attacked, be destitute of de- 
 fense ? Nothing hinders, said he. Let us, then, say this 
 for them: There is no need, Socrates and Glaucon, for 
 others to dispute with you about this matter; for your- 
 selves, in first establishing your state, agreed that each 
 individual ought to practice one business, according to his 
 particular talent. We did so agree, I think ; for how could 
 we do otherwise ? Does not, then, the nature of a woman 
 differ widely from that of a man ? Of course it differs. 
 And is it not right to allot to each a different work, ac- 
 cording to the nature of each ? Of course. Are not you 
 in the wrong, then, and do you not contradict yourselves, 
 in saying that men and women ought to do the same 
 things, with natures so widely different ? Have you any 
 answer to make against this, my clever Glaucon ? To do 
 so on the moment is no such easy matter, said he ; but 
 I will entreat you, and I do so now, to unravel the argu- 
 ments on our side, whatever they may be. These, 
 Glaucon, replied I, and many other such things, are 
 what I long ago foresaw; and I was both afraid and un- 
 willing to touch on the law concerning the possession of 
 wives and the education of children. No, by Zeus, replied 
 he, it seems no easy matter. Certainly not, said L The 
 case, however, is thiis: If a man fall into a small fish 
 pond, or quite into the ocean itself, still he has to 
 swim no less. Certainly. Let us too, then, swim, and 
 try to escape from this argument, expecting that either 
 some dolphin will rescue us, or that we shall have some 
 other remarkable deliverance ? It seems we ought, replied 
 he. Come then, said I ; let us see, if we can anywhere 
 find an outlet ; for M'e acknowledg-ed that different natures 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 167 
 
 ought to study different things, and that the natures of a 
 woman and a man are different; yet now we say, that dif- 
 ferent natures ought to study the same things: do you 
 accuse us of this ? Just so. How admirable, Glaucon, said 
 I, is the power of the art of disputing ! How ? Because, 
 replied I, many seem to fall into it unwillingly, suppos- 
 ing that they are not cavilling, but reasoning truly, owing 
 to their inability to divide a subject rightly and investi- 
 gate it according to its species; but following the literal 
 sense, they pursue what is quite contradictory to their 
 subject, making use of cavilling instead of argument. 
 This is indeed the case with many, said he ; but does that 
 extend likewise to us in the present instance ? Quite so, 
 said I ; for I think, that without meaning it, we have fallen 
 into a contradiction. How ? Because we have very boldly 
 and disputatiously asserted, that unless persons' natures 
 are the same, they ought not to have the same employ- 
 ments ; though we have not at all inquired the sort of dif- 
 ference and identity of the nature [ here referred to], and 
 with reference to which we defined them, when we ascribed 
 different piirsuits to different natures, and to the same 
 natures the same pursuits. No certainly, said he, we did 
 not consider that. It would seem then, replied I, that we 
 may still ask ourselves the question, whether the nature 
 of the bald and those who wear hair be the same and not 
 different; and if we agree that it be different, whether, 
 if the bald made shoes, we should let those who wear hair 
 make them ; or if again, those who wear hair [ made 
 them, whether we should allow ] the others [ to do so 
 likewise] ? That were ridiculous, replied he. Is it then 
 ridiculous, said I, for any other reason than that we did 
 not then in general define the sameness and diversity of 
 natures, but observed only that species of diversity and 
 sameness, which respects their peculiar functions, just as 
 we say that a physician, and a man who has a genius for 
 being a physician, have one and the same nature ? Do 
 not you think so ? I do. But have the physician and the 
 carpenter a different [ nature ] ? Most assuredly. 
 
 Chap. V. In that case, said I, as regards the natures 
 of men and women, if they appear different, with 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 respect to any art, or other employment, we are supposed 
 to assign to each separately his proper employment: 
 but if it appear to differ only in this, — namely, that the 
 female bears children, and the male begets them, — we 
 must not say that it has at all as yet been proved that a 
 man differs from a woman in the sense of which we are 
 speaking, and we must still think, that both our guar- 
 dians and their wives may pursue the same employments. 
 And with reason, said he. After this, then, should we 
 not require any one who says the contrary, to inform us 
 on this point, — what is that art or function in the arrange- 
 ments of a state, where the nature of a man and woman 
 is not the same, but different ? A reasonable demand, 
 too. Perhaps then some one may reply, as you said some 
 time since, that it is not easy all at once to explain this 
 sufficiently, but yet no hard matter for one who has con- 
 sidered it ? Yes, — one might well say so. Do you wish 
 then, that we should request such an opponent to follow 
 us, while we try to show him, that there is no function 
 peculiar to a woman in the management of a state ? By 
 all means. Come then (we will say to him), answer us: 
 did you not mean that one man has a natural talent for 
 anything, and another not, in this respect, — namely, that 
 one learns a thing easily, and another with difficulty-, 
 and one with a little instruction discovers much in what 
 he learns, while another, after much instruction and care, 
 does not retain even what he has learned ; and that with 
 the one, the body is duly subservient to the mind ; while 
 in the other it is opposed to it ? Well and what other 
 marks are there besides these, by which you would dis- 
 tinguish a man that has particular talents from him that 
 has none at all ? One cannot mention any other, said he. 
 Know you then of any function performed by mankind, 
 in which the males have not all these characteristics in a 
 superior degree to the females; and would it not be 
 tedious to specify particularly the weaving art, and the 
 making of pastry and spice-meats, for which female talents 
 seem to have some repute, and cannot be surpassed with- 
 out the greatest disgrace ? You are right, said he, in say- 
 ing that in all things universally the talent of the one is 
 superior to that of the other; yet many women are 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 superior in many respects to many men ; though, on the 
 whole, it is as you say. There is no function, my friend, 
 then, among the entire members of our state that is 
 peculiar to woman, considered as such, nor to man, con- 
 sidered as such; but natural talents are indiscriminately 
 diffused through both, and the woman naturally shares in 
 all offices, the same as the man, though in all cases the 
 woman is weaker than the man. Certainly. Are we then 
 to commit all [state concerns] to the men, and none to 
 the women ? How should we ? It is true then, I think 
 (as we say), that one woman too is fitted for being a 
 physician, and another not so; one is musical, another 
 by nature unmusical. How otherwise ? And is one fitted 
 for gymnastics and warlike, — another not fitted either for 
 war or gymnastics ? That is my opinion too. And what : 
 is not one a lover of philosophy, and another averse to it ; 
 and one high-spirited, and another timid? This is true, 
 too. And is not one woman naturally suited for being a 
 guardian, and another not so; and have we not made 
 choice of such a talent as this for our guardian men ? 
 Yes — just of such as this. The nature then of the woman 
 and of the man, as respects the guardianship of the state, 
 is the same, — only that the one is weaker, the other 
 stronger. So it seems. 
 
 Chap. VI. Women such as these then are to be chosen 
 to dwell with such men, and to be their fellow-guardians, 
 — inasmuch as they are naturally suited for them, and of 
 kindred talents. Certainly. And must not the same em- 
 ployments be assigned to the same natures ? The same. 
 We have now got round then, to our former point ; and, we 
 allow that it is not contrary to nature, to allot to the 
 wives of our guardians the study both of music and gym- 
 nastics ? Assuredly. We did not establish then what is 
 impossible, or to be only vainly wished for, when we 
 established the law according to nature: and it would 
 seem rather, that what is at present contrary to these 
 things is contrary to nature ? It seems so. Was not 
 then our inquiry, whether our establishment was possible 
 and best ? It was. And we have agreed, that it is pos- 
 sible ? Yes. And we must next be convinced, that it is 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 best ? Clearly so. In order, therefore, that a woman may 
 become a suitable guardian, there will not be one mode 
 of education for making men [guardians], and another 
 for women, especially as the latter have received the same 
 natural genius? No, — it will not be different. What 
 think you then of such an opinion as this ? Of what l 
 That of imagining in your own mind, that one man is 
 better and another worse; or do you deem them to be 
 all alike ? By no means. In the state then which we were 
 just establishing, — which of the two do you think to make 
 the better men, — the guardians provided with this edu- 
 cation we have described, or shoemakers that are taught 
 shoemaking ? That question, replied he, is ridiculous. I 
 understand you, said I : but, tell me ; of all the other 
 citizens, are not they the best ? By far. But what ; 
 will not these women too be the best of women ? They 
 will, replied he, by far. Is there anything better in a 
 state, than that both women and men be rendered the 
 very best ? There is not. And this is to be effected by 
 music and gymnastics being imparted to them, as we have 
 described ? Of course. We have been establishing then 
 a law, which is not only possible, but best also for the 
 state ? Just so. We must unclothe, then, the wives of 
 our guardians, since they are to put on virtue for clothes : 
 and they must bear a part in war, and all other guardi- 
 anship of the state, and do nothing else : but of these 
 special services the lightest part is to be allotted to the 
 women rather than the men, on account of the weakness 
 of their sex: and the man who laughs at naked women 
 while going through their exercises with a view to the 
 best object, reaps the unripe fruit of a ridiculous wis- 
 dom, and seems not rightly to know at what he laughs, 
 or why he does it: for that ever was and will be deemed 
 a noble saying that the profitable is beautiful, and the 
 hurtful base. Assuredly. 
 
 Chap. VII. We may say then that we have escaped 
 one wave, as it were, by thus settling the law with respect 
 to women, and have not been quite overwhelmed, through 
 determining that our male and female guardians are to 
 manage all things in common: and besides that, our 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 171 
 
 reasoning has been consistent with itself, as respects 
 both what is possible and advantageous also. Truly, it 
 is no small wave you have escaped, said he. You will 
 not call it a great one, replied I, when you see what 
 follows. Tell me, said he; and let me see. After this 
 enactment, replied I, and the others formerly mentioned, 
 the following, I think, comes naturally. Which is that ? 
 That these women be all common to all these men, and 
 that no one woman dwell with any man privately, and 
 that their children likewise be common; so that neither 
 shall the parents know their own children, nor the chil- 
 dren their parents.* This, in comparison with the other, 
 is far more difficult to persuade, both as to its possibility 
 and utility. I do not think, replied I, as to its utility at 
 least, that any one would doubt about it being a very 
 great good to have the women and children in common, 
 if it were hxit possible : but the greatest question, me- 
 thinks, will be, whether it be possible or not ? One 
 might very well, said he, raise a discussion on both 
 points. You are mentioning, replied I, a combination of 
 discussions; but I thought, at least, that I should escape 
 from one of them, if its utility had been agreed on, and 
 that in that case it would only have remained to consider 
 its possibility. But you have not slunk off, said he, quite 
 unobserved; and so, give us an account of both. I must 
 submit to a trial, said I : indulge me thus far, how- 
 ever: let me feast myself, as the slow in intellect are 
 wont to feast themselves, when they walk alone : for 
 men of this sort, I imagine, ere finding out how to 
 attain what they desire, waive that inquiry, in order that 
 they may not tire themselves in deliberating about its 
 possibility or impossibility, supposing they have obtained 
 what they desire, and then they go through what re- 
 mains, — rejoicing, also, to recount what they will do, 
 
 * This peculiar notion on the community of wives and children is 
 severely handled by Aristotle, Polit. ii. ch. 2, and Hist. Anim. ix. 
 I. It seems probable, however, that Plato did not intend here entirely 
 to destroy all domestic ties whatever, but to inctilcate a general com- 
 munity of goods as far as possible, — as most conducive to civil con- 
 cord and national prosperity. Compare, however, the opening of the 
 ninth chapter of this book. The fact is, that the question is here 
 viewed simply in its physical, not in its moral relations. 
 
172 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 when it has happened, and rendering their soul, other- 
 wise indolent, more indolent still. Now I too am become 
 languid, and would, therefore, defer such debates, and 
 inquire afterwards into the possibility of these [arrange- 
 ments]. At present, however, supposing them possible, 
 I will, if you please, consider how our rulers are to reg- 
 ulate matters thence arising, in order that the doing of 
 these things may be most advantageous both to the state 
 and the guardians: this, first, I will try to examine 
 with your assistance, and the other question afterward, 
 if you allow me. Oh, I will give you leave, said he: 
 so pray proceed with your inquiry. 
 
 I imagine, then, said I, if our rulers will be worthy of 
 that name, and those also who are their auxiliaries, that 
 the latter will cheerfully do whatever they are bidden, 
 while the former will take the command, gfiving their 
 directions in some matters conformably to the laws, and 
 imitating their spirit in whatever matters we leave to 
 their sole guidance. Very likely, said he. Do you then, 
 their lawgiver, said I, as you have chosen out the men, 
 so choose out also the women, making them, as far as 
 possible, of similar dispositions : and these, as they dwell 
 and eat together in common, and none possesses anything 
 whatever in private, will be always together; and as 
 they mingle in the gymnastic yards and in all their other 
 training exercises, they will, I think, be led by innate 
 necessity to mutual intimacies: do not you think I am 
 speaking of what must necessarily happen ? Not, replied 
 he, by any geometrical necessity, but by one founded on 
 love, which seems to be more cogent than the other, in 
 persuading and winning over the bulk of mankind. 
 
 Chap. VIII. Quite so, said I; but in the next place, 
 Glaucon, to form irregular intimacies, or to do anything 
 else of the same character, is not at all right in a city of 
 happy persons, nor ought the rulers to allow it. No, it 
 were not just, said he. It is evident, by right, in the 
 next place, to make marriages as far as possible sacred; 
 and those most advantageous would be sacred. Alto- 
 gether so. How, then, are they to be most advan- 
 tageous ? Tell me this, Glaucon ; for in your house I 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 173 
 
 see both sporting dogs, and a great number of well-bred 
 birds; have you, by Zeus, ever attended to their pairing, 
 and bringing forth young ? How ? said he. First of all, 
 among these, though all be well-bred, are not some of 
 them far better than all the rest ? They are. Do you 
 breed then from all alike; or are you anxious to do so, 
 as far as possible, from the best breeds ? From the 
 best. But how; from the youngest or the oldest, or 
 those quite in their prime ? From those in their prime. 
 And if they are not thus bred, you consider that the 
 breed both of birds and dogs greatly degenerates ? I 
 do, replied he. And what think you as to horses, said 
 I, and other animals; is the case otherwise with respect 
 to these ? It were absurd [to think so], said he. How 
 strange, my dear fellow, said I; what extremely perfect 
 governors must we have, — if the same applies to the 
 human race ! Nevertheless, it is so, replied he; but 
 what then ? Because, said I, they must necessarily use 
 many medicines ; but as for a physician, where the body 
 does not want medicines, but men willingly subject them- 
 selves to a regimen of diet, we think that an inferior 
 and less skillful one may suffice ; but when there is need 
 for taking medicines, we know that we want a more 
 able physician. True; but with reference to what do 
 you say this ? With reference to this, replied I : it seems 
 likely that our rulers must use an abundance of lying 
 and deceit for the advantage of the governed; and we 
 said somewhere, that all these things were useful in the 
 way of a remedy. Rightly too, said he. This apparent 
 right now seems by no means inconsiderable in mar- 
 riages and the propagation of children. How so ? It 
 necessarily follows, said I, from what has been acknowl- 
 edged, that the best men should as often as possible form 
 alliances with the best women, and the most depraved 
 men, on the contrary, with the most depraved women; 
 and the offspring of the former is to be educated, but 
 not of the latter, if the flock is to be of the most perfect 
 kind: and this must be so done, as to escape the notice of 
 all but the governors themselves, if at any rate the 
 whole band of the guardians is to be as free as possible 
 from sedition. Quite right, said he. Are there not to 
 
174 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 be festivals legally established, in which we shall draw 
 together the bi-ides and bridegrooms; and must not 
 there be sacrifices, and hymns composed by our poets suit- 
 able to the marriages in course of celebration ? But as 
 to the number of the marriages, this we will leave to the 
 rulers, that they may as much as possible keep up the 
 same number of men, having a regard both to wars and 
 diseases, and all other such matters, so that as far as 
 possible, our state maybe neither great nor small. Right, 
 said he. And chances, too, I conceive, should be so well 
 managed, that the depraved man may, on every turn of 
 them, accuse his fortune, and not the governors. Of 
 course, said he. 
 
 Chap. IX. As for those youths, who distinguish them- 
 selves, either in war or other pursuits, they ought to have 
 rewards and prizes given them, and the most ample liberty 
 of lying with women, that so, under this pretext, the great- 
 est number of children may spring from such parentage. 
 Right. And as for the offspring born from time to time, 
 are the authorities presiding over these matters to receive 
 them, whether they be men or women, or both ? — for 
 somehow these offices belong in common both to men and 
 women. Yes, they do. As respects, then, the children 
 of worthy persons, I think, they should carry them to some 
 retirement, to certain nurses dwelling apart in a certain 
 quarter of the city; but as for the children of the more 
 depraved, and such of the rest as may be maimed or lame, 
 they will hide them, as is right, in some secret and obscure 
 place. Yes, indeed, said he, if the race of guardians is to 
 be pure. Will they not, then, take care also of their 
 children's nurture, bringing to the nursery mothers with 
 full breasts, taking every precaution that no woman should 
 recognize her own child, and, where the mothers cannot 
 suckle them, providing others who would be able to do so ? 
 And they will be careful also of this most particularly, that 
 the nurses suckle only during a proper time, and they 
 will enjoin, both on the nurses'^nd keepers, their watch- 
 ing duties, and every other necessary toil. You speak, said 
 he, of a time of great ease to the wives of our guardians, in 
 the breeding of children. Yes, for it should be so, replied 
 
TPIE REPUBLIC OP PLATO 
 
 I. But let us next discuss what we were so anxious to do, 
 when we said that the procreation of children should take 
 place among persons in the prime of life. True. Do you agree 
 with me then, that this prime season is at twenty in a woman, 
 and at thirty in a man ? How do you reckon this time for 
 each sex ? said he. The woman, replied I, is to bear 
 children to the state from the age of twenty to that of forty; 
 and the man, after having passed the most excitable period 
 of his course, is from that period to beget children to the 
 state up to the age of fifty-five. This, indeed, is the prime, re- 
 plied he, in both sexes, both as respects body and mind. If, 
 then, any one, either older or younger than these, should em- 
 ploy himself in begetting children for the commonwealth, we 
 should say that the trespass is neither right nor just, since 
 he is begetting to the state a child, which (if concealed) 
 is born and grows up, ushered in neither by sacrifices 
 nor prayers (which, on every marriage, the priestesses 
 and priests, and the whole state offer, that the descend- 
 ants of the good may be still better, and that from 
 useful descendants others still more useful may arise), 
 but is born in darkness, and the result of dreadful incon- 
 tinence. Right, said he. And the law, said I, must be 
 the same, if any of those men, who are yet of the age 
 for procreation, have intercourse with women of a proper 
 age, without the magistrate's leave ; for we may consider 
 him as having raised to the state a bastard, born in 
 adultery and unhonored by religious auspices. Most right, 
 said he. And I presume, whenever either the women or 
 the men are past the age of procreation, we are to let 
 the men cohabit with any woman they like, except their 
 daughter and mother, and the children of their daughters, 
 or those upward from their mother; and so likewise the 
 women are to embrace any, except a son, a father, and 
 the children of these, in either direction: all this liberty 
 we are to grant them, after we have enjoined them to 
 be careful, first, if a child be conceived, not to bring it 
 to the light, but if, by accident, it should be brought 
 forth, so to expose it as if there were no provision for 
 it. All these things, said he are reasonably said: but 
 how are the fathers and daughters, and the other rela- 
 tions you just mentioned, to be known to one another ? 
 
176 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 They are not to be known at all, said I; but from the 
 day on which any one is married, whatever children are 
 born between the seventh or tenth month after it, all 
 these he is to call, the males, his sons, and the females, 
 his daughters, and they are to call him father; and in 
 the same way again, he is to call the children of these, 
 grandchildren; and they in turn are to call them grand- 
 fathers and grandmothers ; and those who were born dur- 
 ing the period in which their fathers and mothers were 
 begetting children, they shall call sisters and brothers, as 
 I just observed, so that they may have no sexual inter- 
 course. But as for brothers and sisters, the law will allow 
 them to live together, if their lot so fall, and the Pythian 
 oracle give consent. Quite right said he. 
 
 Chap. X. This, and such as this, Glaucon, is the com- 
 munity of women and children, among the guardians of 
 the state ; and that this is consistent both with the rest of 
 our policy, and is by far the best, we must next establish 
 from reason ; or how shall we do ? By Zeus, just so, 
 said he. Is not this, then, the beginning of our agree- 
 ment, to ask ourselves what we can allege to be the 
 greatest good for the establishment of a state, with a view 
 to which the lawgiver is to enact the laws, and what the 
 greatest evil, and next to examine, whether what we 
 have hitherto described tends to or conforms with the 
 track of the good, and is opposed to that of the evil ? 
 Most certainly, said he. Is there, then, any greater evil 
 for a state than that which tears it in pieces, and makes 
 it many instead of one; or, any greater good than that 
 which binds it together, and makes it one ? There is not. 
 Does not then the communion both of pleasure and pain 
 bind men together, when the whole of the citizens as 
 much as possible rejoice and mourn in fellowship, for the 
 same matters, whether gainful or the contrary ? As- 
 suredly, he replied. And again, any mere private percep- 
 tion of such things dissolves [that union}, when some 
 grieve exceedingly, and others rejoice exceedingly at the 
 same events, either in the state or those composing it ? 
 Of course. Does not this then arise from the following 
 circumstance, when such words as these are not pro- 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 177 
 
 nounced at the same time in a state, as mine, and not 
 mine; and with regard to what concerns another, in the 
 same way ? Aye, surely. And the state in which the 
 greatest number imite in saying- of the same things, that 
 
 THIS CONCERNS ME, and THAT DOES NOT CONCERN ME, 
 
 that is best regulated ? By far. And it is that also, 
 which most closely resembles the individual man ; just as, 
 when a person's finger is wounded, the entire fellowship 
 of feeling, extending through the body toward the soul, 
 and producing that harmony which is the work of the 
 governing principle within it, [tn:y., the soul], experiences 
 a sensation, and at the same time wholly sympathizes 
 with the ailing part; and thus we say that the man has 
 a finger-ache: and so also, with respect to any part 
 whatever of the human frame, the same reasoning applies 
 either with respect to grief, when a part is in pain, or 
 with respect to pleasure, when it is at ease. Aye, the 
 very same, said he: and as to what you are asking, the 
 state that nearest approaches this is the best governed. 
 When, therefore, any individual citizen receives good or 
 ill, such a state, methinks, will most especially maintain 
 that she herself is the party affected, and will unite as 
 a whole in joy or mourning. That must be the case, 
 said he, in a state, governed, at least, by good laws. 
 
 Chap. XI. It will be time perhaps for us to return to 
 our state, and consider as to the points on which 
 we have agreed in our discussion, whether they belong 
 more particularly to our state than any other. Yes, 
 we must, he replied. What then ? there are surely in 
 other states, both governors and people ? and so also in 
 this ? There are. And will not all these address one 
 another as citizens ? Of course. But besides calling them 
 citizens, what do the people call their governors under 
 the other forms of government ? In most states, masters, 
 but in democracies, this very name governors. But what 
 as to the people in our state ? besides citizens, what do 
 they say their governors are ? Saviors, said he, and 
 helpers. And what do they call the people ? Paymas- 
 ters, replied he, and supporters. And in the other states, 
 what do the governors call their people ? Slaves, he 
 
178 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 replied. And what do the governors call one another ? 
 Fellow-governors, said he. And ours, what ? Fellow- 
 guardians. Can you then, tell about the governors in 
 other states, whether any one of them can address one 
 of his fellow-governors as an intimate, and another as 
 a stranger ? Aye, very many can. Does he not then, 
 esteem and speak of his intimate as his own, and the 
 stranger as not his own ? Just so. But how is it with 
 your guardians ? Is there any one of them, who can 
 esteem or address any of his fellow-guardians as a 
 stranger ? By no means, he replied ; for with whomever 
 a person falls in, he will conceive that he falls in with 
 a brother or sister, or a father or mother, or a son or 
 daughter, or their descendants or ancestry. You speak 
 exceedingly well, replied I : and further, tell me this 
 also, whether you will give them only a legal right to 
 these familiar names, or rather bid them perform all 
 their actions in accordance with these names, especially 
 as respects parents, whatever the law enjoins as the par- 
 ents' due, such as reverence, and care, and obedience, 
 it being otherwise not for his advantage, either in the 
 sight of God or of men, inasmuch as he would do what 
 is neither holy nor just, if he acted otherwise than thus ? 
 Will these, or other maxims coming from the whole body 
 of our citizens, echo close round the ears of our children, 
 both about their parents, when pointed out to them, and 
 about other relations likewise ? These [maxims must so], 
 replied he; for it were ridiculous, if, without actions, 
 their proper names were uttered by the mouth alone. 
 Of all states then, in this especially, when any one indi- 
 vidual fares either well or ill, the citizens will mostly 
 agree in exclaiming, according to our late expression, 
 namely, " Mine fares well, or mine ill ? " Quite true, said 
 he. Did we not say too, that agreeably to this opinion 
 and expression, their common pleasures and pains should 
 agree ? Aye, and we said rightly. Will not then, our 
 citizens most especially hold in common that same thing, 
 which they call "my own,** and, holding this in com- 
 mon, thus have a special fellowship in pleasure and pain ? 
 Very much so. And the cause of all this, independently 
 of other regulations of the state, is it not the com- 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 179 
 
 munity of women and children among the guardians ? 
 Most especially so, he replied. 
 
 Chap. XII. We had agreed, moreover, as to the great- 
 est good of a state, by comparing a well-managed state 
 to a body, which feels pleasure or pain affecting any part 
 of it. Aye, we were right, said he, in agreeing about 
 this. The cause then of all this high degree of good to 
 our state was found to be the community of women and 
 children among our defenders ? Surely, replied he. 
 And in that case, we agree at least with what was before 
 alleged; for we said, I believe, that they ought to have 
 neither houses of their own, nor land, nor any possession, 
 but to receive their subsistence from others, as reward 
 for their guardianship, and all to consume it in common, 
 if they mean really to be guardians ? Right, said he. 
 Do not then, as I say, the circumstances formerly 
 mentioned, and still more those now mentioned, cause 
 them to be true guardians, and prevent those divisions 
 in the state [which arise] from not calling one and the 
 same thing their own, but one one thing, and another 
 another; one drawing to his own dwelling whatever he 
 can acquire separately from the rest, and another, to 
 his likewise that which is separated ; and also different 
 wives and children, occasioning both pleasures and pains, 
 individually private, though holding one and the same 
 opinion concerning what is domestic, all, as far as 
 possible, pointing toward the same thing, namely, a 
 community of feeling respecting pleasure and pain ? Of 
 course, we grant that, replied he. But what ? will not 
 lawsuits and criminal charges in the courts be banished 
 from among them (so to speak), from the fact of their 
 possessing nothing in private but their body, but all the 
 rest in common, owing to which, they will be kept free 
 from all the dissensions which men raise about money, 
 or children and relatives ? It is quite clear, they will 
 be thus relieved. And, moreover, in these there could 
 not fairly be any suits, as regards personal violence or 
 improper treatment: for conceiving personal preserva- 
 tion to be an absolute necessity, we will own it to be 
 handsome and just for compeers in age to help their com- 
 
i8o THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 peers. Right, said he. And this privilege, said I, at any 
 rate, this law possesses, if a man be in a passion with 
 any one, he will in such a case be less apt to venture on 
 still greater seditions. Certainly. The elder, moreover, 
 will be ordered both to govern and chastise all the 
 younger. Clearly so. And moreover, as to the younger, 
 with regard to the elder, unless the magistrates order it, 
 he will never attempt to beat the elder, or otherwise offer 
 him violence, nor, methinks, will he by any other means 
 dishonor him: for there are two sufficient guardians to 
 hinder it, fear and respect, respect on the one hand 
 restraining him from laying hands on a parent, and fear 
 on the other, that others might come to the defense of 
 the sufferer; some as sons, others as brothers, and others 
 as fathers. Yes, such is the case, said he. In every 
 respect then, in consequence of the laws, these men [t. e. 
 the warriors], will enjoy peace with one another ? Yes, 
 much. And so long as these do not quarrel among them- 
 selves, there is no danger of the rest of the state rising 
 or mutually splitting into factions. No, of course not. 
 As for the least important evils, I am unwilling for pro- 
 priety's sake even to mention from how many they will 
 have been relieved, the poor, [for instance], as regards the 
 work of flattering the rich, and the difficulties and anxie- 
 ties, which people have in bringing up their children and 
 procuring money for the support of servants, sometimes bor- 
 rowing, sometimes denying debts, and at other times using 
 all manner of shifts in procuring [money], and then giving 
 it to the management of their wives and domestics ; about 
 these matters, friend, how many slavish and ignoble 
 troubles they suffer are not even worthy to be mentioned. 
 Yes, they are manifest, said he, even to one blind. 
 
 Chap. XIII. From all these troubles, therefore, they 
 will be relieved, and will live more blessedly than that 
 most blessed life which those live who gain the Olympic 
 prizes. How ? On one small account only are those es- 
 teemed happy, compared with what these enjoy; for the 
 victory of these is more noble, and their maintenance at 
 the public expense more complete : inasmuch as the victory 
 that they gain brings safety to the entire state, and by 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 way of crown and reward, both they and their children 
 receive their maintenance and all other necessaries of life, 
 thus winning honors from their own state while living, 
 and at their death an honorable funeral. Noble rewards I 
 indeed, said he. Do you remember, then, said I, that in 
 a former part of our discussion, some one, I know not 
 who, objected to us, that we were not making our guard- 
 ians happy, by decreeing that those who had the whole wealth 
 of the citizens at their command should nevertheless have 
 nothing at all ? and we said, I believe, that we would 
 consider this afterward, if it fell in our way ; but that at 
 present we were making our guardians real guardians, and 
 the state itself as happy as possible, without exclusively 
 regarding any single class in it, with a view to make it 
 happy ? I remember, said he. What think you now of the 
 life of our auxiliaries, which appears far more noble and 
 happy than that of those of the Olympic prizemen; do 
 you think it can be compared to the life of the leather- 
 cutter, or any other kind of craftsman, or even the farmer ? 
 I do not think so, said he. Still even, what I said before, 
 it is proper that I mention here also, if the guardian 
 should try to become happy in such a way as to lose his 
 character as a gnardian, and not be content with a life 
 thus moderate and steady, and as we say, of the best 
 quality, but on the other hand be impelled by a silly boy- 
 ish notion about happiness, to appropriate to himself all 
 the property in the state, because he has the power, he will 
 know that Hesiod was really wise, in saying that * the 
 half is considerably more than the whole. * If he take me 
 for his counsellor, said he, he will remain in such a life, 
 You agree then, said I, as to the fellowship of the women 
 with the men, which we have explained, in matters re- 
 ferring to education and children, and the guardianship 
 of the other citizens; that whether they remain in the 
 state, or go forth to war, they ought to keep guard with 
 them, and hunt with them like hounds, and in every case 
 take a share in all things, as far as they can; and that 
 doing these things they will do what is best, and not con- 
 trary to the nature of the female, as regards the male, 
 by which nature, indeed, they act jointly with one another ? 
 I agree, said he. 
 
l82 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 Chap. XIV. Does not this then, said I, still remain 
 to be discussed, whether it be possible that this com- 
 munity of habits can take place among men, even as 
 among other animals ? And how it is possible ? You 
 have forestalled me, said he, by mentioning what I was 
 just going to ask. Aye ; for as to war, said I, it is 
 plain, methinks, how they will fight. How ? said he. 
 They will go out jointly on their military expeditions, 
 and will carry along with them to battle also such of their 
 children as are robust, in order that those of the crafts- 
 men may see what they ought to practice when arrived 
 at full age, and, apart from mere observation, may 
 serve and minister in all such matters subserviently both 
 to their fathers and mothers. Have you not observed 
 also what happens in the common arts, as, for instance, 
 among the children of the potters, how long a time they 
 help and look on, before they apply themselves to the 
 making of pottery ? Yes, indeed. Should these then, or 
 our guardians, be more careful in instructing their chil- 
 dren by their own experience, and by observation of what 
 is suitable for them ? [To suppose that the craftsman 
 would], replied he, were truly ridiculous. Yet every 
 creature whatever will fight more valiantly in the presence 
 of its offspring ? It is so : but there is no small danger, 
 Socrates, should they be defeated, as is often the case in 
 war, that when their children, as well as themselves, are 
 cut off, it will be impossible to restore the rest of the 
 state. You speak truly, replied I : but think you, that our 
 first duty should be never to expose them to risk ? No, 
 by no means. What then: if they are to hazard them- 
 selves in any case, is it not where they will become 
 better men, if they succeed ? Clearly so. But do you 
 think it a small matter, and unworthy of the risk, that 
 children destined for military life should or should not be 
 observers of the transactions of war ? No ; for it is 
 highly important with reference to what you now men- 
 tion. This then, we must first contrive, to make 
 our children spectators of war, yet providing for 
 their safety : and then all will go well, will it not ? 
 Yes. And surely their fathers, said I, in the first 
 place, as far as men can, will not be ignorant, but well 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 183 
 
 informed as to the kinds of expeditions which are dangerous 
 or not so. Probably so, said he. Into the one then, 
 they will take them; but will be cautious of ex- 
 posing them to the other. Right. And they will prob- 
 ably, said I, set governors over them, not such as are 
 the most depraved, but such as by experience and years 
 are able leaders and trainers of the young. Yes, quite 
 proper. Yet many things, we may say, happen to many 
 contrary to expectation. Quite so. With reference, there- 
 fore, to such events as these, it is fit that we should 
 provide the children with things while quite young, in 
 order if need be, that they may escape by flight. How 
 do you mean ? said he. We must mount them on horse- 
 back, said I, when extremely young, and when they 
 have learned to ride, they must be taken to see battles, 
 not on high-mettled war-horses, but on the fleetest and 
 most obedient to the rein , for thus they will best observe 
 their proper work, and in case of need, escape with the 
 greatest safety, following the aged leaders. I think, said 
 he, your remark is correct. What then, said I, as to the 
 affairs of war; how are you to manage our soldiers, both 
 as respects each other and their enemies ? Is my opinion 
 correct or not ? Tell me what it is, replied he. As for 
 that man among them, said I, who has left his rank, 
 thrown away his arms, or done any such like act from 
 mere cowardice, ought we not to make him a craftsman, 
 or field laborer ? Certainly. And the man who is taken 
 alive by the enemy, should he not be given away as a 
 present to those inclined to use their booty just as they 
 please ? Yes, surely. And as to him who has signalized 
 himself and attained to high renown, think you not, that 
 he ought, first of all in the field himself, to be crowned 
 successively by each of the youths and boys who are his 
 fellow-soldiers ? is it not so ? Yes, I think so. And will 
 they give him the right hand likewise ? And that too. 
 But what I am going to tell you, said I, will not, me- 
 thinks, be quite so pleasing. What ? That they should 
 kiss and be kissed by each individually ? This is by far 
 the best of all, said he : and for myself, I would add this 
 regulation, that, so long as they are on this expedition, 
 no one shall be allowed to refuse the man, whoever it 
 
i84 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 be that he pleases to kiss, so that if a warrior happen 
 to be in love with any one, male or female, he may be 
 the more animated to win the noblest prize of valor. 
 Very well, said I : for it has been already said, that 
 more opportunities for marriage should be provided for 
 the brave citizen than for others, and more frequent choice 
 in such matters should be allowed to them than to all 
 others, in order that such a man's descendants may be 
 as numerous as possible. Yes, we did say so, replied he. 
 
 Chap. XV. Moreover, even according to Homer, it is 
 just that really brave youths should be honored in this 
 way; inasmuch as Homer said, that Ajax, who on account 
 of the renown he had gained in battle, was rewarded with 
 a large share at the entertainments, fit reward, too, for a 
 brave and youthful man, from which he at once acquired 
 both honor and strength. Most right, said he. In this 
 matter, at least, then, said I, we are to obey the authority 
 of Homer; and as a proof of this, we will so honor the 
 brave, both at our sacrifices, and on such like occasions, 
 in as far as they appear deserving, both with hymns, and 
 the honors just mentioned; and besides this, with seats 
 and viands, and brimming cups, so as at once both to 
 honor and exercise the virtue of worthy men and women. 
 You speak capitally well, replied he. Well, of those then 
 that die in the campaign, shall we not, in the first place, 
 say, of the man that closes his life with glory, that he is 
 of the golden race ? Quite so, indeed. And are we not 
 to believe Hesiod, when he tells us, that if any of this 
 race die, then — 
 
 Chaste, holy, earthly spirits they become. 
 Expelling evil, guardians of mankind ? 
 
 Yes, we will believe him. We will ask the oracle then, 
 how we ought to bury noble and divine men, and with 
 what marks of distinction; and then we will bury them 
 in the very manner that [the God] directs. Of course. 
 And in all aftertime we will reverence and worship their 
 tombs as those of demigods, and enact that the same cere- 
 monies shall be observed with regard to persons dying 
 of old age, or from any other cause, after having been 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 deemed remarkably good during their lifetime ? Aye, it 
 is only just, said he. But what ? how are our soldiers 
 to behave toward enemies ? In what respect ? First, as 
 respects enslavement, think you it just, that Greeks should 
 enslave Greek cities ? nay, ought they not, as far as they 
 can, to prevent others from doing it, and act on the prin- 
 ciple of sparing the Grecian tribe, cautiously looking to 
 the possibility of being themselves enslaved by barbarians? 
 Aye, said he ; both generally, and in every particular case, 
 it is the best plan to be sparing. Are they then, not to 
 keep any Greek slave themselves, and to counsel the rest 
 of the Greeks to agree to the same plan ? Surely, said he : 
 because they will thus at least, turn themselves the more 
 against the barbarians, and abstain from one war against 
 another. But what ? Stripping the dead, said I, of any- 
 thing but their arms after conquering them, is that right; 
 or does it not rather furnish cowards with an excuse not 
 to go against a foe, as if they were doing some duty when 
 bending over a mere corpse; and have not many armies 
 been destroyed by this kind of plunder ? Very many. 
 Do not you think it also illiberal and forbidden to plun- 
 der a corpse, and the mark of a feminine and little mind 
 to deem the body of the deceased an enemy, after the 
 enemy has fled away, and naught remain behind, but the 
 instrument with which he fought ? Do you think that 
 they who act thus do any otherwise than dogs do, who 
 snap at the stones with which they are pelted and do not 
 touch the man who throws them ? Not at all, he replied. 
 We must have done then with this stripping of the dead, 
 and these hindrances arising from the carrying off of 
 booty. Aye, by Zeus, said he, we must have done with 
 them. 
 
 Chap. XVI. Moreover, we shall not at any time bring 
 arms into the temples, for the purpose of dedicating them, 
 at least not the arms of Greeks, — if we at all care for 
 the kind feeling of the rest of the Greeks; but we shall 
 rather fear its being a kind of profanation to bring into 
 the temple such things as these from our close connec- 
 tions, unless the oracle direct us otherwise. Quite right, 
 replied he. And as regards the laying waste of Grecian 
 
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 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 lands and the burning of houses, how would your soldiers 
 treat their enemies ? Aye, — I should be glad, said he to 
 hear you state your opinion on that point. Truly then, 
 said I, my opinion is, that we should do neither of these 
 things, but only carry off the year's crop: 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 discord, are different, so two different things are 
 signified by them; and I call them different — the latter 
 between members of the same community, and the former 
 between foreigners and strangers. When hatred is among 
 one's own people, it is called discord; when it respects 
 foreigners, war. What you say, replied he, is not at all 
 unreasonable. But consider, whether what I now state is 
 also to the purpose ; for I assert that the Greek nation 
 itself is friendly and in alliance with itself, though foreign 
 and strange to the barbarian. Well observed, said he. 
 When, therefore, Greeks fight with barbarians, and bar- 
 barians with Greeks, we may then say, that they are at 
 war, and naturally enemies ; and this hatred we may call 
 war: but when Greeks act thus toward Greeks, we may 
 say that they are naturally friends, and that Greece in such 
 a case is distempered, and at discord ; and such a hatred is 
 to be called discord. I agree, said he, that we must view 
 it thus. Consider then, said I, that in the discord just 
 mentioned, whenever such a thing happens, how the state 
 is split in factions, and when they sequester each other's 
 lands and burn each others houses, how destructive the 
 discord seems, and neither of them seem to be lovers of 
 their country; for otherwise they would never have dared 
 to pillage their nurse and mother, but it would have been 
 sufficient for the victors to carry off the crops of the van- 
 quished, and to conceive that they would one day be recon- 
 ciled, and not perpetually be at war. This indeed is by 
 far a milder sentiment than the other. But what then? 
 said I ; this state that you are founding, is it to be a Greek 
 one ? It ought, he replied. Are they not then to be good 
 and mild ? By all means. And will they not be lovers 
 of Greece; and will they not account Greece as related 
 to them; and will they not observe the same religious 
 rites as the rest of the Greeks ? Most decidedly. Any 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 187 
 
 difference then, that they have with Greeks, as kinsmen, 
 will they not consider that as discord, — not war? Yes, 
 for it is not war. And they will behave then, as those 
 capable of beinj»- reconciled ! Quite so, of course. They 
 will be mild then and moderate, not pushing so far as 
 to enslave or destroy, — as advocates for correction, and not 
 as enemies. Just so, said he. Neither then, as they are 
 Greeks, will they pillage the lands, or burn the houses 
 of Greeks; nor will they allow, that in every state, indi- 
 vidually, all are their enemies, men, women, and children, 
 but that in all cases a few only are enemies, — the origi- 
 nators of the quarrel; and on all these accounts they 
 will not choose to lay waste their lands, since the majority 
 of the occupants are their friends; nor will they over- 
 turn the houses: and so far only will they carry on 
 the war, until the real originators be obliged by the 
 innocent to make reparation to those whom they have 
 grieved. I agree, said he, that we ought so to behave 
 toward opponents among our own citizens, — but toward the 
 barbarians, as the Greeks now act toward each other. . 
 This law, then, also, let us enact for our guardians, that 
 they shall neither lay waste the lands, nor burn the 
 houses. Aye, let us enact it, said he ; and this further, 
 that these things are right, and those also, that you be- 
 fore mentioned. 
 
 Chap. XVIL It appears to me, however, Socrates, that 
 if one allow you to go on speaking in this fashion, you 
 will never remember what you formerly put aside, when 
 you entered on all that you have now said ; namely, 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 high advantages will belong to that state 
 in which it exists, and the following also, which you 
 omitted ; and I now tell you, that they will, with all pos- 
 sible courage, fight against their enemies, and least of 
 all abandon each other, recognizing, and calling one an- 
 other by these names, — fathers, sons, and brothers; and 
 if the females encamp along with them, whether in the 
 same rank, or drawn up behind them, they will strike 
 terror into the enemies, and at the same time, in case 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 of need, give all assistance ; in this way I know, they 
 will be utterly unconquerable ; and as for the advantages 
 they have at home, which we have omitted, those at any 
 rate I plainly see. But as I allow, that all these, and 
 ten thousand other things, will belong to this form of 
 government, if it actually does exist, let us talk no more 
 about it, but try to persuade each other of this itself, 
 how far it is possible, and in what way: and let us 
 omit the other points. You have suddenly, said I, made 
 an attack on my argument, and make no allowance for 
 one who is but a bungler; because, perhaps, you do not 
 know with what difficulty I have got over two breakers, 
 and now you are driving me on the greatest and most 
 dangerous of all the three. After having seen and heard 
 this, you will, I am sure, forgive me; allowing that I 
 had reason for hesitation, and was frightened by the 
 mention of so great a paradox from undertaking its 
 examination. The more, said he, you mention such 
 things, the less will you be excused from explaining 
 in what respect this government is possible. Proceed 
 then without delay. Must we not then, said I, first 
 remember this, that we are come hither to inquire 
 into the nature of justice and injustice ? We must, 
 said he. But what is this to the purpose ? Nothing. 
 But supposing we find out the nature of justice, are 
 we to judge, then, that the just man ought nowise to 
 differ therefrom, but in every respect to resemble justice ; 
 or are we to be satisfied, if he approach to it, as nearly 
 as possible, and, of all others, partake of it the most ? 
 This will satisfy us, said he. For example's sake, then, 
 said I, we were inquiring into this, — what is the nature 
 of justice; and we were in quest also of the perfectly 
 just man, how he became so, and what was his nature, 
 if he really existed, — and so also with respect to injus- 
 tice, and the supremely unjust man, in order that looking 
 to them as regards their apparent qualities in relation 
 to happiness and its opposite, we might be obliged to 
 acknowledge concerning ourselves, that whoever most 
 resembles them in character will have a fortune most 
 resembling theirs; and not for the purpose of showing 
 that these things are possible or not. It is quite true, 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 said he. Think yoii, then, that he is in any degree an 
 inferior painter, who, having painted the portrait of a 
 very handsome man, and having expressed everything 
 fully in his picture, is yet unable to show that such a 
 man really exists ? By Zeus, said he, I do not. Well, 
 have we not now, then, logically defined [shall we say], 
 the model of a good state ? Yes, indeed. Have we, 
 indeed, less ably stated the case, think you, for this 
 reason, because we are unable to show the possibility of 
 a state being established as we have described?* No, 
 indeed, said he. This, then, said I, is the truth of the 
 case : but if indeed, I must now, on your account, be 
 anxious on this point, — that is, to show how and in what 
 respects it is most possible, with a view to this dis- 
 covery, you must again allow what you did before. 
 What ? Can anything possibly be executed as perfectly 
 as it is described; or, is it the nature of practice, that 
 it does not approach so near to truth as theory, though 
 some may think otherwise : will you allow this or not ? 
 I allow it, said he. Do not oblige me, then, to show you 
 that all these things in every respect positively exist in 
 as great perfection as we have described in our reason- 
 ing: if, however, we can find out how a state may be 
 established as closely as possible to what has been men- 
 tioned, you will agree that we have discovered the pos- 
 sibility of what you require; or will you not even be 
 satisfied, if this be proved ? For my own part I should 
 be satisfied. Yes, and I too, said he. 
 
 Chap. XVIII. Next, then, it seems, we must endeavor 
 to find out and show what is the evil now existing in 
 states, owing to which they are not established in the 
 manner we have described, — and what is that smallest 
 change, by making which we could bring the state 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, — if not that, by the change of the fewest 
 things in number, and the smallest in power. By all 
 
 * Plato's object here is to show, that painters in the high depart- 
 ments of art copy ideal, not actual nature, — nature in its perfection, 
 — not in its imperfect and actual nature. 
 
190 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 means, said he. By changing one thing only, then, said 
 I, methinks I can show that the state may be molded 
 into this form of government: that change, however, is 
 neither small nor easy, though 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, even 
 though, as with a wave, I should be overwhelmed with 
 ridicule and infamy. Consider, however, what I am now 
 going to say. Proceed, replied he. Unless either phi- 
 losophers, said I, govern in states, or those who are at 
 present called kings and governors philosophize genuinely 
 and sufficiently, and both political power and philosophy 
 unite in one, — and until the bulk of those now pursuing 
 each of these separately are of necessity excluded, there 
 will be no end, Glaucon, to the miseries of states, nor 
 yet, as I think, to those of the human race ; nor till then 
 will that government, which we have described in our 
 reasonings, ever spring up to a positive existence, and 
 behold the light of the sun. And this is what all along 
 made me dislike mentioning it, that I saw what a paradox 
 I was aboiit to advance: for one can scarcely be con- 
 vinced that no other government but this can enjoy hap- 
 piness, either public or private. You have thrown out 
 such an expression and argument, Socrates, said he, as you 
 think may bring on you a great many, and these, too, so 
 specially bold as to put off their clothes, and snatch naked 
 whatever weapon each happens to have ready (as if about 
 performing prodigies) for rushing forward in battle array: 
 and if you do not mow them down with argument, and 
 so make your escape, you will pay for it by suffering the 
 severest ridicule. And are not you the cause of all this ? 
 said I. Aye, through acting well at least, replied he: 
 yet in this affair, I will not betray but defend you, as far 
 as I can; and I am enabled to do so both by my own 
 good-will and your encouragement; and your questions 
 probably I shall answer more carefully than any other: 
 only do you try, by help of such assistance, to show those 
 who are loath to believe these things, that they really 
 are what you represent them. I must try, said I; espe- 
 cially, as you afford me so much assistance. And here it 
 seems necessary, if we can at all escape from those you 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 191 
 
 mention, that we should at any rate define clearly what 
 kind of men those are whom we call philosophers, — 
 those, who, we are bold enough to say, ought alone to 
 govern ; so that, when they are clearly pointed out, an 
 able defense may be set up, by asserting that it is their 
 natural province both to study philosophy, and also assume 
 to themselves the government of the state, — while the 
 other members of the state study neither philosophy nor 
 politics, but only obey their leader. It is quite fit, said 
 he, that we should define them. Come, then, follow me 
 this way, [and see] if we can in some way or other 
 sufficiently explain this matter. Lead on, then, said he. 
 Will it be necessary, then, to remind you, said I, — or do 
 you recollect, that when we say of any one, that he loves 
 a thing, he would not appear, if we speak strictly, to love 
 one part of it, and not another, but to have an affection 
 for the whole ? 
 
 Chap. XIX. I need, it seems, to be reminded of that, 
 replied he ; for I do not understand it perfectly. Some 
 one else, indeed, Glaucon, replied I, might say what 
 you say; but it does not become a man who is a lover, 
 to forget that all things in their bloom somehow excite 
 and agitate an amorous person and lover, as seeming 
 worthy both of respect and of proper salutes: do you not 
 behave in this manner tOAvard the beautiful ? One, be- 
 cause flat-nosed, will be called agreeable, and be an 
 object of praise ; and the hooked nose of another you 
 call princely; and that between these, formed with ex- 
 act symmetry: the dark are said to have a manly look, 
 and the fair to be the children of the gods: but this 
 name of delicate white, think you it is the invention of 
 any other than a flattering lover, who easily bears with 
 the paleness, if it be in the season of youth? — in one 
 word, do you not make all kinds of pretenses, and say 
 everything that you can, so as not to reject any one 
 who is in the prime of life ? If you are disposed, said 
 he, to judge by me of other lovers, that they act in 
 this manner, I agree to it for argument's sake. And 
 what, said I, as to lovers of wine: do not you find 
 that they act in the same manner, cheerfully drinking 
 
192 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 every kind of wine on every pretext ? Yes, indeed. 
 And you perceive, I suppose, that the ambitious, like- 
 wise, if they cannot obtain the command of an army, 
 will take the command of a t/xtto?; and if they cannot 
 get honor from greater and nobler men, are content to 
 be honored by the lesser and the meaner sort, because 
 they are desirous of honor at any rate ? Perfectly true. 
 Will you allow this or not: if we say, one desires a 
 thing, are we to say that he desires the whole species, 
 or that he desires one part of it, but not another ? The 
 whole, replied he. May we not, then, likewise say, that 
 the philosopher desires wisdom, and that, too, not one 
 part only, but the whole ? True. He, then, who is 
 averse to a course of discipline, especially if he be 
 young, and has not understanding to discern what is 
 good and what is otherwise, should not be called a 
 lover of learning, nor a philosopher; just as we say of 
 a person disgusted with meats, that he neither hungers 
 after nor desires meats, and is not a lover but a hater 
 of them. Aye, — and we shall say right. But the man 
 who has a ready inclination to taste of every branch of 
 learning, and enters with pleasure on its study, and is 
 insatiable thereof, this man we may with justice call a 
 philosopher, may we not ? Whereon Glaucon said. Many 
 such philosophers as those will go into great absurdities; 
 for all your lovers of shows appear to me to be of this 
 kind, from taking a pleasure in learning; and your story 
 lovers are of all persons to be reckoned the most stupid, 
 — among philosophers at least. These, indeed, would not 
 willingly attend to such reasoning, or to such a disqui- 
 sition as this. But yet, as if they had hired out their 
 ears to listen to every public ditty, they run about 
 to the Dionysia, omitting neither the civic nor vil- 
 lage festivals.* Are all these, then, and others who 
 run after such matters, and those likewise who devote 
 themselves to the inferior arts, to be called by us 
 
 * There were three festivals at Athens, commonly termed Bac- 
 chic, — the great or city festival (the most important of all, at 
 which the dramatic poets contended with their new plays), cele- 
 brated in the month Elaphebolion, — the Lenaea, in the month 
 Maimacterion, — and the rural Dionysia, in the month Poseideon. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 193 
 
 philosophers ? By no means, said I, but only like phi- 
 losophers. 
 
 Chap. XX. Who are they, however, said he, whom 
 you call the true ones ? Those, said I, who are desirous 
 of discerning the truth.* That, too, said he, is correct: 
 but how do you mean ? It is not easy, said I, to tell 
 another this; but you, I think, should agree with me in 
 this. In what ? That since the beautiful is contrary to 
 the deformed, these are two things. Of course, they 
 are. And if they are two, then each of them is one. 
 Granted also. And as regards justice and injustice, — 
 good and evil, — and also respecting all ideas whatever, 
 the argument is the same — that each of them is one in 
 itself, though, as to their relation with actions and bodies, 
 and each other mutually, they take an all-varying num- 
 ber of forms, so as to make the one appear many. Right, 
 said he. In this manner then, said I, do I distinguish 
 and set apart those that you just mentioned, the lovers 
 of public shows, from craftsmen and mechanics ; and then 
 quite apart from these I place those of whom we are 
 now discoursing, whom alone we may properly call phi- 
 losophers. How say you ? replied he. The lovers of com- 
 mon stories and spectacles, delight in fine sounds, colors, 
 and figures, and everything made up of these; but the 
 nature of beauty itself their intellect is unable to discern 
 and admire. That is the case, indeed, said he. As to 
 those, however, who are able to approach this beauty 
 itself and behold it in its real essence, surely they must 
 
 *The portrait of the true philosopher, whom Plato conceives to 
 be the only true president and ruler of his state, is described from 
 this chapter onward to the end of the third chapter of the sixth 
 book, with further illustration in the thirteenth chapter of that 
 book. Should the reader conceive, that too little regard is paid 
 to worldly affairs and too little stress laid on the doctrine of ideas, 
 he must recollect that this philosopher conceived that all knowl- 
 edge of truth — (without which not even civil business could be 
 conducted, according to his notions) — is to be gained only from 
 the contemplation of things considered per se, — and that there 
 can be no real human felicity unconnected with wisdom and vir- 
 tue, which can only be attained by true philosophers engaged in 
 inquiring into the eternal nature of things around or in themselves. 
 13 
 
194 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 be few in number ? Extremely so. He, then, who deems 
 some things beautiful, but neither knows beauty itself nor 
 is able to follow, should any one lead to the knowledge of it, 
 do you think he lives in a dream, or is awake ? Consider: 
 is not this to dream, when a man, either asleep or awake, 
 imagines the likeness of a thing not to be its likeness, but 
 the real thing itself which it resembles ? I for my part 
 would assert, replied he, that such a person is really in 
 a dream. But what now as to him who comes to an 
 exactly opposite conclusion, who understands the real 
 nature of beauty, and is able to discern both it and its 
 accessories, and deems neither the accessories to be 
 beauty, nor beauty the accessories; does such a man, 
 think you, live in a waking or dreaming state ? Wide 
 awake, said he. May we not then properly call this man's 
 intellectual power, so far as he really knows, knowledge, 
 but that of the other, opinion, — as he only opines? 
 Surely so. But what, — if the person, who, we say, only 
 opines things, but does not really know them, becomes 
 indignant, and raises a dispute, alleging that our posi- 
 tion is not true, shall we have any method of soothing 
 and gently persuading him, and yet at the same time 
 concealing that he is not in a sound state ? We surely 
 ought, replied he. Come then, bethink you what we are 
 to say to him, — are you disposed that we should question 
 him thus, — saying, that if he knows anything, no one 
 envies him, and we should gladly see him possessed of 
 more knowledge; and tell us this too, does the man 
 who has so much knowledge, know something or nothing ? 
 Do you answer me in his behalf ? I will answer, said he, 
 that he knows something. Is it something then, that 
 does or does not exist ? What does exist : for how can 
 that, which does not exist, be known ? This, then, we 
 have sufficiently considered; though we might have 
 considered it more fully, — that what really is, may be 
 really known, but what does not at all exist, cannot be 
 known at all? Yes, — this we have examined quite suffi- 
 ciently. Be it so: but if there be anything of such 
 character, as both to be and not to be, must it not lie 
 between what has a perfect existence, and what has none 
 at all ? Between them. If then there is knowledge as 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 195 
 
 to what really exists, and necessarily ignorance as to 
 what does not exist, — as to what lies between these, 
 must we not seek for something between ignorance and 
 science, if there be any such thing? By all means. Are 
 we to allege, then, that opinion is anything? Of course. 
 Is it a different faculty from science, or the same ? Dif- 
 ferent. Opinion then is conversant about one thing, and 
 science about another, each according to its own peculiar 
 faculty ? Just so. Is not then the nature of science as 
 regards that which exists, to know what existence is ? It 
 seems to me, however, far more necessary to lay down 
 the distinction thus. How ? 
 
 Chap. XXI. We will say, that faculties are a certain 
 kind of real existences, by which both we can do what- 
 ever we are able, and every being else also whatever it 
 is able : for instance, I say, that seeing and hearing are 
 faculties, if you understand what I mean to call **the 
 species'* [or idea].* I understand, said he. Hear then 
 what is my opinion about them: for I do not see any 
 color nor figure, nor any of such qualities of a faculty, 
 as of many other things, with reference to which I form 
 a mental internal perception of their differences: but in 
 a faculty, I regard that alone, about which it is employed, 
 and what it accomplishes; and on this account I call each 
 of them a faculty; and that which is employed about 
 and accomplishes one and the same purpose, this I call 
 the same faculty; but what is employed about and accom- 
 plishes a different purpose, that I call a different faculty: 
 what say you ? In what manner do you call it ? Just the 
 same, he replied. Here again, excellent Glaucon, said 
 I, — do you allege, that science is itself a certain faculty, 
 or to what class do you refer it ? To this, he said, the 
 strongest of all the faculties. But what, then; — are we 
 to refer opinion to faculty, or to some other species ? 
 By no means, said he ; for that by which we have the 
 
 * Plato makes use of two terms in his sj'Stem, — to tUog and 
 fj lika; and some commentators are disposed to think, that the 
 former corresponds with the dialectical term, species, — the higher in- 
 tellectual, abstract notion being expressed only by the latter. It must 
 be confessed, however, that they are often used with scarcely any dis- 
 tinction of meaniog. 
 
196 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 power of forming- opinions is nothing else but opinion. 
 But some time since, you allowed that science and opin- 
 ion were not the same. How, said he, can any one 
 with common sense reduce under one, what is infalli- 
 ble, and what is not infallible ? Right, said I ; and it 
 is plain, that we have allowed opinion to be a differ- 
 ent thing from science. Yes, — different. Each of them 
 then has naturally a different faculty in reference to a 
 different object ? Of course. Science surely as regards 
 that which exists, so as to know the nature of real exist- 
 ence ? Yes. But we say that opinion opines ? Yes. Is it 
 cognizant of the same thing- that science is ; and will that 
 which is known, and that which is matter of opinion, be 
 the same ; or is this impossible ? Impossible, said he, 
 from what has been granted: since they are naturally 
 faculties of different things, and both of them are facul- 
 ties, — opinion and science, — and each of them different 
 from the other as we have said, hence it cannot be, that 
 what is opined is the same with that which is known. If 
 then that which exists is known, must it not differ from 
 what is perceived by opinion ? It does differ. Does 
 opinion then entertain what has no existence; or is it 
 impossible to opine what does not exist at all ? Consider 
 now, does not the man who opines, refer his opinion to some 
 standard ; or is it possible to opine, and yet opine nothing at 
 all ? Impossible. ' 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. But we necessarily referred ignorance to that 
 which has no true being, and knowledge to real exist- 
 ence ? Right, said he. He does not, therefore, opine 
 true being, nor yet that which has no being ? He does 
 not. Opinion then is neither knowledge, nor is it igno- 
 rance ? It seems not. Does it then exceed these, either 
 knowledge in perspicuity, or ignorance in obscurity ? 
 Neither. Think you then, said I, that opinion is more 
 obscure than knowledge, but clearer than ignorance ? 
 Far, said he. Does it lie then between them both ? Yes. 
 Opinion then is between the two ? Entirely so. And 
 have we not already said, that if anything appeared of 
 such a nature, as at once to exist and yet not exist, such 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 197 
 
 a thing would lie between what really exists, and that 
 which has no existence at all, and neither science nor 
 ignorance would take cognizance of it, but that only 
 which appeared to be between ignorance and science ? 
 Right. And now, what we call opinion has been shown 
 to lie between them. It has been so shown. 
 
 Chap. XX*II. This then yet remains for us, as it seems, 
 to discover, — what participates in both — that is, being, 
 and non-being, and what can properly be called neither of 
 them perfectly, — so that if it seems to be what it is 
 reputed, we may with justice term it so, assigning to the 
 extremes what are extreme, and to the middle what are 
 between the two : — must we not ? Just so. These things 
 being determined, I will say, let this worthy man tell 
 and answer me, — he who reckons that there is neither 
 beauty, nor idea of beauty, always the same ; but that 
 lover of beautiful objects reckons that there are many 
 beautiful objects, not enduring to be told that there is 
 only one beautiful, and one just, and so of the rest. Of 
 all these many things, excellent man! shall we say, 
 whether there be any which will not appear deformed, 
 and of those just which will not appear unjust, and of 
 those holy which will not appear profane ? No ; but said 
 he, the objects themselves must in some respects neces- 
 sarily appear both beautiful and deformed, and whatever 
 else you ask. But what? — Do double quantities gener- 
 ally seem to have less capacity for being halves than the 
 doubles [of others] ? Not at all. And things great and 
 small, light and heavy, are they to be termed what we call 
 them, any more than the opposite ? No ; said he : each 
 of them, always participates of both. Is then, or is not, 
 each of these many things just what it is said to be ? It 
 resembles their equivocal jokes at feasts, said he, and the 
 riddle of children about the eunuch's striking the bat, 
 with what and on what part they guess he strikes it ; for all 
 these things have a double meaning, and it is impossible to 
 know accurately whether they are, or are not, — or are 
 both, or neither of the two. How can you act with them 
 then, said I, or what better position have you for them 
 than a medium between being and non-being ? For noth- 
 
198 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 ing seems more obscure than non-being as compared with 
 having no being at all, nor more clear than being in re- 
 spect of real being. Most true, said he. We have dis- 
 covered then, it seems, that most of the maxims of the 
 people about the beautiful, and those other things, fluc- 
 tuate somehow between being and non-being. Yes, we 
 have discovered it. But it was formerly agreed at least, 
 that if such a thing were apparent, 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 intermediate faculty. We agreed. Those then, who 
 contemplate many beautiful things, but yet never perceive 
 beauty itself, and cannot follow another who would lead 
 them to it, — and many just things, though not justice 
 itself, and all other things in like manner, these persons, 
 we will say, hold opinions on all things, yet have no 
 accurate knowledge of what they opine. It must be so, 
 said he. But what then, as regards those who perceive 
 each of the objects themselves, always existing in the 
 same manner, and in the same relations, — shall we not 
 say that they know, and do not opine ? This must be the 
 case also. And shall we not say, that these embrace and 
 love the things of which they have knowledge, and the 
 ethers the things of which they entertain only opinions; 
 — and remember we not, that we alleged them to behold 
 and love fine sounds and colors, and such things ; though 
 beauty itself they do not admit to have any real being ? 
 Yes, — we remember. Shall Ave be wrong then in calling 
 them lovers of opinion, rather than philosophers ? And 
 yet they will be g^reatly enraged at us, if we call them 
 so. Not, if they be persuaded by me, said he; for it is 
 not right to be enraged at the truth. Those then who 
 embrace and love what has real being, we must call 
 philosophers, and not lovers of opinion ? Most assuredly. 
 
BOOK VI. 
 
 ARGUMENT, 
 
 In the SIXTH book, — continuing the argfument respecting the indis- 
 pensability of true philosophy to a well-ordered state, and the 
 absolute need of distinguishing true from false philosophy (/. e., that 
 of the sophists which throws discredit on the whole pursuit), and like- 
 wise from what is warped by prejudice, he goes on to show that a state 
 will be blessed with philosophers for rulers, and shows what is the 
 true subject of true philosophy, as well as the means and manner 
 of learning it, — the sum of which is, that a good i^iiTja^ must be 
 provided with all the defenses of true science, not with a view to 
 unprofitable speculations, but that all science and all virtue, his 
 moral clothing, may be considered with reference to its real bear- 
 ing on the common good of human society. Philosophy, says Plato, 
 has for its proper subject the idea of good (the true end of be- 
 ing), and this being the subject, he next goes on to show the 
 mode of becoming acquainted therewith. 
 
 Chapter I. Philosophers, then, Glaucon, said I, and 
 those who are not so, have, at length, after a long parade 
 of talk and with some difficulty, been, respectively defined. 
 Aye, said he, for perhaps, it was not easy to do it briefly. 
 It appears not, said I. I still think, however, that their 
 qualities would have been better exhibited, had we deemed 
 it right to speak about this alone, and not discussed a 
 multitude of other matters while considering the differ- 
 ence between a just and an unjust life. What, then, said 
 he, are we to consider next ? What else, said I, but 
 that which is next in order ? Since those are philoso- 
 phers who are able to concern themselves with what al- 
 ways maintains a constant relation, whereas those who 
 cannot affect this, but ruminate among a host of [material 
 objects] that are every way shifting, are not philoso- 
 phers ; which of these ought to be the rulers of the state ? 
 Which way, said he, shall we define the matter, and de- 
 fine correctly ? Such of them, said I, as seem capable 
 
 (199) 
 
200 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 of preserving the laws and institutions of states, these 
 are to be made guardians. Right, said he. This, then, 
 said I, is of course evident, whether we ought to seek 
 for a guardian one that is blind or one that is sharp- 
 sighted. Of course, that is quite evident, said he. What 
 difference, then, is there between blind persons and those 
 who are in fact deprived of the knowledge of each in- 
 dividual essence, and have no clear demonstration of it 
 in the soul, and cannot (like painters who look at what 
 is positively true, and refer everything thereto, examin- 
 ing it with all possible accuracy), if need be, form set- 
 tled notions of the beautiful, just, and good, and so 
 maintain them, as if sanctioned by law ? No, by Zeus, 
 said he; they do not differ much. Shall we then rather 
 appoint these as our guardians, or those rather who know 
 each individual being, and in experience are not at all 
 inferior to those others, nor behind them in any other 
 department of virtue ? It were absurd, said he, to choose 
 any others, if at least they be not deficient in all other 
 matters; since they excel in this, which is the most im- 
 portant. Must we not inquire this, then, in what manner 
 the same persons will be able to have both the one and 
 the other ? * Certainly. As we observed, then, at the 
 opening of this discussion, we must first of all thoroughly 
 understand their disposition; and I think, if we are 
 pretty well agreed about that, we shall agree also, that 
 the same persons are able to possess both these quali- 
 ties; and none else but these ought to be the governors 
 of states. How so ? 
 
 Chap. II. Let us then so far agree about philosophic 
 dispositions, that as respects learning they always covet 
 that which discovers to them that ever-existing essence 
 which does not vary through generation or corruption. Let 
 it be agreed. And likewise, said I, that they desire the 
 whole of such learning, and do not willingly omit any 
 part of it, either small or great, more honorable or more 
 dishonorable, as we formerly observed concerning the 
 
 *Gr. KOKelva koI ravra f;tE(v, — that is both a practical acquaintance and 
 experience of things, and a more subtle and scientific knowledge of 
 truth. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 20I 
 
 ambitious and those engaged in love. You say right, 
 said he. 
 
 Consider, then, in the next place, whether, besides what 
 we have mentioned, it would be necessary for those who 
 be such as we have described, to have this also in their 
 natures. What ? Freedom from falsehood, and never 
 willingly to admit a lie, but rather to hate it through 
 love of truth. It probably would, replied he. It is not 
 only probable, my friend, but quite necessary, that one 
 who naturally loves a thing shotild love everything that 
 is allied and belongs to the object of his affection. Right, 
 said he. Is there anything that you can find more nearly 
 allied to wisdom than truth ? I cannot, said he. Is it 
 possible, then, for the same disposition to be both philo- 
 sophic, and fond of falsehood ? By no means. He, then, 
 who is really a lover of learning, ought from early infancy 
 wholly to desire all truth ? By all means. But we know, 
 somehow, that whoever has his desires vehemently set on 
 one object, for this very reason has them weaker as re- 
 gards other things, — just as a current diverted from its 
 channel. Certainly. Whoever, then, has his desires run- 
 ning out after learning and such like matters, would be 
 engaged, methinks, with the pleasure of the soul itself, 
 and forsake the pleasures arising from the body, if, indeed, 
 he be not a pretender, but a real philosopher. This of 
 course must necessarily follow. Such an one, moreover, 
 is prudent, and by no means fond of money ; for the rea- 
 sons why money is so anxiously sought at so great a 
 sacrifice are likely to make any one anxious rather than 
 a man like this. Certainly. And surely you should con- 
 sider this too, when deciding about a philosophic dispo- 
 sition, and one that is not so. What ? That it shall 
 not unconsciously take an illiberal turn, since narrow- 
 mindedness is most revolting to a soul that is ever 
 earnestly pursuing all that is divine and human. Most 
 true, said he. Think you, then, that he who possesses 
 magnificent intellectual conceptions and can contemplate 
 all time and all being, can possibly consider human life as 
 a thing of great consequence ? It is impossible, said he. 
 Such an one, then, will not regard death as anything terri- 
 ble. Least of all, surely. It seems, then, that a cowardly 
 
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 and illiberal disposition will not readily connect itself 
 with true philosophy. I do not think it will. What then ; 
 can the well-disposed man, who has moderate desires, 
 and is not a lover of money, nor illiberal, nor arrogant, 
 nor cowardly, ever possibly be unjust, or a breaker of 
 engagements ? It is impossible. And this also you will 
 likewise consider, when viewing from its very source what 
 is and is not a philosophic soul, whether it be just and 
 gentle, or unsocial and savage. By all means. Neither, 
 as I think, will you omit this. What ? Whether it learn 
 easily or with difficulty: in fact, do you expect that a 
 person will ever love a thing sufficiently, while he is un- 
 easy in its performance, and makes but small progress ? 
 It cannot be. But what if he be oblivious and retains 
 nothing of what he learns, can he then possibly acquire 
 science ? How is it possible ? And when he thus vainly 
 labors, think you not that he will be forced at last to 
 hate both himself and such employment ? Of course he 
 must. We can never reckon, then, among philosophic 
 souls, that which is forgetful; but we shall on the other 
 hand require it to have a good memory ? By all means. 
 And we can never say this at any rate, that an un- 
 musical and ill-regulated disposition leads anywhere but 
 toward irregularity. Where else should it ? But as regards 
 truth, think you it is allied to irregularity or regularity ? To 
 regularity. Let us require, then, in addition to all other 
 qualities, an intellect naturally well-regulated and gracious 
 as a willing and naturally well-disposed guide in realizing 
 the idea of individual being. Of course. What then ; do 
 you not think, that we have in some measure discussed 
 the necessary qualifications, and such as are mutually con- 
 nected in a soul that would attain a fitting and perfect ap- 
 prehension of being ? Aye, the most necessary, said he. 
 Can you then anyhow blame such a study as this, which 
 a man can never sufficiently pursue, unless he has a 
 naturally good memory, learns with facility, and is gener- 
 ous, kind-hearted, the friend and ally of truth, justice, 
 manliness, and temperance ? Not even Momus himself, 
 said he, could find fault with such a study. Aye, said I, 
 and will it not be to such as these alone, when perfected 
 by education and age, that you will intrust the state ? 
 
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 203 
 
 Chap. III. Then said Adimantus: No one, indeed, 
 Socrates, can contradict you on these points; but all 
 who from time to time hear you advancing- what you 
 do at present, feel somehow thus; being led a little 
 astray by your reasoning on each question, through inex- 
 perience in this mode of question and answer, when all 
 these littles are collected together, they reckon at the 
 close of the discussion that the mistake appears consid- 
 erable, and the contrary of their first concession; and 
 just as those who play at talus with such as are dexter- 
 ous, themselves being unskilful, are in the end driven 
 into a comer and cannot move a piece, so your hearers 
 have nothing to say, being driven into a corner, at this 
 different kind of play, not with the dice, but your reason- 
 ings; though the truth at least is not thus at all ad- 
 vanced. I say this with reference to the present inquiry; 
 for a person may tell you that he has nothing to allege 
 as an argument against your questions individually, but 
 sees in fact that all those who plunge into philosophy 
 do not pursue it with the view of being taught in it 
 during childhood, and liberated from it when they arrive 
 at mature age, but rather in order that they may con- 
 tinue in it much longer, becoming most of them quite 
 perverse, not to say, altogether depraved; while even 
 such of them as appear most worthy, are still so far 
 affected by this pursuit that you so much commend, as 
 to become useless to the public. When I had heard 
 this, I said, think you then, that such as say these 
 things are telling a falsehood ? I know not, said he ; 
 but I should like to hear what is your opinion. 
 
 You will hear then, that in my opinion they speak 
 the truth. How, replied he, can it be right to say that 
 the miseries of states are never to come to a close, till 
 they be governed by philosophers, whom we now 
 acknowledge as useless thereto ? You ask a question, said 
 I, which needs a figurative reply. And yet said I, I do 
 not think you usually speak by figures. 
 
 Chap. IV. Granted, said I; and are you not jesting 
 me, after having involved me in a subject so hard of ex- 
 planation ? Yet attend to the comparison, in order that 
 
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 you may the better see how nicely I make it; fcr the 
 sufferings of the best philosophers in the management of 
 public affairs are so grievous that there is not one other 
 suffering so severe: but in making our simile, and put- 
 ting in a defense for them, we must collect from many 
 particulars, in the same way as painters mingle together 
 different figures, and paint a creature both goat and stag 
 in one, and others of the same kind. Conceive now such 
 a person as this to be the pilot of a fleet or a single 
 ship, one who surpasses all in the ship both in bulk and 
 strength, but is somewhat deaf, and short-sighted as well, 
 and whose skill in nautical affairs is much of the same 
 kind; and also that the sailors are all quarreling among 
 each other about the pilotage, each thinking he ought to 
 be pilot, though he never learned the art, and cannot 
 show who was his master, nor at what time he got his 
 learning; that besides this, they all say that the art itself 
 cannot be tatight, and are ready to cut in pieces any one 
 who says that it can. Imagine further, that they are 
 constantly crowding round the pilot himself, begging, and 
 forming all schemes to induce him to commit the helm 
 into their hands, and that sometimes even, when they do 
 not so well succeed in persuading him as others may, 
 they either kill these others, or throw them overboard, 
 and after having, by mandragora or wine or something 
 else, rendered the noble pilot incapable, they manage the 
 ship by aid of the crew, and sail on, thus drinking 
 and feasting, as may be expected of such people; and 
 besides this, if any one be clever at assisting them in 
 getting the management into their own hands, and either 
 by persuasion or force, setting aside the pilot, they praise 
 such an one, calling him sailor and pilot, and versed in 
 navigation, but despise as useless every one not of this char- 
 acter, not in the least considering that the true pilot must 
 necessarily study the year, the seasons, the heavens, and 
 stars, and winds, and everything belonging to his art, if he 
 would be a real commander of a ship; but at the same 
 time as respects the art and practice of governing men, 
 whether some be willing or not, they think it impossible 
 for a man to attain it in connection with the art of 
 navigation. Whilst affairs are thus situated as regards 
 
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 205 
 
 ships, do yoti not think that the true pilot will be called 
 by the sailors on board of ships thus regulated, a mere 
 star-gazer, trifler, and of no use to them whatever ? Un- 
 doubtedly, said Adimantus. I think then, said I, that you 
 do not want this comparison explained, in order to see 
 that it represents how people feel in states toward true 
 philosophers, but that you quite understand what I mean. 
 Perfectly, said he. First of all then, as regards this, 
 namely, a person's wondering that philosophers are not 
 honored in states, you mtist acquaint him with our com- 
 parison, and try to persuade him, that it would be much 
 more wonderful if they were honored. I will so, replied 
 he. And further, that it is quite true, as you were just 
 observing, that the best of those who study philosophy 
 are useless to the bulk of mankind; but nevertheless, for 
 all this, they intend to lay the blame not on the philos- 
 ophers, but on such as make no use of them, for it is 
 not natural that the pilot should beg of the sailors to 
 allow him to govern them, nor that the wise should hold 
 attendance at the gate of the rich; and whoever wittily 
 said this was mistaken; for this indeed is the natural 
 method, that whoever is sick, whether rich or poor, must 
 necessarily go to the gates of the physician, and Vv^hoever 
 wants to be governed must wait on a person able to 
 govern; for it is not natural that a really worthy gov- 
 ernor should beg of the governed to subject themselves 
 to his government. You will not be far wrong, however, 
 in comparing our present political governors to those 
 sailors we now mentioned, and those whom they call in- 
 significant and star-gazers to those who are truly pilots. 
 Quite right, said he. Hence, then, it would seem, that 
 the best pursuit is not likely to be held in much honor 
 by persons engaged in those of an opposite nature, but 
 by far the greatest and most violent outcry against phi- 
 losophy is caused by those who profess its study; the very 
 persons whom most of all, you say, your reviler of phi- 
 losophy calls downright wicked, and the very best useless ; 
 and I agreed that you spoke correctly, did I not ? Yes. 
 
 Chap. V. Have we not now fully explained the cause, 
 why the best of them are useless ? We have. Do you 
 
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 wish, then, that we should next explain the reason, why 
 most of them must necessarily be depraved, and try also 
 to show, that philosophy is not the cause of this. Cer- 
 tainly. Let us open our argument then, by carefully 
 calling to mind what we before observed about the natural 
 disposition necessarily belonging to the good and worthy 
 [ philosopher] ; and if you remember, the leading part 
 therein was truth, which he must by all means wholly 
 pursue, or else be a vain boaster, having no fellowship 
 with true philosophy. Aye, so it was said. Is not this 
 single part of his character wholly the reverse of what is 
 at present held respecting him ? Quite so, replied he. 
 We shall be urging, therefore, no trifling argument in his 
 defense, if we can show that the true lover of learning 
 is naturally inclined to aspire after the knowledge of 
 real being, and, so far from being arrested by the numer- 
 ous individual things which are the objects of opinion, 
 that he proceeds undauntedly forward and desists not 
 from his love of truth till he becomes acquainted with 
 the nature of all existing things through the agency of 
 that part of the soul whose business it is to take cogni- 
 zance of such matters : but it is the office of that part of 
 the soul which is allied [ to real being] ; and when this 
 true lover of learning approaches thus far, and mingles 
 therewith, thus giving rise to intellect and truth, he will 
 attain to true knowledge, and truly live and be main- 
 tained, and at length become liberated from the pains of 
 production, but not before. As good a defense, said he, 
 as there possibly can be. What then; will it be a part 
 of such a person's business to love falsehood, or quite 
 the contrary, to hate it ? To hate it, said he. While 
 truth, however, leads the way, we can never say, I think, 
 that any band of evils follows in her train ? No, we 
 cannot. But on the contrary, sound and just morals, ac- 
 companied with temperance ? Right, said he. Well then; 
 is it necessary that we again examine and rearrange all 
 the qualities of a philosophic nature ? for, no doubt, you 
 remember that men of this character possess fortitude, 
 magnanimity, aptitude for learning, and a good memory; 
 and when you said by way of rejoinder, that every one 
 would be compelled to agree to our statement, we quitted 
 
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 207 
 
 that subject, and turned to the subject of our present 
 discourse, your assertion of having found some of the 
 philosophers useless, and the majority also completely 
 depraved. And in investigating the cause of that calumny, 
 we are at length come to inquire, how it is that the 
 greater part of them are bad ; and on this account we have 
 again analyzed the nature of true philosophers, and neces- 
 sarily defined it. It is so, said he. 
 
 Chap. VI. We must therefore consider, said I, the 
 corruptions of this nature, how it becomes ruined in 
 many, so that only some few escape, whom men call not 
 depraved, but useless ; and next we must consider those 
 dispositions that counterfeit this nature, and only pretend 
 to pursue it, and what is the nature also of those souls 
 which aspire to a pursuit not belonging to them, and 
 above their reach: for these persons, by their multiplied 
 errors, have everywhere and among all men, attached 
 this opinion to philosophy which you are now mention- 
 ing. To what kind of corruptions, said he, do you allude ? 
 I will try to recount them, said I, if I can. And this 
 now, methinks, every one will allow us, that such a 
 nature, with all the qualifications that we just now 
 enjoined to a person aspiring to be a perfect philosopher, 
 is rarely to be found among men, and of these there are 
 but very few : do you not think so ? Quite so. And 
 among those few, just consider how many and how great 
 are the causes of corruption. What are they ? The most 
 surprising of all to hear, namely, that of those qualities 
 which we commended in the nature of a philosopher, 
 each corrupts the soul possessing them, and withdraws 
 it from philosophy — from fortitude, I mean, and temper- 
 ance, and all those other qualities which we enumerated. 
 That is a strange saying, said he. And further still, 
 said I; besides these things, all that are commonly called 
 good, such as beauty, riches, bodily strength, a powerful 
 family connection in the state, and all that relates to 
 these, corrupt and withdraw it from philosophy: there, 
 you now have the outline of what I mean. I have, he 
 replied, and would be glad more clearly to understand 
 what you say. Apprehend, therefore, the whole of it 
 
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 aright, said I ; and it will become perfectly clear, and 
 what we before said will not be thought 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 what is not properly nurtured 
 and has not its proper nourishment, or season, or place, 
 the stronger it is, so many more kindly influences does 
 it require, for evil is more contrary to good, than to that 
 which is not good. Of course. It is reasonable then, I 
 suppose, that the very best nature, if supported on diet 
 unsuited to it, should become worse than one which is 
 inferior ? It is. Well, then, Adimantus, said I, are we 
 to say, that souls naturally the best, if badly trained, 
 become more than commonly depraved; or think you that 
 gross iniquity and extreme wickedness arise from an 
 inferior rather than from a good disposition ruined in its 
 education ; whereas a weak disposition will never produce 
 either great good or great evil ? No, I think not, said 
 he; and the case is as you say. If then this philosophic 
 nature, that we have here defined, meet with suitable 
 training, it will of necessity grow up, I suppose, and 
 attain to every virtue; but if it be sown in an improper 
 soil, and grow up and be nurtured accordingly, it will 
 become quite the reverse, unless one of the gods should 
 by chance come to its assistance ; think you then, as most 
 do, that some youths are corrupted by sophists, and that 
 these sophists are men in private life who corrupt them in 
 any manner soever that is worthy of their attention ; or 
 rather, that the very persons who say these things 
 are themselves the greatest sophists, conveying their 
 instruction with most perfect skill, and rendering young 
 and old, men and women, such as they wish them to be ? 
 When is that ? said he. When many of them, said I, are 
 seated and crowded together in an assembly, in their 
 law-courts, theaters camps, or other public meetings of 
 the people, and when they blame with much tumult some 
 speeches and acts, and commend others, shouting and 
 stamping, [to see] which shall outvie the other; and 
 besides this, the echo from the rocks and the place where 
 they are sitting, redoubles the tumult of their disappro- 
 bation and applause; in such a situation as this, what 
 
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 kind of heart, as the saying- is, do you think the youth 
 has; or what private instruction can so restrain him, as 
 to prevent him from being quite overwhelmed by such 
 blame or applause, and from yielding and being carried 
 along the stream wherever it bears him ; and will he not 
 call things beautiful and base, according as these people 
 call them, and just as they pursue them, thus becoming 
 the very same character ? This, said he, must of course 
 be the case, Socrates. 
 
 Chap. VII. And yet, said I, we have not yet men- 
 tioned what is the greatest necessity of all. What is that ? 
 said he. What these, your teachers and sophists, add, by 
 way of acts to their talk, when they cannot persuade: 
 know you not 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, will coun- 
 teract and overpower these ? I know none, said he. Is 
 it not besides, said I, great folly also even to attempt it ? 
 For there neither is, nor was, nor can ever possibly be, 
 any other system as regards virtue, to be compared with 
 this education by the sophists, I mean a human method, 
 my friend; for a divine one, according to the proverb, 
 we keep out of the question. Indeed, you must well 
 know, with respect to whatever is preserved, and becomes 
 what it ought in such a constitution of government, that 
 you will not be far wrong in deeming it preserved by 
 divine destiny. Nor am I, said he, of a different opinion. 
 But further now, besides this, said I, you must 
 also be of this opinion. Of what ? That each of 
 these hired private teachers, whom these men call 
 sophists and consider as rival artists, teach nothing 
 else but those dogmas of the vulgar, which they 
 approve in their assemblies, and term wisdom; just 
 as if a man were to learn the tempers and desires of a 
 great and strong animal that he is training, how it miist 
 be approached, how touched, and when it is most fierce 
 or most mild, and from what sorts it springs, and the 
 sounds also which it is used occasionally to utter, and by 
 what sounds when uttered by another, this beast is ren- 
 14 
 
2IO 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 dered either gentle or savage; and if, after learning all 
 these things by long associating with this animal, he 
 should call this wisdom and, apply himself to the teach- 
 ing thereof, as to an established art, while yet, as regards 
 these dogmas and desires, he has no real knowledge of 
 what is beautiful or base, good or ill, just or unjust, but 
 defines them all by the opinions of that great animal, 
 calling those things good by which it is pleased, and 
 those evil with which it is vexed, having no other measure 
 respecting them, but calling things necessary both just 
 and beautiful, though he has never himself seen, nor can 
 show to another, the nature of the necessary and the 
 good, and how far they really differ from each other. 
 Being such as this, then, do you not, by Zeus, think him 
 a ridiculous teacher ? I do, he replied. And, think you, he 
 in any way differs from the man, who deems it wisdom to 
 have understood the tempers and pleasures of the multi- 
 tude, and of mixed assemblies, either in painting, music 
 or politics ? For if any one converse with these, and show 
 them either a poem, or other work of art, or piece of 
 service connected with the state, and make the multitude 
 the judges thereof, he is, beyond all other necessities, 
 under what is called a " Diomedean " * necessity, that of do- 
 ing whatever they commend. But as respects these things 
 being really good and beautiful, did you ever hear any of 
 them advance a reason that was not quite ridiculous.? 
 No; and I think, said he, I never shall. 
 
 Chap. VIII. Considering all these things, then, bear 
 this in mind, that the multitude never will admit or 
 reckon that there is the one beautiful itself, and not many 
 beautiful, one thing itself individually existing, and not 
 
 * A Diomedean necessity is a proverbial expression applied to 
 those, who do anything from necessity; its origin is as follows: Di- 
 omedes and Ulysses, having stolen the Palladium from Ilium, returned by 
 night to their ships. Ulysses, however, most anxious that the glory 
 of the deed should be his alone, endeavored to slay Diomedes, who 
 walked before him with the Palladium. Diomedes, however, on see- 
 ing by moonlight the shadow of the sword raised over him, seized Ulys- 
 ses, bound his hands, bid him walk before him, and, after striking him 
 on the back with the flat part of his sword, proceeded onward, and at 
 length reached the Argive camp. 
 
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 21 I 
 
 many such individual things. They will be the last to 
 do so, he replied. It is impossible, then, for the multi- 
 tude to be philosophers. Impossible. And those who 
 philosophize must necessarily be subject to their reproach ? 
 Necessarily so. And likewise to that of those private 
 persons, who, in conversing with the multitude, desire 
 to please them ? Clearly. In consequence of this, then, 
 what security do you see for the philosophic nature to 
 continue its pursuit, and arrive at perfection ? And con- 
 sider from what has gone before; for it has been admit- 
 ted, that aptitude for learning, memory, fortitude, and 
 magnanimity belong to this kind of disposition. Yes, 
 it has. Will not such an one as this, then, be the first 
 of all men in all things whatever, especially if he have 
 a body naturally suited to his soul ? Of course he will, 
 he replied. And when he is further advanced in years, 
 his kindred and citizens, methinks, will be disposed to 
 employ him in their affairs. Why not ? As suppliants 
 then they will pay him homage, and submit to him, 
 anticipating and flattering before hand his growing power. 
 Aye, said he, such is usually the case. What then, said 
 I, think you such an one will do under such circum- 
 stances, especially if he be a member of a great state, 
 rich and nobly born, handsome withal and of large 
 stature ? Will he not be filled with extravagant hopes, 
 deeming himself capable of managing the affairs both 
 of Greeks and barbarians, and on this account demean 
 himself loftily, being full of ostentation and vain conceit, 
 but without judgment ? Quite so, he replied. If one 
 should gently approach a man of this disposition, and 
 tell him the truth, that he has no judgment, but needs 
 it; as judgment is only to be acquired by one who de- 
 votes himself as a slave to its acquisition, think you, that, 
 amidst all these evils it would be easy for him to 
 hearken ? Far from it, he replied. But if, said I, through 
 a good natural temper, and innate attachment to reason- 
 ing, he were to acquire penetration, and thus be bent 
 and drawn toward philosophy, what, think we, will 
 those others do, when they reckon on losing his services 
 and company: will they not by every action, and every 
 speech, say and do all to the man to prevent his being 
 
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 persuaded, and as respects his adviser, take away all his 
 influence, both by forming private plots and arraigning 
 him at public trials ? This, of course, must necessarily 
 be the case, he replied. Is it likely then, that such an 
 one as this will be a philosopher ? Not at all. 
 
 Chap. IX. You see then, said I, that we were not 
 wrong in saying, that even the very essentials of the 
 philosophic disposition, are, when badly directed, in some 
 measure the cause of a falling off from this pursuit, as 
 well as from those vulgarly reputed goods, riches, and 
 all such-like matters. No, certainly, he replied; that 
 was correctly observed. Stich then, said I, admirable 
 friend! is the ruin, such and so great the corruption of the 
 best nature for the best of all pursuits, and which, as we 
 observe, is rarely elsewhere to be found : and among these 
 are the men who do the greatest harm both to states and 
 private persons, and those also who do the greatest 
 good, such as are drawn to one particular side, [vis. 
 what is good] : whereas small talents do nothing great 
 for any one, either private person or state. Most true, 
 said he. Since those, then, who thus fall off, whose 
 chief business was to apply to philosophy, and who, 
 leaving her deserted and imperfect, lead themselves a 
 life neither becoming nor true, while on this same phi- 
 losophy other unworthy persons have intruded and dis- 
 graced her, loading her with reproaches, such as those 
 with which you say her revilers reproach her: of those 
 who engage with her, some are worth nothing, and most 
 of them deserve great punishments. Aye, surely , this, 
 replied he, is commonly said. Aye, and said too with 
 reason, replied I ; for other contemptible men seeing the 
 field unoccupied, and the possession of it followed by 
 dignities and honorable names, just like persons who take 
 refuge from their prisons in the temples, these likewise 
 gladly leap from their trade-crafts to philosophy; such 
 of them I mean, as are most adept in their own little art. 
 Indeed, even in this position of philosophy, her remaining 
 dig-nity, in comparison with all the other arts, is still of 
 surpassing magnificence, which dignity many eagerly 
 covet, who yet are of an imperfect nature, and have 
 
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 21J 
 
 bodies not only deformed by their arts and crafts, but 
 souls likewise that are broken and crushed by their servile 
 occupations: must it not necessarily be so ? Undoubtedly, 
 said he. Think you, then, said I, that they at all differ 
 in appearance from a bald and puny blacksmith, who 
 having made a little money, has been newly liberated 
 from chains, and washed in the bath, with a new robe 
 on him, just decked out as a bridegroom, presuming, on 
 account of his master's poverty and forlorn situation, to 
 propose for his daughter's hand ? There is no great dif- 
 ference, replied he. What sort of a race must such as 
 these produce ; must it not be bastardly and abject ? Cer- 
 tainly, it must. But what; when persons unworthy of 
 instruction study it and meddle with it unworthily, what 
 kind of sentiments and opinions must we say come from 
 them ? Must they not be such as to be properly termed 
 sophisms, and neither genuine, nor allied to true discre- 
 tion ? Wholly so, of course, he replied. 
 
 Chap. X. An extremely small number is left, said I, 
 Adimantus, of those who engage worthily in philosophy, 
 men of that noble and well-cultivated nature, which some- 
 how seeks retirement, and naturally persists in philosophic 
 study, through the absence of corrupting tendencies; or 
 it may be, in a small state, some mighty soul arises, who 
 has despised and wholly neglected civil honors; and 
 there may be some small portion perhaps, who, having 
 a naturally good disposition, hold other arts in just con- 
 tempt, and then turn to philosophy. These the bridle of 
 our friend Theages will probably be able to restrain ; for 
 all other things are calculated to withdraw Theages from 
 philosophy, while the care of his health occupies him to 
 the exclusion of politics : * and as to what concerns my- 
 self, namely the sign of my demon, it is not worth while 
 to mention that; for I think it has heretofore been met 
 with only by one other, if any at all. And even of these 
 
 * Theages is stated in the « Apology of Socrates (p. 33 c) to be the 
 son of Demodocus and the brother of Paralus, and to have been most 
 desirous of attaining to a knowledge of the Socratic philosophy; and 
 we are here told that his delicate health hindered him from persever- 
 ing in its pursuit; so true is the saying of Plutarch (de Sanit. tuend. 
 p. 126 b), ivh)ao<l>Eiv appuariai TroA/loiif Trapexovoiv. 
 
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 few [they are] such as taste, and have tasted, how sweet 
 and blessed is the acquisition of philosophy, and have 
 withal sufficiently observed the madness of the multitude, 
 and that none of them, as I may say, does what is whole- 
 some in state matters, and that a man can get none to 
 aid him in securely succoring- the just, but is like one 
 falling among wild beasts, neither willing nor able to aid 
 them in doing wrong, as one only against a host of wild 
 creatures, and so without doing any good either to the 
 state or his friends, perishes unprofitably to all the world. 
 Quietly reasoning on all these things, and attending to 
 his own affairs, like a man sheltered under a wall in a 
 storm of dust and foam borne along on the wind, by 
 which he sees all about him overwhelmed in disorder, 
 such an one is content anyhow to pass his life pure from 
 injustice and unholy deeds, and to effect his exit hence 
 with good hopes cheerful and agreeable. Aye, and he 
 will make his exit, said he, without having done even 
 the least of them. Nor the greatest either, said I; 
 because he has not found a suitable form of government; 
 for in one that suits him, he will both make greater 
 progress himself, and together with the affairs of private 
 persons, will preserve those of the public also. 
 
 Chap. XI. As respects philosophy, then, for what 
 reasons it has been traduced, and that it has been so un- 
 justly, we have, I think, sufficiently stated, unless you 
 have anything else to allege. Nay, said he ; I can say 
 nothing further about this point: but which of the pres- 
 ent forms of government do you conceive to be suited 
 to philosophy ? None whatever, said I ; and this particu- 
 larly is what I complain of, that no existing constitution 
 of a state is worthy of the philosophic nature; and on 
 this account therefore it is turned and altered, just as a 
 foreign seed sown in an improper soil becomes worthless, 
 and has a tendency to fall under the influence of the soil 
 in which it is placed; so this race likewise has not at 
 present its proper power, but degenerates to some pattern 
 foreign to it; but in case that it does meet with the 
 best form of government, being itself also best, it will 
 then be evident that this is really divine, and all others 
 
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 215 
 
 only human, both as to their natures and pursuits; but 
 as a matter of course you are evidently about to ask what 
 is this form of government ? You are mistaken, said he, 
 for this I was not going- to ask; but whether it be this, 
 which we have described in establishing our state, or some 
 other. As regards all other things, said I, it is this one ; 
 and this very thing was then mentioned, that there must 
 always be in our state something having the same regard 
 for the government, which you the legislator had in estab- 
 lishing the laws. Aye, — that was mentioned, said he. 
 Yes, but, said I, it was not made sufficiently clear, 
 owing to the fear of what you objected, when you showed 
 also that the illustration of the thing would be both tedi- 
 ous and difficult; for indeed it is not on the whole quite 
 easy to discuss what remains. What is that ? In what 
 manner a state is to undertake the study of philosophy, 
 so as not itself to be destroyed ; for all great pursuits are 
 dangerous; and, as the saying is, those noble even are 
 truly difficult. But still, rejoined he, let our demonstra- 
 tion be completed by making this evident. Want of in- 
 clination, said I, will not hinder, though possibly want 
 of power may; and now you shall at once be assured of 
 my readiness. Consider indeed, how readily and adven- 
 turously I am about to assert, that a state ought to at- 
 tempt this study in a way opposite to what it does at 
 present. How ? At present, said I, those who engage in 
 it are striplings, who, quite from childhood, amidst their 
 domestic affairs and lucrative employments, betake them- 
 selves to most abstruse inquiries, considering themselves 
 consummate philosophers, (and I call what respects rea- 
 soning, the most difficult of all) ; and should they in after- 
 time be invited by others practicing this art, they are 
 pleased to become hearers, and think it a great conde- 
 scension, reckoning they ought to do it as a by-work, but 
 toward old age, with the exception indeed of some few, 
 they are extinguished even more than the Heraclitean* 
 sun, because they are never again rekindled. But how 
 
 * Heraclitus the Ephesian said that the sun descended to^the western 
 sea, and at its setting was extinguished, being again enkindled when 
 it ascended above the earth in the east ; and that this took place per- 
 petually. 
 
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 should they act ? said he. Quite the reverse of what they 
 do; while they are lads and youths they should study 
 youthful learning and philosophy,* and, take special 
 care of the body, during its growth and strengthening 
 by inviting its services to the aid of philosophy; and 
 then, as that time of life progresses, during which the 
 soul is attaining its perfection, they should vigorously 
 apply to her exercises; but when strength decays, and is 
 no longer suited for civil and military employments, they 
 should then be dismissed, and live at pleasure, with the 
 exception of a by-work, [that is, studying philosophy], if 
 indeed they propose to live happy, and, when they die, 
 possess in the other world, a destiny suited to the life 
 which they have led in this. 
 
 Chap. XII. How truly do I think, Socrates, said he, 
 that you speak with ready zeal: I think, however, that 
 most of your hearers will still more zealously oppose you, 
 and by no means be persuaded, and Thrasymachus even 
 first. Do not divide Thrasymachus and me, said I, who 
 are now become friends, though not enemies heretofore; 
 for we will not at all relax our efforts, till we either 
 persuade both him and the rest, or make some advances 
 toward that life, on attaining which they will again meet 
 with such discourses as these. You have spoken, said he, 
 only for a short time. No time at all, said I, as compared 
 at least with the whole of time : but that the multitude 
 are not persuaded by what is said, is no wonder ; for they 
 have' never as yet seen that what was mentioned actually 
 came to pass, but rather that they were certain mere 
 words cleverly fitted to each other, and not as now coming 
 out spontaneously: and as regards the man, who is, as 
 completely as possible, squared and made consistent with 
 virtue both in word and deed, holding power in a state 
 of such different character; they have never at all seen 
 either one or more of the kind. Do you think they have ? 
 
 *The Scholiast suggests, that Plato here refers to mathematical 
 science; but Stalbaum conceives with far greater probability, that 
 allusion is made to all liberal or musical arts whatsoever, which are to 
 be studied as disciplines for the mind, just as gymnastics are practiced 
 to promote the growth and strength of the body. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 217 
 
 By no means. And again, as respects arguments, my ex- 
 cellent friend, they have not sufficiently listened to what 
 are fair and liberal, such as persevere in the search for 
 truth, by every method, for the mere sake of knowledge, 
 saluting at a distance such intricate and contentious ques- 
 tions, as tend only to opinion and strife, either in their 
 law-courts or private meetings. Not even as respects 
 these, he replied. On these accounts, then, said I, and 
 foreseeing these things, we, although with fear, still as- 
 serted (compelled by truth), that neither state nor gov- 
 ernment, nor even a man in the same way, could ever 
 become perfect, till some need of fortune should compel 
 those few philosophers, who at present are termed not 
 depraved but useless, to take the government of the state, 
 whether they will or not, and oblige it to be obedient to 
 them; or till the sons of those who are now in high offices 
 and magistracies, or they themselves, be by some divine 
 inspiration filled with a true love of sincere philosophy: 
 and I am sure that no one can reasonably suppose either 
 or both of these to be impossible ; for thus might we justly 
 be derided, as saying things which otherwise are only 
 like wishes : is it not so ? It is. If then, in the infinite 
 series of past ages, absolute necessity has compelled men 
 who have reached the summit of philosophy to take the 
 government of a state, or even if such is now the case 
 in some barbarous region, remote from our observation, 
 or is likely to be the case hereafter, we are ready, in that 
 case, to advance in argument, that this form of government 
 just described has existed and now exists [in possibility], 
 and will actually arise, when this our muse shall obtain 
 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 too, said he, 
 am of the same opinion. But you will say, replied I, 
 that the multitude are not of that opinion ? Very likely, 
 said he. My excellent friend, said I, do not thus altogether 
 condemn the multitude ; and do not upbraid them for their 
 opinion, but rather encourage them, remove the reproach 
 thrown on philosophy, and point out to them the persons 
 you call philosophers, defining distinctly, as at present, both 
 their genius and pursuits, that they may not think that 
 
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 you speak of such as they themselves call philosophers. 
 Indeed, if they talk of the same men, will you not say that 
 they have conceived a different opinion of the men from 
 what you have, and give very different replies from yours; 
 and think you that one man can be angered at another, 
 who is not angry himself ; or that a man will envy the 
 envious, who is himself free from envy, and of a gentle 
 temper ? I will anticipate you by saying, that I think some, 
 few, though not the great mass of mankind, have naturally 
 so bad a temper as you have described. I am quite of. 
 that opinion also, said he. Are you then of my opinion 
 in this also, namely, that, as regards the ill-feeling of the 
 populace toward philosophy, those people from without 
 [ i. e. , the sophists ] are the real cause of it, by making an 
 indecent and turbulent irruption thereinto, insulting and 
 showing a downright hatred of philosophers, ever directing 
 their discourses at particular men, and so doing what least 
 of all becomes philosophy ? Certainly, said he. 
 
 Chap. XIII. In fact, Adimantus, the man who really 
 applies his intellect to reflect on true being, probably has 
 no leisure to look down on the little affairs of mankind, 
 and by fighting with them, become filled with envy and 
 ill-nature ; but on the other hand, beholding and contem- 
 plating objects that are orderly, always self -consistent and 
 stable,* such as neither injure nor are injured by each 
 other, but are in all respects beautiful and consonant with 
 reason, these he imitates and resembles as far as possible : 
 what, think you it at all possible, that a man will not imi- 
 tate what he admires as soon as he is conversant there- 
 with ? Impossible, he replied. The philosopher, then, who 
 is occtipied with what is divine and orderly, becomes him- 
 self divine and orderly, as far as lies in man's power: yet 
 in all there is great room for blame. Most assuredly. If 
 then, said I, he should be any how compelled to try to 
 introduce among men what he beholds there [in his world 
 of contemplation], with a view of forming their manners, 
 
 * The reader will take in connection with this what had been stated at 
 the close of the first chapter of this book, — that the philosopher's studies 
 were concerned with real and eternal being, and not allowed to wander 
 to the changeable and destructible. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 219 
 
 both in private and public, and not merely to form him- 
 self alone, would he prove, think you, a bad artist, in the 
 matter of temperance and justice and every civil virtue ? 
 Not at all, said he. But, supposing that the multitude 
 should perceive that we are speaking the truth about him 
 [/. r., the philosopher], will they be angry at philosphers 
 and discredit our assertion, that the state can never other- 
 wise be happy, except as portrayed by painters who em- 
 ploy a divine pattern ?* They will not be angry, said he, 
 if they do perceive it: but what method of painting do 
 you mean ? When they have got for their groundwork, 
 said I, the state and manners of mankind, they would first 
 make them pure, which is not altogether an easy matter; 
 for you know, that in this they differ from others, in 
 being unwilling to meddle either with a private man or 
 state, or to prescribe laws, till they have either received 
 them as pure, or themselves have made them so. Rightly 
 too, said he. And after this, think you not they will draw 
 a sketch of their form of government ? Of course. After- 
 ward, I think, as they proceed in their work, they will 
 frequently look in two directions, not only to what is nat- 
 urally just and beautiful, and temperate and the like, but 
 also, again, to that which they can establish among man- 
 kind, blending and compounding their human form out 
 of different human characters and pursuits, drawing from 
 what Homer calls the divine likeness, and the divine 
 resemblance subsisting among men. Right, said he. 
 They will, of course, I think, erase one thing, and put 
 in another, till they have, as far as possible, made human 
 morals pleasing to the gods. At that rate, said he, the 
 picture will be most beautiful. In this case, said I, do 
 we at all succeed in persuading these men, who, you said, 
 were coming upon us in battle-array, that a person who 
 can thus depict governments is the man we then recom- 
 mended to them, and on whose account they were angry 
 with us, for committing to him our states: and will they 
 now be more mild, when they hear our mention thereof ? 
 
 * Philosophers ideally contemplating the image of a perfect state are 
 here elegantly compared to painters about to make an original design of 
 a city, who of course require that their tablets be clean, ere they com- 
 mence their drawing. 
 
220 
 
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 Certainly, said he, if they be wise : for what is there now, 
 that they can further question ? will they assert that 
 philosophers are not lovers of real being and truth ? 
 That, said he, were absurd. Or that their disposition, 
 as just described, is not allied to what is best ? Nor this 
 either. What then ; will not a disposition such as we 
 have described, by finding suitable employments, become 
 perfectly good and philosophic, if any other be so; will 
 men say that those more attain to it, whom we have 
 selected ? Not at all. Will they still then be indignant 
 at us for saying, that until the philosophic race have the 
 government of the state, the miseries neither of state 
 nor citizens can have an end, nor can this government, 
 which we ideally describe, be ever perfectly realized ? 
 Perhaps somewhat less indignant, rejoined he. Is it your 
 wish, then, said I, that we say not that they are some- 
 what less [indignant], but that they have become alto- 
 gether mild, and are persuaded, that they will at least 
 consent, if no more, through very shame ? By all means, 
 said he. 
 
 Chap. XIV. Let them then, said I, be persuaded of 
 this: and is there any one who will dispute this, that 
 men of a philosophic disposition do not usually spring from 
 kings and sovereigns ? No one, said he, would assert that. 
 And though they be born of such a character, one may 
 say they are necessarily prone to be corrupted ; for indeed, 
 it is a hard matter for them to be preserved untainted, 
 even we ourselves agree ; but will any one contend 
 throughout all time, that not one of the whole human 
 race, would be preserved pure and untainted ? How can 
 there be ? But surely, said I, any individual born with 
 adequate abilities, and who has his state in obedience to 
 him, can accomplish everything now so much disbelieved. 
 Yes, for he is adequate to his task, said he. And when 
 the governor, said I, establishes the laws and customs 
 here detailed, it is not at all impossible for him to make the 
 citizens willingly obey him ? In no way whatever. But 
 is it wonderful or impossible, that what is our opinion 
 should be the opinion of others also ? I, at least, do not 
 think so, said he. And that these things are best, if 
 
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 221 
 
 they be possible, we have, I think, sufficiently explained 
 in the former part of our discourse. Yes, quite sufTi- 
 ciently. Now then, it seems, we are agreed about our 
 legislation ; that the laws we mention are the best, if they 
 could be realized, and that if it be hard to establish 
 them, yet it is not impossible. Yes, we are agreed 
 said he. 
 
 Chap. XV. Since this then has been with difficulty 
 brought to a conclusion, shall we not next consider what 
 remains; in what manner, and in consequence of what 
 sciences and pursuits, they will become installed as the 
 preservers of the government, and at what periods of life 
 they will all apply to their several pursuits ? Aye, we 
 must talk of this, observed he. My cunning has done 
 me no service, said I, in having left untouched, in the 
 former part of our discourse, the diihculty attending the 
 possession of women, and the procreation of children, 
 and the establishment of governors, knowing how in- 
 vidious the business is, and full of difficulty, even though 
 it be perfectly true and correct: for we are now under 
 no less a compulsion of entering into these details. 
 What relates to women and children has already been 
 brought to a close ; and as to what concerns the gov- 
 ernors, we must now from the beginning reconsider that 
 subject. We have alleged, if you remember, that they 
 should appear to be lovers of the state, proved to be so both 
 by pleasures and pains, and not seen to abandon this 
 principle, either through toils or fears or any other 
 change; and that he who cannot do this should be re- 
 jected; while as for him who comes forth altogether pure, 
 as gold tried in the fire, we should appoint him ruler, 
 and endow him with honors and rewards both during 
 life and after death. Such was what we said, when our 
 argument was wandering and assuming a veil, through 
 fear of disturbing the present state of things. You speak 
 quite truly, said he; for I remember it. Yes, for I was 
 loath, to say, my friend, what I must now venture to 
 assert: but now this assertion must at any rate be ven- 
 tured, that the most perfect guardians must be estab- 
 lished philosophers. Yes, that has been stated, replied 
 
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 he. But consider, I pray, that you will probably have 
 only a few of these ; for such a disposition, as we de- 
 clare that they must necessarily have, is but rarely used 
 to center in one single individual; though its different 
 parts are commonly found in many different persons. 
 How say you ? he replied. That such as learn with 
 facility, have a good memory, are sagacious and acute, 
 and endued with all qualifications thereto allied, are yet 
 not at the same time of so vigorous and lofty an intellect, 
 as to live orderly, with calmness and constancy, but are 
 carried hapchance by mere buoyancy of spirits, and are 
 deserted by everything like stability. Your remark is 
 true, replied he. Well then, these firm habits of the 
 mind, which are not easily changeable, and which one 
 might specially employ as trusty, and which in time of 
 war are hard to be excited to terror; and similarly also 
 as regards learning, they move heavily, and learn with 
 difficulty, as if benumbed, and oppressed with sleep and 
 yawning, when compelled to labor at any work of this 
 description. It is so, replied he. But we said, that he 
 ought to have a good and fair share of both these, or else 
 should have no share whatever either in the most perfect 
 kind of education, or in magisterial dignities or state 
 honors. Right, said he. Do not you think then, that 
 this will but rarely happen ? Of course it will. They 
 must be tried then both in what we before alluded to, 
 - — labors, fears, and pleasures; and likewise in what we 
 then passed over, and are now mentioning; we must 
 exercise them in various kinds of learning, with due re- 
 gard for the power of their talents to go through the 
 highest branches of study, or else their failure, as that 
 of persons failing in all other things. It is fit now, said 
 he, that we consider this question in this manner: but 
 what kind of studies are they, which you call the highest ? 
 
 Chap. XVI. You remember, perhaps, said I, that when 
 we divided the soul into three parts, we defined the nature 
 respectively of justice, temperance, fortitude, and wis- 
 dom ? If I did not remember, said he, I should have no 
 right to hear what remains. [ Do you remember likewise] 
 what was said before that ? What was it ? We some- 
 
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 223 
 
 where said, that it was possible to behold these in their 
 most beautiful forms, but that the journey would be 
 tedious, which a person must make, who would see them 
 clearly; yet that it was possible, to approach them through 
 our proofs before mentioned, and you said also, that these 
 were sufficient; so, what was then asserted fell in my 
 opinion far short of the truth; though if agreeable to 
 you, you may say so. I at least thought, replied he, 
 that they had been discussed in fair measure; and the 
 rest seemed to think so too. But my friend, said I, in 
 speaking of things of this kind, such a measure as omits 
 any part whatever of the truth is not wholly in measure ; 
 for nothing imperfect is the measure of anything; though 
 people sometimes think that things are sufficiently well 
 when thus circumstanced, and there is no need for further 
 inquiry. Very many, said he, thus behave through indo- 
 lence. But the guardian of the state and the laws, said 
 I, should least of all be thus affected. So it seems, 
 replied he. Such an one, then, my friend, said I, must 
 make a more comprehensive circuit, and labor as much 
 in learning as in exercising himself: otherwise, as we 
 were just saying, he will never arrive at the summit of 
 the greatest and most suitable learning. But are not 
 these branches the highest; or is there, said he, any one 
 yet higher than justice, and those virtues which we have 
 discussed ? There is something greater, said I ; and even 
 of these we mi:st not, as just now, only contemplate the 
 mere rude sketch; but we must not omit even its com- 
 plete elaboration: is it not ridiculous in other things of 
 small moment to employ our whole labor, and strive to 
 attain the utmost accuracy and perfection, and yet not 
 deem the highest and most important affairs worthy of 
 our highest attention, with a view to making them as 
 perfect as possible ? The sentiment said he, is very just : 
 but with respect to the question, — what is this most im- 
 portant branch of study, and about what you say it is 
 employed, — think you that any one will let you go with- 
 out asking its nature ? Not at all, said I : but do you 
 ask; although you have assuredly often heard it, but at 
 present you do not bear it in mind, or else intend to 
 embarrass me by raising objections: and I think this the 
 
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 more, as you have often heard at least, that the idea of 
 the good is the highest branch of study; about which, 
 when justice and the other virtues employ themselves, 
 they then become useful and advantageous. Now then, 
 you know pretty well that I mean to say this, and besides, 
 that we do not sufficiently know that idea; and without 
 this knowledge, though we were to understand every- 
 thing else as fully as possible, yet you know that it 
 could be of no service whatever to us, in the same man- 
 ner as no possession whatever would be of aught avail, 
 without the possession of the good: and think you that 
 it is more profitable to possess all things without the 
 possession of the good than to know all things without 
 the knowledge of the good, having no perception at all 
 of the beautiful and good ? Not I, by Zeus, he exclaimed. 
 
 Chap. XVII. Of this, moreover, you may be quite 
 certain, that to the multitude pleasure seems to be the 
 good while the more refined think it to be virtue. How 
 otherwise ? And you know also, my friend, that those 
 who hold this opinion, are unable to show what knowl- 
 edge is, but are compelled at last to call it the knowledge 
 of the good. Aye, and most absurdly too, said he. How 
 indeed can it be otherwise, replied I, if when upbraiding 
 us for not knowing the good, they yet speak as to per- 
 sons knowing it,* and say that knowledge is good itself, 
 as if we understood their meaning when pronouncing the 
 word " the good ? * Most true, said he. But what ? those 
 who define pleasure to be good, are they less in error 
 than the others; or are not these too compelled to con- 
 fess that pleasures are evil ? Quite so. It happens then, 
 I think, that they acknowledge the same things to be 
 both good and evil, — do they not? Undoubtedly. Is it 
 not clear, then, that on this point there are great and 
 manifold varieties of opinion ! Of course there are. But 
 what; is it not clear also, that with reference to things 
 
 * The meaning is: that as such persons are forced to allow that 
 knowledge of itself is not the highest good, but should be referred 
 to the highest good, as the arbiter thereof, — those persons run into 
 an absurd error, who denying that we have any knowledge of <<the 
 good,» yet so act as if we had a sufficient knowledge thereof, — fixing 
 their notion on some abstract theory of good. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 225 
 
 just and beautiful, the multitude choose what is appar- 
 ent, even though it has no real existence, yet acting and 
 possessing and appearing to possess it; though the acqui- 
 sition of only apparent goods, never yet satisfied any 
 one: for people on the olher hand seek what is real, and 
 all men despise what is only apparent ? Just so, said he. 
 This then is what every soul pursues, and for the sake 
 of which it docs everything, conjecturing it to be some- 
 thing, though still in doubt, and imable either fully to 
 comprehend its nature, or employ belief alone respecting 
 it as of other things; and hence is it, that they fail of 
 success even in other matters however useful. Are we 
 to say then, that about a matter of this nature, and of 
 such vast consequence, even the best men in the state, 
 to whom we commit the management of all things, will 
 be thus in the dark ? By no means, said he. I am of 
 opinion then, said I, that the just and the beautiful, so 
 long as they are tmknown in what particular way they 
 are good, cannot be of any great importance to have a 
 guardian who is ignorant of this; and I suspect that no 
 one will before this attain a sufficient knowledge thereof. 
 Yes, you guess rightly, observed he. Will not our gov- 
 ernment, therefore, have been completely set in order, 
 if a guardian be set over it that is scientifically ac- 
 quainted with these things ? 
 
 Chap. XVIII. It must of necessity, said he: but yet 
 vv'ith respect to yourself, Socrates, say you that the good 
 is science, or pleasure, or something independent of these ? 
 Oh, you fine fellow, said I, you long ago clearly showed 
 that you were not to be satisfied with other men's opinions 
 about these matters. Nor does it seem to me just, Socra- 
 tes, said he, that a man should keep talking of other men's 
 opinions, and not his own, after having spent so much time 
 in inquiring about these particulars. But what, said I ; 
 do you think it just then, that a man should talk about 
 matters of which he is ignorant, just as if he knew them ? 
 By no means as if he knew them, said he ; yet, according 
 to his thoughts, whatever he thinks he should willingly 
 tell us. But what, said I ; have you not observed re- 
 specting unscientific opinions, how contemptible they all 
 15 
 
226 
 
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 are, and the best of them blind: and think you, that these 
 persons, who without intellect form true opinions, are at 
 all different from blind men walking on the right road ? 
 Not at all, said he. Do you wish, then, that we should 
 contemplate things base, blind, and crooked, when it is in 
 our power to hear from others what is clear and beautiful ? 
 By Zeus, Socrates, said Glaucon, do not stop here, as if you 
 had come to a close; for we shall be satisfied, if, in the 
 same way as you have spoken of justice, temperance, and 
 the other virtues, you will in like manner discourse of 
 the good. And I too shall be very well satisfied, my 
 friend, said I ; but [I am afraid] that I shall not be able, 
 and so, by my readiness may incur the ridicule of un- 
 mannerly persons. But, my excellent friends, let us at 
 present dismiss this inquiry about the nature of the good, 
 (for it seems to me more, as far as I now think, than 
 we can attain, in our present attempt) : but I am willing 
 to tell you, if you please, what I conceive to be the off- 
 spring of the good, and its nearest representation; and 
 if not, I shall dismiss it. Well then, tell us, said he; foi* 
 you shall afterwards acquit yourself of your debt by tell- 
 ing us of its parent. I could wish, said I, both that 1 
 were able to oblige you by explaining that, and not as 
 now the offspring only and interest of my debt. This 
 child and offspring of the good itself, pray receive; but 
 still take due care that I deceive you nowise unwillingly 
 by paying my account of this offspring in base coin. 
 We will take care of that, said he, as far as we 
 can: only do you tell us. I will then, said I, when 
 we are once thoroughly agreed, and I have re- 
 minded you of what was before mentioned, and has 
 been often said on other occasions. What is that ? 
 said he. That there are many things beautiful, said I, 
 and many good also ; and each of these we declare to be 
 so, and so define them in our argument. Yes, so we say. 
 But as to the beautiful itself and the good itself, and 
 similarly as to all those things which we then considered 
 as of various natures, we are now again establishing them 
 according to the unity of the general idea, to which we 
 conceive each related; and these indeed, we say, are 
 observed by the eye but are not objects of intellectual 
 
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 227 
 
 perception ; whereas the ideas are perceived by the intel- 
 lect, not seen by the eye. Assuredly. 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 ? Of course. But have you not per- 
 ceived, said I, as regards the artificer of the senses, 
 with what perfect skill he has formed the power of see- 
 ing, and being seen ? Not quite, he replied. But con- 
 sider it thus : is there a third kind of faculty required by 
 the hearing and voice, in order that the one may hear 
 and the other be heard, in the absence of which the one 
 will not hear, and the other not be heard ? There is not, 
 said he. I conceive, said I, that many others also (not 
 to say, none at all) require no such thing; can you name 
 any one that does ? Not I, he replied. But with refer- 
 ence to the sense of seeing and the object of sight, do 
 you not perceive that they require something ? How ? 
 When there is sight in the eyes, and when he who has 
 it attempts to use it and when there is color in the ob- 
 jects before him, unless there concur some third kind of 
 medium naturally formed for the purpose, the sight, you 
 are aware, will see nothing, and colors will be invisible. 
 What is this of which you are now speaking ? inquired he. 
 What you call light, said I. Your remark is true, replied 
 he. This sense of seeing then, and power of being seen, 
 are no unimportant ideas, and are connected by a bond 
 more precious than all other bonds, if light be not value- 
 less. But if is far, said he, from being valueless. 
 
 Chap. XIX. 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, he replied, as you and others do; for it is 
 evident that you mean the sun. Does not sight then 
 derive its nature through its relation to this god ? How ? 
 The sight is not the sun, nor is that the sun in which 
 sight is engendered, which we call the eye. It is not. 
 But yet, methinks, this at least of all the organs of sense is 
 most sun-like. Very much so. And the power which it 
 possesses, does it not possess, as dispensed and emanating 
 
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 hence ? Certainly. Is not the sun then, though not sight 
 itself, but the principle thereof, seen by sight itself ? It 
 is so, said he. This then, said I, be assured, is what I 
 called the offspring of the good, which the good gener- 
 ates, analogous to itself; and what this is in the sphere 
 of intelligence, with reference to intellect, and the objects 
 of intellect, that the sun is in the visible [world] with 
 reference to sight and visible things. How is that ? said 
 he : pray further explain it. You are aware, that the eyes, 
 said I, when directed toward objects, whose colors are 
 no longer visited by the light of day, but by the glim- 
 merings of the night, grow dim and appear almost blind, 
 as if they had in them no pure vision. Just so, said he. 
 But when they turn to objects which the sun illuminates, 
 then, methinks, they see clearly, and in those very eyes 
 there now appears vision. There does. Understand the 
 same, then, to be the case with reference to the soul. 
 When it firmly adheres to what is enlightened by truth 
 and real being, then it understands and knows it, and 
 appears to possess intellect ; but when it adheres to what is 
 blended with darkness, and is subject to generation and 
 destruction, it then has to do with opinion, and is dull, 
 wandering from one opinion to another, like one without 
 intellect. So it seems. That, therefore, which imparts 
 truth to what is known, and dispenses the faculty of 
 knowledge to him who knows, you may call the idea of 
 THE GOOD and the principle of science and truth, as being 
 known through intellect. And as both these, knowledge 
 and truth, are so beautiful, you will be right in thinking 
 that the good is something different, and still more 
 beautiful than these. Science and truth here are as light 
 and sight there, which we rightly judged to be sun-like, 
 but yet did not think them to be the sun: so here it is 
 right to hold, that both of them partake of the form of 
 THE GOOD, but yet not right to suppose that either of them 
 is THE GOOD, inasmuch as the good itself is worthy of 
 still greater honor. You speak, said he, of some inesti- 
 mable idea of *'the beautiful,* which exhibits science 
 and truth, and yet is itself their superior in beauty; for 
 you have nowhere said, that it was pleasure. Hope 
 better things, said I ; but thus rather consider its image 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 229 
 
 still furtliei'. 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, 
 though not itself generation ?* Of cotirse. We may say, 
 therefore, as to things cognizable by the intellect, that 
 they become cognizable not only from the good, by which 
 they are known, but likewise that their being and essence 
 arc thence derived, while the good itself is not essence, 
 but beyond essence, and superior to both in dignity and 
 power. 
 
 Chap. XX. Here Glaucon, heartily laughing, said, By 
 Apollo, here is a marvelous transcendency ! You your- 
 self, replied I, are the cause of it, by compelling me to 
 relate what I think about it. And by no means stop, 
 said he, unless there be some cause; from again discuss- 
 ing the analogy about the sun, if you have omitted any- 
 thing. Aye, I have omitted many things, replied I. Ah, 
 but, replied he, pray do not omit the smallest particular. 
 I think, said I, that much will be omitted: yet, as far as 
 I can at present, I will not willingly omit anything. Do 
 not, said he. Understand, then, said I, that we allege 
 these to be two; ruling the one over the intelligible genus 
 and place, and the other over the visible world, not to 
 say the heavens, lest I should seem to you to employ a 
 sophistical expression : you understand, then, these two de- 
 scriptions of being, the visible and intelligible ? I do. 
 Supposing now you take a line cut into two equal sections, 
 then again cut each part according to the same ratio, both 
 that of the visible and that of the intelligible species, 
 you will then have them placed in contrast with each 
 other, either in clearness or obscurity, the second section 
 in the visible species being images. Now images I call, 
 
 * The generation of things illuminated by the sun, shows that it ia 
 perfectly unbegotten ; for, according to the Platonic philosophy, the 
 sun alone of all the bodies in the universe is without generation, neither 
 receiving any accession nor diminution ; whereas all that it illuminates 
 receives light, through the motion of the sun about its proper centre, 
 which also at different times sends different rays to the heavenly bodies 
 belonging to its system. So far, therefore, as the sun illuminates, 
 it is unbegotten ; and, on this principle only, and not as respects its 
 corporeal shape, is it assimulated to the good. 
 
230 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 in the first place, shadows, in the next, appearances in 
 water, and such as subsist in opaque, polished and bright 
 bodies, and all such-like representations, if you under- 
 stand me. Yes, I understand. Consider now the other 
 section of the visible which this resembles, the animals 
 around us, and all kinds of plants, and everything of an 
 artificial nature. I do consider it, said he. Do you wish 
 to assert, then, that this section is divided by truth and 
 its opposite; and just as the objects of opinion are op- 
 posed to the objects of true knowledge, so also that 
 which is compared [is opposed] to that with which it is 
 compared ? Aye, indeed : I am quite willing. Consider 
 once more about this section of the intelligible, how it is 
 to be effected. How ? That with respect to one part 
 thereof, the soul uses the former sections as images, and 
 is compelled to investigate by means of hypothesis, not 
 going back to first principles, but advancing onward 
 to conclusions; and the other part, again, is that where 
 the soul proceeds from hypothesis to an unhypothetical 
 principle, and makes its way even without those images 
 by means of the ideas themselves. What you now say, 
 rejoined he, I do not fully understand. Once more, said 
 I, for you will more easily understand me, from what has 
 been previously stated, you are not unaware, methinks, 
 that persons versed in geometry, and computations, and 
 such-like, after laying down hypotheses of the odd and 
 even, and figures, and three kinds of angles, and other 
 similar matters, according to each method, proceed on 
 them as known, after establishing them as mere hypotheses, 
 and give no further reason about them, either to them- 
 selves or others, as being things obvious to all; but, be- 
 ginning with these, then directly discuss the rest, and end 
 by meeting at the point where the inquiry set out ? I 
 know this, said he, perfectly well. And [ do you not like- 
 wise know] that they use the visible species, and reason 
 about them, not employing their intellect about these 
 species, but about those of which they are the resem- 
 blances, arguing about the square itself, and the diameter 
 itself, and not about what they describe ; and, so also with 
 reference to other particulars, those very things which 
 they form and describe, among which are shadows and 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 231 
 
 images in water, these they use as images, trying to 
 behold those very things, which a man can only perceive 
 by his intellect ? You say true, he replied. 
 
 Chap. XXL This, then, was what I meant by the idea 
 of the intelligible ; but [I said also], that the soul was y 
 obliged to use hypotheses in its investigation, not going 
 back to the principle, as though unable to ascend higher 
 than hypotheses, and employed comparisons formed from 
 things below, to lead to those above, as to clearly-seen 
 objects of thought, distinct from the things themselves. 
 I understand, said he, that you are speaking of what 
 concerns geometry and its sister arts. By that other 
 section of the intelligible, then, you must understand me 
 to mean what reason itself attains by its dialectic faculty, 
 forming hypotheses, not as principles, but really hypo- 
 theses, just like steps and starting-points, in order that 
 by proceeding up to the unhypothetical, [that is], the 
 principle of the universe, coming in contact therewith, 
 and so again coming into union with what is united to 
 it in principle, it may thus reach the end without mak- 
 ing use of anything sensible, but only of ideas them- 
 selves, proceeding through some to others, and so ending 
 in ideas. I understand, said he, but not fully: (for I 
 think you are talking of some difficult work) : but I un- \ 
 derstand it is your wish to prove that knowledge obtained ' 
 by dialectic science respecting real and intelligible being 
 is clearer than that acquired by means of what are called / 
 arts, which take hypotheses for their first principles, and 
 which those who contemplate must view with the under- 
 standing and not the perceptive faculties; whereas, 
 through their inability to go back to first principles, and 
 as they reason only from hypotheses, you think they do 
 not exercise intellect \yow'\ in these matters, much as 
 they might become intelligible with some principle for a 
 foundation: and as for understanding [or reasoning] that 
 which we acquire through geometry and its kindred arts, 
 and not pure reason, this is something lying between 
 opinion and pure intellect. You have fully understood 
 me, said I : and understand me now, that analogous to 
 these four branches of knowledge are four affections [or 
 
232 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 faculties] of the soul, pure reasoning answering to the 
 highest, understanding [or reasoning] to the second, 
 faith to the third, conjecture to the last : * and so ar- 
 range them, as to assign to them respectively more or 
 less of clearness, as they are more or less allied to truth. 
 I understand, replied he, and quite agree; and so let us 
 adopt your proposed arrangement. 
 
 * Plato conceived that there was an ideal and a visible world, 
 the world of reason and the world of sense, and two essences in 
 each; in the former, pure or abstract ideas and mixed ideas, 
 in the visible world (which comprises exclusively the objects of 
 sense), material substances; and secondly, the images, shadows, or 
 representations of bodies. Analogous to these also are four facul- 
 ties of the human mind, two only of which have any relation to 
 the ideal world or form any part of true science; i. v6rjaiQ, the 
 knowledge of pure ideas (reflection, the pure reason of Kant) ; 2. 
 didvoia, (understanding), the knowledge of mixed ideas; 3. ■k-iotiq, 
 FAITH, the knowledge of bodies and their properties; 4. eiKoaia, 
 CONJECTURE, the knowledge of the images or shadows of bodies. 
 The last two belong to unstable, varying opinion (S6^a). This 
 explanation is here given, as the words require a more accurate 
 definition than can be furnished by the text. See article Plato, 
 in the P. Cycl. 
 
BOOK Vll. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 In the SEVENTH book, which opens with a beautiful description of 
 the nature of man confined in a dark cave, Plato proceeds to show the 
 means and plan for learning true philosophy, and how we may- 
 attain to the serious and sober practice of social life and politics. 
 That moral discipline, argues he, which I require in my guardian, is 
 not mere vacant contemplation, but a profound and practical knowl- 
 edge of all matters nearly or more remotely concerning the duties of 
 life and the social relations of mankind, that is, the state in its 
 most broad and general sense, in fact, that he should be a philosophic 
 ruler acquainted with divine and human things, in other words, 
 with true and primary philosophy. This he terms dialectic, the 
 subordinates of which are physics, the science which considers the 
 origin and formation of matter, and mathematics, which is halfway 
 between the two others, engaged indeed in contemplating abstract 
 and purely argumentative, but not on that higher eternal truth ; em- 
 phatically, TO 01', that primarily exists in the mind of God ; of these 
 matters he treats, particularly the first, at very considerable length ; 
 which, as Ritter says, is a regulating superintendent, which, from the 
 knowledge of the eternally true, may indicate to each special science 
 its proper object. 
 
 Chapter I. After this, then, said I, compare our nature 
 as respects education, or the want thereof, to a condition 
 such as follows: Behold men, as it were, in an under- 
 ground cave-like dwelling', having its entrance open 
 toward the light and extending through the whole cave, 
 and within it persons, who from childhood upwards have 
 had chains on their legs and their necks, so as, while 
 ahiding there, to have the power of looking forward only, 
 but not to turn round their heads by reason of their 
 chains, their light coming from a fire that burns above 
 and afar off, and behind them ; and between the fire and 
 those in chains is a road above, along which one may see 
 a little wall built along, just as the stages of conjurers 
 are built before the people in whose presence they show 
 
 (233) 
 
234 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 their tricks. I see, said he. Behold then by the side of 
 this little wall men carrying all sorts of machines rising 
 above the wall, and statues of men and other animals 
 wrotight in stone, wood, and other materials, some of 
 the bearers probably speaking, others proceeding in 
 silence.* You are proposing, said he, a most absurd com- 
 parison and absurd captives also. Such as resemble our- 
 selves, said I; for think you that such as these would 
 have seen anything else of themselves or one another ex- 
 cept the shadows that fall from the fire on the opposite 
 side of the cave ? How can they, said he, if indeed they 
 be through life compelled to keep their heads unmoved ? 
 But what respecting the things carried by them; is not 
 this the same? Of course. If then they had been able 
 to talk with each other, do you not suppose they would 
 think it right to give names to what they saw before 
 them ? Of course they would. But if the prison had an 
 echo on its opposite side, when any person present were 
 to speak, think you they would imagine anything else 
 addressed to them, except the shadow before them ? No, 
 by Zeus, not I, said he. At all events then, said I, such 
 persons would deem truth to be nothing else but the 
 shadows of exhibitions. Of course they would. Let us 
 inquire then, said I, as to their liberation from captivity, 
 and their cure for insanity, such as it may be, and whether 
 such will naturally fall to their lot; were a person let 
 loose and obliged immediately to rise up, and turn round 
 his neck and walk, and look upwards to the light, and 
 doing all this still feel pained, and be disabled by the 
 dazzling from seeing those things of which he formerly 
 saw the shadows; what would he say, think you, if any 
 one were to tell him that he formerly saw mere empty 
 visions, but now saw more correctly, as being nearer to the 
 real thing, and turned toward what was more real, and 
 then, specially pointing out to him every individual pass- 
 ing thing, should question him, and oblige him to answer 
 respecting its nature ; think you not he would be embar- 
 rassed, and consider that what he before saw was truer 
 than what was just exhibited ? Quite so, said he. 
 
 * Allusion is here made to puppets which are made to perform 
 on a moveable stage by means of strings pulled from behind. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 235 
 
 Chap. II. Therefore, even if a person should compel 
 him to look to the light itself, would he not have pain in 
 his eyes and shun it, and then, turning to what he really 
 could behold, reckon these as really more clear than what 
 had been previously pointed out ? Just so, replied he. 
 But if, said I, a person should forcibly drag him thence 
 through a rugged and steep ascent without stopping, till 
 he dragged him to the light of the sun, would he not while 
 thus drawn be in pain and indignation, and when he 
 came to the light, having his eyes dazzled with the splen- 
 dor, be unable to behold even any one thing of what he 
 had just alleged as true ? No, he could not, at the mo- 
 ment, at least, said he. He would require, at least then, 
 to get some degree of practice, if he would see things 
 above him: and first, indeed, he would most easily per- 
 ceive the shadows, and then the images of men and other 
 animals in the water, and after that the things themselves ; 
 and after this he would more easily behold the things in 
 heaven, and heaven itself, by night, looking to the light 
 of the stars and the moon, than after daylight to the 
 sun and the light of the sun. How else ? Last of all, 
 then, methinks, he might be able to perceive and con- 
 template the nature of the sun, not as respects its images 
 in water or any other place, but itself by itself in its 
 own proper station ? Necessarily so, said he. And after 
 this, he might reason with himself concerning the sun, 
 that it is the body which gives us the seasons and years 
 and administers everything in its stated place, being the 
 cause also in a certain manner of all natural events. It 
 is evident, said he, after what has been formerly stated, 
 that one must arrive at this conclusion. What then, 
 when a man remembers his first habitation and the wds- 
 dom therein residing, and his fellow captives also, think 
 you not, that he would congratulate himself on the change 
 and pity the rest ? Quite so. And whatever honors and 
 praises and rewards were assigned by mutual consent to 
 him that had the most acute perception of the present, 
 and the best recollection both of long past and recent 
 events, and from such observations was best able to con- 
 jecture the future, think you that he would desire such 
 honors, or envy those honored by these, or possessing 
 
236 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 influence, or would not he rather experience what Homer 
 says, and ardently desire 
 
 As laborer, for some ignoble man 
 To work for hire, 
 
 and rather endure anything than entertain such opinions 
 and live in such a manner ? I think, said he, that he 
 would choose to suffer anything rather than live in that 
 way. And consider this, said I, whether, in the case of 
 such an one going down and again sitting in the same 
 place, his eyes would not be blinded in consequence of 
 coming so suddenly from the sun ? Quite so, replied he. 
 As for those shadows again, if he were compelled to split 
 straws and dispute about them with those persons who 
 had been in constant captivity, while yet he was in dark- 
 ness before the establishment of his sight, (and this time 
 of getting habituated would not be short), would he not 
 excite ridicule ; and would it not be said of him, that after 
 having once ascended he had come back with his eyesight 
 destroyed, and should not even try to ascend again ; and 
 as for any one that attempted to liberate him and lead him 
 up, they ought to put him to death, if they could get him 
 into their hands? Especially so, said he. 
 
 Chap. III. As respects this image then, we must apply 
 the whole of it to our preceding discourse; comparing 
 the region that is seen by the eyes to the prison-habita- 
 tion, and the light of the fire therein to the power of 
 the sun; and if you were to consider the ascent above, 
 and the contemplation of things above as the soul's 
 ascent into the region of intellect, you would not disap- 
 point my expectations, since this it is which you desire 
 to hear; but God knows whether it be true. As respects 
 appearances then, it thus seems, that in the subjects of 
 human knowledge the idea of the good is the last object 
 of vision, and hard to be seen; and when beheld it must 
 be inferred from reason to be the cause of what is right 
 and beautiful in all things, generating in what is visible, 
 both light and its parent also, [z'zz. the sun], while in 
 that which is intelligible, it is itself the sovereign pro- 
 ducing truth and intelligence; and it must be seen too 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 by him that would act with judgment, either privately 
 or in public. I too, said he, am quite of your opinion, 
 as far indeed as I can be. Come then, said I, agree on 
 this point also ; and be not surprised that those who come 
 here are unwilling to act in human affairs, but have 
 their souls ever urged to dwell on things above ; for it 
 is surely reasonable it should be so, since these things 
 take place according to the above mentioned image. 
 Aye, quite reasonable, replied he. But what, said I; 
 think you it at all surprismg, that a man coming from 
 divine contemplations to mere human woes, should appear 
 awkward and extremely ridiculous while he is yet daz- 
 zled,* and when ere being used to the present darkness, 
 he is obliged to contend in courts of law or elsewhere 
 about the shadows of justice, or the statues of which 
 they are the shadows, and then to dispute how these 
 matters are apprehended by those who have never con- 
 templated justice itself ? No wonder this, replied he. 
 Nay, said I, if a man has intelligence, he will be con- 
 scious, that there are two disturbances of vision arising j 
 from two causes, viz.^ when we turn from light into ; 
 darkness and from darkness into light; and when a \ 
 man thinks that the same takes place with reference to 
 the soul likewise, when it beholds him disturbed and 
 unable to realize its perceptions, he will not laugh im- 
 moderately, but rather consider whether the soul has 
 come out of a more brilliant existence and is now dark- 
 ened by ignorance, or else emerging out of gross igno- 
 rance into a more luminous existence, be overpowered by 
 dazzling splendor; and thus he will congratulate the 
 former on its life and destiny, while he pities the life 
 and destiny of the other; and even if he wished to laugh 
 at it, his laughter will be less ridiculous than if it were 
 directed to the soul which comes from light into dark- 
 ness. Your remark is perfectly reasonable, he replied. 
 
 Chap. IV. It is fit then, said I, if these things be 
 true, that we form such an opinion as this respecting 
 
 * This refers to the reproach made to philosophers on the unpractical 
 nature of their pursuits, and elsewhere alluded to in the preceding book, 
 ch. 3, and likewise in the Gorgias, p. 484 c. 
 
238 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 them, that education is not of that character which some 
 persons announce it to be, when they somehow assert 
 that, there is no science in the soul, but that they can 
 implant it just as if they implanted sight in the eyes of 
 the blind. Aye, they say so, he replied. Our present 
 argument however, said I, shows this power to reside in 
 the soul of every person, and to be the organ by which 
 every one learns. Just as the eye cannot turn other- 
 wise than with the whole body from darkness to the 
 light, so also one must turn with the whole soul from 
 sensible objects until it has become able to endure the 
 contemplation of what is real, and what is most appar- 
 ent of the real, and this we term the good : do we not ? 
 Yes. It will be the art then of this very person, said I, 
 in turning about, to contrive this ; namely, how he may 
 turn with the greatest ease and advantage, not for the 
 sake of implanting sight in him, but viewing him as 
 already possessing it, though not rightly turned, and 
 not looking in the right direction ? It seems so, said he. 
 The other virtues of the soul, as they are called, seem 
 to me somewhat like those of the body; for in fact those 
 not before contained therein are afterward engendered 
 by custom and practice: but the faculty of intellect pos- 
 sesses, it seems, a nature somewhat more god-like than 
 all the rest; never losing its power, but by exertion be- 
 coming useful and profitable, by the opposite, useless and 
 hurtful. Have you never yet observed of those that are 
 termed wicked yet clever, how sharply the little soul 
 looks, acutely distinguishing all to which it is turned, 
 having indeed no contemptible power of vision, but com- 
 pelled to be so far the servant of wickedness, that in 
 proportion as its vision is more acute, the more crime it 
 perpetrates ? Quite so, of course, observed he. As regards 
 this part of such a disposition, if from childhood upward 
 it should be stripped and cut off from what belongs to 
 human production, as from leaden weights, which have a 
 relation to feastings, and pleasures, and lusts, that turn 
 the sight of the soul to things downward; if the soul 
 can free itself and turn toward truth, the very same 
 principle in the same individuals would as acutely see 
 those things as the objects to which it is now turned. 
 
THE RIOP'UBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 239 
 
 Certainly, he replied. Whafthcn, is not this probable, said 
 I, and a necessary consequence of what has just been 
 stated, that those who are untaught and inexperienced 
 in truth can never exercise a sufficient superintendence 
 over the state, nor yet those who are allowed to spend 
 the whole of their time in philosophical pursuits, the 
 former, because they have no single object in life, toward 
 which they should direct all their actions, both private 
 and public, and the latter, because, as far as their will 
 is concerned, they will not engage in public life, from 
 the idea that even while yet living they have been trans- 
 ported to the islands of the blessed ? True, said he. It 
 is our business then, said I, to compel those of the in- 
 habitants, who possess the greatest talent, to devote 
 themselves to that learning which we formerly considered 
 most important, both to contemplate the good and go in 
 search of it; and when they have gained it, and taken a 
 sufficient view thereof, yet they are not to be allowed 
 what is now allowed them. What is that ? To abide 
 there, said I, and show an -unwillingness to descend again 
 to those captives of whom we were speaking; or share 
 with them both their labors and honors, whether trifling 
 or more important. In that case, said he, are we to do 
 them injustice, and make them live a worse life, when 
 they could have lived a better ? 
 
 Chap. V. You have forgotten again, said I, that this 
 is not the lawgiver's concern, how any one class in a 
 state may be especially happy, but to contrive rather that 
 happiness shall be generated throughout the state, uniting 
 the citizens both by persuasion and compulsion, making 
 them share each other's services, such as they can confer 
 on the community at large ; and when he introduces such 
 men as these into the state, he does so, not that he may 
 dismiss them and let them turn whichever way each likes, 
 but that he may employ them as a bond of the state. 
 True indeed, said he, for I had forgotten that. Anxiously 
 consider then, Glaucon, that we must do no injustice to 
 the philosophers born among us, but tell them what is 
 just, when we compel them to take charge of and guard 
 the remainder: for we will assert, that those who in all 
 
240 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 other states become such [philosophers] do not probabl)- 
 take a share in the labors going on therein, as they spring- 
 up of their own accord without the consent of the gov- 
 ernment in each ; and it is just that what is voluntary, 
 inasmuch as it owes it nurture to none, should willingly 
 pay no one the price of its nurture ; but as for you, we 
 brought into being both yourselves and the rest of the 
 state, as leaders and kings in beehives, brought up better 
 and more perfectly than the others, and better able to 
 take a share in both [public life and philosophical pur- 
 suits]. Each must then in turn descend to the dwelling 
 of the rest, and accustom himself to behold obscure ob- 
 jects; for, when once used to them, you will perceive the 
 individual images of each, what they are and whence 
 sprung, ten thousand times better from having already 
 seen the truth concerning what is beautiful, and just, and 
 good: and thus the state will be settled as a real vision, 
 both by us and yourselves, and not as a dream, like most 
 of those inhabited by persons fighting about shadows, and 
 quarreling about government, as if it were some great 
 good. The truth, however, is as follows: in whatever 
 state those about to rule are least anxious to take the 
 government, this must necessarily be the best and most 
 peacefully governed, while one that has governors of an 
 opposite character, must of course be the opposite. Cer- 
 tainly, said he. Think yo;u then, that those under our 
 charge, when they hear these things, will disobey us, 
 and be unwilling to take their individual share in the labors 
 of the state, and spend the greater part of their time with 
 one another in a state of leisure ? Impossible, said he ; 
 for we will prescribe what is just to just men, and each 
 of them will enter on his office from this consideration 
 above all others, that he should act in a manner directly 
 contrary from those who now govern individual states. 
 Yes, for so it is, my friend; if you find the life of those 
 appointed to official stations superior to the dignity of 
 their office, then your state may possibly be well settled; 
 as in that alone will the really wealthy govern, not those 
 rich in gold, but as happy men should be rich, in a life 
 of virtue and good sense; whereas, should they be poor, 
 and destitute of property of their own, and then come 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 241 
 
 into public life, thinking- that they ought to plunder the 
 public of its property, it is not possible [that such a state 
 can be rightly settled]: for as the contest is about the 
 possession of the ruling power, such a war being domestic 
 and intestine, is destructive to themselves as well as the 
 rest of the state. Most true, he replied. Do you con- 
 ceive then that any other kind of life despises political 
 offices except that of true philosophy ? No, by Zeiis, said 
 he. But still it is fitting, at least, that those should enter 
 upon it who are not fond of governing-, otherwise the rivals 
 will fight about it. Of course, it cannot be otherwise. 
 Whom else, then, wotild you compel to enter on the 
 guardianship of a state, except such as are most in- 
 telligent in what concerns the best establishment of a 
 state, and possess other honors, and a mode of life 
 superior to that of a mere politician ? None other, he 
 replied. 
 
 Chap. VI. Do you wish, then, that we should now 
 consider this, — in what manner such persons will be pro- 
 duced and how any one can draw them upward into 
 light, just as some are said to have ascended from 
 Hades to the gods ? Of course that is my wish, he 
 replied. This then, as it seems, is not a mere turning 
 of a die,* but a movement of the soul, which ascends 
 from some half-night kind of day to the true light of 
 existence, which we will term true philosophy. Cer- 
 tainly. Ought we not, then, to inquire what branch of 
 learning possesses this influence ? Of course. What 
 then, Glaucon, may that training of the soul be, which 
 draws it from what is generated and unstable toward 
 that which has a positive existence ? And talking of 
 this, I am reminded: did we not say that it is necessary 
 for these persons even while young to engage in war- 
 like exercises ? We did say so. We should add this, 
 then, to the training which we are now seeking. What 
 is that ? That of not being useless to military men. Aye, 
 we must indeed, said he, if it be possible. Moreover, 
 in our former discourse, we somewhere said we would 
 have them taught gymnastics and music. We did so, 
 
 ■* This alludes to a game of chance. , 
 i6 
 
242 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 said he. The art of gymnastics has to do, I think, with 
 what is unstable and perishable ; for it presides over 
 corporeal growth and decrease. It appears so. This 
 then cannot be the branch of study, of which we are in 
 pursuit. It cannot. Is it music then, such as we have 
 previously described ? That, said he, if you remember, 
 corresponded to gymnastics, as it trains the habits of 
 the guardians, giving them a sort of concord founded on 
 harmony, — not science, — and good rhythm on the princi- 
 ples of rhythm, and other things in discourses which are 
 akin to these both in such as are fabulous and such as 
 more resemble truth; but as to its being a branch of 
 science that refers to a good such as you are now inves- 
 tigating, music had no such character. Most correctly, 
 said I, do you remind me; for it is in reality no such 
 thing: but, excellent Glaucon, what branch of science is 
 it that possesses this character ? for all the arts some- 
 how seem to be mechanical and illiberal. Of course ; 
 and moreover what other branch of science is there, 
 that is distinct from music, gymnastics, and the arts f 
 Come, said I, if we cannot conceive any except these, 
 let us take one of those which extends over all. Of 
 what kind is that ? Stich as this common idea which all 
 arts, and intellects, and sciences employ, and which every 
 person must learn at the outset. What is that ? said he. 
 This trifling matter, said I; how to distinguish one, and 
 two, and three, which I call in general terms arithmetic 
 and compiitation : is it not thus as regards these, that 
 every art and science must necessarily have a share in 
 these ? Surely, he replied. Must not, then, the art of 
 war ? said I. Necessarily, he replied. What a ridiculous 
 general, then, said I', does Palamedes in his tragedies 
 constantly represent Agamemnon to be.* And have you 
 not observed how he says, that after inventing numera- 
 tion he adjusted the ranks at Ilium, and numbered the 
 ships and the rest of the forces, as if they had never been 
 numbered before, even when Agamemnon, as it seems, 
 did not know how many feet he had, since he did not 
 
 * This passage refers, no doubt, to some one or more lost tragedies 
 in which Palamedes is made to accuse Agamemnon of an utter igno- 
 rance of arithmetic. 
 
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 243 
 
 know how to count; what kind of a general would you 
 think him to be ? I should think him a mighty absurd 
 one, he replied, if this be true. 
 
 Chap. VII. Shall we not say, then, said I, that the 
 power of computing and reckoning is a necessary attain- 
 ment for a military man? Most certainly, he replied, if 
 he intends to understand anything at all about marshal- 
 ing troops, or rather, if he means to be a man. Do 
 you then understand, said I, about this branch of learn- 
 ing just what I do? What is that? It seems in its na- 
 ture to be among the number of those things which lead 
 to pure reason — of which indeed we are in search; but no 
 one seems rightly to employ it, as evidently leading the 
 mind to the consideration of true being. How say you? 
 inquired he. I will at least, try, said I, to explain what 
 is my opinion. As to what I distinguish in my own 
 mind as leading or not leading whither we are saying 
 [viz., to true being], do you assist me in contemplating 
 them, and either agree or dissent, so that we may more 
 distinctly see whether they be such as I conjecture. 
 Pray show me, said he. I will show you, then, said I, 
 if you will observe that some things relating to the per- 
 ceptions do not invite intellect to the inquiry, as being 
 sufficiently determined by perception ; while there are 
 other things which by all means bid its interference, as 
 perception alone does nothing correct. You are evi- 
 dently speaking, said he, of objects seen at a distance, 
 and things sketched in a picture. You have not quite 
 comprehended my meaning, said I. What are you speak- 
 ing of, then? asked he. There are some things, replied 
 I, which do not appeal [to the intellect], and yet do not 
 issue at once into a contrary perception; while those 
 that do so issue I consider as so appealing, when the 
 perceptive faculty takes cognizance of one thing more 
 than another, on meeting it either near or afar off. 
 And you will thus more clearly know what I mean: 
 these we say are three fingers, the little finger, the next 
 to it, and the middle finger. Just so, observed he. Con- 
 sider me, then, to speak of them as seen only from a 
 short distance, and consider this also, respecting them. 
 
244 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 What? Each of them appears equally to be a finger, 
 and so far it makes no difference whether one looks at 
 the middle one or the last, whether it be white or black, 
 thick or slender, or anything of the kind; for in all 
 these the soul of man is not compelled to ask the int^el- 
 lect what of many things a finger is, for sight itself 
 never at the same time indicates a finger to be a finger, 
 and its contrary. Of course not, replied he. It is prob- 
 able, then, said I, that such a case as this would 
 neither appeal to nor rouse the intellect. Probably. 
 But what then; does the sight sufficiently distinguish 
 their large or small size, and does it make no difference 
 to it whether one of them be placed in the middle or at 
 the end? And so in like manner does the sense of touch 
 take cognizance of thickness and slenderness, softness 
 and hardness? And as for other perceptions, are they 
 not defective in showing such things, or rather does not 
 each of them so act; and first of all, is not the sense 
 which is affected by hardness necessarily also affected 
 by softness, and does it not, when it perceives this, an- 
 nounce to the soul, that hard and soft are one and the 
 same thing? Just so, he replied. It must necessarily 
 follow then, said I, that in such matters, the soul will 
 be in doubt as to what the perception indicates as hard, 
 since it calls the same thing soft also; and so also as 
 regards the sense referring to light and heavy, the soul 
 must be in doubt what is light and what is heavy, if 
 the': sense intimates heavy to be light, and light heavy. 
 These at least, said he, are truly absurd reports made 
 to the soul, and require investigation. Probably, then, 
 said I, in such cases as these the soul would first call in 
 reason and intelligence to investigate the question 
 whether the things reported be one or whether they be 
 two. Of course. If, then, they appeared to be two, each 
 of them will appear to be one and distinct from the 
 other? Yes. If, then, each of them be one and both of 
 them two, he will understand them to be two distinct; 
 for, were they not distinct, he would not perceive two, 
 but only one. Right. The sight, moreover, we say, 
 could contemplate what is great and small, though not 
 as distinct from each other, but as somewhat confused: 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 24S 
 
 could it not? Yes. But for the sake ot clearness in 
 this matter, the intellect is once more obliged to con- 
 sider great and small, not as confused, but as distinct 
 in an opposite way from the other, — viz., the sense of 
 sight. True. And is it not hence somehow, that it first 
 sets on questioning us, as to what is the great and what 
 is the small? Assuredly. And thus, then, we call the 
 one intelligible and the other visible. Very right, he 
 replied. 
 
 Chap. VIII. This then is what I just now attempted 
 to express, that some things appeal to the intellect and 
 others not; defining those that make such an appeal, as 
 what affect the senses at the same time as their opposites, 
 while such as do not, do not excite the intellect. I quite 
 understand now, said he; and I am of the same opinion. 
 What then: to which of them, think you, do number 
 and unity belong ? I do not understand, replied he. 
 But let us reason by analogy, said I, from what we have 
 already said : for if unity can be sufficiently seen of itself, 
 or comprehended by any other sense, it still would not 
 lead to true being, just as we remarked about the finger; 
 but if there be always seen at the same time an exact 
 opposite thereto, so that it shall no more appear unity 
 than it does the contrary, some one would then be wanted 
 to judge respecting it; and in that very matter the soul 
 would necessarily be in difficulty, exciting reflection 
 within itself, and would inquire into the nature of this 
 same unity, and thus that branch of science which con- 
 cerns unity would be among those which lead and turn 
 the soul to the contemplation of real being. Ah, said 
 he; this is what the very sight of it does in no small 
 degree; for we at once behold the same thing, both as 
 one and as an infinite multitude. If then, said I, unity 
 be thus affected, will not number generally be so like- 
 wise ? Of course. Yet, again, all computation and arith- 
 metic concern number ? Quite so. But these at least 
 seem to lead toward truth ? Especially so, of course. 
 They belong then, it seems, to the branches of learning 
 which we are now investigating ; for a military man must 
 necessarily learn them with a view to the marshaling 
 
246 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 of his troops, and so must a philosopher with the view 
 of understanding real being, after having emerged from 
 the unstable condition of becoming, or else he can never 
 become an apt reasoner. That is the fact, he replied. 
 But that guardian of ours happens to be both a military 
 man and a philosopher ? Unquestionably so. It would 
 be proper then, Glaucon, to lay down laws for this branch 
 of science and persuade those about to engage in the 
 ftiost important state matters to apply themselves to com- 
 putation, and study it; not in the common vulgar fash- 
 ion, but with the view of arriving at the contemplation 
 of the nature of numbers by the intellect itself, — not for 
 the sake of buying and selling as anxious merchants and 
 reta.ilers, but for war also, and that the soul may acquire 
 a facility of turning itself from what is in course of gen- 
 eration to truth and real being. A capital remark, he 
 replied. And, moreover, I now observe, said I, respect- 
 ing that branch of science which concerns computation, 
 how refined it is, and in many ways useful to us as re- 
 spects our wishes, if we will apply thereto for the sake 
 of getting knowledge, and not with a view of traffic. In 
 what way ? inquired he. Just what we now said, that it 
 powerfully leads the soul upward, and compels it to 
 reason on abstract numbers, without in any way allow- 
 ing a person in his reasoning to advance numbers which 
 are visible and tangible bodies;* for perhaps you know 
 of some persons skilled in these matters, who, if one 
 were in argument to attempt dividing unity itself, would 
 at once both ridicule him and not allow it; though, were 
 YOU to divide it into parts, they would multiply them, 
 lest unity should somehow seem not to be unity, but 
 numerous parts. A very true remark, he replied. What 
 think you then, Glaucon, if a person should ask them — 
 You wonderfully clever men, about what kind of num- 
 bers are you reasoning; in which unity, such as you 
 deem it, is equal, each whole to the whole, without any 
 
 * Abstract, ideal numbers, Plato terms avTol ol apidfioi; and these 
 only are the subject of scientific calculation. The concrete numbers 
 (apid/wl a^fiara exovreg) are the subjects only of every day practical 
 enumeration and computation. The monad is the idea of unity, 
 abstract, indivisible unity (avro to iv), the duad of abstract duality, etc. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 247 
 
 difference whatever, and having- no parts in itself ? what 
 think you they would reply? This, as far as I think; 
 that they speak of such numbers only — as can be compre- 
 hended by the intellect alone, but in no other way. You 
 see then, my friend, I observed, that our real need of 
 this branch of science, is probably because it seems to 
 compel the soul to use pure intelligence in the search 
 after pure truth. Aye, remarked he, it does this to a 
 remarkable extent. Have you yet considered this, that 
 persons naturally skilled in computation seem clever in 
 all branches of science, whereas those naturally slow, if 
 instructed and exercised in this, will yet all of them, if 
 they derive no other advantage, make such progress, as 
 to become cleverer than they were before ? Exactly so, 
 he replied. And, moreover, I think you will not easily 
 find that many things give the learner and student more 
 trouble than this. Of course not. On all these accounts, 
 then, we must not omit this branch of science, but those 
 with the best of talents should be instructed therein ! I 
 agree with you, he replied. 
 
 Chap. IX. Let this one thing then, said I, [that has 
 just been discussed], be settled between us; and now let 
 us consider, in the second place, with respect to what 
 follows from it, — whether and how far it concerns our- 
 selves. What is it, said he ; is it geometry you mean ? 
 That very thing, said I. So far, observed he, as it bears 
 a relation to the concerns of war, it evidently does con- 
 cern us; for in pitching encampments, occupying posi- 
 tions, contracting and extending a line of troops, and as 
 respects all the varied forms in which they draw up 
 armies, either in battle itself or during a march, it would 
 make a vast difference, whether a general were a geo- 
 metrician or not. Of course, rejoined I, for such purposes 
 as these a very slender knowledge of geometry, and a 
 small portion of arithmetic would suffice ; but as for any 
 considerable amount thereof, and great progress in it, we 
 must inquire how far they tend to this, — namely, to make 
 us apprehend more easily the idea of the good: and we 
 say that all things contribute thereto, which compel the 
 soul to turn itself to that region in which is the happiest 
 
248 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 portion of true being, which it must by all means per- 
 ceive. Your remark is correct, said he. If then it com- 
 pels the soul to contemplate true being, it is suitable, — 
 but if only what is sensible and evanescent, it is not 
 suitable. Aye, truly, we say so. This point then, at 
 least, said I, those who have but little acquaintance with 
 geometry, will not argue with us, — that this science has 
 an entirely opposite nature to the words employed in it 
 by those who practice it. How ? said he. They speak 
 somehow most absurdly, and necessarily so, since all the 
 terms they use seem to be with a view to operation and 
 practice, — such as squaring, producing, adding, and such- 
 like sounds; whereas on the other hand, the whole science 
 should be studied for the sake of real knowledge. As- 
 suredly, said he. Is this, then, further to be agreed on ? 
 What ? That [it be studied] with a view to the knowl- 
 edge of eternal being, and not of that which is subject 
 to generation and destruction ? We may well grant that, 
 said he; for it is the business of geometry to concern 
 itself with eternal being. It would have a tendency, 
 therefore, gentle sir, to draw the soul to truth, and to 
 cause a philosophic intelligence to direct upward [the 
 thoughts] which we now improperly cast downward. 
 As much as possible, he replied. As far as posible, then, 
 said I, we must give special orders, that the inhabitants 
 of that fine state of yours should by no means omit the 
 study of geometry, since even its by-works are not incon- 
 siderable. What are they ? inquired he. Those which you 
 have just mentioned that concern war; and indeed with 
 reference to all branches of science, for the better under- 
 standing thereof, we are some how sure that it makes an 
 entire difference every way, whether a man be acquainted 
 with geometry or not. Every way, indeed, by Zeus, 
 observed he. Let us fix on this, then, as the second 
 branch of learning for youth. Let us so fix it, he re- 
 plied. 
 
 Chap. X. But what; shall we fix upon astronomy as 
 the third, or think you otherwise ? I quite think we 
 should, said he; for to have unusually acute percep- 
 tions respecting the times of months and years, is 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 249 
 
 suitable not only for agriculture and navig-ation, but 
 not less so for the art of war. You arc jesting, said 
 I, when you seem to be afraid that the multitude 
 will charge you with enjoining useless objects of study: 
 yet it is not altogether a trifle, but rather difficult 
 to persuade that by these branches of study some organ of 
 the soul in each individual, is purified and rekindled 
 like fire, after having been destroyed and blinded by 
 other kinds of study, — an organ, indeed, better v^rth 
 saving than ten thousand eyes, since by that a. one 
 can truth be seen. Among such, then, as join me in 
 this opinion, you will have the reputation of reasoning 
 admirably well; though such as never had any per- 
 ception of this will think perhaps that you say noth- 
 ing to the purpose, as they see no advantage therefrom 
 accruing that is worthy of notice. Consider, then, 
 from this point, against which of the parties you are 
 arguing, — or whether against neither, but chiefly for 
 your own sake you are carrying on the discussion; 
 moreover, do not envy any other, if therefrom any 
 one could derive any possible advantage. Thus, said 
 he, do I choose, on my own account chiefly, to argue 
 and ask questions, and make replies. Let us go a lit- 
 tle back, then, in our argument, for just now, indeed, 
 we did not rightly take what is next in order after 
 geometry. How, then, did we act ? asked he. After 
 a plain surface, said I, we took a solid in a state 
 of revolution, without first considering it by itself, 
 in the abstract; but the correct plan is to take 
 the third in order, after the second dimension: and 
 this, probably, refers to the dimension of cubes, and 
 what has to do with depth. Aye, it is so, said he: 
 but these matters, Socrates, do not seem yet to have 
 been investigated. Aye, there are two causes for this: 
 because no state holds them in honor, they are only 
 slightly investigated, as being difficult; and those that 
 do so investigate them require a guide, without whom 
 they cannot discover them, — one whom, first of all, it 
 would be hard to get, and, when he is got, as things 
 are at present, the investigators of these matters hav- 
 ing lofty notions of themselves, would not obey him; 
 
250 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 whereas, if the whole state were to hold such pursuits 
 in honor, and superintend them, these persons would 
 be obedient, and the investigations being conducted 
 with assiduity and vigor, would exhibit their true 
 character; whereas now, despised and mutilated by the 
 multitude, as well as by those who study them with- 
 out being able to account for their usefulness, they 
 still, in spite of all things, increase through their native 
 grace; and it is no wonder that they should appear 
 so to do. Aye, indeed, said he, this gracefulness is 
 especially remarkable; hut tell me more plainly what 
 you were just now saying, — for you somehow defined 
 geometry to be a study that concerns plane surfaces. 
 I did, said I. Then next in order you mentioned as- 
 tronomy; but afterward you drew back. Yes, replied 
 V- I, because when I am in a hurry to get quickly over 
 the discussion, I get on the more slowly; for as re- 
 gards the mode of measuring depth, which is next in 
 order, that I passed over, as a hopeless investigation, 
 and proceeded, after geometry, to speak about astronom}^, 
 which is the motion of solids. You say rightly, ob- 
 served he. Let us fix on astronomy, then, said he, as 
 a fourth branch of science; as if that which we now 
 omit [vz;z., solid geometry] may have an existence, 
 whenever the state enters on that pursuit. Probably, 
 said he: and as to what you just now urged on me, 
 Socrates, about astronomy, as having needlessly praised 
 it, I now praise it in accordance with your notions: 
 for I think it is clear to every one, that it is this 
 which compels the soul to look upward, and from 
 what is here conducts it thither. Perhaps, rejoined I, 
 it may be clear to all except myself ; to me it does 
 not seem so. Ah ! how is that ? said he. As those 
 who introduce it into philosophy, nowadays pursue it, 
 it makes the soul look altogether downward. How 
 say you ? inquired he. I am of opinion, replied I, that 
 you are not ungenerous in forming your mental esti- 
 mate of the real nature of that branch of science which 
 concerns things above; for you seem to be of opinion, 
 that if a person were to look up and discover some 
 of the heavenly bodies in an enclosed space, he would 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 251 
 
 contemplate them with his intellect and not his eyes. 
 Perhaps, then, you judge rightly, and I am wrong; 
 though I, on the other hand, cannot hold the opinion 
 that any other branch of science can make the soul 
 look upward, except that which concerns real being 
 and the invisible, — whether one were to gape upward, 
 or try by peering downward to get acquainted with 
 those matters: and if any one were to gape upward 
 and so try to get acquainted with any perceptible ob- 
 ject, I think that he never would get acquainted with 
 it; as his soul has no scientific knowledge of such 
 things, — nor would his soul look upward, but down- 
 ward, — even though he were to try to learn, swim-_ 
 ming on his back at sea or lying so on the ground. - 
 
 Chap. XI. I am punished, rejoined he ; for you have 
 rightly reproved me: but in what manner did you say 
 we ought to learn astronomy different from that in which 
 they now teach it, if people are to be taught advantage- 
 ously for the purposes of which we now speak ? Thus, 
 said I: these various bright bodies in the heaven, since, 
 indeed, they are so variously placed in visible space, 
 ought to be deemed very beautiful and most perfect in 
 their kind, though much inferior to the true magnificence 
 of movement, with which real velocity and real retarda- 
 tion mutually bear along those bodies with all that be- 
 longs to them, in their true number and in all their true 
 shapes; which things, indeed, can be apprehended only 
 by reason and intelligence, not by sight: do you think 
 they can ? By no means, said he. Must we not then, 
 said I, use the various heavenly phenomena, as an exhi- 
 bition for the purpose of instructing us in those [real] 
 concerns, just as one might meet with sketches, capitally 
 well drawn and elaborated by Daedalus, or some other 
 artist or painter ? For one skilled in geometry, on see- 
 ing such drawings, would, perhaps, think them to be 
 exceedingly well wrought, and nevertheless deem it ab- 
 surd to give them a serious consideration, as if he were 
 thence to get his conception of truth about equals, or 
 doubles, or any other proportion. Of course, it would be 
 absurd, he replied. And think you not then, that the 
 
252 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 true astronomer will feel just the same, when he looks 
 up to the orbits of the stars, reckoning, indeed, that the 
 heavens and all in them are established by the heavenly 
 architect in the most beautiful manner possible for the 
 formation of such works; and would not one deem it 
 absurd of a man to conceive 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 both of these, and 
 toward each other has existed always in the same man- 
 ner, and withotit experiencing any change, because they 
 have a body, and are visible, and so to take all possible 
 means to apprehend the truth of these things ? So I 
 think, he replied, whilst I listen to you. Let us then, 
 said I, make use of problems [or hypotheses] in astron- 
 omy, as in geometry, and dismiss the heavenly bodies, 
 if we intend really to get acquainted with astronomy, 
 and render useful instead of useless that portion of the 
 soul which is naturally intelligent. You really impose, 
 said he, a far harder task on astronomers than is en- 
 joined them at present. I think, however, replied I, 
 that we must enjoin other duties likewise, according to 
 the same fashion, if we would be of any service as 
 lawgivers. 
 
 Chap. XIL But have you anything to suggest about 
 the fitting branches of study ? I have not, he replied, 
 at present at least. Motion, moreover, said I, affords us, 
 I think, not one, indeed, but many species thereof; all 
 of which any wise man can probably tell ; but those which 
 occur to me are two. What are they ? In addition to 
 this, said I, there is its counterpart. Which ? As the 
 eyes, said I, seem formed for studying astronomy, so do 
 the ears seem formed for harmonious motions ; and these 
 seem to be twin sciences to one another, as also the 
 Pythagoreans* say; and we too, Glaucon, agree with 
 them: how shall we do? Just so, replied he. Shall we 
 
 *It is here alleged that there are two species of motion ((jiopd), — one 
 affecting the eyes, and including the motion of the heavenly bodies, 
 which are the subject-matter of astronomical science, — the other affect- 
 ing the ears, and comprising that harmony of the heavenly motions 
 which the Pythagoreans conceived to have given the first notion of 
 music 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 253 
 
 not, then, said I, since it is a matter of high importance, 
 inquire of them how they speak concerning them, and 
 whether they have anything else to say besides this ; but 
 we, notwithstanding all this, shall defend our own con- 
 clusion ? What is that ? That those whom we educate 
 should never attempt to learn these things imperfectly, 
 nor without always aiming at the object, to which all 
 ought to be directed, as we just stated with reference to 
 astronomy: and do not you know that they do some 
 such thing with regard to harmony ? for, while they 
 measure one with another the symphonies and sounds 
 which are heard, they go through a fruitless toil, like 
 the astronomers. Aye, by the gods, said he, and absurdly 
 too, when they make very frequent trials of the notes, 
 lending their ears to catch the sound as from a neigh- 
 bor's voice, some, indeed, saying that they hear some 
 middle note, with the smallest appreciable interval, and 
 others again doubtingly saying that the notes are just 
 what were sounded before, both parties placing the ears 
 above the intellect. But you are now speaking, said I, 
 of those thrifty, money-making musicians, who are ever 
 harassing and tormenting their strings, turning them on 
 the pegs : but, that the comparison may not be too tedious, 
 I refrain from speaking of their complaints about the 
 refusal and stubbornness of the strings, and at once give 
 up the simile, saying that we do not mean to speak of 
 these, but of those true musicians whom we before men- 
 tioned: for these do here just what the others did in 
 astronomy; for they search for numbers, in the sympho- 
 nies which they hear, but do not go on to the inquiry 
 proposed, — what numbers are symphonious, what not, 
 and the reason why they are either the one or the other. 
 You speak, said he, of a noble undertaking. It is service- 
 able, of course, said I, in the search for the beautiful 
 and good, but, if pursued in another manner, it is quite 
 useless. Aye, probably so, said he. Still, methinks, said 
 I, the plan of inquiry into all these matters that we have 
 described, if it touches on their mutual communion and 
 alliance, and proves how they are mutually related, will 
 contribute something to what we require, and our labor 
 will not be fruitless; but otherwise it will. I likewise, 
 
254 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 said he, guess the very same thing: but you are speak- 
 ing, Socrates, of a most laborious undertaking. Mean 
 you the introduction, or what else ? said I : what, know 
 we not, that all these things are introductory to the strain 
 itself ; * which we ought to learn ? for even persons clever 
 in these things you perhaps do not think skilled in dia- 
 lectics. No, by Zeus, said he, only §ome very few of 
 such as I have met. But supposing some of them not 
 able, said I, to offer and admit reasoning, will they ever 
 be able to get acquainted with what we say they ought 
 to know ? They will never be able to do this, he replied. 
 Is not this then, the very strain, Glaucon, said I, which 
 dialectic science executes, which also, being cognizable 
 by the intellect, may be said to be imitated by the power 
 of sight, which faculty seeks, first, as we observed, to 
 gaze at animals, then at the stars, and last of all at the 
 sun himself; so when a man attempts to discuss a subject 
 without the aid of his perceptive faculties, he is impelled 
 by reason to what is individual and real being; and if 
 he stops not, till he apprehends by intelligence what is 
 the good itself, then, indeed, he arrives at the end of 
 the intelligible, as the other does at the end of the visible. 
 Assuredly, he replied. What then; do not you call this 
 the dialectic process ? What else ? 
 
 Chap. XIII. And now, said I [to revert to our former 
 simile of the man in the cave], there is his liberation 
 from chains, his turning from shadows toward the images 
 and the light, and his ascent from the underground cav- 
 ern to the sun, and when there, his looking at images 
 in water, owing to a want of power at first of beholding 
 animals and plants and the sun itself; so also here [in 
 the intellectual world] you have the contemplation of 
 divine phantasms, and the shadows of real beings, and 
 not the shadows of images shadowed out by another sim- 
 ilar light, as by the sun. All this exercise in the arts 
 which we have discussed has this tendency, namely, to 
 
 * Glaucon is here complaining of the difficulty of the task proposed ; 
 and Socrates replies, that is a mere introduction or prelude to the main 
 composition or piece of music (meaning dialectics) that is to follow. 
 The word vdfiog often means a strain or piece of music. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 255 
 
 lead back .again the best part of the soul to the contem- 
 plation of what is best in existing beings; as in the 
 former case, what is brightest in the body is led to 
 what is most splendid in bodily and visible existence. I 
 admit these things, said he; though it really seems to 
 me extremely difficult to admit them, though in other 
 respects difficult not to admit them. However, granting 
 what has been asserted (for we shall not only now hear 
 these things, but often again discuss them), let us pro- 
 ceed to and discuss the strain itself, as we have finished 
 the introduction. Say, then, of what kind is the power 
 of dialectic, into what species is it divided, and what are 
 the paths leading to it ; for these probably conduct us to 
 that place, which we shall find a resting-place, and the 
 end of our journey. "You will not as yet, dear Glaucon, 
 said I, be able to follow : had you been so, no zeal would 
 be wanting on my part; nor should you any longer only 
 see the image of what we are now speaking about, but 
 the truth itself, or what to me seems so. Whether it be 
 so really or not, however, it is not proper positively to 
 affirm ; but that it is somewhat of this kind may be most 
 strongly affirmed: may it not? Of course. And further, 
 that it is the power of dialectics alone, which can discover 
 this to a person skilled in what we have discussed, and 
 that it can be done by no other power. This also, said 
 he, we may positively affirm. This statement at least no 
 one, said I, will dispute with us, that no other method 
 can attempt to ascertain through a regular process the 
 nature of each particular being; for all other arts respect 
 either the opinions and desires of men, or generations 
 and compositions, or are employed wholly in the study 
 of what is generated and compounded; but as for those 
 others, which we alleged to have some relation to being, ), 
 as geometry, and its dependent sciences, we behold them, 
 as if dreaming indeed about real existence, it being 
 impossible to have a true vision, so long as they employ 
 hypotheses and keep them immovable, without the power 
 of accounting for their existence : for where the starting- 
 point is the unknown, and the conclusion and intermedi- 
 ate steps are connected with that unknown principle, how 
 can any such kind of assent ever possibly become science ? 
 
256 
 
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 By no means, replied he. Is it not then the dialectic 
 method only, said I, that proceeds thus onward, remov- 
 ing all hypotheses back to the starting-point, that it may 
 become firmly established, and so gradtially draw and 
 lead upward the eye of the soul, which was truly buried 
 in a certain barbaric mire, by the aid and guidance of 
 those arts we have mentioned, which through custom we 
 frequently call sciences, but which require another name 
 clearer indeed than opinion, but more obscure than sci- 
 ence ? We have somewhere in the former part of our 
 discourse termed it a reflection, or reasoning. But the 
 controversy is not, as it appears to me, about a mere 
 name, when people are investigating things of such great 
 importance as those now before us. It is not, said he. 
 
 Chap. XIV. You are pleased, then, said I, as formerly, 
 to call the first part science, the second reflection, the 
 third faith, the fourth conjecture, both these last being 
 opinion, and the two former intelligence ; and that opinion 
 is employed also about generation, and intelligence about 
 true being; likewise, that true being bears to generation 
 the same relation as intelligence to opinion, science to 
 faith, and reflection to conjecture; but as for the analogy 
 of the things which these powers respect, and the two- 
 fold division of each, vie, into the objects of opinion, 
 and those of intellect, these we omit, Glaucon, that we 
 may not be more prolix here than in our former discus- 
 sions. As for me, said he, as regards those other things, 
 so far as I can comprehend, I am of the same opinion. 
 But do not you call that man skilled in dialectics, who 
 apprehends the reason of the essence of each particular ? 
 and as for the man who is unable to give a reason to 
 himself, and to another, so far as regards this inability, 
 will you not so far say he wants intelligence of the 
 thing ? Of course I shall, he replied. And is not the 
 case the same with reference to the good ? whoever can- 
 not logically define it, abstracting the idea of the good 
 from all others, and taking as in a fight one opposing 
 argument after another, and cannot proceed with unfail- 
 ing proofs, eager to rest his case, not on the ground of 
 opinion, but of true being, such an one knows nothing 
 
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 2S7 
 
 of THE GOOD ITSELF, nor of any good whatever: and 
 should he have attained to any knowledge of the good, 
 we must say he has attained it by opinion, not science; 
 that he is sleeping, and dreaming away his present life ; 
 and before he is aroused, will descend to Hades, and 
 there be profoundly and perfectly laid asleep. By Zeus, 
 said he, I will certainly affirm all these things. But 
 surely, methinks, you will not allow those children of 
 yours, whom you are ideally training, and educating, if 
 ever in fact you should educate them, to have the supreme 
 government of the most important affairs in the state, 
 while they are void of reason, as letters of the alphabet ? 
 By no means, he replied. You will lay this down then 
 as a law; that they shall most especially get that amount 
 of education which may enable them to question and an- 
 swer in the most scientific manner. I will make that a 
 law, said he, by your assistance at least. Are you of 
 opinion then, said I, that dialectic science is to be placed * 
 on high as a bulwark to moral training, and that no other 
 training can with propriety be more elevated than this, 
 but that this is the completion of scientific training ? I 
 am, said he. 
 
 Chap. XV. There now remains for you, said I, the 
 regulation of the persons to whom we shall assign these 
 studies, and after what manner. That is evident, said 
 he. Do^ you remember then, in our former election of 
 rulers, what kind we chose ? Of course I do, said he. 
 As to other things then, conceive, said I, that those dis- 
 positions should be selected, and that we should prefer 
 the bravest, most resolute, and, as far as possible, the 
 most handsome; and besides we must not only seek for 
 those whose manners are noble and grave, but such as 
 have dispositions adapted to this education. What dis- 
 position do you enjoin ? They must have, said I, my 
 excellent friend, acuteness as respects instruction, that 
 they may learn without difficulty; for souls are much 
 more daunted by severe mental studies, than by strenu- 
 ous bodily exercise ; for the employment which is most 
 familiar to them is of a peculiar nature, having no con- 
 nection with the body. True, said he. And we must 
 17 
 
2S8 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 seek for one of good memory, hardy, and in every way 
 fond of toil: or how think you any one would willingly 
 endure bodily fatigue, and at the same time accomplish 
 such learning and study ? No one, said he, tinless he be 
 in all respects of a naturally good disposition. The mis- 
 take then about philosophy, and the dishonor done to it, 
 have been occasioned by this, as I formerly said, that 
 it is not studied in a way suitable to its dignity: for it 
 ought not to have been attempted by bastards, but the 
 well-born. How ? said he. In the first place, he who is 
 to apply to philosophy, said I, must not be lame in his 
 love of labor, half -laborious and half-averse to it; and 
 this is the case, when a man is fond of wrestling and hunt- 
 ing, and all bodily exercises, but has no fondness for 
 learning, or hearing instruction or making investigations, 
 but in all these respects has an aversion to labor. He too 
 is lame, though in an opposite manner, from the man 
 who has wrongly employed his love of labor. You 
 say most truly, replied he. And shall we not, said I, in 
 like manner account that soul lame as to truth, which, 
 though it hates a voluntary falsehood and is trotibled 
 by it, and is vastly indignant when others tell a lie, yet 
 easily admits the involuntary lie, and if at any time it be 
 found ignorant, is not displeased, but like a savage sow 
 willingly wallows in ignorance ? Assuredly, said he. And 
 in like manner, said I, as to temperance and fortitude, and 
 magnanimity, and all other branches of virtue, we must 
 no less carefully attend to what is bastardly, and what is 
 well-born; for when either private persons or a state 
 understand not how to attend to all these things, they 
 unwarily employ the lame and the bastardly for whatever 
 they want, private persons employing them as friends, and 
 states as governors. Such is exactly the case, said he. 
 But we must be on our guard, said I, about all such things ; 
 so that if we select for such extensive discipline such as 
 are entire in body and mind, and take care to instruct them 
 in suitable exercises, justice herself will not blame us, 
 and we shall preserve both the state and constitution ; but 
 if we introduce persons of a different description into these 
 affairs, we shall do everything the reverse, and pour still 
 greater contempt on philosophy. That indeed were 
 
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 259 
 
 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 I spoke 
 with too great keenness ; for, while speaking, I was refer- 
 ring to philosophy; and seeing her most unworthily 
 abused, I seem to have been filled with indignation, and, 
 through rage, as it were, with those who are the cause of 
 it, to have said what I did somewhat too earnestly. No, 
 truly, said he, not for me as a listener at least. Aye, but 
 for me, said I, who said it : but let us not forget this, that 
 in our former election we made choice of old men, which 
 in this will not be allowed ; for we must not believe Solon, 
 that a man in years can learn many things, far less even 
 than running, but that all the most important and ntimer- 
 ous kinds of toil are assigned to the young. Of necessity, 
 said he. 
 
 Chap. XVI. Everything then relating to arithmetic and 
 geometry and all the previous instruction which they 
 should receive before they learn dialectics, ought to be 
 set before them while they are children, and on such a 
 plan of teaching that they may learn without compulsion. 
 Why so ? Because, said I, a free man ought to acquire 
 no learning under slavery; for the labors of the body 
 when endured through compulsion do not at all deterior- 
 ate the body; but as for the soul, it can endure no com- 
 pulsory discipline. True, said he. Do not then, said I, 
 my best of friends, force boys to their learning; but train 
 them up by amusements, that you may be better able to 
 discern the direction of each one's genius. What you say, 
 replied he, is reasonable. Do not you remember our 
 stating then, said I, that the boys should even be carried 
 to war, as spectators, on horseback, and be brought as 
 near as possible with safety, and allowed like young 
 hounds, to taste the blood ? I remember, said he. Who- 
 ever then, said I, shall appear the most forward in all 
 these labors, studies, and dangers, such as these are to 
 be selected to a certain number. At what age ? said he. 
 When they have finished their necessary exercises, said 
 I ; for this period of life, even should it last two or three 
 years, cannot accomplish anything else; for fatigue and 
 
26o 
 
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 sleep are hostile to learning; and this too is none of the 
 least of their trials, what each will prove himself in his 
 exercises. Certainly, said he. And after this period, 
 said I, such as have formerly been selected of the age 
 of twenty are to receive greater honors than others; and 
 those studies, which in their youth they have pursued 
 promiscuously, must be brought before them in one view, 
 that they may see the connection of the whole with each 
 other, and with the nature of real being. This indeed 
 is the only kind of instruction that will abide perma- 
 nently in those in whom it is engendered. And this, said 
 I, is the best criterion for distinguishing talents natur- 
 ally fitted for dialectics, from those which are not so. 
 . He who perceives this alliance is skilled in dialectics; he 
 who does not, is not so. I am of the same opinion, said 
 he. You will need then, said I, after observing these 
 things, and seeing who are most distinguished herein, 
 and who persevere both in learning and in war, and in 
 other things established by law, to make choice of them 
 after they exceed thirty years, selecting from those before 
 chosen, and then advance them to greater honors. Ob- 
 serving them likewise by the test of dialectics, in order to 
 ascertain which of them can without aid from the eyes, or 
 any other sense, 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, how 
 great is the evil which at present attends dialectics ? 
 What is it, said he, you mean ? [Its followers], observed 
 I, are somehow or other full of disorder. Very much so 
 replied he. Think you then, said I, that their being so 
 is at all extraordinary; and will you not forgive them ? 
 How do you mean ? said he. Just as if, said I, a cer- 
 tain supposititious child were brought up in great opulence 
 in a rich and noble family, and amidst many flatterers, 
 and were to perceive, when grown up to manhood, that 
 he is not descended from those alleged to be his parents, 
 but yet cannot discover his real parents; can you guess 
 how such an one would feel both toward his flatterers 
 and his supposed parents, both at the time when he knew 
 nothing of the cheat, and again at the time when he came 
 to perceive it ? Are you willing to hear me while I give 
 
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 a g'tiess ? I am willing-, said he. I guess then, said I, 
 that he will honor his father and mother, and other sup- 
 posed relatives, more than the flatterers, and that he will 
 neglect them less in case of their need, and be less apt 
 to do or say anything amiss to them, and in matters of 
 consequence will disobey them less than 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 case, I again guess, he will relax in honor and 
 respect for them, and attend to the flatterers, and be much 
 more persuaded by them now than formerly, and live 
 also according to their fashion, — while for the father, and 
 the rest of his fictitious relations, if he be not of an en- 
 tirely good natural disposition, he will have no regard. 
 You mention everything, said he, just as it would hap- 
 pen. But in what manner does this comparison respect 
 those conversant with dialectics? In this: there are cer- 
 tain doctrines abotit justice and honor, in which we have 
 been bred, as by parents, from childhood to render them 
 respect and obedience. There are, said he. Aye, and 
 there are other pursuits also, the opposite of these, at- 
 tended by pleasures that flatter and seduce the soul, but 
 do not persuade those who are in any degree well-man- 
 nered; because these honor their relations, and obey them. 
 Such is the case. What then, said I, if to a person thus 
 affected the question be proposed, What is the beautiful ? 
 and, in reply to what he has heard from the law- 
 giver, he be refuted by reason; which frequently and in 
 all ways convicts him and brings him round to the opinion, 
 that objects are no more beautiful than they are de- 
 formed; and so also, as respects 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 honoring and obeying them ? Of ne- 
 cessity, said he, he will no longer either honor or obey 
 them, as he formerly had done. If then, said I, he no 
 longer deems these things honorable, and allied to him 
 as formerly, and cannot discover those which really are 
 so, can he possibly with readiness join himself to any 
 other life than that of flattery ? It is not possible, 
 said he. And from being an observer of the law, he 
 
262 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 will now, I think, appear to be a law-breaker. Of 
 necessity. 
 
 Chap. XVII. Is it not likely then, said I, that the 
 affections of persons who thus engage in reasoning, are 
 deserving, as I was just now saying, of great considera- 
 tion ? Aye, and pity too, said he. While you take care 
 then, that this pitiable case befall not those of the age of 
 thirty, ought they not by every method to apply themselves 
 to reasoning ? Certainly, said he. And is not this one pru- 
 dent caution, that they meddle not with discussions while 
 young: for you have not forgotten, I suppose, that youths, 
 when they first join in discussions, abuse them by way of 
 mere amusement, ever using them for the purpose of con- 
 tradiction ; and in imitation of those who are refuters, they 
 themselves oppose others, ever delighting like whelps to 
 drag and tear to pieces, by arguments, those who are their 
 neighbors. Especially so, said he. And after they have 
 confuted many, and been themselves confuted by many, 
 then they vehemently and speedily fall into an indifference 
 about their former opinions; and by these means they 
 themselves and the whole of philosophy, are calumniated 
 by the rest of the world. Most true, said he. But he who 
 is of a riper age, said I, will not like to share in such 
 madness, but will imitate him who is disposed to reason 
 and inquire after truth, rather than one who, for the sake 
 of diversion, amuses himself by contradiction; and he will 
 himself be more modest, thus rendering the practice of 
 dispiiting honorable instead of dishonorable. Right, said 
 he. Have not then all our former remarks been rightly 
 premised, by way of precaution on this point, that those 
 who are to be taught dialectics should have gracious and 
 steady dispositions, and not as now, when every chance 
 person, even when quite unfit, is admitted thereto ? Cer- 
 tainly, said he. Is twice the former period then sufficient 
 for a man to be diligently and constantly engaged in 
 acquiring dialectics without doing anything else but prac- 
 ticing by way of contrast all bodily exercises ? Do you 
 mean six years, said he, or four ? No matter, said I ; 
 make it five : for after this they must be made to descend 
 to that cave again, and obliged to govern both in things 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 263 
 
 relating- to war, and in other youthful offices, so as not 
 to fall short of others in expcricuce; and among these 
 they must be still further tested, that it may be seen 
 whether they will continue firm, when drawn in all direc- 
 tions, or be somewhat drawn aside. And how long a 
 time, said he, do you reckon for this ? Fifteen years, said 
 I. And when they are of the age of fifty, such of them 
 as have been kept safely, and have in every way obtained 
 all the prizes both in actions and sciences, are now to be 
 led to the end, and are to be obliged to incline the eye of 
 their soul to look at that which imparts light to all things, 
 and, when they contemplate the good itself, to use 
 it as a pattern, each in turn, either state or private per- 
 sons, for adorning themselves, during the remainder of 
 their life, for the most part, indeed, occupying themselves 
 with philosophy, and when it is their turn, toiling in polit- 
 ical affairs, and taking the government, each for the 
 good of the state performing this office, not as something 
 honorable, but as a thing necessary; and after bringing 
 up others also from time to time to be of the same char- 
 acter, and leaving them to be state-guardians, they depart 
 to inhabit the islands of the blest : and the state will erect 
 monuments for them at the public cost, and if the Pythian 
 goddess consent, will offer sacrifice, as to superior beings, 
 if not, as to happy and divine men. Socrates, said he, 
 you have made our governors all-beautiful, just as a 
 sculptor would. And our governesses likewise, Glaucon, 
 said I; for suppose not that what I have said referred 
 more to men than women, such at least as have sufficient 
 talent. Right, said he, if at least, as we said, they are 
 to share in all things equally with the men. What then, 
 said I ; do you agree, that with reference to a state and 
 form of government, we have not altogether stated mere 
 wishes, but such things as though difficult are yet in a 
 certain respect possible, and not otherwise than has 
 been mentioned [that is], when true philosophers, 
 whether one or more of them, on becoming governors in 
 a state, despise present honors, and deem them illiberal 
 and of no value ; but esteem, above all things, rectitude 
 and the honors therefrom derived; account justice as a 
 thing of all others the greatest, and most absolutely 
 
264 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 necessary; and, by ministering to it and advancing it, 
 thoroughly regulate the constitution of their own state ? 
 How ? said he. Such, said I, of the more advanced in 
 life, as have lived ten years in the state, let them send 
 all into the country; and, removing their children away 
 from the habits now contracted by domestics, let them 
 bring them tip according to their own manners and 
 laws, as we formerly described them: thus the state and 
 government that we have described being most speedily 
 and easily established, will both be happy itself, and of 
 the greatest service to the people among whom it is 
 established. Very much so, indeed, said he ; and you seem 
 to me, Socrates, to have very well described how this 
 state will rise, if it rise at all. Well, then, said I, have 
 we not had sufficient talk, both about such a state as 
 this, and the individual that corresponds thereto ? For 
 it is now clear, perhaps, what kind of a man we shall 
 say he ought to be. It is evident, replied he; and your 
 inquiry, methinks, is now at an end. 
 
BOOK VIII. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 The mode of rightly governing a state having been duly set forth, Plato 
 in the eighth book treats of the bad government which he had pre- 
 viously designated as achda. Having mentioned then three principal 
 forms of government, monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy, he shows 
 in this and also in the following book the excesses and defects pecul- 
 iar to each. .He considers these faults in two lights ; first, as affecting 
 the manners of the citizens individually ; and secondly, those of the 
 state collectively. Aristocracy, says he, is apt to verge into oligarchy, 
 democracy into ochlarch}^ and monarchy into nfcapxia and tyranny. 
 The two former classes only are treated in this book. 
 
 Chapter I. Well, then, Glaucon, these things have 
 been agreed on, that in a state that is to be perfectly 
 administered the women are to be in common, the children 
 in common, and their education also, — so likewise their 
 employments both in war and peace in common, and their 
 kings the best possible both in philosophy and warfare. 
 It has been so agreed, he replied. And this, moreover, 
 we agreed on, that when the commanders are appointed 
 and leading their soldiers, they should dwell in habita- 
 tions, such as we have described, containing nothing 
 particularly belonging to any individual, but common to 
 all; and besides these habitations, we agreed also, if you 
 recollect, as to their possessions, to what sort they should 
 be entitled. Aye, I recollect, said he, that we thought 
 them entitled to no possessions whatever, like the other 
 citizens, but that, like military wrestlers and guardians, 
 they should receive the yearly pay of their service in 
 maintenance provided by the rest, and should take care 
 both of themselves and the rest of the state. You say 
 rightly, said I : but come, since we have settled these mat- 
 ters, let us recollect from what point we made this digres- 
 sion, in order that we may again take up the same argument. 
 
 (265) 
 
266 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 No hard matter, said he ; for you were pursuing much 
 about the same argument respecting the state, as you did 
 just now, when saying that you considered such a state 
 to be good as yoi: then described, and the individual man 
 also analogous thereto, and this too, as it seems, when you 
 were able to define both a better state and a better man. 
 You said, moreover, that all the rest were wrong, if this 
 were right; and of the other kinds of states you said, I 
 remember, that four were deserving of consideration, with 
 the view of seeing the errors therein and the people thereto 
 corresponding, — in order that by seeing all these and de- 
 ciding on the best and worst man, we might inquire 
 whether the best be the happiest, and the worst the most 
 wretched or otherwise: and when I inquired which were 
 the four kinds of states to which you referred, on this 
 Polemarchus and Adimantus interrupted us ;* and so now 
 resuming the subject you have arrived at this point. You 
 have recollected it, said I, with great accuracy. Once 
 more then, like a wrestler, furnish me with the same 
 handle ; and when I ask the same question, try to say just 
 what you were then about to tell me. Aye, said I, if I 
 can. Moreover, said he, I am anxious also myself to hear 
 what those four kinds of states were. You shall hear that, 
 and welcome, said I : for, of those which I can mention 
 and which have names, — that praised by the multitude is 
 the Cretan and Lacedaemonian polity, — the second, and that 
 which deserves the second praise, called oligarchy, a pol- 
 ity full of abundant evils, — that which differs from it, and 
 follows next in order, democracy, — and then genuine 
 tyranny [or monarchy], differing from all the others, the 
 fourth and last ailment of the state : surely you have no 
 other form of polity, having a distinct and established 
 species ? — for small principalities and purchased kingdoms, 
 and such -like polities as these, are of an intermediate 
 class, and may be found no less among barbarians than 
 Greeks. Aye, indeed, said he; many are mentioned, and 
 those, too, absurd enough. 
 
 *This refers to the interraption at the beginning of the fifth book, 
 when, Socrates being about to describe the four kinds of wickedness 
 in both individuals and states, was desired to develop his notions 
 about the community of women and children. 
 
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 267 
 
 Chap. II. Do you know, then, said I, that of men 
 there arc as many descriptions as of states ? or do you 
 think that states, somehow or other, spring out of an oak 
 or a rock, and not out of the habits of those in the state, 
 whither, indeed, everthing else must verge and be at- 
 tracted ? I, for my part, think it is derived from no 
 other source than that. In that case, if there be five 
 kinds of states, the intellectual distinctions of the indi- 
 viduals will be five likewise. Of course. As for the 
 person then, who resembles an aristocracy, we have al- 
 ready described him, and rightly pronounced him to be 
 both good and just. Aye, we have described him. Are 
 we then, in the next place, to argue about the inferior, 
 the contentious and ambitious man formed according to 
 the Spartan model, and him again, who resembles an 
 oligarchy, or a democracy, or a tyranny, in order that we 
 may contemplate the most unjust, and contrast him with 
 the most just, and thus our inquiry may be complete, 
 how unmingled justice stands in opposition to unmingled 
 injustice, as respects the happiness or misery of its pos- 
 sessor, thus either pursuing injustice in compliance with 
 Thrasymachus's suggestion, or else justice in compliance 
 with our present argument ? We must do so, by all 
 means, said he. Are we then, just as we began, to con- 
 sider moral habits in states primarily, or rather in private 
 individuals, as being there more clearly developed; and 
 now must we not thus first consider the ambitious repub- 
 lic (for I cannot call it by any other term, but only de- 
 nominate it a timocracy or a timarchy), and in connection 
 with it an individual of the same character, then again 
 an oligarchy and a man of oligarchical character, and so 
 also, when considering a democracy, must we contemplate 
 a democratic person, and, fourthly, coming to a state 
 governed by a tyrant, consider a person of tyrannical 
 disposition ; thus trying to become competent judges about 
 what we proposed ? According to reason, indeed, such 
 should be both our view and decision. 
 
 Chap. III. Come then, said I ; let us try to show in 
 what way a timocracy arises out of an aristocracy: is it 
 not plain, at any rate, that every government changes 
 
268 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 through the agency of that portion which holds the public 
 offices, whenever sedition arises in that particular part; 
 whereas, if it only agree with itself, however small the 
 state, it cannot possibly be disturbed ? Such is the case. 
 How then, Glaucon, said I, will our state be disturbed 
 and how will our allies and rulers fall into quarrels with 
 each other and amongst themselves: do you wish, like 
 Homer, that we implore the Muses to tell us how first 
 sedition rose, and address them in tragic fashion, as if we 
 were children, playing and jesting, so to speak, with 
 seriousness uttering lofty language ? How so ? Somehow 
 thus: it is hard indeed for a state thus constituted to 
 become disturbed ; but, as everything generated is liable to 
 corruption, not even such a constitution as this can abide 
 for ever, but must be dissolved: and its dissolution is as 
 follows. Not only as regards terrestrial plants, but like- 
 wise terrestrial animals, a fertility and sterility both of 
 soul and body take place, when the revolutions of the 
 heavenly bodies complete the periphery of their respective 
 orbits, which are shorter to the shorter-lived, and con- 
 trariwise to the contrary : and with reference to the fertility 
 and sterility of your race, though those are wise whom you 
 have trained as governors of the state, yet they will never, 
 by intellect and sense united, observe the proper season 
 for procreation, but let it slip by, and sometimes generate 
 children when they ought not. To that, however, which 
 is divinely generated, there is a period which is compre- 
 hended by the perfect number ; whereas, to that generated 
 by man, there is one in which the augmentations, both 
 surpassing and surpassed, after having received three 
 separations and four boundaries of things similar and dis- 
 similar, increasing and decreasing, will render all things 
 correspondent and rational; of which the sesquiternian 
 root, conjoined with the pentad and thrice increased, 
 affords two harmonies, one of these, the equally equal, 
 just a hundred times as much; while the other, of equal 
 length indeed, but of oblong shape, is of a hundred num- 
 bers from effable diameters of the pentad, each wanting 
 one, two of which are irrational and of a hundred cubes 
 of the triad. And the whole of this geometric number 
 is, having such an influence, concerned with worse and 
 
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 better generations. Now, if our governors be ignorant of 
 this, and join our couples together unseasonably, the 
 children will neither possess talent, nor be fortunate either; 
 and though former governors should have placed the best 
 of them in oflicc, nevertheless as they are unworthy of it, 
 and only come into the power which their fathers had, they 
 will begin to neglect us in their giiardianship, holding 
 music first of all, and then gymnastics in less esteem than 
 they ought, and hence our young men will become too 
 little disposed to music ; in consequence of which the gov- 
 ernors to be appointed from among them will not be very 
 clever guardians, as respects proving, according to Hesiod 
 and ourselves, what are the several species of talents, the 
 golden, the silver, the brazen, and the iron. Where iron, 
 however, mingles with silver, and brass with gold, then 
 there arises a dissimilitude and unharmonious unevenness; 
 (and when this is the case, wherever it prevails, it per- 
 petually generates war and hatred) ; we must say that 
 sedition belongs to such a race as this, whenever it arises. 
 Aye, and we shall say that the answer was correctly given, 
 replied he. Aye, and it must be so too, said I, as they are 
 Muses. What then, said he, do the Muses say next ? 
 Sedition having once arisen, said I, two classes of genius, 
 the iron and the brazen, will be allured to gain, and the 
 acquisition of land and houses, gold and silver, while the 
 golden and silver, not being in poverty but naturally rich, 
 will lead souls to virtue and their original constitution; 
 whereas, should they be violent and strive one against the 
 other, they would agree to divide their lands and houses as 
 individual possessions ; and then, enslaving those formerly 
 guarded by them as freemen, friends, and tutors, keep 
 them as denizens and slaves, themselves providing for war 
 and their own protection. This revolution, said he, seems 
 to me to have just this origin. Will not then this govern- 
 ment, said I, be a medium between aristocracy and oli- 
 garchy ? Certainly. 
 
 Chap. IV. Thus then will the revolution be effected, 
 and when it has taken place, what arrangement will then 
 be made ? Is it not plain, that in .some things they will 
 follow the pattern of the former republic, and in others 
 
270 
 
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 oligarchy, as halfway between the two, and having some- 
 thing also peculiar to itself ? Just so, he replied. Will 
 they, then, in honoring their rulers, in allowing their 
 military to abstain from agriculture, as with us from me- 
 chanical and other money-making pursuits, in establishing 
 common meals, and in studying both gymnastics and mil- 
 itary contests, in all these things will they not follow the 
 pattern of the last form of government ? Yes. But, 
 through the fear of admitting wise men into the magis- 
 terial office, inasmuch as the state no longer possesses 
 men who are simple and resolute, but only such as are 
 of a mixed character, and through an inclination toward 
 the high-spirited and even simple, naturally more suited 
 for war than peace, and also toward those who are clever 
 at tricks and schemes, spending their whole time in con- 
 tinual war; in all these respects, will it not possess many 
 such things as are peculiar to itself ? Yes. And 
 such as these, said I, will ever be lovers of wealth, just 
 like those in oligarchies, and will have a wild though 
 disguised love for gold and silver, as if they possessed 
 treasuries of their own and domestic storehouses in 
 which to hoard and hide them, and circularly-enclosed 
 houses also, nests as it were, wholly their own, in which 
 they can lose and spend much, together with their own 
 wives and such others as they fancy. Most true, said he. 
 Well then, will they not from their love of wealth be 
 sparing of it also, though not openly acquiring it, but dis- 
 posed to squander other people's property through lustful 
 desire and secret indulgence in pleasure ; just as children 
 escaping from parental law, who have been brought up 
 not by persuasion but force, owing to their neglect of the 
 true muse, which unites reasoning and philosophy and the 
 preference also which they give to gymnastics over music ? 
 It is quite a mixed government, said he, of which you 
 are now speaking, compounded of good and ill. Aye, 
 mixed indeed, said I ; but the most remarkable thing in 
 it is what simply arises from the prevalence of high 
 spirit, contention and ambition. Aye, just so, said he. 
 Such then is the origin and character of this form of 
 government, if one, may ideally sketch it without giving 
 a complete description, though enough for us to see from 
 
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 271 
 
 this sketch, who is the just and the unjust man; and it 
 were a work of tedious length to argue on all govern- 
 ments and all the various manners of men without any 
 exception whatever. Quite right, said he. 
 
 Chap. V. What then will the individual be, who cor- 
 responds to this form of government; how did he become 
 so; and what is his nature? I think indeed, said Adi- 
 mantus, he has a tendency to be like this Glaucon here, 
 as far at least, as concerns the love of contention. Per- 
 haps so, said I, as to this particular; but I think, that 
 in these respects he cannot at all resemble him. How? 
 He must necessarily, said I, be more self-willed, and 
 somewhat unapt to music, though fond of it; and fond 
 of hearing, but by no means a rhetorician: such an 
 one will be rough toward the slaves, without despising 
 them, as the man does who is fairly educated. He will be 
 polite toward the free, submissive to governors, a lover 
 of dominion and honor, not thinking it proper to govern 
 by eloquence or anything of the kind, but by political 
 management and military achievements, being a lover 
 of gymnastics and hunting. This indeed, said he, is 
 the spirit of that form of government. And will not 
 such an one, said I, despise money during his youth, 
 but the older he grows, always value it the more, be- 
 cause he partakes of the covetous disposition, and is not 
 sincerely affected toward 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, he 
 replied. And surely the timocratic youth, said I, resem- 
 bles such a state. Certainly. And such an one, said I, 
 is somehow thus formed. He may happen perhaps to be 
 the j'outhful son of a worthy father, dwelling in an ill- 
 governed state, and shunning public honors, magisterial 
 offices, lawsuits, and all such public business, content to 
 live neglected in obscurity, that he may have no trouble. 
 In what manner then, said he, is he formed ? First of all, 
 said I, when he hears his mother complaining that her 
 husband is not in magisterial office, and that she is on 
 
272 
 
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 this account neglected among other women, and then 
 sees that he is not over attentive to the acquisition of 
 wealth, and does not wrangle and quarrel privately and 
 publicly in the law courts, but on all these occasions acts 
 indolently; and when she perceives him always attentive 
 to himself, and treating her neither with extreme respect 
 nor contempt; on all these accounts she is filled with 
 indignation, and tells her son that his father is unmanly, 
 extremely careless, and whatever else wives are wont to 
 chant about such matters. Aye, many things, truly, said 
 Adimantus, and quite in accordance with their spirit. 
 And you know, said I, that the domestics likewise of 
 such families, such of them as would be thought good- 
 natured, sometimes say privately the very same to the 
 sons; and if they see either a debtor whom the father 
 does not sue, or any one otherwise acting unjustly, they 
 exhort him to punish all such persons when he comes to 
 manhood, and to be more of a man than his father. 
 And when he goes abroad, he hears other such-like 
 things, and sees also that such in the state as attend to 
 their own affairs are called simple, and held in little 
 esteem, while such as do not attend to their affairs are 
 both honored and commended. The youth then who 
 hears and sees all this, and then again hears his father's 
 speeches, and closely observes his pursuits in contrast 
 with those of others, is drawn in two opposite directions, 
 his father irrigating and promoting the growth of his 
 rational part, and the others his passions and high spirit; 
 and so, being not naturally bad, but spoiled only by evil 
 connection with others, he is brought to a mean between 
 both and delivers up the government within himself to a 
 middle power, the love of contention and high spirit; 
 and so he becomes a haughty and ambitious man. I 
 think, said he, you have quite correctly explained the 
 training of such a person. We have here, then, said I, 
 the second form of government and the second individual. 
 Aye, we have, said he. 
 
 Chap. VI. Shall we not then after this say with ^schy- 
 lus, — 
 
 Where state to state, then each to each, incline; — 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 273 
 
 or rather, shall we according to our plan, establish the 
 state first ? Certainly, he replied. It would be an oligar- 
 chy then, methinks, that would succeed such a govern- 
 ment as this. But what constitution is it, said he, that 
 you call an oligarchy ? That government, said I, which 
 is founded on the estimate of men's property; in which 
 the rich rule, and the poor have no share in the govern- 
 ment. Aye, I understand, said he. Should we not, first 
 of all explain, how the change ig made from a timocracy 
 to an oligarchy ? We should. And surely the way, in 
 which this change is made, said I, is manifest even to 
 the blind I How ? That treasury, said I, which each one 
 fills with gold destroys such a state ; for, first of all, they 
 discover for themselveg modes of expense, for which they 
 set aside the laws, both themselves and their wives diso- 
 beying them. Very likely, said he, and afterwards, I 
 think, when one observes another, and enters into rivalry, 
 the people generally become of this character. It is 
 likely. And thence then, said I, as they advance in the 
 intensity of the desire for acquiring wealth, the more 
 honorable they account this, the more dishonorable will 
 they deem virtue; for is not virtue so at variance with 
 wealth, that, supposing each to be placed at the opposite 
 end of a balance, they would always weigh the one 
 against the other ? Justly so, he replied. While wealth 
 then and the wealthy are honored in the state, both virtue 
 and good men must necessarily be held in dishonor ? 
 It is plain. And what is honored is always pursued, 
 while what is dishonored is neglected ? Just so. Instead 
 then of being contentious and ambitious men, they have 
 at last become lovers of gain and wealth; and the rich 
 they praise and admire, elevating them to the magistracy, 
 while the poor man they quite despise. Certainly. And 
 do they not enact laws, marking out the boundary of the 
 oligarchal constitution, and regulating the quantity of 
 oligarchal power by the quantity of wealth, allotting more 
 to the more wealthy and less to those less so, intimating 
 that he who has not the amount settled by law can have 
 no share in the government ; and do they not settle these 
 matters compulsorily, by force of arms, establishing such 
 a state after previous intimidation ? Is it not thus ? Aye, 
 
274 
 
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 indeed. This, then, so to speak, is its constitution ? Yes, 
 replied he. What then is the nature of the government, 
 and what are the faults thereto ascribed ? First of all, 
 said I, of this very thing, the constitution itself, what 
 think you ? for consider, if a person were thus to appoint 
 pilots of ships, by the amount of their property, never 
 intrusting one of them with a poor man, though better 
 skilled in piloting, what would then be the consequence ? 
 They would make a very bad voyage, he replied. And 
 is it not the same about any other matter, or any presid- 
 ing office whatever ? I think so. Is it always so, except 
 in a state, said I ; or is it so as regards a state likewise ? 
 There, beyond all others, said he; inasmuch as it is the 
 most difficult, and most important kind of government, 
 Oligarchy then would seem to have this unquestionably 
 very great fault. So it seems. But what; is this no less 
 a fault ? What ? That such a state is not integrally one, 
 but necessarily two; one containing the poor, and the 
 other the rich, dwelling in one place and always plotting 
 against one another. By Zeus, said he, not a whit less; 
 and this besides is a fine thing, the incapacity of waging 
 war, through the necessity, either of employing the armed 
 multitude, who are to be dreaded more than the enemy 
 themselves, or else refusing to employ them at all, and 
 so appearing quite oligarchal in battle, being unwilling 
 also to advance money for the public service, through a 
 natural disposition to covetousness ? This is not well. 
 What then; with reference to what we long ago con- 
 demned, engaging in a variety of pursuits, the same 
 persons in such a state giving their attendance all at 
 once to agriculture, money-making, and military affairs; 
 does this seem right ? Not at all, of course. 
 
 Chap. VII. Let us see, then, does this form of govern- 
 ment above all others introduce this greatest of all evils ? 
 What is that ? The permission to each person of selling 
 the whole of his effects, and to another of purchasing 
 them from him, and the privilege to the seller of dwell- 
 ing in our state, though he belongs to no one class 
 therein, and can be called neither a money-maker, nor 
 mechanic, nor horseman, nor foot-soldier, but poor and 
 
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 275 
 
 destitute. Yes, above all others, he replied. Such a 
 thing is not prevented in oligarchal governments; for, in 
 that case some of them would not be over-rich, and 
 others altogether poor. Right. But consider this like- 
 wise ; when such a rich man as this spends his property, 
 would it do the state any more service, as regards the 
 objects just mentioned; or did he only seem to be one 
 of the magistrates, while in truth he was neither magis- 
 trate nor servant to the state, but only a consumer of 
 its substance ? Aye, he did seem so, he replied ; he was 
 nothing but a consumer. Do you desire, then, said I, 
 that we should say of him, that, as a drone in a beehive 
 brings ailment among the whole swarm, just so, such a 
 person as this, like a drone in his house, is the ailment 
 of a state ? Quite so, Socrates, he replied. And has not 
 God, Adimantus, made all the winged drones without 
 any sting, and those that have feet, some without stings, 
 and some with dreadful stings ? And do not those that 
 are without stings continue poor to old age: whereas 
 those that have stings, are those that we called mis- 
 chievous ? Most true, said he. It is plain then, said I, 
 that in a state where you would observe poor people, 
 there are doubtless concealed thieves, cutpurses, sacri- 
 legious persons, and workers of all such evils. Evidently 
 so, said he. What then ? Do not you find poor people 
 in states that are placed under oligarchal government ? 
 Almost all are so, said he, except the governors them- 
 selves. And do we not think, said I, that they contain 
 within them many mischievous persons with stings, whom 
 the magistrates must restrain by vigilance and compulsory 
 measures ? We do indeed think so, said he. And must 
 we not say, that it is through want of education, bad 
 nurture, and a corrupt constitution of state, that persons 
 of this character are here engendered ? Yes we must. 
 Well then, is not the state oligarchally governed when 
 under an oligarchy of this character ; and is it not affected 
 by all these evils, and probably more too ? It is nearly so, 
 said he. Let us distinguish then this form of government 
 likewise, said I, which they call oligarchy, as one having 
 its governors [elected] according to the valuation of their 
 property. 
 
276 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 Chap. VIII. Next let us consider the man who is 
 analogous to this [form of government], how he is formed 
 and what is his character. By all means, said he. Is it 
 not thus then chiefly that the individual man changes from 
 the timocratic to the oligarchic form ? How ? When such 
 an one has a son, he, first of all, emulates his father, and 
 follows his steps; afterward, when he sees him suddenly 
 dashed on the state [like a ship] on a rock, squandering 
 his property and ruining himself, either at the head of 
 the army, or in some other high magisterial office, then 
 falling into the law-courts, ruined by public informers, 
 and either put to death, or exiled, and stripped of his 
 honors and entire property. It is likely, said he. Aye, 
 my friend, and after seeing and suffering this, and losing 
 his property, he instantly, through fear, I think, pushes 
 headlong from the throne within his soul, his ambitious, 
 lofty temper, and at length, humbled by poverty, turns 
 his attention to gain, lives meanly and sparingly, and by 
 hard labor acquires wealth ; do you not think that such a 
 man will seat on that throne in his soul a covetous and 
 money-loving spirit, making it a mighty king within him- 
 self, and girding it, as it were, with tiaras, and brace- 
 lets, and scepters ? I think so, said he. But, as for the 
 principles of reason and high spirit, having laid them 
 both at his feet on either side as mere slaves, he forbids 
 the one to reason at all, or at any rate to inquire into 
 aught else, except by what means a smaller amount of 
 property can be made greater; and the other, again, to 
 admire and honor anything but riches and the rich, and 
 to receive honor with any other view than the acquisition 
 of money, or whatever else may tend thereto. There is 
 no change, said he, so sudden and powerful as that of an 
 ambitious to an avaricious man. Is not this, then, said 
 I, the oligarchic man ? Aye, the change which he under- 
 goes is from a person who resembles that government 
 from which oligarchy arises. Shall we consider, now, if 
 he does at all resemble it ? Let us consider. 
 
 Chap. IX. Does he not, in the first place, resemble it 
 in valuing money above all things? Of course he does. 
 And he does so surely in being sparing and laborious, 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 277 
 
 satifying only his necessary desires, and not allowing 
 himself any other expenses, but subduing the other de- 
 sires as foolish. Certainly. And in being, said I, a 
 sordid kind of man, making gain of everything, intent 
 on hoarding, — one, such as the multitude extols, will not 
 this be the man that resembles such a form of govern- 
 ment? Aye, I think so, he replied: wealth at least must 
 be highly valued by the state, as well as by the indi- 
 vidual of such a character. Aye, 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 then have chosen a 
 blind guide for his chorus.* But further still, consider 
 this attentively, said I; must we not say that, owing to 
 his want of education, dronish desires springing in him, 
 some of them beggarly, and some mischievous, forcibly 
 kept under restraint by the rest of his pursuits? Just 
 so, said he. Do you know, then, said I, where you will 
 best observe their wickedness? Where? said he. [By 
 looking] at their tutelage of orphans, or whatever else 
 of this kind comes in their way so as to give them much 
 power to do injustice. True. Is not this then quite clear, 
 that in all other kinds of contracts, wherever such an 
 one gains approbation, by the mere semblance of justice, 
 he restrains the other wrong desires within him by exer- 
 cising a certain moderation, not from any persuasion that 
 it is not better to indulge them, nor from sober reason, 
 but from necessity and fear, because he trembles for the 
 remainder of his property? Certainly, said he. Aye, by 
 Zeus, said I, my friend, most of them, when they want 
 to spend the property of others, display passions much 
 akin to those of drones. Yes, exceedingly so, observed 
 he. Such a person as this, then, will not be free from 
 internal discord; nor be integrally one, but a kind of 
 double man; possessing desires, however, that are at 
 variance with one another, the better, usually, governing 
 the worse. It is so. On these accounts, then, such an 
 one, methinks, will present a better appearance than 
 
 * Allusion is here made to Plutus, the god of riches, — who is 
 usually represented blind. The word xop°v, which is the reading 
 of the best MSS., refers to the noisy crowd of desires that hurry 
 a man through life. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 many others; though the true virtue of a harmonized 
 and consistent soul will wholly escape him. Aye, it 
 seems so. And the sparing man, either privately or in 
 the state, will be but a poor rival, as regards any victory 
 or other struggle for honor; because either for reputa- 
 tion's sake, or any such contests, he is unwilling to spend 
 his property, through fear of kindling expensive desires, 
 and calling them into alliance or rivalry; and warring, 
 as he does, in oligarchic fashion, with only a few of his 
 resources, he is in most cases defeated, though he still 
 contrives to get rich. Quite so, replied he. Can we 
 any longer hesitate, said I, to rank the niggard and 
 the money-maker as resembling a state under an oli- 
 garchy? By no means, said he. 
 
 Chap. X. Democracy, as it seems, must next be con- 
 sidered, how it arises, and when once arisen, what kind 
 of man it produces; in order that understanding the 
 nature of such a man, we may at once bring him to trial. 
 Yes, said he ; that would be our consistent course. Well 
 then, said I, is not the change from oligarchy to democ- 
 racy produced in some such way as this, through the in- 
 satiable desire of the proposed good, vis., the desire of 
 becoming as rich as possible ? How ? Inasmuch as its 
 governors govern through the possession of great wealth, 
 they will have no wish, methinks, to restrain by law the 
 profligate portion of the young men from squandering 
 and wasting their property at pleasure ; because, by pur- 
 chasing such persons' effects, and lending on usury, they 
 will not only be still more enriched, but held in higher 
 repute. Far more so than any other. This, then, is 
 already quite clear in our state, that to honor riches, and 
 at the same time practice temperance, is impossible, since 
 either the one or the other must necessarily be neglected. 
 Of course, that is quite plain, said he. While, therefore, 
 they are neglectful in oligarchies, and allow the youths 
 to indulge in licentiousness, they must necessarily some- 
 times bring men to poverty, even those that are not 
 ignoble. Quite so. And these, I suppose, stand in our 
 state both spurred, and in armor; some in debt, others 
 in disgrace, others in both, hating and conspiring against 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 279 
 
 those who have got what belonged to them, and against 
 others also, for mere love of change. Aye, such is the 
 case. These usurers, however, bent on their own inter- 
 ests, and apparently imobservant of these, wound all that 
 ever yield to them by advancing them money, and so, 
 by getting multiplied interest for the parent principal, 
 fill the state with many a drone and pauper. Aye, with 
 many a one, he replied. And even when such an evil is 
 raging in the state, said I, they are not willing to ex- 
 tinguish it, not even by restraining people from spending 
 their property at pleasure, nor yet in this way by making 
 another law to destroy such disorders. What law ? One 
 that shall follow the other, compelling the citizens to 
 ciiltivate virtue; for if they were bidden to engage in 
 voluntary contracts chiefly at their own hazard, their 
 usurers would create less scandal in the state, and fewer 
 also of the evils now mentioned would arise therein. 
 Far fewer, said he. At present, however, said I, it is by 
 all these means that the governors in the state thus dis- 
 pose of the governed; and both as to themselves and 
 those belonging to them, do they not render the youths 
 luxurious and idle as respects all bodily and mental exer- 
 cises, effeminate in bearing pleasure and pains, and indo- 
 lent likewise ? What else ? And as to themselves, they 
 neglect everything but the acquisition of wealth, and pay 
 no more regard to virtue than the poor. No, surely. 
 Having then been thus trained up, when the governors 
 and their subjects are thrown together, either on a journey 
 along the road, or in other meetings, either at public 
 spectacles, or on warlike expeditions, either as fellow- 
 sailors or fellow-soldiers, or when they see one another 
 in real dangers, the poor in this case are by no means 
 despised by the rich ; but very often a robust fellow, poor 
 and sunburnt, whose post in battle is by the side of a 
 rich man bred up in the shade, and swollen with much 
 unnecessary fat, if he should see him panting for breath 
 and in agony, think you not, he will consider such per- 
 sons to grow rich to their own injury, and will say to 
 his fellow, when meeting in private, that our rich men 
 are good for nothing ? Of course, I well know, said he, 
 that they do so. Well then, as a diseased body needs 
 
28o THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 but the smallest shock from without to give it pain, and 
 is sometimes thrown into disorder without any interfer- 
 ence from without, so also the state that resembles it 
 will, on the smallest occasion from without, either when 
 one party forms an alliance with an oligarchal, or the 
 other with a democratic state, become disordered, and 
 fight with itself, and also rise in revolt without any ex- 
 ternal interference. Yes, certainly. A democracy then, 
 I think, arises, when the poor prevailing over the rich, 
 kill some, and banish others, and share the state offices 
 and magistracies equally among the remainder; and for 
 the most part the magistracies therein are disposed of by 
 lot. Aye, said he, this is the establishment of a democ- 
 racy, whether it be effected through force of arms, or 
 from the withdrawal of the other party through fear. 
 
 Chap. XI. In what way then, said I, do these live, 
 and what will be the character of this government; for it 
 is plain, that a man of this kind will appear democratic ? 
 It is plain, said he. First, then, are they not free, and 
 is not the state full of freedom of action, and speech, 
 and each one at liberty to do what he pleases ? So it is 
 said, he replied. And where there is liberty, every one 
 will evidently regulate his own plan of life just as he 
 pleases ? Plainly so. Under such a government especially, 
 methinks, men of all characters will spring up. Of course. 
 This, said I, seems likely to be the best of all govern- 
 ments; just as a various-colored robe, embroidered with 
 flowers of all kinds, so will this appear best, variegated 
 as it is with all sorts of manners. Of course, said he. 
 And perhaps too, said I, the multitude will reckon this 
 the best, just as children and women looking at em- 
 broidered dresses. Very likely, said he. Aye, my excel- 
 lent friend, here is a state in which we may fitly look 
 for a government. How so ? Because it comprises all 
 kinds of government on the score of its liberty; and it 
 seems necessary for one that desires to establish a state, 
 as we are now doing, to come to any democratic state, the 
 form of which he likes, as to a general political fair, and 
 establish that which he has chosen. Aye, said he, he 
 would probably be in no want of models. Is not this, said 
 
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 I, a divine and pleasant kind of life for the present, — that 
 there be no need of governing in this state, even though 
 you be able to do so, nor yet of being a subject, unless you 
 please, nor of engaging in war because others do, nor of 
 keeping peace when others keep it, unless you desire 
 peace; nor again, though there be a law that restrains 
 you from governing or administering justice, yet you no 
 less shall govern and administer justice, if so disposed ? 
 It is likely, said he ; in this particular at least. But what ; 
 is not their lenience toward some of those who are con- 
 demned very polite; and in such a government did you 
 never yet see its lenity toward men condemned to death 
 or banishment, who nevertheless remain there in open 
 intercourse, the banished man, too, returning like a hero 
 as if no one attended to or observed him ? Aye, many, 
 he replied. But this indulgence of the state, not to 
 mention the small regard, and even contempt which it 
 shows for all that we deemed so important when settling 
 our state, as that, unless a man had a most exalted nature, 
 he would never become a good man, except he had from 
 childhood upward delighted in noble actions, and dili- 
 gently followed all such pursuits; how magnanimously 
 does it despise and think as naught all these things, 
 evincing an utter disregard as to the kind of pursuits 
 from which a man comes to engage in politics, though 
 it honors him if he only declares himself well affected 
 toward the multitude ? How very generous, he rejoined. 
 These then, said I, and others akin to these, are to be 
 found in democracy; and it seems to be a pleasant sort 
 of government, both anarchical and variegated, distribu- 
 ting a certain equality to all alike, both equals and 
 unequals. Aye, you say, he replied, what is perfectly 
 well known. 
 
 Chap. XII. Consider then, said I, what kind of man 
 such an one is in private; or shall we first consider, as 
 we did with respect to the government, in what manner 
 he is formed ? Yes, said he. Is he not then formed in 
 this manner, namely, from the parsimonious man who 
 was under the oligarchy, as a son, trained up under his 
 father according to his habits ? Of course. Such an one 
 
282 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 forcibly governs his own pleasures, such as are expensive, 
 but not tending to the acquisition of wealth, which are 
 hence called unnecessary. It is plain, said he. That we 
 may not argue in the dark then, said I, let us firet, if 
 you please, determine what desires are necessary, and 
 what arc not. Willingly, said he. May not such be justly 
 called necessary, which we cannot get rid of, and the 
 gratification of which does us service ? For both these 
 kinds our nature must necessarily seek after ; must it not ? 
 Quite so. This, then, we may justly say, is a necessary 
 part to these desires ? Justly. But what now ? Such de- 
 sires as a man may relinquish, if he try to do so from his 
 youth, and which while they remain, do no good, if we say 
 of these that they are not necessary, shall we not say 
 right ? Right, indeed. Let us select a pattern of each, 
 that we may understand from example what they are. 
 Quite right. Is not the desire of eating necessary so far 
 as is conducive to health and a good habit of body, and 
 the desire of food and victuals ? I think so. The desire 
 of food, at least, is necessary on two accounts, as being 
 advantageous in itself, and because the want of it must 
 bring life to an end. It is. And the desire of victuals is 
 likewise necessary, as contributing toward a good habit 
 of body. Certainly. But what ? even such desire as goes 
 beyond these things, or any other sorts of meats, and 
 yet can be curbed from youth, and trained to abstain 
 from most things, and which is hurtful both to body and 
 soul as regards the attainment of wisdom and temperance, 
 may not that be rightly called unnecessary ? Most rightly, 
 indeed. May we not say then that these too are expen- 
 sive, and the others frugal, as they conduce toward the 
 actions of life ? Of course. We may speak in the same 
 manner, surely, of venereal, and the other desires ? In 
 the same manner. And did we not, by him whom we just 
 now called the drone, indicate a person full of such desires 
 and pleasures, and governed by those that are unnecessary; 
 but one governed by those merely necessary, a parsimoni- 
 ous man, and disposed to an oligarchy ? Without doubt. 
 
 Chap. XIII. Let us again mention, said I, how the 
 democratic man arises out of the oligarchic; and to me 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 283 
 
 he appears to arise chiefly thus. How ? When a young 
 man brought up, as we now mentioned, without proper 
 instruction, and in niggard fashion, comes to taste the 
 drones' honey, and associates with those fiery, terrible 
 creatures who can procure all sorts and varieties of 
 pleasures, and from every quarter, then you may conceive, 
 he somehow begins to change the oligarchic for the demo- 
 cratic character. It must be so, he observed. Well, then, 
 just as the state was changed by the aid of another 
 party from without to which it was related, is not the 
 youth 90 changed likewise, through the aid of one species 
 of desires from without, to others within him, which re- 
 semble them and are allied thereto ? By all means. And 
 methinks, if any alliance should come to counteract the 
 oligarchic principle within him, either through his father 
 or other relatives, admonishing and upbraiding him, then 
 truly will arise sedition, opposition, and an internal strug- 
 gle against himself. Undoubtedly. And sometimes, in- 
 deed, I think the democratic yields to the oligarchic 
 principle, and some of the desires are destroyed, while 
 others retire, because a certain modesty is engendered in 
 the youth's soul, and he is again , restored to order. This 
 is sometimes the case, said he. And again, I suppose, 
 when some desires retire, others allied to them secretly 
 grow up, which through neglect of parental instruction, 
 become both many and powerful. This is usually the 
 case, said he. They draw them then toward the same 
 intimacies as before, and through their connections secretly 
 generate a multitude ? What else ? And in the end, 
 I think, they seize the citadel of the youth's soul, be- 
 cause they find it empty, as regards virtuous pursuits 
 and true reasoning, — the best guardians and preservers of 
 the rational part of men dear to the gods. Just so, said 
 he. And then, indeed, false and arrogant reasonings and 
 opinions rush up in their stead, and take their place in 
 such people. Assuredly, said he. And does he not then 
 come once more, and dwell openly among those Lotoph- 
 agi ? And if any aid come from intimate friends to 
 strengthen the parsimonious principle within him, these 
 said arrogant reasonings, by shutting against it the gates 
 of the royal wall neither permit the alliance itself, nor 
 
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 allow the ambassadorial admonitions of individual old 
 men, but struggle against them and maintain themselves 
 in power; and as for modesty, they call it stupidity, and 
 thrust it out into disgraceful exile, while temperance they 
 call unmanliness, load it with abuse, and then expel it; 
 and as for moderation and decent expense, they pur- 
 suade themselves that they are nothing else but rusticity 
 and illiberality, and banish them from their territories, 
 with many other unprofitable desires. Assuredly they 
 do. Having emptied and purified from all these desires, 
 the soul, thus held by them, and initiated in the great 
 mysteries,* they next introduce with encomiums and 
 false eulogies, indolence and anarchy, extravagance and 
 shamelessness, shining with a great retinue, and wearing 
 crowns, — calling insolence, good-breeding, — anarchy, lib- 
 erty, — luxury, magnificence, — and impudence, manliness. 
 Is it not, said I, somehow thus, that a youth, after being 
 bred up with necessary desires falls away into the license 
 and dissoluteness induced by needless and unprofitable 
 pleasures ? Yes, plainly so, he replied. Such an one, then, 
 methinks, thenceforth passes his life, spending his prop- 
 erty, labor, and time as much on necessary and unneces- 
 sary pleasures, but if he be fortunate and not unusually 
 excited by passion, he, as he advances in years, and the 
 sovereignty of the passions is subdued, readmits part of 
 those expelled, and does not deliver himself wholly up to 
 mere intruders, but regulates his pleasures on the prin- 
 ciple of equality, and so lives, giving himself up to each 
 incidental desire that happens to rule him, till he is sated, 
 and then another, undervaluing none, but indulging all 
 alike. Quite so, of course. And yet such an one, said 
 I, will not listen to true reasoning, nor admit it into his 
 stronghold, — should he be told that some pleasures are 
 attached to honorable and virtuous desires, others to those 
 that are depraved, and that he should pursue and honor 
 the former, but chastise and hold captive the latter, — but 
 in all these cases will dissent, and say that they are 
 
 * Allusion is here made to the Eleusinian mysteries, which after 
 certain lustrations and sacrifices, were successively communicated to 
 those in course of initiation, — first, the lesser mysteries, and six 
 months subsequently, the greater. 
 
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 285 
 
 all alike, and to be held in equal honor. Assuredly, 
 said he, one thus affected does this. Well, then, said I, 
 thus does he daily live, gratifying every incidental desire, 
 sometimes getting drunk to the sound of the flute, at 
 others temperately drinking water, at others, again ex- 
 ercising gymnastics; sometimes indolent and wholly care- 
 less; then again applying, as it were, to philosophy, 
 often too acting the politician, saying and doing by skips 
 and jumps whatever comes first ; and if he would imitate 
 any of the military tribe, thither he is carried; if the 
 mercantile, then again thither; nor is his life regulated 
 by any plan or law, but, deeming this particular life 
 pleasant, and free, and blessed, he follows it through- 
 out. You have most fully described, said he, the life of 
 the man who places all laws on a level. I at least am 
 of opinion, said I, that he is multiform, and filled with 
 different habits; like the state, too, he is handsome and 
 of varied complexion, a man whose life many men and 
 women would emulate, because he contains within him- 
 self numerous patterns both of forms of government and 
 moral habits. He does, said he. What then ? Have we 
 then so described and arranged such an one on the 
 principles of democracy, as that he may be truly called 
 one of democratic character? We will allow that it has, 
 said he. 
 
 Chap. XIV. It still remains, however, that we discuss, 
 said I, that most excellent form of government, and that 
 most excellent man, tyranny and the tyrant. Surely, said 
 he. Come then, my dear fellow; what is the manner in 
 which tyranny arises ? for it is almost plain, that it is a 
 change from democracy. Plain. Does not tyranny arise 
 in the same manner from democracy, as democracy does 
 from oligarchy? How, as respects the good then, which 
 oligarchy proposed to itself, and according to which it 
 was constituted ; was it not with a view of becoming ex- 
 tremely rich ? Yes. An insatiable desire then for riches, 
 and a neglect of all besides, through attention to the ac- 
 quisition of wealth, destroys it. True, said he. And 
 with reference to what democracy denominates good, an 
 insatiable thirst for it destroys it likewise. But what 
 
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 say you, it denominates as good ? Liberty, said I : fof 
 this, yon are told is best found in a state under dem- 
 ocratic rule, and hence any one naturally free would 
 choose to dwell in this alone. This word liberty, said 
 he, is vastly much talked about. Well then, observed 
 I, as I was just going to say, does not the insatiable 
 desire for this, and the neglect of other things, change 
 even the form of government, and prepare it to need 
 a tyrant ? How ? said he. When a state, said I, is 
 under democratic rule, thirsts after liberty, and happens 
 to have bad cupbearers appointed it, and gets immod- 
 erately drunk with an unmixed draught thereof, it 
 punishes even the governors, unless they be quite tame- 
 spirited, and allow them excessive liberty, by accusing 
 them of being corrupt and oligarchical. They do so, 
 said he. But such as obey the magistrates, said I, it 
 abuses as willing and good-for-nothing slaves; both pub- 
 licly and in private they commending and honoring 
 magistrates who resemble subjects, and subjects who 
 resemble magistrates: must it not happen in such 
 a state, that we must necessarily arrive at the acme 
 of liberty ? Of course. And must it not descend, too, 
 my friend, said I, into private families, and at last 
 reach even the brutes ? How, said he, can we assert 
 aught like this ? For instance, said I, when a father 
 gets used to become like his child, and fears his sons, 
 and the son [in like manner] his father, and has neither 
 respect nor fear of his parents, in order, forsooth, that 
 he may be free; and thus a mere resident is placed 
 on a level with a citizen, and a resident with a stranger, 
 and so likewise a foreigner. Just so, said he. Aye, 
 these indeed happen, said I, and other similar little 
 things also: and in such cases a teacher fears and flat- 
 ters his scholars, and the scholars despise their teachers, 
 and so also their tutors; and on the whole the youths 
 resemble those more advanced in years, and rival them 
 both in speech and action : while the old men sit down 
 with the young, and imitate them in their love of mer- 
 riment and pleasantry, for fear of appearing morose 
 and despotic. Quite so, of course, replied he. But as 
 to this extreme liberty of the multitude, said I, what 
 
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 287 
 
 a heig-ht it attains in a state like this, where pur- 
 chased slaves, male or female, are no less free than 
 their purchasers, and how much equality and liberty 
 wives enjoy with their husbands, and husbands with 
 their wives, — this we have almost forgotten to mention. 
 Are we not then to say, according to ^schylus, he ob- 
 served, whatever now comes into our mouth ? By 
 all means, said I; and accordingly I thus speak: with 
 reference even to brutes, such as are under the care 
 of men, how much more free they are in such a state; 
 he who has no experience thereof will not easily be- 
 lieve, for according to the proverb, even dogs resemble 
 their mistresses; and horses and asses are used to run 
 about at large, surlily driving against whomsoever they 
 meet, unless they get out of their way; and many 
 other such-like things happen, that indicate an abun- 
 dance of liberty. You are just telling me my dream, 
 said he, for this has often happened to me when go- 
 ing into the country. But do you observe, said I, when 
 all these things are collected together in a whole, that 
 they make the soul of the citizens so sensitive, that 
 if they were any how to be brought into slavery, they 
 would be indignant and not endure it; for in the end, 
 you know, they regard laws neither written nor un- 
 written, and hence no one will by any means become 
 their master ? I know it well, said he. 
 
 Chap. XV. This then, said I, my friend, I suppose, is 
 that government so beautiful and youthful, whence 
 tyranny springs. Youthful, indeed, he replied ; but what 
 then ? The same malady, said I, that existed in an 
 oligarchy, destroys this form likewise; rising also to a 
 higher pitch of power, and enslaving the democracy by its 
 very licentiousness ; for, in fact, the doing of anything to 
 excess usually causes great change in an opposite direc- 
 tion: and so it is in the seasons, as in vegetable and 
 animal bodies, and so also not least of all in forms of 
 government. Probably so, said he. Aye, for excessive 
 liberty seems only to degenerate into excessive slavery, 
 either in private individuals or states. It is probable, 
 indeed. Probably then, said I, tyranny is established out 
 
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 of no other form than democracy ; out of the highest degree 
 of liberty, methinks, the greatest and fiercest slavery. 
 Yes, it is reasonable, said he. This, however, methinks, 
 said I, was not what you asked: but what is that same 
 disease which arises in an oligarchy and a democracy, 
 and reduces each to slavery ? Your remark is true, re- 
 plied he. I meant, said I, that there was a race of idle 
 and profuse men, the bravest of whom were the leaders, 
 and the more cowardly their followers, whom, indeed, we 
 compared to drones ; some to those with stings, others to 
 those without stings. Rightly, too, said he. These two 
 now, said I, when they spring up in a government, disturb 
 it, just like phlegm and bile in a natural body, — and 
 against these it is the duty of a wise physician and law- 
 giver of a state, no less than of a wise bee-master, to 
 take much fore-caution, — first, that they never gain admit- 
 tance; and if they should enter, that they be as soon as 
 possible cut off, with their cells as well. Yes, by Zeus, 
 said he; altogether so. 
 
 Chap. XVI. Let us thus then conceive the matter, said 
 I, that we may more destinctly see what we want. How ? 
 Let us ideally divide a democratic state into three parts, as 
 it in fact is ; for some such classification is natural to it, 
 owing to its liberty, no less than to an oligarchy. It is so. 
 Yet it is much more fierce at least in this than in the 
 former. How ? In an oligarchy, from not being held in 
 honor, but excluded from the magisterial office, it is 
 unexercised and gains no strength ; but in a democracy it 
 is ; with a few exceptions, the presiding party, the fiercest 
 of them, ever talking and agitating, while the rest bustle 
 about at the law-courts, and cannot endure any one else 
 to speak differently from itself ; and thus all things, with 
 only a few exceptions, under such a government, are 
 managed by a party. Very much the case, said he. Some 
 other party, then, is always separated from the multitude. 
 Which ? While the general body are engaged in the 
 pursuit of gain, such as are naturally the most temperate 
 generally become the wealthiest. Very probably. And 
 hence is it, methinks, that the greatest quantity of honey, 
 and what comes with the greatest ease, is pressed out of 
 
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 289 
 
 these by the drones. Yes, for how, said he, can any one 
 press it from 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 sort of 
 third species, such as mind their own affairs, without 
 meddling with others, who have little property, but are 
 yet the most numerous, and most prevailing in a democ- 
 racy, whenever it is densely populated. It is so ; but this 
 it will not often consent to do without getting some share 
 of the honey. This class, of course, always obtains a 
 share, said I, as far as their leaders are able, by robbing 
 those that have property, and giving it to the people, in 
 order that they may eat most themselves. Aye, said he, 
 that is the way in which these become sharers. These, 
 then, are obliged to defend themselves. Those thus de- 
 spoiled are compelled to defend themselves, saying and 
 doing all they can among the people. Of course. And 
 though they have no inclination to introduce a change of 
 government, they are charged with forming plots and 
 plans against the common people, and being oligarchically 
 disposed. What next ? After seeing that the people, not 
 willingly, but through ignorance and the impositions of 
 these slanderers, attempt to injure them, do they not 
 then, indeed, even against their wills, become truly 
 oligarchic ? though not spontaneously, for this very mis- 
 chief is generated by the drone that stings them. Quite 
 so. And so they lay informations, make lawsuits, and 
 have contests one with another. Very much so. And are 
 not the people always used to place some one in special 
 presidency over themselves, and to cherish him, and 
 promote him to great power ? They are. And this, said 
 I, is plain, that whenever a tyrant rises, it is from the 
 fact of thus presiding, and nothing else, that he flourishes. 
 This is very clear. How, then, begins the change from a 
 president into a tyrant ? is it not clearly when the presi- 
 dent begins to do the same as is told in the fable, about 
 the temple of the Lycean Zeus, to whom the wolf was 
 dedicated in Arcadia ? What is that ? said he. That who- 
 ever tasted human entrails mixed with those of other 
 offerings, must necessarily become a wolf: have you not 
 heard the story ? I have. Well, then, supposing him to 
 19 
 
290 
 
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 be thus the president of the people, and having to deal 
 with an extremely compliant multitude, he should not 
 refrain from shedding even kindred blood, but by unjust 
 charges, as usual, should bring men into the law-courts 
 and murder them, as if he set no value on human life, and, 
 tasting with unholy mouth and tongue even the blood of 
 relations, should banish men and slay them, proposing the 
 abolition of debts and fresh division of lands, must not 
 such an one of necessity, and by destiny, be either de- 
 stroyed by his enemies, or else act the tyrant, and from a 
 man, become a wolf ? Of great necessity, said he. This 
 then, is he, said I, the same who rises in sedition against 
 those who have property. Yes. And when he has been 
 banished and returns against the will of his adversaries, 
 he comes back, of course, an accomplished tyrant. It is 
 plain. And if they cannot expel him, or put him to death 
 on a state accusation, then they conspire to cut him off 
 privately by a violent death. It usually so happens, he 
 observed. And besides this, all who have advanced to 
 this station invent this much-vaunted tyrannical demand, 
 asking the people for certain body-guards, that the 
 people's aid may be secured them. Of this, said he, they 
 take special care. And methinks they grant them this 
 through fear of his safety, though secure as to their own. 
 Quite so. And when a man observes this, who has prop- 
 erty, and who, besides that, is further charged with hating 
 the people, he then, my friend, according to the answer of 
 the oracle to Croesus, 
 
 . . . To pebble-bedded Hermus flies, 
 Nor waits the brand of cowardice ; . . , 
 
 because he would not, said he, be a second time in fear. 
 But surely, said I, he at least, methinks, that is caught, is 
 put to death. Of necessity so. It is plain, then, that this 
 president of our state does not like a noble person, nobly 
 lie, but, after hurling down many others, sits in his 
 chair of office, a consummate tyrant of the state, and 
 not a president. Of course he is likely to be so, re- 
 joined he. 
 
 Chap. XVII. Shall we then examine the happiness 
 both of the man and the state, in which such a mortal 
 
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 291 
 
 as this is engendered ? Let us do so by all means, said 
 he. Does he not then, said I, in the first days, and for 
 a brief season, smile and salute every one he meets, and 
 asserting- himself to be no tyrant, and promise many 
 things, both in public and private; and liberate men 
 from debts, and distribute land both to the public and 
 those about him, and affect to be mild and liberal toward 
 all ? He must, replied he. But, methinks, when he be- 
 comes reconciled to some of his foreign enemies, and 
 has destroyed others, and there is quiet respecting these, 
 he first of all is ever exciting wars, that the people may 
 be in need of a leader. Aye, that is likely. Is it not 
 also then, that, being rendered poor by contributing to 
 the public treasury, they may be compelled to be anxious 
 for daily sustenance, and so less readily conspire against 
 him ? Plainly so. And methinks, if he suspects that any 
 of a free spirit will not allow him to govern, in order 
 that he may have some pretext for destroying them, he ex- 
 poses them to the enemy ; for all these reasons a tyrant 
 must necessarily be always raising war. Necessarily so. 
 And, while he is doing these things, he will necessarily be- 
 come more hateful to the citizens. Of course. And, there- 
 fore, some of those who have been promoted along with 
 him and are in power, use great plainness of speech, 
 toward him and among themselves, finding fault with 
 what is done, such at least, as are of a more manly 
 spirit. Aye, probably so. The tyrant, therefore, if he 
 means to govern, must cut off all these till he leave no 
 one, either friend or foe, worth anything. It is plain. 
 He must carefully notice them, who is courageous, who 
 is magnanimous, who wise, who rich; and in this man- 
 ner is he happy that, willing or unwilling, he is under 
 a necessity of being an enemy to all like these; and to 
 form plots against them, till he has purged the state. 
 A fine purging indeed! said he. Yes, said I, the reverse 
 of what the physicians do with regard to animal bodies; 
 for they take away the worst and leave the best ; but he 
 does the contrary. Because it seems, said he, if he is to 
 govern he must necessarily do so. 
 
 Chap. XVIII. By a blessed necessity, then truly, is he 
 
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 bound, said I ; which compels him either to live with a 
 depraved multitude, hated by them too, or not live at 
 all. In such necessity he is, he replied. And the more 
 he is hated by the citizens whilst he does these things, 
 will he not so much the more require a greater number 
 of guards, and those more faithful ? It is impossible he 
 should not. Who then are the faithful, and whence shall 
 he procure them ? Many, said he, will come flying to 
 him of their own accord, if he give them pay. By the 
 dog, said I, you seem again to be talking of certain 
 drones, both foreign and multiform. Aye, you think 
 right, replied he. But those of the state itself, would he 
 not desire to have them also as guards ? How ? After 
 he has taken away the slaves from the citizens, would he 
 not give them their liberty, and make of them guards 
 about his person ? By all means, said he ; for these are 
 the most faithful to him. What a blessed possession of 
 the tyrants, said I, is this which you mention, if he em- 
 ploy such friends and faithful men, after having destroyed 
 the former ones ! But at any rate, said he, such he 
 surely does ernploy. And then his companions, said I, 
 admire him, and the young citizens flock around him: 
 but those that are respectable men both hate and fly 
 from him. Of course they would. It is not without 
 reason, then, said I, that tragedy is generally thought a 
 wise thing, and that Euripides is thought to excel in it. 
 Why ? Because he uttered this, the result of deep re- 
 flection, that tyrants are wise, by intercourse with the 
 wise; and he plainly said, those were wise with whom 
 they hold converse. And he commends tyranny too, said 
 he, as some divine thing, and says a great deal else about 
 it, as do the other poets. Those composers then of 
 tragedy, said I, as they are wise, will forgive both our- 
 selves and others who establish governments analogous 
 to our own, for not admitting them into our republic, as 
 being panegyrists of tyranny. Methinks, said he, such 
 of them, at least, as are well mannered, will forgive us. 
 But they will go about through other states, methinks, 
 drawing together the crowds, and put to sale their fine, 
 magnificent, and persuasive words, and so draw over gov- 
 ernments to tyrannies and democracies. Just so. And 
 
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 ■293 
 
 do they not further receive rewards and are specially 
 honored, first by tyrants, as is natural, and next by a 
 democracy; but the higher they advance in the forms of 
 government, the more does honor forsake them, disabled 
 as it were by an asthma from pursuing its progress. 
 Entirely so. 
 
 Chap. XIX. Thus far, said I, have we digressed: and 
 now let us go back and talk about the army of the tyrant, 
 beautiful as it is numerous, multiform, and ever the same, — 
 how it is to be maintained. It is plain, said he, that what- 
 ever sacred things there be in the state, these they will 
 despoil, and make the sale-proceeds therefrom to be such 
 from time to time as to cause the commons to pay lighter 
 taxes. But when these fail, what will they do ? It is 
 plain, said he, that he and his boon-companions, and asso- 
 ciates, male and female, will be maintained out of his 
 paternal inheritance. I understand, said I: the party 
 that made the tyrant is to maintain him and his com- 
 panions. Surely it must be so, replied he. How, say 
 you ? replied I : if the people were to be enraged, and 
 say, that it is not just for a son arrived at mature age 
 to be maintained by the father, but on the contrary, the 
 father by the son, and that he did not beget and bring 
 him up for this purpose, to be himself a slave to his 
 slaves after they have grown up, and to maintain him and 
 his slaves with the rest of the riotous crew, but rather that 
 under his auspices he might be liberated from the rich 
 in the state [who are also called the good and worthy] : 
 and now he orders him and his companions to leave the 
 state as a father drives from home his son and his rackety 
 boon-fellows. By Zeus, then, the people, said he, such as 
 they are, will know what sort of a creature they have be- 
 gotten, embraced, and nurtured, and that being themselves 
 the weaker party, they are still trying to drive out the 
 stronger. How say you, replied I ; will the tyrant dare to 
 offer violence to his father and actually strike him if he 
 will not yield ? Yes, said he, for he has stripped him of 
 his armor. The tyrant, said I, you call a parricide and 
 a hard-hearted nourisher of old age; and this, as it 
 seems, would be an acknowledged tyranny; and, as the 
 
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 saying is, the common people, flying from the smoke of 
 slavery among freemen, have fallen into the slavish fire 
 of despotism, and instead of excessive and unreasonable 
 liberty, they embrace the most rigorous and bitterest 
 captivity of actual slaves. Aye, this is very much the 
 case, rejoined he. What then, said I, may it not be 
 concluded with due consideration, that we have shown 
 in sufficient detail how tyranny arises out of democracy, 
 and its nature also, when it does arise ? Quite suffi- 
 ciently, of course, replied he. ' 
 
BOOK IX. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 In the NINTH BOOK the discussion of tyranny is concluded with a view of 
 its origin and nature in the individual man, who, when thus affected, 
 is g^ven up to all kinds of disordered passions that effectually exclude 
 him from all chance of happiness. Hence is it, that, as good and 
 healthy monarchical government is pre-eminently conducive to the 
 highest happiness of the citizens, so also tyranny is unfailingly pro- 
 ductive of the most intense and general misery. This is proved also 
 from an analysis of the mental faculties, and a pretty full account is 
 here given of the desires, pleasures, and indulgences by which they 
 are affected, and which must be kept in constant subjection by the 
 dominance of reason. 
 
 Chapter. I. We have yet, said I, to consider the tyran- 
 nical man himself, how he arises out of the democratic, 
 and, when he does arise, what is his nature, and what 
 kind of life he leads, whether wretched or happy. Yes, 
 we have, said he. Know you, said I, what I still want ? 
 What ? We do not seem to have sufficiently distinguished 
 as regards the desires; what is their nature and amount; 
 and how many; and while there is any defect in this, the 
 inquiry we make will not be very clear. Is it not good 
 time for that yet ? I wish to know about them ; for it is 
 this. Of pleasures and desires that are not necessary, 
 some seem to me contrary to law, which indeed seem 
 engendered in all men : though owing to the correction of 
 the laws, and of improved desires aided by reason, they 
 either forsake some men altogether, or are less numerous 
 and feeble, while 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 rest 
 of the soul — which is rational, mild, and its governing 
 principle, is asleep, and when that part which is savage 
 and rude, being sated with food and drink, frisks about, 
 drives away sleep, and seeks to go and accomplish its 
 
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 practices; in such an one, you know, it dares to do every- 
 thing, because it is loosed and disengaged from all modesty 
 and prudence : for if it pleases, it scruples not at the em- 
 braces, even of a mother, or any one else, whether gods, 
 men, or beasts ; nor to commit murder, nor abstain from 
 any sort of meat, and in one word, it is wanting neither 
 in folly nor shamelessness. You speak most truly, replied 
 he. But when a man is in good health, methinks, and 
 lives temperately, and goes to sleep, after exciting his 
 reason, and feasting it with noble reasonings and investi- 
 gations, having thus attained to an internal harmony, and 
 given up the appetites neither to want nor repletion, that 
 they may be at rest, and not disturb that part which is best, 
 either by joy or grief, but suffer it by itself alone without 
 interruption to inquire and long to apprehend what it 
 knows not, either something of what has existed, or now 
 exists, or will exist hereafter; and so also, having soothed 
 the spirited part of the soul, and not allowed it to be 
 hurried into transports of anger, or to fall asleep with 
 agitated passion ; but after having quieted these two parts 
 of the soul, and roused to action that third part in which 
 wisdom dwells, he will thus take his rest; you know, that 
 by such an one the truth is best apprehended, and the 
 visions of his dreams are then least of all portrayed con- 
 trary to the law. I am quite of this opinion, said he. We 
 have digressed indeed a little too far in talking of these 
 things ; but what we want to be known is this, that in every 
 one resides a certain species of desires that are terrible, 
 savage, and irregular, even in some that we deem ever so 
 moderate : and this indeed becomes manifest in sleep. 
 Now consider, if I seem to be speaking to the purpose, 
 and whether you agree with me. Aye, indeed, I do. 
 
 Chap. II. As for the people's man, then, recollect how 
 we described him, as being brought up somehow from 
 infancy under a parsimonious father, who valued ava- 
 ricious desires only; and despised all such as were unnec- 
 essary, arising only out of a love of amusement and 
 finery. Was he not ? Yes. But getting acquainted with 
 the more refined, who are full of the desires just men- 
 tioned, running into all sorts of insolence, and imbibing 
 
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 297 
 
 their manners through detestation of his father's parsi- 
 mony; and yet having a better natural temper than his 
 corrupters, and being drawn opposite ways, he at length 
 settles down into a mode of life equidistant from either, 
 and so in his opinion, participating moderately of each, 
 leads a life neither illiberal nor lawless, after having 
 thus become a democrat instead of an oligarchist. Yes, 
 this, said he, was and is our opinion of such an one. 
 Suppose now again, that, when such an one has become 
 old, he has a young son educated according to his own 
 habits. I suppose it. And suppose, too, that the same 
 happens to him as to his father; that he is drawn into 
 all lawlessness, which his seducers call all freedom; and 
 that his father and his domestics are aiding those inter- 
 mediate desires; and that others also lend their assistance 
 (when these clever conjurers and tyrant-makers have no 
 hopes of otherwise keeping youth in their power), and 
 so contrive to excite in him a certain love which is to 
 preside over the passive desires, which distribute what 
 may be at hand to all the rest, a certain large-winged 
 drone ; or what else think you, is that kind of love ? 
 For my part, said he, I think, it is no other than this. 
 Well, when the rest of the desires buzz about him, full 
 of their odors and perfumes, and crowns and wines, and 
 the dissolute pleasures belonging to such associations, 
 and at last by their increase and nurture, add to the drone 
 a sting of desire, then truly he is sentineled by madness 
 as a life guard, and this president of the soul becomes 
 frenzied ; and even should he find in himself any opinions 
 or desires which are deemed good and modest, he kills 
 them and pushes them from him, till he has ridded him- 
 self of temperance and has become brimful of madness. 
 You perfectly describe, said he, the formation of a 
 tyrannical man. Is it not for some such reason as this, 
 said I, that love has of old been said to be a tyrant ? 
 It seems so, replied he. Well, my friend, said I, and is 
 not a drunken man likewise somewhat of a tyrannical 
 spirit ? He is indeed. And besides that, he that is mad 
 and disturbed in his mind, undertakes and hopes to be 
 able to govern not only men, but the gods as well. 
 Entirely so, said he. The tyrannical character then, 
 
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 happy man! becomes so in full perfection, when either 
 by temper or pursuits, or both, he becomes drunken and 
 given up to love and melancholy. Perfectly so, indeed. 
 
 Chap. III. Such an one, it seems, then, is thus engen- 
 dered, but how does he pass his life ? Just as they say 
 in their games, replied he ; * this you shall tell me too. * 
 I will tell you then, said I ; for I think, that in the next 
 place, they have feastings and revelings and banquetings 
 and mistresses, and all such things as may be expected 
 among those with whom dwells the tyrant love, and 
 governing all in the soul. Necessarily so, said he. Will 
 there not then, each day and night, blossom forth numer- 
 ous fierce desires, eagerly in want of many things ? 
 Many indeed. And if they get any supplies [of their 
 wishes], these are soon spent ? Of course. And after this 
 there are borrowings and forfeitures of property ? Of 
 course. And when everything fails them, must it not 
 follow, that while the numerous and powerful desires 
 nestled in the mind, will on the one hand raise a clamor, 
 the men, on the other hand, who are driven and goaded 
 by the rest of the passions, but especially by love itself, 
 which commands all the others as its life guards, will 
 rage with frenzy, and seek after people's property, to 
 see if they can plunder it either by fraud or violence ? 
 Quite so, said he. Of necessity, then, they must either 
 plunder from all quarters, or else be hampered with great 
 pain and anguish. Necessarily so. And as in such a 
 man his new pleasures are greater than those he had 
 before, and depreciate the value of the others, will he not 
 similarly deem it right for himself, however young, to 
 have more than his father and mother, and to take away 
 from them, when he has spent his own portion, applying 
 to his own use what belongs to his parents ? Of course 
 he will, replied he. And if they will not give it up to 
 him, will he not at first try to pilfer or defraud his par- 
 ents ? By all means. And should he be unable to do this, 
 he will next use rapine and violence ? I think so, replied 
 he. But supposing, my fine fellow, that the old man and 
 woman fall out and fight, will he not be very cautious 
 and wary of doing what is tyrannical ? I, for my part, 
 
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 299 
 
 said he, am not quite sure about the safety of such a 
 person's parents. But, by Zeus, Adimantus, think you, 
 that for the sake of a newly beloved and unnecessary 
 mistress, such a person would abandon his long loved and 
 closely connected mother; or for the sake of a youth newly 
 loved and with whom he has no ties, give up to stripes 
 his withered but time-honored father, and the most ancient 
 of all his friends, suffering them to be the slaves of these 
 others, by bringing them into the same house ? Yes, by 
 Zeus, I do, said he. It seems, indeed, said I, a vastly 
 blessed thing to be the father of a tyrannical son! Not at 
 all so, said he. But what, when the father's and mother's 
 riches are beginning to fail such an one, and when the great 
 swarm of pleasures has been already collected within him, 
 will he not be the first to scale the wall of some house, or 
 strip some one of his coat late at night, and after that 
 rifle some temple ? And in all these acts, as respects 
 the opinions which he formerly held from boyhood, and 
 which guided his decisions concerning good and evil, the 
 passions, that are newly loosed from slavery and placed 
 as the body-guards of Love, will prevail therewith; and 
 these indeed had only just been loosed from their dreamy 
 sleep, when he was himself still under the law and 
 governed by his father, as under a democracy: yet 
 afterward, when tyrannized over by love, such as he 
 rarely was when in his dreams, he will ever be when 
 awake, nor will he abstain from slaughter, however 
 horrid, or food, or any deed whatever: but that tyrant 
 love within him, living without restraint of law or gov- 
 ernment, as if it were sole monarch, will lead on the 
 man it possesses, as it would a state, to every act of 
 madness, whereby he can support himself and the mob 
 of passions about him, which partly entering from with- 
 out, through evil company, and partly through the 
 manners of the man and his associates, have been 
 unchained and set at liberty: now is not this the life of 
 such an one ? It is this truly, said he. And if, said I, 
 there be, only a few such in the state, and the rest of 
 the people are sober, they go out and serve as guards 
 to other tyrants, or assist them for hire in case of war: 
 but remain at home during peace and quiet, giving rise 
 
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 in the state to a great many minor evils. What mean 
 you ? 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, sometimes 
 turn false informers, give false testimony, and take 
 bribes. These, then, you call minor mischiefs, said he, if 
 there be but a few such persons. What is small, said 
 I, is small in comparison to the great; and all these 
 things with regard to the tyrant, when compared with 
 the wickedness and misery of the state, do not, as the 
 saying is, come near the mark; for when the state has 
 many such, and others for their companions, and when 
 they perceive their own number, then these are the per- 
 sons who, led by the people's folly, elevate to the tyranny 
 the man among them who has within his soul most of 
 the tyrant, and in the greatest strength. Probably so, 
 indeed, said he; for he will be most suited for a tyrant. 
 Of course, if they voluntarily submit to him: but if the 
 state will not allow him to use the violence toward 
 them, with which he formerly treated his father and 
 mother, so he will now again, if he can, chastise his 
 country by bringing in his youthful associates, and 
 enslaving under them, as the Cretans say, his once dear 
 motherland and fatherland: and this will of course be 
 the issue of such a man's desire. Entirely so, said he. 
 Do not these then behave thus in private life, said I; 
 even before becoming rulers; first with the company 
 they keep, either associating with their own flatterers 
 and those who are ready to supply their every want; or 
 if they ask one for anything, falling down as suppliants, 
 and deigning to assume the disguise of friends; but 
 after they have gained their own purposes, acting as foes ? 
 Quite so. Throughout life then they live as real friends 
 to no one whatever, but always either as masters or slaves 
 to another; because for liberty and true friendship the 
 tyrant's nature has no relish whatever. Quite so. May 
 we not rightly call these men faithless ? Of course. 
 And as unjust, moreover, as they possibly can be, if 
 indeed we, in what we said before were rightly agreed 
 as to the nature of justice ? Aye, we were quite right, 
 said he. Let us then give a summary account, said 1 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 301 
 
 of this worst man of ours; he is the same kind of per- 
 son, awake perhaps, whom we just described as asleep. 
 Entirely so. And does not that man become such, who 
 with a tyrannical nature holds the sovereign sway, and 
 the longer he lives in tyrant-life becomes so more and 
 more ? Necessarily so, replied Glaucon, taking up the 
 discourse. 
 
 Chap. IV. And will not the man, said I, who appears 
 the most wicked, appear likewise the most wretched ; and 
 will not he who holds the tyranny longest and exercises 
 it most, be really such in the greatest measure and for 
 the longest time ? but many as are men, so many are 
 their minds. Of necessity, said he, these things must 
 be so. And would not the tyrant man, said I, as closely 
 resemble a state under tyranny, as the democratic man 
 resembles the state under democracy, and so likewise as 
 respects the others ? Of course. As state then is to 
 state with regard to virtue and happiness, so surely will 
 man be to man likewise ? Of course. What then is the 
 state governed by a tyrant as compared with one under 
 a kingly government, such as we first described ? The 
 exact contrary, said he ; for the one is best and the other 
 the worst. I will not ask, said I, which you mean, for 
 that is plain; but do you judge is it thus or otherwise, 
 that you judge of their happiness and misery ? and let us 
 not be struck with admiration when considering the 
 tyrant himself, or the few about him ; but let us, as we 
 ought, enter into the whole state, and declare our opinion, 
 after going through and viewing every part. You pro- 
 pose what is right, said he : and it is clear to all that no 
 state is more wretched than one under tyranny, and none 
 more happy than that under regal power. Well, then, said 
 I, in proposing these same things with respect to individual 
 men, should I rightly propose, if I accounted that man a 
 suitable judge of them, who can by intellectual power 
 penetrate into and inspect a man's disposition, and is not 
 as a child looking at exteriors, astounded by the pomp, 
 which tyrants exhibit to those without, but has the 
 power of looking properly through him ? If then I 
 thought that we should all listen to the man, who from 
 
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 having dwelt with him in the same house, and been 
 joined in his family transactions is able to judge how 
 he behaves to each of his domestics, [in which most 
 especially a man appears stripped of his actor's finery], 
 and so also in public dangers; and if when he has ob- 
 served all this, I were to bid him declare how the tyrant 
 stands, as regards happiness and misery, in comparison 
 with others. You would be quite right in proposing this, 
 observed he. Are you willing then, said I, that we should 
 set up to be of the number of those who are able to 
 judge and who have already fallen in with such charac- 
 ters, so that we may have some one to answer our ques- 
 tions ? By all means. 
 
 Chap. V. Come then, said I, thus consider it: call to 
 mind the mutual resemblance of the state and individual 
 man ; and thus, considering each by turns, describe to us 
 the passions of each. What passions ? said he. To begin 
 first, said I, with the state ; do you call the one under 
 tyranny, free or enslaved ? Enslaved, said he, in the 
 greatest degree possible. And moreover, you see in it 
 some who are masters and freemen ? I see some indeed, 
 said he, but exceedingly few: but the greatest and best 
 part therein generally is shamefully and wretchedly 
 enslaved. If then, said I, the individual man resembles 
 the state, will he not necessarily be placed under like 
 circumstances, and his soul be filled with slavery and 
 illiberality, and those parts of it, too, be enslaved which 
 were the most noble, and that small part of it, too, assume 
 the mastery, which is the most wicked and insane of all ? 
 Quite so, said he. "What then, will you say that such a 
 soul is slavish or free ? Slavish perhaps, I say. But is 
 not the state that is slavish, and governed by tyranny, 
 least of all able to do what it likes ? Aye, quite so. 
 And speaking of a soul generally, will it not, when gov- 
 erned by tyranny, least of all do what it likes, but being 
 constantly hurried by some stinging passion, be full of 
 tumult and inconstancy ? Of course it must be so. But 
 will the state governed by tyranny be necessarily rich or 
 poor ? Poor. And must a soul under a tyranny then be 
 ever penurious and insatiable ? Just so, said he. But 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 303 
 
 what, — must not such a state and such an individual be 
 necessarily full of fear ? It must be so. As for lamenta- 
 tions, and groans, and weepings, and torments, think you 
 that you would find more in any other kind of state ? By 
 no means. And in a man, think you that such things exist 
 in any one to a greater extent than in this tyrannical 
 one who is maddened by his desires and lusts ? How 
 can they ? said he. It is with reference, I suppose, then 
 to all these, and other stich-like things, that you have 
 deemed this the most wretched of all states ? Was I not 
 right then in doing so ? said he. Certainly, said I. But 
 what say you again as respects the tyrannical man, with 
 regard to these same things ? That he is by far, said 
 he, the most wretched of all in the world. This, replied 
 I, you are not quite correct in saying. How ? said he. 
 He is not as yet, methinks, said I, as unhappy as he can 
 be. But who is so ? The following person probably you 
 will deem even yet more miserable than the other. 
 Which ? That man, said, I, who being naturally tyran- 
 nical, remains not in private life, but is unfortunate 
 enough to be induced by his destiny to become a tyrant. 
 From what has been formerly observed, said he, I pre- 
 sume that what you say is true. Yes, said I ; but we 
 ought not merely to conjecture about matters so impor- 
 tant as these, but to sift them to the bottom, in the way 
 we are now about to do; for most momentous is the 
 inquiry about a good life and a bad one. Quite right, 
 said he. Consider, then, whether there be anything in 
 what I say; for, in considering this question, it is my 
 opinion that we ought to perceive it from what follows. 
 From what ? From every individual private man, among 
 such as are rich, and possess many slaves ; for these have 
 at least this resemblance to tyrants, that they rule over 
 many, — the difference being in the multitude of the latter. 
 Aye, there is some difference. Are you sure then that 
 these live securely, without dread of their domestics ? 
 Aye, for what should they fear ? Nothing, said I ; but 
 do you understand the reason ? Yes ; because the whole 
 state assists each particular individual. You say right, 
 replied I : but what, if one of the gods were to take a 
 man who had fifty slaves or upward out of the state, 
 
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 both himself, his wife and children, and set them down 
 in a desert with the rest of his property, and his domes- 
 tics, where no freemen would be likely to render him 
 aid, — what kind of fear, think you, he would entertain 
 about himself, his children, and his wife, of being 
 destroyed by the domestics ? The greatest possible, 
 methinks, replied he. Would he not be obliged to flatter 
 some of his very slaves and make them many promises, 
 and set them at liberty without need, and so appear to 
 be himself the flatterer of servants ? He must of 
 course be compelled to do so, said he, or else be 
 destroyed. But what, said I; if the god were to place 
 round him many other neighbors who could not endure 
 for any one to pretend to lord it over another, and 
 wherever they find such an one, punished him with 
 extreme rigor ? Methinks, he would be still more dis- 
 tressed, said he, when thus beset by a whole host of 
 foes. And is not the tyrant bound in such a prison- 
 house, if he be of such disposition as we have described, — 
 full of many and all kinds of aversions and desires; and 
 whilst he is most eager in his soul, he alone of all in the 
 state is not allowed to go abroad, or to see what others 
 love to see, but huddles himself at home, and lives mostly 
 as a woman, envying the other citizens, whenever they 
 travel abroad, and see what is good ? Wholly so, of 
 course, replied he. 
 
 Chap. VI. Well, then, through such evils as these, 
 does not the man reap still more, who, being ill-gov- 
 erned within himself [a person whom you just now 
 deemed to be the most of all wretched], remains not in 
 private station, but through some fortune or other is 
 obliged to act the tyrant, and though unable to control 
 himself, attempts to govern others, as if with a body 
 diseased, and unable to support itself, one were com- 
 pelled to live not in a state of privacy, but in wrestling 
 and fighting ag-ainst other bodies ? What you say, Soc- 
 rates, replied he, is altogether most probable and true. 
 Is not this condition, then, dear Glaucon, said I, alto- 
 gether wretched; and does not the tyrant live more 
 wretchedly even than the man that you conceive to live 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 305 
 
 the most wretchedly of all ? Quite so, replied he. True 
 is it, then, though one may fancy otherwise, that the 
 really tyrannical man is really a slave to the greatest 
 flatteries and slaveries, and a flatterer of the most 
 abandoned men ; and without ever in the smallest degree 
 satisfying his desires, he is of all men most in want of 
 most things, and poor, indeed, if one could but look into 
 his whole soul, and full of fear throughout life, filled 
 with terrors and griefs, — if, indeed, he resembles the con- 
 stitution of the state he rules: and he does resemble it, 
 does he not ? Extremely, said he. 
 
 And in addition to this, shall we not ascribe also to 
 the tyrant-man what we formerly mentioned that he must 
 necessarily be, and by governing become increasingly 
 envious, faithless, unjust, unfriendly, impious, the enter- 
 tainer and encourager of all vice; and from all these 
 causes be specially happy himself, and render all about 
 him happy likewise ? No one of understanding will, said 
 he, contradict you. Come, then, said I, as a judge who 
 is examining the whole case; so tell me, who, in your 
 opinion, is first in happiness, and who second, and the 
 rest in order, five in all; namely, the regal, the timo- 
 cratic, the oligarchal, the democratic, and the tyrannic. 
 Easy, indeed, is this decision, said he: for as they came 
 before us, I have judged of them as public actors, by 
 their virtue and vice, happiness and its contrary. Shall 
 we then hire ourselves a herald ? said I ; or shall I my- 
 self declare, that the son of Ariston has judged the best 
 and justest man to be the happiest [and that this is the 
 man who is fittest to be as king, and as king, too, over 
 himself] ; and that the worst and the most unjust is the 
 most wretched ; and that he is the most tyrannical, who in 
 the greatest degree tyrannizes over himself and the state ? 
 So let it be pronounced by you, said he. Must I, then, 
 state in addition, said I, whether they be unknown to be 
 such or not, to all men, and the gods too ? Pray do so, 
 said he. 
 
 Chap. VII. Well, then, said I; this would seem to be 
 one of our proofs; and this, if you please, must be the 
 second. Which is this ? Since the soul, said I, of every 
 20 
 
3o6 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 individual is divided into three parts, just as we divided 
 our state, it will, in my opinion, admit of a second illus- 
 tration. What is that ? It is this : of the parts of the 
 soul there appear to me to be three pleasures, one 
 peculiar to each, with desires and governments in like 
 manner. How say you ? replied he. One part we say, 
 by which a man learns, another by which he is roused 
 to spirit; but as for the third, it is so multiform, that 
 we cannot express it by any one word peculiar to itself, 
 but have named it from the greatest and most impetuous 
 part thereof; calling it the desiderative, from the im- 
 petuosity of the desires for eating and drinking, and sexual 
 pleasures, and such-like enjoyments, and calling it money- 
 loving also, as it is through wealth most especially that 
 such desires are accomplished. And we said rightly, 
 replied he. Well, then, if we are to call it the pleasure 
 and delight in gain, shall we not do best to reduce it 
 under one head in our discourse, so that we may have 
 something quite clear to ourselves, when we are speak- 
 ing of this part of the soul ? And in calling it money- 
 loving, and profit-loving, shall we not be giving it its 
 proper term? Yes, I think so, said he. But what; do 
 not we say, that the spirited principle ought to be wholly 
 impelled to superiority, victory, and applause ? Especially 
 so. If, then, we term it the contentious and ambitious, 
 shall we not accurately express it ? Most accurately. 
 But [as regards that part of the soul] by which we gain 
 knowledge, it is clear to every one, that it is wholly 
 intent on always knowing the truth, wherever it may 
 be; and as to wealth and glory, least of all does it care 
 for these. Just so. By terming it, then, the love of 
 learning, and philosophy, we shall be defining it correctly ? 
 Of course. And in these people's souls, said I, one 
 governs in some, and the other in others, as it happens ? 
 Just so, said he. This was why we said, then, that of 
 men also there were three original species ; the philosophic, 
 the ambitious, and the avaricious ? Surely so. And like- 
 wise three species of pleasures, corresponding to each of 
 the others ? Yes, certainly. You know, then, said I, 
 that if you were to ask these three men, by turns, which 
 of these lives is the pleasantest, each would most com- 
 
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 mend his own ; and the money-maker would say, that, 
 compared with the pleasures of acquirinj>- wealth, those 
 arising from honor, or learning, are of no value, unless 
 they bring in money ? True, said he. And what says 
 the ambitious man ? said I : does not he deem the pleas- 
 ure arising from money-making a sort of burden; and 
 again, that which arises from learning, unless it bring 
 him honor, mere smoke and trifling ? So it is, said he. 
 And as for the philosopher, said I, we may suppose that 
 he deems all other pleasures in comparison with that of 
 knowing the nature of truth as a mere nothing, and that, 
 while constantly employed in learning something of this 
 kind, he is not far off from pleasure, and calls them really 
 necessary, because he wanted none else, except when com- 
 pelled by necessity. This, said he, you should well know. 
 
 Chap. VIIL When these several lives then, said I, 
 and the pleasures peculiar to each, are at variance with 
 each other, not with reference to a mode of life, worthier 
 or more base, worse or better, but merely with reference 
 to living more pleasantly or painfully ; how can we know 
 which of the two speaks most in accordance with truth ? 
 I am not, said he, quite able to tell. But consider it 
 thus: by what criterion ought we to judge about matters 
 rightly presented for our judgment; is it not by experi- 
 ence, prudence, and reason, or can we find any better 
 criterion than these ? How can we ? said he. Consider 
 now; of the three men, who is the most experienced in 
 all the pleasures ? Think you that the money-loving 
 man, by learning the real nature of truth, gains more 
 experience in the pleasure arising from knowledge, than 
 the philosopher has in that resulting from the acquisition 
 of wealth ? There is a great difference, said he : for the 
 philosopher must necessarily from early childhood taste 
 the other pleasures; but what it is to know real beings, 
 and how sweet is its pleasure, the money-getting man 
 need not taste, or become experienced therein; nay, 
 indeed, it is no easy matter, even should he earnestly 
 try to accomplish it. The philosopher then, said I, far 
 surpasses the money-getting man, at least in experience 
 of both the pleasures. Far indeed. But what as regards 
 
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 the ambitious man, has he any more experience in the 
 pleasures arising from honor, than the philosopher in that 
 which arises from the exercise of intellect ? Honor, in- 
 deed, said he, attends them all, if each obtains his object: 
 for the rich man is honored by many, and so is the brave, 
 and the wise: so all of them have experience, as to the 
 kind of pleasure attending honor, but in the contem- 
 plation of being itself, as to the pleasure which it gives, 
 it is impossible for any other than the philosopher to 
 have tasted it. On the ground of experience then, said 
 I, he of all men is the best judge. By far. And surely, 
 including prudence also, he alone has experience. Of 
 course. But the organ, by which these pleasures must 
 be judged, is not the organ of the money-getter, nor of 
 the ambitious man, but of the philosopher. Which is 
 that ? We said somewhere, that they must be judged of 
 by reason, did we not ? Yes. But reasoning is chiefly 
 the organ of the philosopher ? Of course it is. If then 
 the things to be determined could be best determined by 
 riches and gain, what the money-getting man commended, 
 or despised, would necessarily be most agreeable to truth ? 
 Quite so. And if by honor, victory, and courage, must 
 it not be as the ambitious and contentious man deter- 
 mined ? It is evident. But since it is by experience, 
 prudence, and reason, it follows of course, said he, that 
 what is praised by the philosopher and the lover of 
 reason must be the most true. Of the three pleasures, 
 then, that which belongs to that part of the soul by 
 which we learn most is the most pleasant, and that man 
 in whom this part of us holds the chief sway lives the 
 pleasantest life. How can it be doubted ? said he : for 
 the wise man, who has the supreme right to commend, 
 commends his own life. But which life ; said I, does our 
 judge pronounce the second, and which the second pleas- 
 ure ? Plainly, that of the warlike and ambitious man ; 
 for this is nearer to his own than that of the money- 
 getter. And that of the covetous, as it appears, is last 
 of all ? Of course, said he. 
 
 Chap. IX. These things then, will succeed one another 
 in order; and the just man will twice prevail over the 
 
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 309 
 
 unjust: the third victory now, as at the Olympic games, 
 is sacred to Olympian Zeus, the Savior; for you must 
 consider, that, with the exception of that of the wise 
 man, the pleasure of the others is by no means genuine 
 nor pure, but somehow shadowed over, as I think I have 
 myself heard from one of the wise men: and this truly 
 would be the greatest and most complete downfall. Ex- 
 tremely so; but how mean you ? I will thus trace it out, 
 said I, whilst in searching you answer my questions. 
 Ask then, said he. Tell me then, said I, do we not say 
 that pain is contrary to pleasure ? Quite so. And do we 
 not say likewise, that to feel neither pleasure nor pain 
 is something ? We say it is. And that the state between 
 both of these is a certain tranquillity of the soul with 
 reference to them ; do you not so understand it ? Just so, 
 he replied. Do you not remember, said I, the speeches 
 of the diseased, which they utter when they are sick ? 
 What are they ? That nothing is sweeter than health, 
 but that it escaped their notice before they became sick, 
 that it was the sweetest. I remember it, said he. And 
 are you not wont to hear those who are under acute pain 
 say, that there is nothing sweeter than a cessation from 
 pain ? I do hear them. And you may perceive the same 
 thing in men, I think, when they are in other but similar 
 circumstances, where, if in pain, they extol a freedom from 
 pain and the tranquillity of such a state, as being most 
 sweet, though they do not extol that of feeling joy. 
 Because perhaps the latter, said he, becomes at that time 
 sweet and desirable, namely, tranquillity. And when any 
 one ceases, said I, from feeling joy, the tranquillity of 
 pleasure will be painful. Perhaps so, said he. This 
 tranquillity, then, which we just now said was between 
 the two, will at times become both pain and pleasure. 
 It seems so. What, is it possible, that what is neither 
 of the two should become both ? I do not think so. And 
 moreover, when what is pleasant or painful is in the soul, 
 both sensations are a certain excitement ; are they not ? 
 Yes. But did not that which is neither painful nor 
 pleasant appear just now to be tranquillity, and between 
 these two ? It did appear so. How is it right then, to 
 deem it sweet not to be in pain, or painful not to enjoy 
 
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 pleasure ? It is by no means right. In these cases, then, 
 tranquillity is not really so, said I ; but it appears pleasant 
 by comparison with the painful, and painful compared 
 with the pleasant; and there is nothing genuine in these 
 appearances as regards the truth of pleasure, but a certain 
 magical delusion. Aye, just as our argument proves, he 
 replied. Consider the pleasures then, said I, which do 
 not arise from the cessation of pain, so as not frequently 
 during our discussion to hold the frequent notion that 
 these two naturally thus subsist; viz., that pleasure is 
 the cessation of pain, and pain the cessation of pleasure. 
 How, said he, and to what pleasures do you allude ? 
 There are many others, said I, particularly if you wish 
 to consider the pleasures that arise from smell; for these, 
 without any preceding pain, are on a sudden immensely 
 great, and, when they cease, they leave no pain behind 
 them. Most true, said he. Let us not then be per- 
 suaded that pure pleasure is the removal of pain, or pain 
 the removal of pleasure. No, we will 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 most considerable, are of this species, 
 certain cessation from pain ? They are so. And are not 
 the preconceptions of pleasure and pain, which arise in 
 the mind from their expectation, of the same kind ? Of 
 the same. 
 
 Chap. X. Do you know then, said I, of what class they 
 are and what they chiefly resemble ? What ? said he. 
 Do you conceive, said I, there is any such thing in nature 
 as this, the above, the below, and the middle ? I do. 
 Do you think then that anyone, when brought from the 
 below to the middle, imagines any thing 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 that he is anywhere else than above, whilst yet 
 he has not seen the true above ? By Zeus, 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 conjecture he was carried to the below, and 
 conjecture rightly ? He would of course. Would he not 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 be thus affected from his want of experience in what is 
 really above, and in the middle, and below ? Plainly so. 
 Would you wonder then, that while men are inexperienced 
 in the truth, they have unsound opinions in many other 
 things, and that as to pleasvire and pain, and what is 
 between these, they are likewise affected in the same 
 manner; so that, even when they are brought to what is 
 painful, they conceive truly, and are really pained; but 
 when from pain they are brought to the middle, they 
 strongly imagine that they have arrived at the highest 
 pitch of pleasure, in the same manner as those, who 
 along with the black color look at the gray, through inex- 
 perience of the white, and so are deceived ? and just so 
 those who consider pain along with the freedom from 
 pain, are deceived through inexperience of pleasure. By 
 Zeus, said he, I should not wonder, but much rather if 
 it were not so. Consider the matter thus, said I ; are not 
 hunger and thirst, and such-like things, certain empti- 
 nesses in the bodily habit ? Of course. And are not igno- 
 rance and folly an emptiness in the habit of the soul ? 
 Quite so. And is not the one filled when it receives food, 
 and the other when it acquires intelligence ? Surely. But 
 which is the more real repletion, that of the less, or the 
 more truly real being ? It is plain, that of the more real. 
 Which species, then, do you think, participate most of a 
 purer essence ; those which partake of bread, and drink, 
 and meat, and all such sort of nourishment ; or that species 
 which partakes of true opinion and science, and intel- 
 ligence, and, in short, of all virtue ? — And judge of it 
 thus: That which is connected with what is always sim- 
 ilar, and immortal, and trtie, and is so of itself, and 
 arises in what is of the same character, think you that 
 it has more of the reality of being, than what is con- 
 nected to what is never similar and mortal, and is such 
 itself, and is generated in a thing of the same charac- 
 ter ? Aye, said he, this differs greatly from that which 
 is always similar. Does then the essence of that which 
 is always similar participate more of essence than of 
 science ? By no means. But what as regards truth ? 
 Nor of this neither. If it participate less of truth, does 
 it not likewise do so of essence ? Of necessity. In short, 
 
312 
 
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 then, do not those species which relate to the care of 
 the body partake less of truth and essence, than those 
 relating to the care of the soul ? By far. And the body 
 likewise less than the soul ; do you not think so ? I do. 
 Is not that which is filled with more real beings, and is 
 itself a more real being, in reality more truly filled than 
 that which is filled with less real beings, and is itself a 
 less real being ? Of course it is. If then it be pleasant 
 to be filled with what is suitable to nature, that which 
 is in reality filled, and with more real being, 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 solidly filled, and participates of 
 a more uncertain and less genuine pleasure. Most nec- 
 essarily, said he. Such then as are unacquainted with 
 wisdom and virtue, and are always conversant in feast- 
 ings and things of that kind, are carried, as it appears, 
 to the below, and back again to the middle; and there 
 they wander during life: but as they never pass beyond 
 this, they do not look toward the true above, and are 
 not carried to it; nor are they ever really filled with real 
 being; nor have they ever tasted solid and pure pleas- 
 ure; but, after the manner of brutes looking always 
 downward, bowed toward earth and their tables, they 
 live feeding and coupling; and from a lust for such 
 things, they kick and push at one another as with iron 
 horns and hoofs, and perish through their own insatiety, 
 just like those who are filling with unreal being that 
 which is no real being, nor friendly to themselves. You 
 are describing, Socrates, with quite oracular perfection, 
 rejoined Glaucon, what is the life of the multitude. 
 Must they not then, of necessity be conversant with 
 pleasures mixed with pains, images of the true pleasure, 
 shadowed in outline, and colored by their position beside 
 each other; so that both their pleasures and pains will 
 appear vehement, and engender their mad passions in 
 the foolish ? Hence also they must fight about these 
 things, as Stesichorus says those at Troy fought about 
 the image of Helen, through ignorance of the true one. 
 Of necessity, said he, something of this kind must take 
 place. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 313 
 
 Chap. XI. But what ? must not the same things nec- 
 essarily happen to the irascible part of the soul, whenever 
 any one gratifies it, either through envy from ambition, 
 or violence from contentiousness, or anger from moroseness, 
 pursuing a glut of honor, of conquest, and of anger, both 
 without reason, and without intelligence ? Such things as 
 these, said he, must necessarily happen with relation to 
 this part of the soul. What then, said I, can we con- 
 fidently say concerning all the pleasures, both as respects 
 the avaricious and the ambitious part, that such of them 
 as obey science and reason, and, in conjunction therewith, 
 pursue and obtain the pleasures of which the prudent 
 part of the soul is the leader, that these will obtain the 
 truest pleasures, as far as it is possible for them to attain 
 true pleasure, and in as much as they follow truth, pleasures 
 properly their own ; if indeed what is best for each be most 
 properly his own ? Aye, it surely is most properly his own, 
 said he. When then the whole soul is obedient to the philo- 
 sophic 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 genuine. Certainly, indeed. But 
 when any of the others governs, it happens that it neither 
 attains its own pleasures, and it compels the other parts 
 to pursue a pleasure foreign to them, and not at all 
 genuine. It does so, said he. Will not then those parts, 
 which are most remote from philosophy and reason most 
 especially effect such things ? Very much so. And is not 
 that which is most remote from law and order, most re- 
 mote likewise 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, will be the most remote from 
 true pleasure, and such as is most properly his own, and 
 the other will be the least. Of necessity. And the tyrant, 
 said I, will 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 seems, one legitimate, and two 
 
314 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 illegitimate; the tyrant in carrying the illegitimate to 
 extremity, and flying from law and reason, dwells with 
 slavish pleasures as his life-gnardians, and how far he is 
 inferior cannot easily be told, unless it be done in this 
 manner. How ? said he. The tyrant is somehow in the 
 third degree remote from the oligarchic character; for the 
 democratic was halfway between them. Yes. Will he 
 not then dwell in the third picture of pleasure, distant 
 from him as regards truth, if our former reasonings be 
 true ? Just so. But the oligarchic is the third again from 
 the royal, if we suppose the aristocratic and the royal the 
 same ? He is the third. The tyrant then, said I, is re- 
 mote from true pleasure, the third from the third ? So it 
 seems. A plain surface then, said I, may be the image 
 of tyrannical pleasure, as to the computation of length. 
 Certainly. But as to power, and the third augment, it 
 is manifest by how great a distance it is remote. It is 
 manifest, said he, to the computer at least. If now, con- 
 versely, any one shall say the king is distant from tyrant 
 as to truth of pleasure, as much as is the distance 9, and 
 20, and 700, shall he not, on completing the multiplication, 
 find him leading the more pleasant life, and the tyrant 
 the more wretched one, by this same distance?* You 
 have heaped up, said he, a prodigious account of the dif- 
 ference 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 
 
 * The following numbers are employed by Plato in this place. He 
 considers the Royal character as analogous to unity, the Oligarchic to 
 the number 3, and the Tyrannic to the number 9. As 3 therefore is 
 triple of unity, the Oligarchic is the third from the Royal character ; and 
 in a similar manner the Tyrant is distant from the Oligarchist by the 
 triple in number; for g is the triple of 3, just as 3 is the triple of i. 
 But 9 is a plane number, the length of which is 3, and also its breadth. 
 And a tyrannic, says Plato, is the last image of a royal life. He also 
 calls 3 a POWER, because unity being multiplied by it, and itself by 
 itself, and 9 by it, there will be produced 3, 9, 27. But he calls the 
 third augment 27, arising from the multiplication of the power 3, 
 and producing depth or a solid number. Lastly, 27 multiplied into 
 itself produces 729, which may be considered as a perfect multiplica- 
 tion, this number being the 6th power of 3 ; and 6 as is well known 
 is a perfect number. Hence, as the King is analogous to i, he is said, 
 lay Plato, to be 729 times distant from the Tyrant. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 3'5 
 
 days, and nights, and months, and years, correspond to 
 them. But they do correspond, said he. 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 
 surpass him in decorum of life, in beauty, and in virtue! 
 Prodigious, indeed, by Zeus, he replied. 
 
 Chap. XIL Well then, said I, since we have reached 
 this part of our argument, let us recapitulate what we 
 first said, on account of which we came hither: now it 
 was said, if I mistake not, that it is advantageous to one 
 who is thoroughly unjust, but who has the character of 
 being just to commit injustice. 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 ideally 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 are spoken of, where many particular 
 natures existed together in one. They are spoken of in- 
 deed, said he. Let us form now the figure of a creature, 
 various, and many-headed,* having all around heads of 
 tame creatures, and of wild, and having power in itself 
 of changing all these heads, and of breeding them out of 
 itself. This is the work, said he, of a skillful modeler: 
 however, as the formation is easier in reasoning, than in 
 wax and such-like, let it be formed. Let there be now 
 one other figure of a lion f 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. Unite now these three in one, so that they may 
 somehow coexist. They are united, 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 
 
 *By this many-headed beast, desire is signified, 
 f The lion signifies anger, and the figure of a man reason ; for the 
 whole soul is divided into reason, anger, and desire. 
 
3i6 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 covering, the man may appear one creature. It is formed 
 all round, said he. Let us now tell him who asserts that 
 it is profitable to this man to do injustice, but to do 
 justice unprofitable, that he asserts nothing else, than 
 that it is profitable for him to feast the multiform crea- 
 ture, and to make it strong; and likewise the lion, and 
 what respects the lion, whilst the man he kills with 
 famine, and renders weak, so as to be dragged which- 
 ever 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 bite one another, and to fight and de- 
 vour each other. He, said he, who commends the doing 
 injustice, undoubtedly asserts these things. And does 
 not he again, who says it is advantageous to act justly, 
 say that he ought to do and to say such things by which 
 the inner man shall come to have the most entire com- 
 mand of the man, and, as a tiller of the ground, shall 
 take care of the many-headed creature, cherishing the 
 mild ones, 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 com- 
 mends injustice, to speak what is false; for, as respects 
 pleasure, applause, and profit, he who commends justice 
 speaks the truth, and he who discommends it speaks 
 nothing genuine ; nor does he discommend with under- 
 standing 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 maxims of things 
 beautiful and base become so upon such accounts as 
 these ? Those are good which make the brutal part of 
 our nature most subject to the man, or rather perhaps 
 to that which is divine ; while those are evil which en- 
 slave 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 avails, from 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 317 
 
 this reasoning, to take gold unjustly, supposing some- 
 thing of this kind to happen, if, while taking the money, 
 he at the same time subjects the best part of himself to 
 the worst ? Or if, taking gold, he should enslave 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 en- 
 slaves the most divine part of himself to the most im- 
 pious and most polluted part, without any pity, is he 
 not wretched ? and does he not take a gift of gold to his 
 far more dreadful ruin, than Eriphyle did when she re- 
 ceived the necklace for her husband's life ? By far, said 
 Glaucon; for I will answer you for him. 
 
 Chap. XIII. Do you not, then, think that intemper- 
 ance has of old been blamed on these accounts, because 
 in such persons that terrible, great, and multiform beast 
 was indulged more than was decent ? Plainly so, said 
 he. And are not arrogance and moroseness blamed, 
 when the lion-like and serpentine disposition increases 
 and stretches beyond measure ? Certainly. And are not 
 luxury and effeminacy blamed because of the remissness 
 and looseness of this disposition, when it engenders 
 cowardice in the man ? What else ? Are not flattery 
 and illiberality blamed, when any one makes this iras- 
 cible 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 mechanical arts and handi- 
 crafts bring disgrace ? Shall we say it is on any other 
 account than this, that when a man has the form of that 
 which is best in his soul naturally weak, so as not to be 
 able to govern the creatures within himself, but minis- 
 ters to them, he 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 must be the servant of one who is the 
 best, and who has within him the divine governing 
 principle ? no{ at all conceiving that he should be gov- 
 erned to the hurt of the subject (as Thrasymachus 
 
3i8 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 imagined), but, as it is best for every one to be gov- 
 erned, by one divine and wise, most especially possessing 
 it as his own within him, if not subjecting himself to it 
 externally; that as far as possible we may all resemble 
 one another and be friends, governed by one and the 
 same ? 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 for youth, and then at length we set it free. 
 It shows it indeed, said he. In what way, then, shall 
 we say, Glaucon, and according to what reasoning, 
 that it is profitable to do injustice, to be intem- 
 perate, or to do anything base, by which a man 
 shall indeed become more wicked, but yet shall ac- 
 quire 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 ? 
 or does he not indeed, who is concealed, still become 
 more wicked ? but he who is not concealed, and is pun- 
 ished, 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 vigor and beauty, with a 
 sound constitution ; in as far as the soul is more valuable 
 than the body. Entirely so, said he. Will not every- 
 body then, who possesses intellect, regulate his life, first 
 by extending hither the whole of his powers, honoring 
 those branches of science which will render his soul of 
 this kind, and despising all other things ? It is plain, 
 said he. And next, said I, with regard to a good habit 
 of body and its nourishment, he will spend his life in 
 attention to these, not that he may indulge the brutal and 
 irrational pleasure ; nor yet with a view to health, nor 
 principally with reference to becoming strong, healthy, 
 and beautiful, unless by these means he is to become 
 temperate likewise: but he always appears to adjust the 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 310 
 
 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. Will he not then, in acquiring wealth, 
 maintain accord and symphony ? nor moved by the con- 
 gratulations of the multitude will he increase the bulk 
 of his treasures to an infinite amount, occasioning thereby 
 infinite evils ? I think not, said he. But looking, said I, 
 to the government of it himself, and taking care that 
 nothing there be moved out of its place, through the 
 greatness or smallness of his property, thus governing as 
 far as he is able, he will add to his property, and spend 
 out of it. Entirely so, said he. He will regard honors, 
 likewise, in the same manner; of some he will willingly 
 take a share, and taste of those which he judges will 
 render him a better man, but as for those which he 
 thinks would dissolve that habit of soul which sub- 
 sists within him, he will fly from both those privately 
 and in public. He will not be willing, then, said he, to 
 act the politician, if he takes care of this. Yes, truly, 
 said I, in his own state, and greatly too ; but not proba- 
 bly in this country, unless some divine fortune befall 
 him. I understand, said he. You mean, in the state we 
 have now established, which exists only in our reasoning, 
 but I think has no existence on earth. But in heaven, 
 probably, said I, there is a model of it, for any one who in- 
 clines to contemplate it, and on contemplating to regulate 
 himself accordingly; and to him it matters not whether 
 it does exist anywhere, or will ever exist here: for 
 he would perform the duties of this city alone, and of 
 no other. It is reasonable, said he. 
 
BOOK X. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 The CONCLUDING BOOK of the Republic comprises two main subjects 
 of inquiry. First, he explains more fully than he had done in the 
 third book, the reason for excluding from his pattern state the accom- 
 plishment of poetry, so highly prized by the Athenians, but neverthe- 
 less he allows the admission of that chaste and harmless kind of it; 
 such as hymns to the gods and odes in honor of celebrated men ; and, 
 lastly, he treats of the rewards both present and to come, resulting 
 from the practice of justice, and of the punishments on the other 
 which attend on injustice, which is totally opposed to state-happi- 
 ness. 
 
 Chapter I. Moreover, remarked I, both in many other 
 respects, I observe that we have been rightly establish- 
 ing our state, better indeed than all others; and not 
 least so do I say, as regards our sentiments concerning 
 poetry. What are they ? said he. That no part of it 
 which is imitative should by any means be admitted ; for 
 that it must not be admitted appears now, methinks, ex- 
 ceedingly clear, since the several forms of the soul have 
 been distinguished apart from one another. How do you 
 mean ? That I may tell it to you, (for you will not de- 
 nounce me to the composers of tragedy, and the rest of 
 the imitative class), all such things as these seem to be 
 the ruin of the intellect of the hearers, that is, of such 
 of them as have not a test to enable them to discern 
 their peculiar nature. What consideration, said he, leads 
 you to say this ? It must be stated, said I ; although a 
 certain friendship, at least, and reverence for Homer, 
 which I have had from my childhood, almost restrains m-e 
 from telling it; for he seems truly both to have been 
 the first leader and teacher of all the good composers of 
 tragedy; but still the man must not be honored in pref- 
 erence to truth. But what I mean must be spoken. By 
 all means, said he. Hear me then, or rather answer me. 
 (320) 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 321 
 
 Put your question then. Can you tell me perfectly, what 
 is the nature of imitation ? for I do not myself altogether 
 understand its meaning. Is it possible then, said he, that 
 I shall any how understand it ? That would be 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 while you are present, I 
 would not venture to tell, even though I had some ink- 
 ling of it, but consider it yourself. Do you wish then, 
 that we hence begin our inquiry in our usual method ? 
 for we used to suppose a certain idea relating to many 
 individuals, to which we give the same name ; do you 
 not understand ? I do understand. Let us suppose now 
 any one you please among the many, as for example, if 
 you will, there are many beds and tables. Of covirse. 
 But the ideas, at least respecting these pieces of furni- 
 ture, are two, one of bed, and one of table. Yes. And 
 do we not usually say, that the workman of each of these 
 pieces of furniture, looking toward the idea, makes them 
 thus — one of them the beds, and the other the tables 
 which we use ; and all other things in like manner ? for 
 surely not one of the artificers makes the idea itself ; for 
 how can he ? By no means. See now then, what kind 
 of an artificer do you call this ? Which ? He who makes 
 all things which each several artificer makes. You are 
 alluding to some skillful and wonderful person. 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 makes everything also which springs from 
 the earth, and he makes all sorts of animals, himself as 
 well as others; and besides these things, he makes the 
 earth, the heaven and the gods, and all things in heaven, 
 and in Hades under the earth. You are speaking, said 
 he, of a perfectly wonderful sophist. Do you disbelieve 
 me ? said I ; but tell me, do you not think that there is 
 such an artificer; or that in one respect he is the maker 
 of all these things, and in another not so ? 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 
 done in many ways, and quickly too; but in the quickest 
 21 
 
322 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 way of all, if I mistake not, if you please to make a mirrof, 
 and carry it round everywhere ; for then you will very 
 quickly make the sun, and the heavenly bodies, the earth, 
 yourself, and the other animals and utensils and plants, 
 and all that we have just now mentioned. Yes, said he, 
 the appearances, but not surely the realities. You come 
 in, said I, both well and seasonably, with your remark; 
 for the painter too, methinks, is an artificer of this kind ; 
 is he not ? He cannot possibly be otherwise. You will 
 say then, I suppose, that he does not make what he makes 
 real and true, although the painter too, in a certain man- 
 ner at least, makes a bed, does he not ? Aye, said he ; 
 but he too makes only the appearance. 
 
 Chap. II. But what as to the bed-maker? did you not 
 just now say, that he does not make the idea which we 
 say exists, and is a bed, but only a particular bed ? I 
 did say so. If then he does not make that which really 
 exists, he does not make real being, but something resem- 
 bling being, though not being itself: but if any one should 
 say that the work of the bed-maker, or any other crafts- 
 man, were real being, it seems he would not say what 
 is true. He would not, said he, as it should seem to 
 those who are acquainted with such discussions. We 
 must not then be surprised if this likewise should seem 
 somewhat obscure compared with the truth. Certainly 
 not. Are you willing then, said I, that as regards these 
 very things we inquire concerning the real nature of their 
 imitator ? If you please, he replied. Are there not then 
 these three sorts of beds: one existing in nature, and 
 which we may say, I suppose, God made, or who else ? 
 No one, I think. And another which the joiner makes ? 
 Yes, said he. And a third which the painter makes: is 
 It not so ? Granted. Now the painter, the bed-maker, 
 God, these three are the masters of three species of beds? 
 They are three indeed. But God, whether it were that 
 he was unwilling, or whether there was some necessity 
 that he should only make one bed in nature, made this 
 one only, which is really a bed; while two or more of 
 such other species have never been produced, nor ever 
 will be produced by God. How so ? said he. Because, 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 323 
 
 said I, if he had made but two, one again would have 
 appeared, the idea of which both these two would have 
 possessed, and that idea would be that of a bed, and not 
 those two. Right, said he. God then, methinks, being 
 aware of these things, and willing to be the maker of a 
 bed really, and having real being, though of no one par- 
 ticular bed, and not to be any particular bed-maker, pro- 
 duced but one in nature ? It seems so. Are you willing 
 then that we should call him the producer of this, or of 
 something of a similar nature ? It is just, said he, since 
 he has in their essential nature created this, as well as 
 all other things. But what as to the joiner ? is not he 
 the maker of a bed ? Yes. And is the painter, too, the 
 workman and maker of something similar ? By no means. 
 But what will you say he has to do with a bed ? This, 
 as I think, we may most reasonably call him, said he, 
 an imitator of what the others actually make and contrive. 
 Be it so, said I ; then him you call the imitator who makes 
 what is generated the third from nature ? Quite so, he 
 replied. And this composer of tragedy will in like man- 
 ner, as being an imitator, rise as a sort of third from 
 the king and the truth ; and so likewise all other imitators ? 
 Aye, so it seems. We have agreed, then, as to the 
 imitator ? but tell me this concerning the painter, whether 
 you think he undertakes to imitate each particular thing in 
 nature, or the works of artificers ? The works of artificers, 
 said he. Whether, such as they really are, or such onl)^ as 
 they appear ? for this we must define more correctly. How 
 say you ? said he. Thus : does a bed differ at all in itself, 
 whether a man view it obliquely or directly opposite, or in 
 any particular position ? or, is it not at all different, but only 
 apparently different, and so on as respects other things ? 
 Thus it appears, said he, yet it does not really differ. 
 Consider this too, with reference to which of the two does 
 painting work, in each particular work ; whether with refer- 
 ence to real being, to imitate it as it really is, or with 
 reference to what is apparent, as it appears ; and whether 
 is it the imitation of appearance, or of truth ? Only of 
 appearance, said he. The imitative art, then, is far from 
 the truth : and on this account it seems, he is able to make 
 these things, because he is able to attain pnly to som?. 
 
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 small part of each particular, and that but an image. 
 Thus we say that a painter will paint us a shoemaker, a 
 joiner, and other craftsmen, though having no acquaint- 
 ance with any of these 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. Of 
 course. But this, I think, my friend, we must take into 
 consideration in connection with all these things; that 
 when any one tells us of any one, that he has met with a 
 man skilled in all kinds of workmanship, and everything 
 else which each particular artist understands, and that he 
 knows everything whatever more accurately than any one 
 else, we ought to reply to such an one, that he is a simple- 
 ton, and that it seems he has been deceived by falling in 
 with some conjurer, or imitator, so as to seem to himself, 
 to know everything owing to his very incapacity of distin- 
 guishing between science and ignorance and imitation. 
 Most true, said he. 
 
 Chap. III. Ought we not then next, said I, to consider 
 tragedy and its leader. Homer ? Since from some we hear 
 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 what he composes to compose well, — else he is 
 not able to compose. It is our business then to consider 
 whether those who have fallen in with these imitators have 
 been deceived, and on viewing their works have not 
 perceived that they are the third distant from real being, 
 and their works such as can easily be made by one not 
 knowing the truth (for they make phantasms, and not real 
 beings) ; or whether do they say something to the pur- 
 pose, and do the good poets really know the things 
 about which the multitude think they speak well. This, 
 said he, is by all means to be inquired into. Think you 
 then, that if any one could make both of these, that which 
 is imitated, and likewise the original idea, he would allow 
 himself seriously to apply to the workmanship of the 
 images, and propose that to himself as the best thing in 
 life ? I do not. But if he were really intelligent in these 
 
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 325 
 
 things which he imitates, he would, I think, far more 
 seriously study the things themselves than the imitations, 
 and would try to leave behind him many and beautiful 
 actions, as monuments of himself, and rather study to be 
 himself the person commended than the mere eulogist. 
 I think so, said he ; for neither is the honor nor the profit 
 equal. As to other things, then, let us not call them to 
 account, — asking Homer or any other of the poets, whether 
 they were skilled in medicine, and not mere imitators 
 of medical discourses; for which of the ancient or more 
 recent poets is said to have restored any to health, as 
 ^sculapius did ? or what disciples of medical science has 
 any of them left behind, such as he left his descendants ? 
 Neither let us ask them about the other arts, but leave 
 them out of the question; and with reference to those 
 greatest and most beautiful things on which Homer tries 
 to discourse, — about wars and armies, and civic constitu- 
 tions, and human education, it is just, perhaps, to ques- 
 tion and inquire of him: Friend Homer, if you be not 
 the third from the truth with regard to virtue, as being the 
 artificer of an image (for thus we have defined an imi- 
 tator), but rather the second, and can discern what pur- 
 suits render men better or worse, in private as well as 
 public, tell us which of the states has been better 
 constituted by you, as Lacedaemon was by Lycurgus, and 
 great and small cities by many others; but as respects 
 yourself, what state is it that acknowledges you to have 
 been a good lawgiver, and to have done them good 
 service ? Italy and Sicily acknowledge Charondas, and 
 we Solon ; but who acknowledges you ? Will he be able 
 to mention any one ? I think not, said Glaucon. That 
 is not pretended even by the Homeridae themselves. But 
 what war in Homer's days is recorded to have been con- 
 ducted by him as general, or adviser ? Not one. What 
 then are his discoveries ? since among the works of a 
 wise man there are many discoveries and inventions men- 
 tioned, that concern the arts, and other affairs; as of 
 Thales the Milesian, and of Anacharsis the Scythian. 
 There is not any one such to be found. But if not in a 
 public manner, has Homer the repute of having lived as a 
 private instructor to any one who delighted in his con- 
 
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 versation, and to have delivered down to posterity a cef- 
 tain Homeric manner of life, — just as Pythagoras was 
 remarkably beloved on this account, and, as even to this 
 day, such as denominate themselves Pythagorasans appear 
 to be somehow eminent beyond others in their manner 
 of life ? Neither, said he, is there anything of this kind 
 related about Homer: for Creophilus,* Socrates, the friend 
 of Homer, may probably appear even still more ridicu- 
 lot:s in his education, than in his name, if what is said 
 of Homer be true: for it is said that he was greatly 
 neglected by him when he lived. 
 
 Chap. IV. It is said so, indeed, I replied: but think 
 you, Glaucon, that if Homer had really been able to 
 educate men, and to make them better, as being capable 
 not only of imitating these matters, but of understanding 
 them likewise, he would not then have Avon many inti- 
 mate friends, and have been loved and honored by them ? 
 Whereas on the other hand, Protagoras of Abdera, and 
 Prodicus of Ceos, and many others, have the power of 
 persuading the men of their day, by private conversation, 
 that they will neither be able to govern their family or 
 the state, unless they themselves direct their education; 
 and for this wisdom of theirs, they are so exceedingly 
 beloved, that their friends almost carry them about on 
 their heads. Would then the men of Homer's time have 
 left either him or Hesiod to go about singing their songs, 
 if he could have done men service in the way of virtue, 
 and not rather have kept him with offers of gold, and 
 so obliged him to stay with them ; or, had they been un- 
 able to prevail on him, would they not as disciples have 
 followed him everywhere, till they had gained a sufficient 
 education ? Assuredly, Socrates, said he, you appear to 
 me to say what is true. Shall we not then establish 
 this point, that all the poets beginning from Homer, are 
 imitators of the images of virtue, and of other things 
 about which they compose, but yet do not attain to the 
 
 * According to the Greek scholiast, Creophilus was an epic poet of 
 Chios. Homer, it is said, married his daughter, and dwelling in his 
 house had from him the poem of the Iliad. His name, to which Socrates 
 alludes, signifies a lover of flesh. 
 
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 327 
 
 real truth ; hut, as we just now said, a painter, who him- 
 self knows nothing- about the making of shoes will draw 
 a shoemaker, apparently real only to such as are not 
 intelligent, but look at him only as to color and figures ? 
 Certainly. In the same manner, I think, we shall say 
 that the poet colors over with his names and words 
 certain colors of the several arts, without understanding 
 anything himself, but merely imitating, so that to others 
 such as himself who view things in his compositions, he 
 has the appearance of possessing knowledge : and if he says 
 anything abotit shoemaking in measure, rhythm, and har- 
 mony, he seems to speak perfectly well, whether it be 
 respecting the art of a general or any other subject; so 
 great is the enchantment which these things naturally 
 have, because you know, I think, in what manner poetry 
 appears when striped of the color of music, and expressed 
 apart, for you have somewhere beheld it. I have, said he. 
 Do they not, said I, resemble the faces of people who are 
 in the prime of their life, but yet not beautiful, such as 
 they appear when their bloom forsakes them ? Quite so, 
 said he. Come then, 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 examine it fully. Say on, replied he. A painter, 
 we say, will paint reins and a bridle. Yes. And the 
 leather-cutter, and the smith, will make them. Certainly. 
 Does the painter then 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 that this is the case in everything 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. Very necessarily, then, must he 
 who uses each particular, be the most skillful, and most 
 able to tell the maker what he makes good or bad, with 
 
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 regard to the use in which he employs it: thus, for 
 example, a flute-player will tell the flute-maker concern- 
 ing flutes, what things are expedient for playing on the 
 flute, and will give orders how he ought to make them, 
 but the latter will attend to his directions. Of course. 
 Will not the one then, being intelligent, pronounce con- 
 cerning good and bad flutes, and the other, believing 
 him, make them accordingly ? Yes. With reference 
 then to one and the same instrument, the maker will 
 form a correct opinion concerning its beauty or deform- 
 ity, while he is conversant with one who is intelligent, 
 and is obliged to hear from the intelligent; but he who 
 uses it must have science. Certainly. But will the imi- 
 tator have science from using the things he paints, 
 whether handsome and correct, or otherwise ? or will he 
 form a correct opinion from being necessarily conversant 
 with the intelligent, and from being ordered how he 
 ought to paint ? Neither of the two. The imitator then 
 will neither know nor form a correct opinion about what 
 he imitates with reference to beauty or deformity ? It 
 seems not. The imitator then will be very skillful in his 
 imitation, with regard to wisdom, concerning what he 
 paints ? Not wholly so. Nevertheless he will at least 
 imitate, without knowing about each particular in what 
 respect it is bad or good; and he will probably imitate 
 such as appears to be beautiful to the multitude, and 
 those who know nothing ? Of course. We have now, 
 indeed, sufficiently, as it appears, at least, settled these 
 things; that the imitator knows nothing worth mention- 
 ing in those things which he imitates, but imitation is a 
 sort of amusement, and no serious business: and like- 
 wise, that those who apply to tragic poetry in iambics 
 and epics, are all imitators in the highest degree ? 
 Certainly. 
 
 Chap. V. By Zeus, though, said I, this business of imi- 
 tation is placed somehow in the third degree from the 
 truth : is it not ? Yes. To what part then of man does 
 it belong, having the power that it has ? What part do 
 you speak of ? Of such as this : the same magnitude per- 
 ceived by sight, does not appear in the same manner. 
 
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 329 
 
 both 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 the water, and concave and convex, 
 through error of the sight, as to colors. All this disturb- 
 ance is manifest in the soul ; and it is this infirmity of our 
 nature which painting attacks, leaving nothing of magical 
 seduction unattempted, as well as the wonder-working art, 
 and many other such-like devices. True. And have not 
 the arts of measure, number, and weight been deemed in 
 these matters most ingenious helps, that so the apparent 
 greater or less, the apparent more or heavier, may not 
 govern us, but that which numbers, measures, and 
 weighs ? It must be so. But this again is, at least, the 
 work of the rational part in the soul. It is so, indeed. 
 But while reason often measures and pronounces some 
 things to be greater or less than other things, or equal, 
 the contrary appears at the same time as regards 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 ? Thus far indeed we said 
 rightly. That part of the soul, then, which judges con- 
 trary to the measure, would seem not to be the same 
 with that which judges according to the measure. It 
 would not. But surely that, at least, which trusts to 
 measure and computation would seem to be the best part 
 of the soul ? Of course. That, then, which opposes itself 
 to this will be one of our depraved parts. Necessarily 
 so. It was this, then, I wished should be agreed upon, 
 when I said that painting, and imitation, in general, 
 being far from the truth, delights in its own work, con- 
 versing with that part in us which is far from wisdom, 
 and is its companion and friend, to no sound or genuine 
 purpose. Entirely so, said he. Imitation, then, being 
 depraved in itself, and joining with that which is de- 
 praved, generates depraved 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 ? 
 Probably as to this also, said he. We shall not, there- 
 fore, said I, trust to the appearance in painting, but we 
 shall proceed to the consideration of the intellectual part 
 
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 with which the imitation through poetry is conversant, 
 and see whether it is depraved or worthy. It must be 
 done. Let us proceed then thus: Poetic imitation, we 
 say, imitates men acting- either voluntarily or involun- 
 tarily ; and imagining that in their acting they have done 
 either well or ill, and in all these cases receiving either 
 pain or pleasure : is the case any otherwise than this ? 
 Not at all. 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 at least; for, in our previous discussion, we suffi- 
 ciently determined all this, that our soul is full of a 
 thousand such internal contrarieties. Right, said he. 
 Right indeed, said I, but it appears to me necessary to 
 discuss now, what was then omitted. What is that ? said 
 he. We said somewhere 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 will he not grieve 
 at all, or is this indeed impossible, but will he 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 ob- 
 served. 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 saw him doing. Aye, such 
 is the case, said he. 
 
 Chap. VI. Do not then reason and law command him 
 to restrain his grief, while it is the passion itself that 
 excites grief? True. As then there is a twofold induce- 
 ment for man's conduct, with regard to the same thing, 
 at one and the same time, we must necessarily say that 
 he has two conductors. Of course. And shall we not 
 
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 33t 
 
 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 to maintain the greatest possible tranquillity in mis- 
 fortunes, and not to bear them ill; since the good or 
 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 deserves great interest; and, 
 besides this, their grief proves a hinderance to that within 
 them which we ought to have most at hand. What is it, 
 said he, you here mean ? Deliberating on the event, 
 said I; and, as on the throw of the dice, regulating our 
 affairs according to what turns up, in whatever way 
 reason shall dictate as 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 raise up what was fallen and sick, 
 putting an end to lamentation by medicine. One would 
 thus, said he, behave in the best manner in every con- 
 dition. And did not we say that the best part is willing 
 to follow this which is rational ? Plainly so. And shall 
 we not say that the part which leads to the remembrance 
 of affliction and to wailings, and is insatiably given to 
 these, is irrational, and idle, and a friend to cowardice ? 
 We shall, indeed, say so. Is not the grieving part, then, 
 that which admits of much and various imitation ? But 
 the prudent and tranquil part, which is ever uniform with 
 itself, is neither easily imitated, nor, when imitated, 
 easily understood, especially by a popular assembly, where 
 all sorts of men are assembled together in a theater. 
 For surely it is the imitation of a disposition whicb 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 multitude ; 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 in correspondence with 
 the painter ? for he resembles him, both because, as to 
 truth, he effects but depraved things, and resembles him 
 too in this being conversant with a different part of the 
 soul from that which is best: and thus we may, with 
 
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 justice, not admit him into our city which is to be well 
 regulated, because he excites and nurtures this part of 
 the soul, and, by strengthening this, destroys the rational : 
 and just as he, who in a state gives power to the wicked, 
 betrays the state, and ruins the best men, we may in 
 like manner 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 sometimes small, forming little images in its 
 own imagination, altogether remote from the truth ? 
 Certainly. 
 
 Chap. VII. Still we have not yet brought the great- 
 est accusation against it: for that is, somehow, a very 
 dreadful one, that it has the power of corrupting even 
 the good, except only a very few. It must, if it acts in 
 this manner. But hear now, and consider; for some- 
 how, 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 are de- 
 lighted; and, yielding ourselves, we follow along, and 
 sympathizing with them, seriously commend him as an 
 able poet whoever most affects us in this manner. I 
 know it, of course. But when any domestic grief befalls 
 any of us, you perceive, on the other hand, that we 
 value ourselves on the opposite behavior, if we can be 
 quiet and endure, this being the part of a man, but that 
 of a woman, which in the other case we commended. 
 I perceive it, said he. Is this commendation proper, 
 then, said I, 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 and commend him ? No, by 
 Zeus, said he ; it appears unreasonable. Certainly, said 
 I, if you consider the matter thus. How ? If you reflect 
 that the part of us, which in our private misfortunes is 
 forcibly restrained, and is kept from weeping and be- 
 wailing to the full, being by nature of such a kind as 
 desires these, is the very part which by the poets is 
 filled and gratified; but that part in us, which is nat- 
 
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 333 
 
 iirally 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; but this it thinks it 
 gains, even pleasure, which it would not choose to be 
 deprived of, by despising the whole of the poem: for, 
 methinks, it falls to the share of few to be able to con- 
 sider, that what we feel for others' misfortunes must 
 necessarily be felt with respect to our own, because it is 
 no easy matter for a man to bear up under his own 
 troubles, who strongly cherishes the bewailing disposi- 
 tion over those of others. Most true, said he. And is 
 not the reasoning the same with reference to the ridic- 
 ulous ? For when you hear, by comic imitation, or in 
 private conversation, what you would be ashamed to do 
 yourself to excite laughter, and are delighted with it, 
 and imitate it, you do the same thing here as in tragedy: 
 for that part which, when it wanted to excite laughter, 
 was formerly restrained by reason from a fear of incur- 
 ring the character of scurrility, by now letting loose, and 
 allowing them to grow vigorous, you are often imper- 
 ceptibly brought to be in your own conduct a buffoon. 
 Extremely so, said he. And with respect to venereal 
 pleasures, and anger, and the whole of the passions, as 
 well the sorrowful as the joyful in the soul, which truly, 
 we have said, attend us in every action; the poetical 
 imitation of these has the same effect upon us; for it 
 nurtures and irrigates them, whereas they ought to be 
 dried up, and makes them govern us, whereas they 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, Glau- 
 con, said I, you find the eulogists of Homer saying that 
 this poet instructed Greece, and that he deserves to be 
 taken as a master to teach both the management and the 
 knowledge of human affairs, and that a man should 
 regulate the whole of his life by the rules of this poet, 
 we should indeed love and embrace such people, as being 
 as good as they can be ; and agree with them that Homer 
 
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 is a fine poet, and the first of tragic writers: yet they 
 must know, that hymns to the gods, and the praises of 
 worthy actions, are alone to be admitted into onr state: 
 for if you were to admit the pleasurable muse likewise, 
 in songs or verses, we should have pleasure and pain 
 reigning in our state instead of law, and that reason 
 which always appears best to the community. Most 
 true, said he. 
 
 Chap. VIII. Let these things now, said I, be our 
 apology, when we recollect what we have said in refer- 
 ence to poetry, that we then very properly dismissed it 
 from our republic, since it is such as is now described: 
 for reason obliged us. And let us address it further, 
 that it may not accuse us of a certain roughness and 
 rusticity, that there is an ancient variance between phi- 
 losophy and poetry; for such verses as these, 
 
 That brawling whelp, which at her mistress barks, 
 
 And 
 
 He apes the great with empty eloquence. 
 And 
 
 On trifles still they plod, because they're poor ; 
 
 and a thousand such-like, are marks of an ancient oppo- 
 sition between them. Notwithstanding, however, it may 
 be said, that if any one can assign a reason why the 
 poetry and the imitation which are calculated for pleas- 
 ure ought to be in a well-regulated city, we, for our 
 part, shall gladly admit them, as we are at least con- 
 scious to ourselves 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 per- 
 formed by Homer ? Very much so. It is not just, then, 
 that we introduce it as speaking its own defense, 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, and show that it is not only pleasant, but 
 profitable for states, and human life also; for surely we 
 shall derive son;e benefit if it shall be found to be not 
 
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 335 
 
 only pleasant but profitable. How can we do otherwise 
 than derive benefit from it ? 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 violence; so we in like manner, 
 through this inate love of such poetry that prevails in 
 our best forms of government, shall be well pleased to 
 see it appear to be the best and truest ; and we shall 
 hear it till it is able to make no further apology. But 
 we shall take along with us this discourse which we have 
 held, as a counter-charm, and incantation, being afraid 
 to fall back again into a childish and vulgar love. We 
 may perceive then that we are not to be much in earn- 
 est 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 men- 
 tioned. I entirely agree, said he. For great is the 
 contest, friend Glaucon, said I, great not such as it ap- 
 pears, to become a good or a bad man: wherefore is it 
 not right to be moved, either by honor, or riches, or 
 any magistracy whatever, or poetry, so to neglect jus- 
 tice, and the other virtues. I agree with you, from what 
 we have argued, and so I think will any one else. 
 
 Chap. IX. However, we have not yet, said I, dis- 
 cussed the greatest prize of virtue, and the rewards laid 
 up for her. You speak of some prodigious greatness, * 
 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 the whole. Nothing at all indeed, said he. 
 What then ? Do you think an immortal being ought to 
 be much concerned 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 never perishes ? I." 
 On which he, looking at me, and wondering, said, by 
 Jupiter, not I indeed. But are you able to show this ? 
 I should otherwise act unjustly, said I. And I think you 
 yourself can show it, for it is not at all difficult. To me 
 
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 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, he replied. Is there not some- 
 thing-, said I, which you call good, and something which 
 you call evil ? I own it. Do you conceive of them, 
 then, just in the way that 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 say, that 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, blasting to corn, rottenness to wood, rust to brass 
 and iron, and, as I say almost everything to its connate 
 evil and disease ? I do, he replied. And when anything 
 of this kind befalls anything, does it not render that 
 which it befalls base, and in the end dissolve and de- 
 stroy 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: because 
 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 it seems, replied he. 
 What then ? said I : is there not something which renders 
 the soul evil ? Certainly, he replied ; all these things 
 which we have now mentioned, injustice, intemperance, 
 cowardice, ignorance. But does any of these then dis- 
 solve and destroy it ? And attend now, that we may 
 not be imposed on, in thinking that an unjust and fool- 
 ish man, when detected acting unjustly, is then destroyed 
 through his injustice, which is the baseness of his soul; 
 but 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 destroyed by their own proper evil 
 adhering to them and possessing them, are reduced to 
 non-existence. Is it not so ? Yes. Consider now the 
 soul in the same manner. Does injustice, and the rest 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 337 
 
 of vice, possessing it, by possessing, and adhering 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 de- 
 stroyed by the baseness of another, but not by its own. 
 Absurd. For you must reflect, Glaucon, said I, that 
 neither by the baseness of victuals, whether owing to 
 moldiness, or rottenness, or whatever else, do we think 
 our body can be destroyed ; but if this baseness in them 
 create in the body a depravity of the body, we may allege, 
 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 by this foreign evil, without 
 creating in it its own peculiar evil, be at anytime de- 
 stroyed. You speak most correctly, he replied. 
 
 Chap. X. According to the same reasoning, then, said 
 I, unless the baseness of the body create a baseness of 
 the soul, let us never allow that the soul can be de- 
 stroyed by an evil which is foreign, without its own 
 peculiar evil, one thing by the evil of another. There 
 is reason for it, said he. Let us, then, either refute 
 these things as not good reasoning ; or, so long as they are 
 unrefuted, let us at no time say, that the soul shall be 
 ever in any degree the more destroyed, either by burning 
 fever, or by any other disease, or by slaughter, not 
 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, while 
 its own proper evil is not within it, either the soul or any- 
 thing else is destroyed. But 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 surely require if he 
 who says this speaks truly, that injustice is deadly to 
 
 22 
 
338 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 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 must speedily who embrace it most, 
 and those more slowly who embrace it less. And not 
 as at present, where the unjust die having this punish- 
 ment inflicted on them by others. By Jupiter, said he, 
 injustice would not appear perfectly dreadful, if it were 
 deadly to him who practices it (for that 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, 
 as it seems, does it dwell from being deadly. You say 
 well, replied I ; for, when a man's own wickedness and 
 peculiar evil is not sufficient to kill and destroy the soul, 
 that evil, which aims at the destruction of another, can 
 scarcely destroy a soul, or anything else but that against 
 which it is aimed. Hardly, indeed, said he, as I think at 
 least. Since, therefore, it is destroyed by no one evil, 
 neither peculiar nor foreign, is it not plain that, of neces- 
 sity, it always is ? and, if it always is, it is immortal ? 
 Necessarily so, he replied. 
 
 Chap. XI. Let this then, said I, be so settled; and if 
 it be, you will perceive that the same souls will always 
 remain, for their number will never become less, none 
 being destroyed, nor will it become greater; for if, any- 
 how, 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. How mean you ? said 
 he. That cannot easily, said I, be eternal which is com- 
 pounded 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 immortal, both our pres- 
 ent reasonings, and others too, may oblige us to own: 
 but in order to know what kind of being the soul is, in 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 339 
 
 truth, one ought not to contemplate it as it is damag-ed 
 both by its conjunction with the body and by other evils, 
 as we now behold it, but such as it is wher. become pure, 
 such it must by reasoning be fully contemplated; and he 
 (who docs this) will find it far more beautiful at least, 
 and will more plainly see through justice, and injustice, 
 and everything which we have now discussed. We are 
 now telling the truth concerning it, such as it appears at 
 present. We have seen it, indeed, in the same condition in 
 which they see the marine Glaucus,* where they cannot 
 easily perceive his ancient nature, 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 shellfish, seaweed, and stones: so that he in every re- 
 spect resembles a beast, rather than what he naturally 
 was. In such a condition do we behold the soul under a 
 thousand evils. But we ought to behold it there, Glaucon. 
 Where? said he. In its philosophy; and to observe to 
 what it applies, and what intimacies it professes, as being 
 allied to that which is divine, immortal, and eternal; and 
 what it would become, if it wholly pursued 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 shellfish 
 shaken off from it, which, at present, as it is fed on 
 earth, render its nature, to a great extent, earthy, stony, 
 and savage, through those aliments, which are said to 
 procure felicity: and then one might behold its true na- 
 ture, whether multiform, or uniform, and everything 
 concerning it. But we have, I think, sufficiently dis- 
 cussed its passions, and forms in human life. Assuredly, 
 he replied. 
 
 Chap. XII. Have we not now, said I, discussed every- 
 thing else in our reasonings, though we have not pro- 
 
 * According to the Greek Scholiast, Glaucus is said to have been 
 the son of Sisyphus and Merope, and to have become a marine 
 demon. Meeting with an immortal fountain, and descending into 
 it, he became immortal. Not being able, however, to point out 
 this fountain to certain persons, he threw himself into the sea; and 
 once every year coursed round all shores and islands in conjunction 
 with whales. 
 
340 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 duced those rewards and honors of justice (as you say 
 Hesiod and Homer do)? but we find justice itself to be 
 y the best reward to the soul; and that it ought to do 
 what is just, whether it have or have not Gyges's ring, 
 and, together with such a ring, the helmet * likewise of 
 Pluto. You say most true, said he. Will it not now, 
 then, Glaucon, said I, be attended with no envy, if, be- 
 sides these, we add those rewards to justice and the 
 other virtues, which are bestowed on the soul by men 
 and gods, both while the man is alive, and after he is 
 dead ? By all means, said he. Will you, then, restore 
 me what you borrowed in the reasoning ? What, chiefly ? 
 I granted you, that the just man should be deemed un- 
 just, and the unjust be deemed to be jttst. For you 
 were of opinion, that though it were not possible that 
 these things should be concealed from gods and men, it 
 should, however, be granted, for the sake of the argu- 
 ment, that justice in itself might be compared with in- 
 justice in itself ; 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 es- 
 teemed both by gods and men, you likewise allow it to 
 have the same good reputation, that it may also receive 
 those prizes of victory, which it acquires from the repu- 
 tation 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, f as we 
 agreed in the beginning. Such is the case. And shall 
 
 * The helmet of Pluto is said to be an immortal and invisible cloud, 
 with which the gods are invested when they wish not to be known to 
 each other. And it is applied as a proverb to those that do anything 
 secretly. — Schol. Graec. in Plat. p. 197. 
 
 t That is to say, one of these through aptitude will receive the illu- 
 minations of divinity, and the other through inaptitude will subject 
 himself to the power of avenging demons. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 341 
 
 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 ? Certainly. We are then to think 
 thus 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 to him. issue in something good, either whilst 
 alive or dead. For never at any time is he neglected by 
 the gods, who inclines earnestly to endeavor to become 
 just, and practices virtue 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 resem- 
 bles. And are we not to think the reverse of these things 
 concerning the unjust man ? Certainly. 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 suppose 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 day they briskly leap forward, but in 
 the end they become ridiculous, and, with their ears on 
 their neck, 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, as 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 magis- 
 tracies, they shall marry where they incline, and shall 
 settle their children in marriage agreeably to their wishes ; 
 and everything else you mentioned concerning 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 remain concealed while young, yet, being caught at 
 the end of the race, are ridiculous; and, when they be- 
 come old, are wretched and ridiculed, and shall be 
 scourged both by foreigners and citizens, and afterwards tor- 
 tured and burned; which you said were terrible things; and 
 
342 
 
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 you spoke the truth. You may suppose that you hear from 
 me that they suffer all these things. But see if you will ad- 
 mit what I say. Certainly, said he, for you say what is just. 
 
 Chap. XIIL These then, said I, are the prizes, the 
 rewards and gifts, which a just man receives during life, 
 both from gods and men ; besides those good things which 
 justice contains in itself. And they are extremely beauti- 
 ful, said he, and 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 reasoning. You 
 may say on, he replied, as to one who would not listen 
 to many other things with greater pleasure. But, how- 
 ever, I will not, said I, tell you the apologue of Alcinous ; 
 but that, indeed, of a brave man, Erus the son of Ar- 
 menius, by descent a Pamphylian; who happening on a 
 time to die in battle, when the dead were on the tenth day 
 carried off, already corrupted, was taken up sound; and 
 being carried home, as he was about to be buried on the 
 twelfth day, when laid on the funeral pile, revived; and 
 being revived, he told what he saw in the other state, and 
 l''said, that after his soul left the body, it went with many 
 others, and that they came to a certain mysterious, hal- 
 lowed place, where there were two chasms in the earth, 
 near to each other, and two other openings in the heavens 
 opposite on them, and that the judges sat between these ; 
 ; that when they gave judgment, they commanded the just 
 ^ to go on the right hand, and upward through the heaven, 
 I having fitted marks on the front of those that had been 
 •judged; but the unjust they commanded to the left, and 
 * downward, and these Ijkewise had behind them marks 
 . of all that they had done. But when he came before the 
 judges, they said he ought to be a messenger to men 
 concerning things there, and they commanded him to hear, 
 and contemplate everything therein ; and that he saw there, 
 through two openings, one of the heaven, and one of the 
 earth, the souls departing, after they were there judged; 
 and through the other two openings he saw, rising through 
 the one out of the earth, souls full of squalidness and 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 343 
 
 dust; and through the other, he saw other sovils descend- 
 ing pure from heaven; and that on their arrival from time 
 to time they seemed as if they came from a long journey, 
 and that they gladly went to rest themselves in the 
 meadow, as in a publie assembly, and such as were ac- 
 quainted saluted one another, 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 that they told one another: those wailing and 
 weeping whilst they called to mind, what and how many 
 things they suffered and saw in their journey under the 
 earth (for it was a journey of a thousand years); and 
 that these again from heaven explained their enjoyments, 
 and spectacles of amazing beauty. To narrate many of them, 
 Glaucon, would occupy much time ; but this, he said, was 
 the sum, that whatever unjust actions a man had com- 
 mitted, and whatever injuries a man had committed, they 
 were punished for all these separately tenfold, and that it 
 was in each, according to the rate of a 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 related other things not worth mentioning; 
 but of impiety and piety toward the gods and parents, 
 and of suicide, he told the more remarkable retributions; 
 for he said he was present when one was asked by another, 
 where the great Aridseus was ? This Aridseus had been 
 tyrant in a certain city of Pamphylia a thousand years 
 before that time, and had killed his aged father and elder 
 brother, and had done many other unhallowed deeds, as 
 was reported; and he said, that the one who was asked, 
 replied: He neither comes nor ever will come hither. ^ 
 
 Chap. XIV. Well then we saw this likewise, among 
 other dreadful spectacles : When we were near the mouth 
 
344 
 
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 of the opening-, and were about to ascend after having suf- 
 fered everything else, we on a sudden beheld both him, 
 and others likewise, most of whom were tyrants, and there 
 were some private persons who had committed great 
 iniquity, whom, when they thought 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 look 
 on, standing by, and perceiving- the bellowing, took some 
 of them and led them apart, but Aridaeus and the rest, 
 having bound their hands and feet, and head, they thrust 
 down and flayed, and then dragged them to an outer 
 road, tearing them on thorns; declaring always to those 
 who passed by, on what accounts they sufEered 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 stirpassed, lest the mouth 
 should bellow, and that when it was silent every one most 
 gladly ascended; and that the punishments and torments 
 were such as these, and their rewards were the reverse 
 of these. He also added, that every one arising thence, 
 after they had been seven days in the meadow, was re- 
 quired 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 pillow mostly resembling the rainbow, but more splen- 
 did and pure; at which they arrived in one day's journey; 
 and thence they perceived, through the middle of the 
 light from heaven, the extremities of its ligatures ex- 
 tended; as this light was the belt of heaven, like the 
 transverse beams of ships keeping the whole circumfer- 
 ence united; that from the extremities the distaff of Ne- 
 cessity is extended, by which all the revolutions were 
 turned round, whose spindle and point were both of ad- 
 amant, but its whirl commingled both with this and other 
 things; and 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, 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 345 
 
 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, having their lips appearing upward, and form- 
 ing round the spindle one united convexity of one whirl ; 
 that the spindle was driven through the middle of the 
 eight ; and that the first and outmost whirl had the widest 
 circumference in the lip, that the sixth had the second 
 wide, and that of the fourth the third wide, and the fourth 
 that of the eighth, and the fifth that of the seventh, the 
 sixth that of the fifth; and the seventh that of the third, 
 and the eighth that of the second. Likewise that the circle 
 of the largest is variegated, that of the senventh is the 
 brightest, and that of the eighth has its color from the 
 shining of the seventh; those of the second and fifth re- 
 semble each other, but are more yellow than the rest. 
 But the third is bright white, the fourth reddish, the 
 second in whiteness surpasses the sixth; and the dis- 
 taff must turn round in a circle with the whole that it 
 carries; and while the whole is turning round, the seven 
 inner circles are gently turned round in a contrary mo- 
 tion to the whole ; again, that of these, the eighth moves 
 the swiftest; and next to it, and equal to one another, 
 the seventh, the sixth, and the fifth; and that the third 
 went in a motion which as appeared to them completed 
 its circle in the same way as the fourth. The fourth in 
 swiftness was the third, and the fifth was the second, 
 and it was turned round on the knees of Necessity; and 
 that on each of its circles there was seated a Siren on 
 the upper side, carried round, and uttering one voice va- 
 riegated by diverse modulations; but that the whole of 
 them, being eight, composed one harmony; that there 
 were other three sitting round at equal distance one from 
 another, each on a throne, the aaughters of Necessity, the 
 Fates, clothed in white vestments, and ha\'ing crowns on 
 their heads; Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos, singing to 
 the harmony of the Sirens; Lachesis singing the past, 
 Clotho the present, and Atropos the future. And that 
 Clotho, at certain intervals, with her right hand laid hold 
 
 * By the eight whirls, we must understand the eight starry spheres, 
 viz : the sphere of the fixed stars, and the spheres of the seven planets. 
 
346 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 of the spindle, and along with her mother turned abou\ 
 the outer circle; and Atropos, in like manner turned 
 the inner ones with her left hand, and that Lachesis 
 touched both of these, severally, with either hand. 
 
 Chap. XV. After they arrive here, it is necessary for 
 them to go directly to Lachesis. That then a certain 
 prophet first of all ranges them in order, and afterward 
 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 ! The beginning of another period of men 
 of mortal race: the demon shall not receive you as his 
 lot, but you shall choose the demon ; he who draws the 
 first, let him first make choice of a life, to which he must 
 of necessity adhere: Virtue is independent, of which 
 every one shall partake, more or less, according as he 
 honors or dishonors her: the cause is in him who makes 
 the choice, and the Deity is blameless; that when he had 
 said these things, he threw the lots on all of them, and 
 that each took up the one which fell beside him, except 
 himself, for he was not permitted; and that when each 
 had taken it, he knew what number he had drawn; that 
 after this he placed on the ground before them the models 
 of lives, many more than those we see at present; and 
 that they were all various, for there were lives of all 
 sorts of animals, and humaa.. lives of every kind ; and that 
 among these there were tyrannies also, some of them per- 
 petual, and others destroyed in the midst of their great- 
 ness, and ending in poverty, banishment, and want. That 
 there were also lives of renowned men, 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 man- 
 ner. But that 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 be- 
 tween these. 
 
 There then, as it seems, friend Glaucon, is the whole 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 347 
 
 danger of man. And hence this of all things is most to 
 be attended to, how each of us, omitting other studies, 
 is to become an inquirer and learner in this study, in 
 order to 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 that we have 
 mentioned, both compounded and separated from one 
 another, what they are with respect to the virtue of life; 
 and to understand what good or evil beauty produces 
 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 dis- 
 miss every other consideration: for we have seen that in 
 life, and in death, this is the best choice. It is necessary, 
 therefore, 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 ex- 
 tremes on either hand, both in this life as far as is possible, 
 and in the whole future. For thus man becomes happy. 
 
 Chap. XVI. At that time, therefore, the messenger 
 from the other world further told how that the prophet 
 spoke thus: Even to him who comes last, if he chooses 
 with judgment, and lives consistently, there is prepared 
 a desirable life; not bad. Let neither him who is first 
 be negligent in his choice, not let him who is last despair. 
 He said, that when the prophet had spoken these things, 
 
348 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 the first who drew a lot ran instantly and chose the great- 
 est 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 afterward, when he had considered it at leisure, he 
 wailed and lamented his choice, not having observed the 
 admonitions of the prophet above mentioned ; inasmuch as 
 he did not accuse himself, as the author of his misfor- 
 tunes, but fortune and the demons, and everything rather 
 than 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 unex- 
 ercised in trials; but most of those who came from earth, 
 as they had endured hardships themselves, and had seen 
 others in hardships, did not precipitately 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 philosophize, 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 earthy 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 his former life ; for he alleged, 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 bom 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 also one soul, while making its choice, choosing the life 
 of a lion; and it was the soul of Telamonian Ajax, 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 349 
 
 unwilling to become a man, because it recollected the judg- 
 ment given with reference to the armor; that he then 
 saw the soul of Agamemnon, which, in hatred also of 
 the human kind, through his misfortunes, exchanged it 
 for the life of an eagle : and that the soul of Atalante, 
 choosing her lot amidst the rest, and, having attentively- 
 observed the great honors paid to an athletic man, was 
 unable to pass by this lot, but took it. Next to this, he 
 saw the soul of Epeus the Panopean going into the nature 
 of a skillful workwoman; and that far off, among the 
 last, he saw the soul of the buffoon Thersites assuming 
 the ape. And that by chance he saw the soul of Ulysses, 
 who had drawn its lot last of all, going to make its 
 choice : that 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. That 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 Lache- 
 sis, and that she gave to every one the demon he chose, 
 and sent him along with him to be the guardian of his 
 life, and the accomplisher of what he had chosen. That, 
 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 that from 
 hence they proceed directly under the throne of Neces- 
 sity ; and that, after he had passed by it as all the others 
 passed, they all of them marched into the plain of Lethe 
 amid 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, whose water no vessel contains. Of this 
 water all of them must necessarily drink a certain cjuaO' 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO 
 
 tity, and such as are not kept by prudence drink more 
 than they ought, and that he who from time to time 
 drinks forgets everything. And, after they were laid 
 asleep, and midnight was approaching, there was thunder, 
 and an earthquake, and they were thence on a sudden 
 carried upward, some one way, and some another, ap- 
 proaching to generation like stars. And he himself was 
 forbidden to drink of the water. Where, however, and in 
 what manner, he came into his body, he was entirely 
 ignorant; but, suddenly looking up in the morning, he saw 
 himself already laid on the funeral pile. And this fable, 
 Glaucon, has been preserved, and is not lost, and it 
 will preserve us, too, if we be persuaded thereby, for 
 thus we shall happily pass over the river Lethe, and 
 shall not pollute our souls. 
 
 But if the company will be persuaded by me; con- 
 sidering the soul to be immortal, and able to bear all evil 
 and good, we shall always persevere in the road which 
 leads upward, and shall by all means pursue justice in 
 unison with prudence, that so we may be friends both 
 to ourselves and the gods, both while we remain here, 
 and when we afterward receive its rewards, like victors 
 assembled together; and so, both here, and in that jour- 
 ney of a thousand years, which we have described, we 
 shall be happy. 
 
THE SCHOOL OF ATHENS 
 From the original painting by Raphael, in the Vatican. 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 (V) 
 
PART II.— THE STATESMAN 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
INTRODUCTION TO THE STATESMAN. 
 
 Of this dialogue, which is feigned to have taken place 
 on the same day as the "Sophist,'* and may be considered 
 both in manner and matter a continuation of it, although 
 directed to a different subject, the argument may be com- 
 prised in a very few words. Its object, as stated toward 
 the close of it, is to show that the head of the state, who 
 should be a king, ought to combine not only in his own 
 person, but in that of the people over whom he rules, 
 the two conflicting characters of manliness and modera- 
 tion. For by such an union alone is it possible to correct 
 the mischiefs arising equally from the excess and defi- 
 ciency of energy in all matters relating to the well-being 
 of the state. 
 
 To arrive at this conclusion Plato has thought proper 
 to give the rein to his imagination instead of curbing it; 
 and he has been compelled in consequence to apologize 
 for the prolixity of his discourse; where he was evidently 
 carried away with the same desire to draw subtle dis- 
 tinctions in things apparently similar, as he has done in 
 the " Sophist. For he was anxious, perhaps, to show his 
 acquaintance with the minutiae of some handicraft trades, 
 instead of keeping rather the attention of the reader fixed 
 to a few leading points, and putting down only 
 
 Quod bene proposito conducat et kcereat apte. 
 What to the subject's fitted and sticks close. 
 
 In the midst, however, of this discursive matter, we 
 meet with a curious digression, where Plato has in part 
 anticipated the theory of the geologists of the present day, 
 respecting the changes which the earth has undergone at 
 different periods, together with an allusion to a primaeval 
 state, not very unlike that recorded in Holy Writ ; although 
 in neither case did he probably do more than put into 
 his own words, what he found in the writings of preced- 
 ing philosophers. 
 
 I (I) 
 
2 INTRODUCTION TO THE STATESMAN 
 
 This dialogue is remarkable, moreover, for the develop- 
 ment of the notion, so contrary to that of modern times, 
 that laws should be made not so much to chime in with 
 the feelings of the people, as to oppose their prejudices, 
 provided the object of such legislation be to improve 
 their moral and physical condition. But as this end could 
 lot be accomplished, where the ruling power rests with 
 the masses, who, as Plato had seen at Athens, were 
 alternately ferocious despots or fawning slaves, he sug- 
 gested the propriety of establishing in conjunction with 
 a king, an aristocracy, composed of persons, not superior 
 to their countrymen in wealth, but in virtue, and pos- 
 sessing, like the king, the qualities necessary for a real 
 statesman ; who should be at once a shepherd, to look to 
 the rearing of his charge, and a physician, to watch over 
 their health, and a philosopher, to superintend their 
 mental and moral culture. 
 
 As this dialogue has been edited separately only by 
 Stalbaum — for Fischer's publication is, like the rest of 
 that scholar's works, beneath even a passing notice — it 
 presents not a few passages to exercise, and, as I have 
 found, to baffle the ingenuity of emendatory criticism ; to 
 which Stalbaum should have resorted rather than have 
 sought to support the nonsense of a corrupt text. As re- 
 gards, however, the matter of the dialogue, he has left 
 little to desire in his Prolegomena of 132 8vo pages; to 
 which the reader is referred, who wishes to know some- 
 thing of what has been written by the more recent 
 scholars of Germany on questions, that will, it is to be 
 feared, remain forever in their present obscurity. 
 
THE STATESMAN. 
 
 T 
 
 PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE. 
 
 SOCRATES, THEODORUS, A GUEST, AND 
 SOCRATES JUN. 
 
 SOCRATES. 
 
 [i.] I OWE you, Theodorus, surely many thanks foi 
 my acquaintance with Theaetetus and this guest to boot. 
 
 The. — Perhaps, Socrates, you will owe me thrice as 
 many, when they shall have worked out for you a states- 
 man and a philosopher. 
 
 Soc. — Be it so. But shall we say we have thus heard 
 this from you, the most powerful in calculations and 
 geometry ? 
 
 The. — How, Socrates? 
 
 Soc. — As having put down each of these men of equal 
 worth, who are in value more removed from each other 
 than accords with the analogy of your art. 
 
 The. — By our god Ammon, Socrates, you have well and 
 justly, and very rememberingly reproved me for my 
 error in calculation. But I will follow you up about this 
 at a future time. But do not you, O guest, in any respect 
 be faint-hearted in gratifying us ; but select for us' either 
 first a statesman or a philosopher; and having selected 
 go through (the discussion). 
 
 Guest. — This must be done, Theodorus; for since we 
 have put our hand to this discussion, we must not stand 
 aloof, till we arrive at the end of it. But what must I 
 do with Theaetetus here ? 
 
 The. — As regards what? 
 
 Guest. — Shall we suffer him to rest, and take in his 
 stead Socrates here, his fellow-combatant? Or how dq 
 yot; advise ? 
 
 (3) 
 
4 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 77^^-. — Take him, as you say, in his stead. For, both 
 being young men, they will after resting, easily endure 
 every labor. 
 
 Soc — And indeed, O guest, both of them appear almost 
 to have an affinity with me from some quarter. For you 
 say that one of them (Theaetetus) seems to resemble me 
 in the natural form of his face; and the appellation of 
 the other, being of the same name as myself, and his 
 address furnish a kind of family connection. It is meet 
 then for us to recognize always with readiness in con- 
 versation those of the same kin. Now yesterday I min- 
 gled in a conversation with Theaetetus, and I have now 
 heard him answering; but neither (case applies) to 
 Socrates (here). It is meet, however, for us to consider 
 him likewise. Let him then at some other time answer 
 me, but at present you. 
 
 Guest. — Be it so. Do you Socrates (junior), hear this 
 Socrates ? 
 
 Soc. j'un. — I do. 
 
 Guest. — Do you then agree to what he says? 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely. 
 
 Guest. — It appears then that your affairs will not be 
 an hindrance; and perhaps it is requisite for me to be 
 much less an hindrance. But after the sophist it is 
 necessary, as it appears to me, for us to seek out the 
 statesman. [2.] Tell me then whether must we place 
 this (character) too among the possessors of knowledge, 
 or how ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — In this way. 
 
 Guest. — We must then divide the sciences, as (we did) 
 when we were inquiring into the former (character). 
 Soc. jun. — Perhaps so. 
 
 Guest. — But yet the division appears to me, Socrates, 
 to be not after the same manner. 
 Soc. jun. — Why not ? 
 Guest. — But after another. 
 Soc. jun. — It would seem so. 
 
 Guest. — Where then can one find the statesman's path? 
 For find it we must ; and separating it from the rest, put 
 on it the seal of one (general) form, and on the other 
 deflections the mark of another species; and thus cause- 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 5 
 
 our soul to conceive that all the sciences do in reality 
 belong to two species. 
 
 Soc.jun. — I think, O guest, that this is your business, 
 and not mine. 
 
 Guest. — But indeed, Socrates, it must needs be yours 
 too, when it becomes apparent to us. 
 Soc.jun. — You speak well. 
 
 Gtiest. — Are not then arithmetic, and certain other 
 sciences allied to this, divested of action; and do they 
 not afford a subject of thought alone ? 
 
 Soc.jun. — It is so. 
 
 Guest. — But those which pertain to carpenter's work, 
 and the whole of handicraft trades, possess a science, as 
 it were, innate in their operations, and at the same time 
 complete the bodies produced by them, which had not an 
 existence previously. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not ? 
 
 Guest. — In this manner then divide sciences in general, 
 calling one practical and the other merely intellectual. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Let there be then of one whole science two 
 species. 
 
 Guest. — Whether then shall we lay down the statesman, 
 the king, the despot, and the head of a household, and 
 call them all by one name ? Or shall we say there are 
 as many sciences as have been their mentioned names ? 
 Or rather follow me hither. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Whither ? 
 
 Guest. — On this road. If a private person is able to 
 give advice sufficiently well to any of the public phy- 
 sicians, is it not necessary for him to be called by the 
 name of the art, the same as he is, to whom he gives 
 advice ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — Yes. 
 
 Guest. — What then, whatever private person is skilled 
 in giving advice to the king of a country, shall we not 
 say that he possesses the science, which the ruler him- 
 self ought to possess ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — We shall. 
 
 Guest. — But surely the science of a true king is a kingly 
 (science). 
 Soc. jun. — Yes. 
 
6 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 Guest. — And may not he, who possesses this science, 
 whether he is a private man, or a king, be in every re- 
 spect rightly called, according to this art, king-like ? 
 
 Soc jiin. — Justly so. 
 
 Guest. — And are not the head of a household and a 
 despot the same ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — But what, will the size of an extensive house- 
 hold or the swollen form of a small state make any 
 diflference as regards the government ? 
 
 Soc. ju7i. — Not at all. 
 
 Guest. — It is evident then, what is indeed the thing we 
 were just now inquiring, that there is one science re- 
 specting all these. But whether any one calls it the science 
 of a king, a statesman, or a family man, let us not differ 
 about it. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Why should we? 
 
 [3.] Gtiest. — This too is evident, that each individual king 
 has in his hands, and the whole of his body, some little 
 power toward retaining his rule, as compared with the 
 intelligence and strength of his soul. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It is evident. 
 
 Guest. — Are you willing then for us to say that a king 
 is more allied to intellectual than to manual and wholly 
 practical science ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — We will then put together in the same (class) 
 statesmanship and a statesman, kingship and a king, as 
 being all one thing. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It is evident. 
 
 Guest. — Shall we not proceed then in an orderly man- 
 ner, if after this we divide the intellectual science ? 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — Attend, then, and inform me whether we can 
 perceive any point of union ? 
 ■ Soc. jun. — Tell me of what kind. 
 
 Guest. — Of this kind. We have a certain calculating 
 art. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Yes. 
 
 Guest. — And this I think entirely belongs to the intellec- 
 tual arts. 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 7 
 
 Soc. j'un. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — Shall we concede to the calculating art, that 
 knows the difference in numbers, any thing more than 
 that it distinguishes things, the subjects of intellect ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — How should we? 
 
 Guest. — For every architect is not a workman himself, 
 but is the ruler over workmen. 
 Soc. jun. — Yes. 
 
 Guest. — And he imparts indeed intellect, but not the 
 work by hand. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Just so. 
 
 Guest. — He may justly then be said to have a share in 
 intellectual science. 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely. 
 
 Guest. — And for him I think it is fitting, after he has 
 passed a judgment, not to have an end, nor to be freed, 
 as the calculator was freed (from doing more), but to 
 command every workman (to do ) that which is suited to 
 him, until they shall have worked out what has been 
 commanded. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Right. 
 
 Guest. — Are not then all such as these, and such as 
 are consequent upon the calculating art, intellectual ? 
 And do not these two genera differ from each other in 
 judgment and commandment ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — They appear to do so. 
 
 Guest. — If then we should divide the whole of the in- 
 tellectual science into two parts, and call the one man- 
 datory, and the other judicial, should we not say that 
 we have made a careful division ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — Yes, according to my mind. 
 
 Guest. — But for those, who do any thing in common, it 
 is delightful to be of one mind. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — As far then as we participate on this point, 
 we must bid farewell to the opinions of others. 
 [4.] Soc. jun. — Why not? 
 
 Guest. — Come, then, inform me in which of these arts 
 we must place the kingly character. Must we place him 
 in the judicial art, as some spectator ? Or rather, shall 
 we place him in the commanding art, as being a despot ? 
 
8 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not rather in this ? 
 
 Guest. — We may consider again the commanding' art, 
 whether it stands in any way apart. For it appears to 
 me, that as the art of a huckster is separated from his, 
 who sells his own goods, so is the genus of a king from 
 the genus of public criers. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How so? 
 
 Guest. — Hucksters, having received the previously sold 
 works of others, afterward sell them again themselves. 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — The tribe of criers too, after receiving the 
 thoughts of strangers, enjoins them again to others. 
 Soc. jun. — Most true. 
 
 Guest. — What then, shall we mix in the same (class) 
 the king-art, and that of the interpreting, ordering, proph- 
 esying, and public-crying, and many other arts allied to 
 these, all which have this in common that they command ? 
 Or are you willing that, as we just now instituted a 
 resemblance (in things), we should make a resemblance 
 in the name likewise ? since the genus of those, who rule 
 their own concerns, is nearly without a name ; and shall 
 we so divide these, by placing the kingly genus among 
 those, who command their own concerns, and by neglect- 
 ing every thing else, leave any one to put another name 
 on them ? For our method was ( adopted ) for the sake of 
 a ruler, and not for its contrary. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 [5.] Guest. — Since then this stands at a moderate dis- 
 tance apart from those, and is separated from that, which 
 is foreign, into that which is domestic, it is necessary to di- 
 vide this again, if we have yet any yielding section in this. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — And, indeed, it appears that we have. But fol- 
 low me and divide. 
 Soc. jun. — Whither ? 
 
 Guest. — Shall we not find that all such as we conceive 
 to be rulers, do, by making use of a command, give a 
 command for the sake of producing something ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — And, indeed, it is not at all difficult for all things 
 that are produced, to receive a twofold division. 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 9 
 
 Soc. Jun. — In what way? 
 
 Guest. — Some among all of them are animated, and 
 others are inanimate. 
 Soc.jun. — They are so. 
 
 Guest. — If we wish to cut the portion of intelligence, that 
 has a commanding- power over these very things, we will 
 cut it. 
 
 Soc. jun. — According to what? 
 
 Guest. — By assigning one part over the generation of 
 inanimate things, and the other over the generation of 
 animated. And thus the whole will be divided into two 
 parts. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — One part then let us put aside, and take up 
 again the other; and after taking it up, divide the whole 
 into two parts. 
 
 Soc. jun. — But which of these do you say is to be re- 
 sumed ? 
 
 Guest. — By all means, that which has a command over 
 animals. For it is not the province of the kingly science 
 to have a command over things inanimate, like the science 
 of architecture ; but, being of a more noble nature, over 
 animals; and it ever possesses a power relating to such 
 very things. 
 
 Soc. jim. — Right. 
 
 Guest. — (With respect to) the generation and nurture 
 of animals, a person may see the former as single-feeding, 
 but the latter as the common-feeding of the nurslings in 
 herds. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Right. 
 
 Guest. — But we shall find that the statesman is not a 
 breeder of his own property, like an ox-driver, or some 
 horse-currier; but is rather like the person who rears 
 horses and oxen. 
 
 Soc. jun. — What has been just said seems to be the fact. 
 
 Guest. — Whether then (with respect to) the nurture of 
 animals, shall we call the common-rearing of all together 
 a herd-rearing, or a certain general-rearing. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Whichever may happen in the discourse. 
 
 [6.] Gtiest. — You (have said) well, Socrates. And if j^ou 
 avoid paying too serious an attention to names, you will 
 
lO 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 appear in old age to be more rich in prudence. But now 
 we must do as you recommended. But do you under- 
 stand how some one will, having divided the herd-rearing 
 art into two, cause, what is now sought for in a double, 
 to be sought for then in halves ? 
 
 Soc. j'un. — I shall be eager (to do so): and it appears to 
 me that there is one rearing of men, and another of beasts. 
 
 Guest. — You have divided in every respect most readily 
 and courageously. However (we must be careful), to the 
 utmost of our power not to suffer hereafter this. 
 
 Soc. jun. — What ? 
 
 Guest. — That we do not take away one small part as 
 applicable to many and great parts, nor yet without a 
 species ; but let it always have at the same time a species. 
 For it is very well to separate immediately the thing 
 sought for from all the rest, if the separation be rightly 
 made; just as you did a little before, through conceiving 
 the division to be rightly made, hasten on, seeing that 
 the discourse was tending to man. But, my friend, it is 
 not safe to divide with subtlety; but it is more safe to 
 proceed in the middle by dividing (continually); for thus 
 will one more (readily) meet with forms ( of existence). 
 But the whole of this relates to our inquiries. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How say you this, O guest? 
 
 Guest. — I must endeavor to speak yet more clearly, 
 through a kind feeling toward j-our disposition, Socrates. 
 But it is impossible in the subject at hand to show what 
 is now said in a manner wanting in nothing; still we 
 must endeavor, for the sake of perspicuity, to carry on the 
 inquiry a little further. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — In what respect then do you say we have, 
 by dividing, just now not rightly done ? 
 
 Guest. — In this respect; that, should any one attempt 
 to give a twofold division to the human genus, he would 
 divide, in the way that the majority here divide. For 
 by separating the Grecian genus, as one apart from all, 
 they give to all the rest, who are innumerable, unmixed, 
 and not speaking the same language with each other, 
 one name, that of a Barbarian race ; and through this 
 one name they fancy the race itself to be one ; or as if 
 some one^ thinking that number should be divided into 
 
THE STATESMAN" 
 
 two species, should, after cutting- off ten thousand from 
 all numbers, put it aside as one species, and, giving one 
 name to all the rest, should think that, through that 
 appellation, this genus will become separate and different 
 from the other. He however would make in a more 
 beautiful manner, and more according to species, and a 
 twofold division, who should divide number into even and 
 odd, and the human species into male and female ; and, 
 after arranging the Lydians or Phrygians, or some other 
 nations, should then separate them into wholes, when he 
 is incapable of finding the genus, and at the same time 
 the species of each of the divided portions. 
 
 [7.] Soc. j'un. — Most right. But (explain), O guest, 
 this very thing — how can any one rather clearly know 
 that genus and species are not the same, but different 
 from each other ? 
 
 Guest. — O Socrates, thou best of men, thou commandest 
 no trifling thing. Already have we wandered further from 
 our proposed discourse than is fitting; and yet you order 
 us to wander still further. Now then let us, as is rea- 
 sonable, turn back again; and hereafter we will at 
 leisure pursue this point, as having come upon the 
 track. Do not, however, by any means guard against 
 this, that you have heard from me this point clearly 
 determined. 
 
 Soc. jun. — What ? 
 
 Guest. — That species and part are different from each 
 other. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Why (say you) so? 
 
 Guest. — When anything is a species of some thing, it 
 is necessary for it to be a part of the thing of which it 
 is said to be the species : but there is no necessity for a 
 part to be a species. Always consider me, therefore, 
 Socrates, as asserting this rather than that. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — Be it so. 
 
 Guest. — But tell me that which is after this. 
 Soc. Jun. — What? 
 
 Guest. — The point of digression which has brought us 
 hither. For I think it was especially at that point, when, 
 on your being asked how we must divide herd-rearing, 
 you answered very readily, that there were two kinds of 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 animals, the one of man and the other of brutes taken 
 altogether. 
 
 Soc. jun. — True. 
 
 Guest. — And you then appeared to me, after taking 
 away a part, to think that you ought to leave the re- 
 mainder as one genus of all (brutes), because you could 
 give to them all the same name, by calling them brutes. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Such was the case. 
 
 Guest. — But this, O most courageous of men, is just 
 as if some other prudent animal, such as seems to be the 
 crane, or some other animal of a similar kind, should, in 
 the same manner as you do, oppose the cranes, as one 
 race, to all other animals, and make itself an object of 
 respect; and putting all the rest together with men into 
 one race, call them perhaps nothing else but brutes. 
 Let us then endeavor to avoid everything whatsoever of 
 this kind. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How ? 
 
 Guest.- — -By not dividing every genus of animals, that 
 we may suffer the less. 
 
 Soc. jun. — For there is no necessity. 
 Guest. — For we then erred in this way. 
 Soc. jun. — In what? 
 
 Guest. — Such part of intellectual science as related to 
 commanding was (said) by us to be of the animal-rearing 
 kind, as regards gregarious animals. Was it not ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — It was. 
 
 Guest. — The whole animal genus, therefore, was even 
 then divided into the tame and wild. For those animals 
 that have a nature to become gentle, are called tame; 
 but those that have not, are (called) wild. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Correctly. 
 
 Guest. — But the science, of which we are in the hunt, 
 was and is in the case of tame animals, and is to be 
 sought for among the gregarious rearlings. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Yes. 
 
 Guest. — Let us then not divide, as formerly, looking 
 to all animals, nor with haste, so that we may quickly 
 arrive at state-science. For this has caused us to suffer 
 even now according to the proverb. — 
 
 Soc. jun. — What ? 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 13 
 
 Guest. — By not well dividing- quietly, to complete (the 
 task) more slowly. 
 
 Soc.jun. — And it has, O guest, properly caused (us to 
 suffer). 
 
 [8.] Guest. — Be it so then. But let us again from the 
 beginning endeavor to divide the common-rearing (of ani- 
 mals). For perhaps the discourse itself, being brought 
 to a conclusion, will more clearly unfold what you desire. 
 Biit tell me — 
 
 Soc. jun. — What ? 
 
 Guest. — This; if indeed you have frequently heard it 
 from certain persons. For I do not think you have met 
 with the tame-fish places in the Nile, or in the royal 
 lakes. But perhaps you have seen the taming of these 
 in (artificial) fountains. 
 
 Soc.jun. — I have seen these frequently, and I have 
 heard of those from many. 
 
 Guest. — You have likewise heard and believe that geese 
 and cranes are reared, though you have never wandered 
 about the Thessalian plains. 
 
 Soc.jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — On this account I have asked you all these 
 questions, because the rearing of herds of animals is 
 partly of those moving in the water, and partly on dry 
 land. 
 
 Soc.jun. — It is so. 
 
 Guest. — Does it not then appear to you likewise, that 
 we ought to cut in two the common-rearing science, 
 distributing to each of them its own part, and call the 
 one a rearing-in-moisture, and the other a rearing-on- 
 dry-land. 
 
 Soc.jun. — (It does so appear) to me. 
 
 Guest. — But we will not in the same manner inquire 
 to which of these arts kingf-science belongs. For it is 
 evident to every one. 
 
 Soc.jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — And every one can separate the dry-rearing 
 portion of the herd-rearing. 
 Soc. jun. — How ? 
 
 Guest. — Into the flying and walking-on-foot. 
 Soc.jun. — Most true. 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 Guest. — But what of state-science, must it be inquired 
 whether it relates to the walking-on-foot ? Or do you 
 not think, that the most stupid person, so to say, would 
 imagine so ? 
 
 Soc.jun. — I do. 
 
 Guest. — But it is requisite to show that the art of rear- 
 ing foot-walking (animals) is, as number was just now, cut 
 into two parts. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — This is evident. 
 
 Guest. — And yet to the part, to which our discourse has 
 led us on, there seem to be some two paths extending 
 themselves; the one quicker, by being divided, a small 
 part as compared with a large one ; but the other longer, 
 from preserving rather the precept, which we mentioned 
 before, that we ought to cut as much as possible through 
 the middle. It is in our power then to proceed by either 
 of the paths we may wish. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — Is it then impossible to proceed by both? 
 
 Guest. — What, by both at once, O wonderful youth? 
 Alternately, however, it is plain the thing is possible. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — I choose then both alternately. 
 
 Guest. — The thing is easy; since short is the remainder 
 (of the road). In the beginning, indeed, and middle of 
 our journey the command would have been difficult. 
 But now, since this seems good, let us first proceed by 
 the longer road. For, as we are fresh, we shall more 
 easily journey through it. But do you look to the division. 
 
 [9.] Soc. Jwi. — Speak it. 
 
 Guest. — Of such tame animals as are gregarious, the 
 foot-walking have been divided by us according to nature. 
 Soc. Jun. — What (nature)? 
 
 Guest. — By some of their race being hornless and others 
 horned. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — So it appears. 
 
 Guest. — Divide then the art of rearing foot-walking 
 animals, and assign to each part, making use of reason. 
 For should you wish to name them, the thing will be- 
 come complicated more than is fitting. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — How then must one speak (of them)? 
 
 Guest. — Thus. Of the science of rearing foot-walking 
 animals, divided into two parts, let one portion be 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 assigned to the horned part of the herd, but the other to 
 the hornless. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Let this be so said: for they have been 
 sufficiently shown to be so. 
 
 Guest. — Now then the king is evidently the shepherd 
 over a flock of animals deprived of horns. 
 
 Soc, jun. — For how is he not evident? 
 
 Guest. — Breaking then this (herd) into portions, let us 
 endeavor to assign the result to him (the king). 
 
 Soc. Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — Whether then are you willing for us to divide 
 it (the herd) by the cloven, or, what is called, the solid 
 hoof ? Or by a common or individual generation ? For 
 you understand. 
 
 Soc. jun. — What? 
 
 Guest. — That the race of horses and asses naturally 
 procreate with each other. 
 Soc. jun. — It does. 
 
 Guest. — But the other still remaining portion of the 
 smooth-haired herd of tame animals is unmixed in their 
 generation with each other. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — But whether does the statesman appear to 
 take care of animals having a common, or individual 
 generation ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — It is evident of the unmixed (generation). 
 Guest. — We must then, as it seems, divide this, as those 
 before, into two parts. 
 Soc. jun. — Yes; we must. 
 
 Guest. — But we have cut into minute portions nearly 
 every tame and gregarious animal, except two genera. 
 For it is not fit to rank the genus of dogs among gre- 
 garious cattle. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It is not. But in what manner shall we 
 divide these two ? 
 
 Guest. — In that, by which it is just for you and Theaste- 
 tus to divide them, since you are handling the science of 
 geometry. 
 
 Soc. jun. — In what manner? 
 
 Guest. — By the diameter, and again by the diameter 
 of the diameter. 
 
i6 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 Soc. jun. — How say you ? 
 
 Guest. — Is the nature, which the race of us men pos- 
 sesses, adapted to locomotion in any other way than as 
 a diameter, which is two feet in power ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — In no other way. 
 
 Guest. — Moreover the nature of the remaining genus is 
 again according to the power of our power, a diameter, 
 if it naturally consists of twice two feet. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Undoubtedly. And now I nearly understand 
 what you wish to show. 
 
 Guest. — But in addition to these, do we perceive, Soc- 
 rates, something else belonging to those having a repu- 
 tation for laughter, which happened to us in making the 
 former division ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — What is that? 
 
 Guest. — This, our human race, sharing the same lot 
 and running the same course with a race the most gen- 
 erous and most handy of existing (animals). 
 
 Soc. jmi. — I perceive it happening very absurdly too. 
 
 Guest. — Is it not fit that the slowest things should ar- 
 rive last of all ? 
 
 Soc. jim. — It is. 
 
 Guest. — But we do not perceive this, that a king 
 appears still more ridiculous, when running together with 
 the herd, and performing his course in conjunction with 
 him, who is exercised in the best manner with respect 
 to a tractable life. 
 
 Soc. ju7i. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — For now, Socrates, that is more apparent, which 
 was said by us in our search for a sophist. 
 Soc. jun. — What is that? 
 
 Guest. — That in such a method of discourse there is no 
 greater care for what is venerable, than what is not, nor 
 does it prefer the small to the great, but always accom- 
 plishes that which according to itself is most true. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It appears so. 
 
 Guest. — After this, that you may not anticipate me by 
 asking what is the shorter road to the definition of a 
 king, shall I traverse it the first ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — By all means. 
 
 Guest. — I say then, that we ought to have divided 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 17 
 
 forthwith the foot-walking- genus into the biped and 
 quadruped; and, seeing that the human race shared the 
 same lot with the flying genus alone, we ought to have 
 again divided the two-footed into the wingless and 
 winged ; and this division having been made, and the 
 art shown, which is the rearer of men, we ought to have 
 brought forward and placed over it the statesman and 
 kingly character, like a charioteer, and given him the 
 reins of the city, in consequence of this science being 
 peculiarly his own. 
 
 Soc. jmi. — You have (spoken) beautifully, and given me 
 an account, as it were, of a debt, and added a digression, 
 by way of interest, and completed (the transaction). 
 
 [lo.] Guest. — Come then, let us, going back to the be- 
 ginning, connect with the end the discourse concerning 
 the name of the statesman's art. 
 
 Soc. jun. — By all means. 
 
 Guest. — One part then of intellectual science was at 
 the beginning the commanding; and the part assimilated 
 to this was called the self-commanding. Again, of the 
 self-commanding, the rearing of animals was cut off, as 
 not the smallest part of the genera; and of the rearing 
 of animals, the rearing of herds was a species ; and of the 
 rearing of herds, (a part) was the care of foot-walking 
 animals; and of the care of foot- walking animals, the 
 science of rearing the hornless race was especially cut 
 off. But of this again, it is necessary to connect a part, 
 not less than the triple, if any one is desirous of bring- 
 ing it under one name, by calling it the science of 
 tending an unmixed genius. But a section from this, 
 which alone remains, and which rears men, as being a 
 biped flock, is the part which has been just now ex- 
 plored, and is called, at one and the same time, the 
 kingly and statesmanly kind. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — Do you then, Socrates, think that this has 
 been, as you say, really done well ? 
 Soc. jun. — What ? 
 
 Guest. — That the thing proposed has been in every re- 
 spect sufficiently discussed. Or has our investigation been 
 particularly deficient in this very thing, that the account 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 has been given in words, but not in all respects worked 
 out to the end ? 
 
 Soc. j'un. — How say you? 
 
 Guest. — I will endeavor to explain to ourselves more 
 clearly what I am thinking of. 
 Soc. j'un. — Say it. 
 
 Guest. — There is then of many herdsmen's arts, that 
 have appeared to us, one, the statesman's, and the guard- 
 ianship of some one herd. 
 
 Soc. jun. — There is. 
 
 Guest. — This our discourse has defined to be neither 
 the rearer of horses, nor of other animals, but to be the 
 science of rearing men in common. 
 
 [ii.] Soc. Jun. — Jt did so. 
 
 Guest. — Now let us see what is the difference between 
 all herdsmen and kings. 
 Soc. Jun. — What is it? 
 
 Guest. — If any one of the rest, possessing' the name of 
 another art, says and pretends to be the rearer in com- 
 mon of the herd, ( what should we say ) ? 
 
 Soc. Jun. — How say you? 
 
 Guest. — Just as if all merchants, and husbandmen, and 
 purveyors of food, and besides these, teachers of gym- 
 nastics, and the genus of physicians, should, you know 
 that by their speeches oppose altogether the herdsmen of 
 the human race, whom we have called statesmen, and 
 assert that it is their care to rear men, and not only men 
 herded together, but even the rulers themselves — 
 
 Soc. Jun. — Would they not rightly say? 
 
 Guest. — Perhaps so. And' we will consider this too. 
 We know that no one will contend with a herdsman about 
 things of this kind; since he is himself the rearer, him- 
 self the physician, and himself, as it were, the bridesman 
 (of the herd), and is alone skilled in the midwife's art 
 respecting the birth and delivery of the produce. No 
 one, besides, is better able, by such sport and music as 
 cattle can, by their nature, share in, to console and 
 soothe, and render gentle, both with instruments and the 
 naked mouth, handling in the best way the music of his 
 flock. And the same may be said of other herdsmen. 
 Or may it not ? 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 '9 
 
 Soc. jun. — Most right. 
 
 Guest. — How then will our discourse respecting a king 
 appear to be right and entire, when we place him alone, 
 as the herdsman and rearer of the human herd, selecting 
 him alone owX. of ten thousand others contending with 
 him ? 
 
 Soc. j'lin. — By no means. 
 
 Guest. — Did we not then a little before very properly 
 fear, when we suspected, lest we should only speak of a 
 certain figure of a king, and not perfectly work out the 
 statesman, until by taking away those, who were diffused 
 around him, and laid claim to a fellow-rearing, and, by 
 separating him from them, we should exhibit him alone 
 and pure ? 
 
 Soc. pm. — Most rightly (did we fear). 
 
 Guest. — This then, Socrates, must be done by us, un- 
 less we are about to bring disgrace upon our discourse 
 at its end. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — But this at least must by no means be done. 
 [i2.] Guest. — We must then march by another road 
 again from another beginning. 
 Soc. jun. — By what road? 
 
 Guest. — By mixing up almost some merriment. For it 
 is requisite to make use of the prolix portion of a long 
 story, and, as regards what still remains, to take away, 
 as we did before, always a part from a part, till we 
 arrive at the summit of the inquiry. Must we not do so ? 
 
 Soc. Jun. — Certainly. 
 
 Guest. — Give then, as children do, entirely your atten- 
 tion to my story ; (for) you are not altogether flying from 
 many years of merriment. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — Relate it. 
 
 Guest. — Of the things then said of old, there have been, 
 and will be still, many others (preserved) and the prodigy 
 likewise relating to the reported contests between Atreus 
 and Thyestes. For you have surely heard and remember 
 what is then said to have happened. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — Perhaps you mean the prodigy respecting 
 the golden ewe. 
 
 Guest. — By no means; but respecting the change in the 
 rising and setting of the sun, and of the other constelU- 
 
20 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 tions, how that they set then at the very place from 
 whence they now rise, and rose from the opposite 
 one;* and that the deity gave a testimony in favor of 
 Atreus, and changed (the heavens) into the present figure. 
 Soc. jun. — This, too, is reported. 
 
 Guest. — And we have likewise heard from many of the 
 kingdom over which Kronos (Saturn) ruled. 
 
 Soc. jun. — We have from very many. 
 
 Guest. — And that the men of former times were pro- 
 duced earthborn, and not begotten from each other ? 
 
 Soc. Jun. — This, too, is one of the things said of old. 
 
 Guest. — All these things then arose from the same 
 circumstance, and in addition to these ten thousand 
 others, and still more wonderful. But, through the length 
 of time, some of them have become extinct, and others 
 are told in a dispersed manner, separate from each other. 
 But that which is the cause of this to all these, no per- 
 son has told as yet; and it must be now told; for being 
 told it will be something conspicuous for showing forth 
 the king. 
 
 [13.] Soc. jun. — You have spoken most beautifully. Say 
 on then, and omit nothing. 
 
 Guest. — Hear, then. This universe the deity does at 
 one time conduct himself, as it proceeds, and with it rolls 
 on ; but at another leaves it, when its revolutions shall have 
 received the measure of the fitting time ; and it is then 
 brought back again of its own accord to a contrary state, 
 being a thing of life, and having a share of intelligence 
 from him, who put it together at its outset. Now this 
 movement backward has been of necessity implanted in it 
 through this. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Through what ? 
 
 Guest. — To subsist always according to the same, and 
 in a similar manner, and to be the same, belongs to the 
 most divine of all things alone. But the nature of body 
 is not of this order. But that, which we have called heaven 
 and the world, has a share in many and blessed (gifts) 
 from the producing ( cause ) ; moreover, it has had a share 
 
 *In this solution of the story is to be found the germ of the notion of 
 modem geologists that the position of the poles of the earth has beer; 
 changed at some veryj^remote period. 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 21 
 
 of body ; from whence it cannot be entirely without a share 
 of change ; nevertheless, according to its power it is moved 
 as much as possible in the same, and according to the 
 same, by one impetus. Hence it is allotted a revolving 
 movement, as being the smallest change in its motion. 
 But scarcely anything is able to turn itself by itself, 
 except that which is the leader of all things that are 
 moved. And it is not lawful for this to move at one time 
 in one way, and at another in a contrary way. From 
 all this then we must say, that the world does not always 
 cause itself to revolve, nor that the whole is always made 
 by the deity to revolve in two and contrary revolutions: 
 nor, again, that some two deities, whose thoughts are con- 
 trary to each other, cause it to revolve; but what has 
 been said just now, and remains alone, that at one time 
 it is conducted by another divine cause, possessing the 
 power to live again, and receiving an immortality prepared 
 by the demiurgus ; but that at another time, when it is 
 let loose, its proceeds itself by itself; and, after being 
 thus let loose for such a time as to perform back again 
 many myriads of revolutions, it proceeds by its being of 
 the greatest size, and most equally balanced, to move at 
 the smallest foot. 
 
 Soc.jun. — All that you have gone through appears to 
 be said very reasonably indeed. 
 
 [14.] Guest. — Reasoning then from what has been said 
 already, let us think together on the circumstance, which 
 we stated was the cause of all these wonderful doings. 
 For it is this very thing. 
 
 Soc. j'un. — What ? 
 
 Guest. — That the movement of the universe is at one 
 time carried on, as it is at present, in a circle, and at 
 another time in the contrary direction. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How is this ? 
 
 Guest. — We must consider this change of motion to be 
 the greatest and most perfect of all the revolutions, relat- 
 ing to the heavenly bodies. 
 
 Soc.jun. — It is likely. 
 
 Guest. — It is proper then to think that the greatest 
 changes happen at that time to us, who are living within 
 the universe. 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 Soc. jun. — And this, too, is likely. 
 
 Guest. — But do we not know that the nature of ani- 
 mals sustains with difficulty changes great, numerous, 
 and of all kinds ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not. ? 
 
 Guest. — Hence the greatest destruction of other ani- 
 mals necessarily takes place at that time, and that of 
 the human race only some small portion remains. And 
 to these many other wonderful and novel circumstances 
 happen at the same time; but this is the greatest, and 
 follows that revolution of the universe at that period, 
 when a turn occurs contrary to the present state of things. 
 
 Soc. jun. — What? 
 
 Guest. — The period of life, which each animal then 
 had, this was first arrested in all; and all that was mor- 
 tal ceased to be seen advancing to old age, but changing 
 back to the contrary, grew, as it were, younger and 
 more delicate. The white hairs too of older people 
 became black, and the cheeks of those that had beards 
 becoming smooth, brought back each person to the past 
 blooming period of life. The bodies likewise of such as 
 were in manhood's prime, becoming smoother and 
 smaller each day and night, returned again to the 
 nature of a newly-born child, and were assimilated to 
 this nature, both in soul and body; and thenceforth 
 wasting away, disappeared in reality entirely; and the 
 corpses of those, who died at that time through violence, 
 did, through undergoing the self-same fate, become in a 
 manner unseen, and in a few days, quite putrid. 
 
 [15.] Soc. jun. — But what was then, O guest the gen- 
 eration of animals, and in what manner were they 
 produced from each other ? 
 
 Guest. — It is evident, Socrates, that at that time there 
 was no generation of one thing from another; but, it is 
 said, there was once an earth-bom race; this was at that 
 period restored back again from earth; and the tradition 
 of it was remembered by our first progenitors, who were 
 close upon the revolution (that reached to) the period 
 next in order, and were born at the beginning of the 
 present state of things. For they became the heralds to 
 us of those accounts, which are at present disbelieved 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 23 
 
 improperly by the multitude. For I think we ought to 
 reflect together on the consequence. For from the fact 
 of old men coming to the nature of boys, it follows, 
 that of such as were dead, but (not) laid in the earth, 
 the corpses would be put together and made to revive 
 by the turn of production revolving in a contrary direc- 
 tion; and that the earth-born race would, according to 
 this method being necessarily produced, have their name 
 and speech, except such as a deity conveyed (elsewhere), 
 or invested with another fate. 
 
 Soc. j'un. — This really follows from what has been said 
 above. But with respect to the life, which you say was 
 under the rule of Kronos (Saturn), did it subsist in those 
 revolutions, or in these ? For it is evident that the change 
 in the position of the stars and the sun coincides with 
 both these revolutions. 
 
 Guest. — You have followed well the discourse. But, in 
 answer to your question respecting all things being pro- 
 duced spontaneously for mankind, this by no means is 
 the case in the present revolution ; but it occurred in the 
 former. For then the deity was at first the ruler and 
 guardian of the whole revolving circle ; just as now the 
 parts of the world are locally distributed by gods ruling in 
 the very same way. Divine daemons, too, had a share, after 
 the manner of shepherds, in animals according to genera 
 and herds, each being sufficient for all things pertaining 
 to the several particulars over which he presided; so that 
 there was nothing of a wild nature, no eating of each 
 other, no war, nor sedition of any kind; and ten thous- 
 and other things might be stated, which follow upon such 
 an arrangement. But what is said respecting the spon- 
 taneous life of these men, has been stated on this account. 
 The deity himself tended them, and was their protector; 
 just as men now, being an animal more divine than 
 others, tend other races meaner than themselves; and as 
 he tended them, there were no forms of state or polity, 
 nor a property in women and children ; for all these were 
 restored to life from the earth, and had no recollection 
 of former events.* But all such things were absent; they 
 
 * On the other hand, Plato, in the Meno and Phaedo, says that man's 
 present knowledge is only the recollection of what the soul knew in a 
 
24 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 had, however, fruit in abundance from oaks, and many- 
 other trees, not grown by land tilling, but given spon- 
 taneously by the earth. They lived, too, for the most 
 part naked, upon no strewed couch, and in the open air; 
 for the temperament of the seasons was not painful to them ; 
 theirs were soft beds of grass, springing up without grudg- 
 ing from the earth. And thus, Socrates, you hear what 
 was the life of men under Kronos (Saturn) : but you, 
 being present yourself, perceive what is life now, which 
 is said to be under Zeus (Jupiter). But are you able and 
 willing likewise, to judge which of these is the happier ? 
 Soc. jun. — By no means. 
 
 Guest. — Do you wish then that I should, after a fash- 
 ion, judge for you ? 
 Soc. Jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 [i6.] Guest. — If then those nurtured by Kronos (Sat- 
 urn), when they had so much leisure and the power to 
 converse not only with men, but with brutes likewise, 
 had used all these means for the purposes of philosophy, 
 associating with brutes and with each other, and inquir- 
 ing of every nature which had a perceptive power of its 
 own, in what respect it differed from the rest for the 
 collecting together of prudence, it is easy to judge that 
 the men of that time were ten thousand-fold happier than 
 those of the present. But if, being filled to satiety with 
 meats and drinks, they discoursed with each other, and 
 with brutes, in fables.* such as are now told of them, it 
 is easy, according to my opinion, to prove the very same 
 thing. Let us, however, dismiss this question, until some 
 one shall appear sufficient to point out whether the men 
 of that time had any desire for science and the need of 
 discourse. But let us now state for what reason we have 
 raised up the fable, in order that we may after this pro- 
 ceed onward. For when the time of all these was corn- 
 previous state of existence, according to the Pythagorean doctrine of the 
 Metempsychosis. 
 
 * Here is evidently an allusion to the .lEsopic Fables, which I have 
 shown in The Surplice, No. 35, July, 1846, and foil., to have been 
 written by Socrates; to which Plato has thus properly paid no mean 
 a compliment; for they were above all praise; although they are found 
 at present in only a mutilated form, like some of the finest temples 
 of former times. 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 25 
 
 pleted, and it was necessary for a change to take place, 
 and moreover, when the whole race on earth was already 
 consumed, and every soul had given up its generations, 
 and as many seeds as were ordained for each soul, it 
 having fallen on the earth, then did the governor of 
 the universe, releasing himself, as it were, from the 
 handle of a rudder, depart to his own place of a look- 
 out; and then Fate and implanted Desire again caused 
 the world to revolve. All the gods then, who govern 
 locally, in conjunction with the greatest divinity, know- 
 ing what was now taking place, again deprived the parts 
 of the world of their providential care. But the world 
 having undergone a change in its revolution, conflicting 
 and rushing with the contrary impulse of a beginning 
 and end, and producing in itself a mighty concussion, 
 worked out again another destruction of all kinds of 
 animals. After this, when a sufficient time had gone on, 
 the world ceasing from tumult, confusion, and concus- 
 sions, did, taking advantage of a calm, proceed, arranged 
 most beautifully in its usual course, possessing a guardi- 
 anship and dominion itself over the things in itself and 
 belonging to itself; (and) remembering, to the utmost of 
 its power, the instructions of the demiurgus and father. 
 Now at the commencement it performed this duty more 
 carefully, but at the end more obtusely. But the cause 
 of this is in the corporeal form of the temperature, which 
 had grown up with its former nature ; since it partook of 
 much disorder, before it arrived at its present orderly 
 arrangement. For from him, who put it together, it ob- 
 tained every good ; but from its previous habit, whatever 
 harshness and injustice exist in heaven, these it does both 
 possess itself from that former habit, and introduce like- 
 wise into animals. In conjunction then with the ruler, 
 the world, when nourishing the animals within it, brings 
 forth evil of a small kind, but good of a large ; but sepa- 
 rated from him, it conducts all things beautifully during 
 the time nearest to his departure; but as time goes on, 
 and oblivion comes on it, the circumstance of its 
 former unfitness domineers with greater force; and 
 at the concluding period of time it bursts out into the 
 full flower of wrong; and (producing) only a little good 
 
26 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 but mingling much of the temperament of things con- 
 trary to good, it arrives at the danger of both its own 
 destruction, and of the things within it. Hence the god, 
 who arranged the world, perceiving it in difficulties, and 
 anxious lest, being thus tempest-tossed, it should be thor- 
 oughly loosened by the hurly-burly and be plunged into 
 the infinite sea of dissimilitude, again seats himself at 
 the helm; and whatever is laboring and loosened in its 
 own former period, he having turned arranges, and by 
 putting straight, renders the world free from death and 
 old age. This then is ( one ) end of the whole story. 
 But this is sufficient to show, from what has been said, 
 the nature of a king to such, as lay hold of the discourse. 
 For the world having been again turned to the present 
 path of generation, its age was again stopped, and it im- 
 parted novel things, the contrary to what it had done 
 formerly. For animals, wanting but little to be through 
 their small size annihilated, are increased ; and hoary bodies 
 recently born from the earth, dying again, descend into 
 the earth ; and all other things are changed, imitating and 
 following the conditions of the universe. The imitation, 
 likewise, of conception, generation, and nourishing, fol- 
 lowed all things from necessity. For it was no longer 
 possible for an animal to be produced in the earth, through 
 the different things, which compose it; but, as the world 
 was ordained to be the absolute ruler of its own progress, 
 so after the same manner its parts also were destined by 
 a similar guidance to spring forth, generate, and nourish, 
 as far as they were able. But we have now arrived at 
 the very question for the sake of which the whole of our 
 discourse was proceeded. For, with respect to other beasts, 
 many circumstances, and of a prolix nature, might be 
 gone through; such as, from what each is, and through 
 what cause they have been changed; but those relating 
 to man are shorter, and more to our purpose. For man- 
 kind having become destitute of the guardian care of the 
 daemon, who possesses and tends us, while the majority of 
 animals, that were naturally cruel, have on the other hand 
 become savage, men, now weak, and without a guard, 
 were torn to pieces by such animals ; and, in those earliest 
 times, they were without inventions and arts; for after 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 27 
 
 the earth had failed in its spontaneous food, they did not 
 know how to procure it, through no want having previ- 
 ously compelled them (to get it). From all these causes 
 they were in the greatest difficulties. Hence the old- 
 mentioned gifts were given us by gods, together with the 
 necessary instruction and erudition ; fire from Prometheus, 
 and arts from Hephaestus (Vulcan), and his fellow-artist 
 (Pallas); on the other hand, seeds and plants were given 
 by others, and all such things as furnish a support for 
 human life, were produced from these; since, as was 
 stated just now, the guardian care of the gods had de- 
 serted mankind ; and it became requisite for men to have 
 the conduct and care of themselves, in the same manner 
 as the whole world ; in the imitating and following which, 
 through all the revolutions of time, we live and are born, 
 now in this way, and now in that. Let this then be the 
 end of the story. But we will make it useful for dis- 
 covering how far we have erred in defining the characters 
 of a king and statesman in our previous discourse. 
 
 [17.] Soc. j'un. In what respect then, and how far, do 
 you say has there been an [error ? 
 
 Guest. — Partly less, and partly in a very generous man- 
 ner, and in a greater degree, and more than before. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How ? 
 
 Guest. — Because, when we were asked respecting a king 
 and a statesman belonging to the present revolution and 
 generation, we spoke of a person tending a human herd 
 of the contrary period, and this too a god, and not a man. 
 In this then we transgressed very much. But when we 
 exhibited him as the ruler of the whole state, we did not 
 say in what manner (he was so) ; and in this respect the 
 truth was told, but not the whole (truth), nor was it 
 clearly enunciated; hence we erred less in this case than 
 in that. 
 
 Soc. jmi. — True. 
 
 Guest. — We ought then, it seems, to expect that the 
 statesman will have been completely described by tis, 
 when we shall have defined the manner of governing a state. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Very well. 
 
 Guest. — On this account we have brought forward the 
 story, in order that (one) might show, with respect to the 
 
28 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 herd-tending, not only that all contend about it with the 
 person now sought for; hut that we might more clearly 
 perceive him, whom, alone it is fitting according to the 
 pattern of shepherds and neat-herds, to have the tend- 
 ing of the human herd, and alone worthy to be called 
 by that name. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Right. 
 
 Guest. — But I think, Socrates, that this figure of a 
 divine shepherd is still greater than becomes a king; 
 and that the statesmen now existing here are much 
 more like subjects in their nature, and take more nearly 
 a share in discipline and nurture. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Giiest. — But they will have to be investigated neither 
 more nor less, whether they are naturally in this position 
 or in that. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not ? 
 
 Guest. — Let us then turn back again. For we said, that 
 there was a self-commanding art respecting animals, 
 which took care of them, not privately, but in common; 
 and this art we then straightway called the herd-tending 
 art. Do you recollect ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — Yes. 
 
 Guest. — In this then we erred. For we have not by any 
 means laid hold of the statesman, nor given him a name ; but 
 as regards the appellation, it has lain hid from and escaped us. 
 
 Soc. juyi. — How so? 
 
 Guest. — To tend the several kinds of herds belongs to 
 all other herdsmen ; but we have not given a fitting name 
 to the statesman, it being requisite for him to bear one 
 of those common to all. 
 
 Soc. jun. — You speak the truth, if indeed there hap- 
 pens to be (a common one). 
 
 Giicst. — But how is it not possible to apply the word 
 healing, as something common to all, neither tending nor 
 any other occupation being stated ? and if it is lawful for 
 persons giving a name (to an art) to wrap it up (in words 
 like) herd-tending, or healing in any way, as being appli- 
 cable generally, (it is lawful to wrap up) the word states- 
 man likewise together with others, especially since reason 
 shows that this should (be done) ? 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 29 
 
 [18.] Soc. jun. — Right. But after this in what manner 
 would the division be made ? 
 
 Guest. — In the same manner, as we before divided the 
 herd-tending- art for the walking and wingless tribes, and 
 for the immixed and hornless, in the very same manner 
 by dividing the herd-tending, we shall have compre- 
 hended both the present kingly rule and that in the time 
 of Kronos (Saturn) similarly in our discourse. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It appears so. But I am seeking what (will 
 be) after this. 
 
 Guest. — It is plain that if the word herd-tending had 
 been thus spoken, no one would have contended with us 
 that there is no idea whatever of attention in it; as it 
 was then justly contended, that there is no art amongst 
 us which deserves the appellation of tending; and that 
 if there were, it belongs to many things prior and pref- 
 erable to any thing pertaining to kings. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Right. 
 
 Guest. — But no other art would be willing to say that 
 it is more and before kingly rule, as a careful tending 
 of the whole of human fellowship, and of men taken 
 generally. 
 
 Soc. jun. — You say rightly. 
 
 Guest. — But after this, Socrates, do you perceive that 
 an error has been made frequently toward the very end ? 
 Soc. jun. — Of what kind? 
 
 Guest. — In this, that though we have conceived that 
 there is a certain rearing art of a biped herd, we 
 ought not any more to have straightway called it, as if 
 entirely complete, the art of the king and statesman. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Why not ? 
 
 Guest. — In the first place, as we said, we (ought) to 
 have suited the name more to guardianship than to nu- 
 triment: and in the next place, to make a division in 
 this (guardianship). For it will have no small divisions. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Of what kind ? 
 
 Guest. — In that we can surely place apart the divine 
 shepherd, and the human gnardian. 
 Soc. jim. — Right. 
 
 Guest. — And again it is necessary to cut into two the 
 distributed guardianship. 
 
3° 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 Soc. jun. — Into what ? 
 
 Guest. — Into the violent and the voluntary. 
 Soc. Jun. — What then? 
 
 Guest. — By erring before in this more stupidly than 
 was fitting, we put down together a king and a tyrant 
 as the same; although they are most dissimilar both in 
 themselves and in their form of government respectively. 
 
 Soc. jun. — True. 
 
 Guest. — Now, therefore, again correcting ourselves, let 
 us, as I have already said, divide human guardianship 
 into the violent and the voluntary. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — And calling the guardianship by the violent 
 tyrannic, but the voluntary [and the herd-tending of 
 voluntary biped animals], statesmanship, let us show, 
 that he who possesses this [art and] guardianship is truly 
 a king and a statesman. 
 
 [19.] Soc. jun. — And thus the demonstration, O guest, 
 respecting the statesman, is very like to appear to us as 
 being perfect. 
 
 Guest. — This would be well for us, Socrates. But it is 
 requisite that this should appear not only to you, but 
 likewise to me, in common with you. At present, how- 
 ever, the king appears to me not to possess as yet a 
 perfect figure; but just as statuaries, who by hastening 
 their work sometimes unseasonably, do, through intro- 
 ducing more and greater things than are fitting, retard 
 it: so have we at present, in order that we might show 
 both quickly and splendidly, that we erred in the former 
 part of our digression, through thinking that great pat- 
 terns should be employed in the case of a king, have 
 brought in a marvelous mass of a myth, and been com- 
 pelled to use a greater portion of it than was proper. 
 On this account, we have made a rather prolix demon- 
 stration, and have not entirely finished the fable. But 
 our discourse really appears somewhat like an animal, to 
 have its outline defined sufficiently, but to have not 
 received the distinctness given by pigments, and the 
 mixture of colors. But it is more becoming to exhibit 
 every animal by a description, to such as are able to 
 follow the account, than by painting, and 9,11 the work 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 31 
 
 of hand; but to other persons through works of the 
 hand. 
 
 Soc. jun. — This indeed (is said rightly) : but show me 
 why you say you have not yet spoken sufficiently. 
 
 Guest. — It is difficult, O divine youth, to exhibit great 
 things sufficiently, without using patterns. For each of 
 us appear to know all things as in a night-dream, and 
 again to be ignorant of all things according to a day- 
 dream. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How said you this ? 
 
 Guest. — We appear in the present case to have mooted 
 very absurdly the circumstance relating to the knowledge 
 (which is) in us. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How so ? 
 
 Guest. — The pattern, O blessed one, has required itself 
 again a pattern. 
 
 Soc. jun. — What ? Tell me, and do not, on my account 
 at least, hesitate. 
 
 [20.] Guest. — I must speak, since you are ready to 
 tollow. For we know, that children know their letters. 
 
 Soc. jun. — What ? 
 
 Guest. — That they understand sufficiently each of the 
 letters in the shortest and easiest syllables, and are able 
 to speak the truth concerning them. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not ? 
 
 Guest. — But, being on the other hand doubtful about 
 those in other syllables, they say what is false in idea 
 and word. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — Is it not then the easiest and the best thing 
 to lead them thus to what is not yet known ? 
 Soc. jun. — How ? 
 
 Guest. — By first leading them back to those things, in 
 which they had correct ideas respecting those very same 
 matters; and after leading them, to place before them 
 things not yet known; and by comparing them together, 
 to show that there is the same likeness and nature in 
 both the combinations, till the things conceived, having 
 been compared with all the unknown, are shown correctly ; 
 and, after being shown and becoming thus patterns, cause 
 each one of all the letters in all the syllables to be called 
 
32 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 one different, and another the same, as being always 
 under the same circumstances, different and the same 
 (respectively). 
 Soc Jim. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — This, then, we sufficiently comprehend, that the 
 production of a pattern then takes place, when that, 
 which is the same, is, in the case of another thing placed 
 apart, rightly conceived by opinion, and being brought 
 together to it, produces one true opinion respecting either, 
 as it did about both. 
 
 Soc. j'un. — It appears so. 
 
 Guest. — Shall we then wonder if our soul, suffering 
 naturally the same thing respecting the elements of all 
 things, does at one time stand firm in certain points 
 under the influence of truth respecting each individual 
 thing, and at another time fluctuates in other points re- 
 specting all things ? and that when, (as regards) some 
 (elements) of comminglings, it thinks rightly, it should 
 somehow or another again be ignorant of these very same 
 things, when they are transferred to long and difficult 
 syllable-like unions of things ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — There is nothing wonderful in this. 
 
 Guest. — But how, my friend, can any one, beginning 
 from false opinion, arrive at even a small portion of 
 truth, and thus acquire wisdom ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — Nearly not at all. 
 
 Guest. — If then these things are naturally in this way, 
 you and I shall not in any respect overdo it, if, by first 
 endeavoring to perceive the nature of the whole pattern 
 in some other small and partial one, and after this, by 
 transferring to the nature of a king, which is the great- 
 est of all patterns, the same species, from lesser things 
 from some quarter, we shall be about to endeavor again, 
 through a pattern, to know by art the care of state 
 affairs, so that there may be a day-dream instead of a 
 night one. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Perfectly right. 
 
 Guest. — Again then let us take up the preceding rea- 
 soning, that since ten thousand persons contend with the 
 kingly genus, respecting the guardianship of a state, it 
 is requisite to separate all these, and to leave it by 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 33 
 
 itself. And for this purpose we said we have need of 
 some pattern. 
 
 Soc. j'un. — And very much so. 
 
 [21.] Guest. — By producing then what pattern, which 
 embraces an occupation similar to statesmanship, and is 
 the smallest possible, could one sufficiently find the thing 
 sought for ? Are you, Socrates, willing, by Zeus, unless 
 we have something else at hand, for us to choose at least 
 the weaving art ? and this too not the whole, if it seems 
 good; for, perhaps, the art relating to weaving of wool 
 will suffice. For it may happen, that even this portion 
 being chosen will witness to what we want (to show). 
 
 Soc. jun. — For why should it not? 
 
 Guest. — Why then have we not, as we did before, after 
 cutting the parts, each of them separate, done the very 
 same thing now in the case of the weaving art ? and why, 
 after passing over all things to the best of our power in 
 the shortest manner possible, have we not come to what 
 is useful at present ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — How say you? 
 
 Guest. — I will make the digression itself an answer. 
 
 Soc. jun. — You speak most excellently. 
 
 Guest. — Of all the things which we fabricate and pos- 
 sess, some are for the sake of our doing something, and 
 others are defenses against our not suffering. And of 
 these defenses some are medicinal, both divine and 
 human; others are protective. And of the protective, 
 some are warlike implements, others (peaceful) defenses. 
 And of the (peaceful) defenses, some are veils, others 
 are to ward off heat and cold. And of those that ward 
 off, some cover at a distance, others near. And of the 
 near, some are extended under, others around. And of 
 those extended around, some are cut as a whole piece, 
 others put together. And of those put together, some 
 are perforated, others are bound together, not perforated. 
 And of those that are not perforated, some are composed 
 of the fibres of the plants of the earth, others are 
 hairy. And of the hairy, some are conglutinated by water 
 and earth, others are connected themselves with them- 
 selves. Now to these defenses and coverings, which are 
 wrought from the things bound together, themselves 
 3 
 
34 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 with themselves, we give the name of dress. And let us 
 call the art, which is especially conversant with dresses, 
 dressmaking, from the thing itself; in the same manner 
 as we called above the art respecting a state, statesman- 
 ship. And let us say too, that the weaving art, so far 
 as it weaves for the most part garments, differs in noth- 
 ing but the name from the dressmaking art; just as 
 (we said) there, that the king-art (differed only nom- 
 inally) from statesmanship. 
 Soc. jiin. — Most correctly. 
 
 Guest. — After this let us reason (thus), that some one 
 may perhaps think that the weaving art relating to 
 dresses has been thus defined sufficiently, he being unable 
 to perceive that it is not yet distinguished from its prox- 
 imate co-operators, but is separated from many other 
 things of a kindred nature. 
 
 [22.] Soc. jun. — Tell me what things of a kindred 
 nature. 
 
 Guest. — You have not followed what has been said, as 
 it seems. It appears, therefore, that we must return 
 from the end to the beginning. For, if you understand 
 affinity, we have now separated this from that, by sep- 
 arating the composition of coverings into things put 
 under and around. 
 
 Soc. jun. — I understand you. 
 
 Guest. — We have likewise separated every kind of man- 
 ufacture from flax and hemp, and all such things as we 
 just now described in the list of the fibres of plants. We 
 also defined the art of making a felt-like substance, and 
 the putting together by means of perforation and sewing, 
 which for the most part pertains to the cobbler's art. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — We have also separated the care bestowed on 
 the cobbler's art relating to coverings cut in the whole 
 piece, and of such as are employed in building, and in 
 the whole of the carpenter's art, and in all others that 
 are employed in stopping the flowing of water, and such 
 arts too of (peaceful) defenses as furnish works to be an 
 impediment to thieving and to acts of violence, and which 
 are employed about the production of obstacles and the 
 fixing of doors, and are distributed as parts of the bolt- 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 35 
 
 making- art. We have likewise divided the armor-making 
 art, which is a section of the great and varied power of 
 defense-making. We also defined, in the very beginning, 
 the whole art of quackery which is conversant with 
 medicines; and we left, so that we might seem (to be), 
 the very art defensive against storms, of which we are 
 in search, and which produces woolen vestments, and is 
 called the art of weaving. 
 Soc. jun. — It seems so. 
 
 Guest. — But this matter, O boy, has not been perfectly 
 detailed. For he, who first engaged in the making of 
 garments, appeared to act in a manner directly contrary 
 to weaving. 
 
 Soc. pin. — How so? 
 
 Guest. — For the work of weaving is a certain knitting 
 together. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It is. 
 
 Guest. — But the work (of the garment-maker) consists 
 in loosening things put together, and felted together. 
 
 Soc. jun. — What kind of work is this ? 
 
 Guest. — The work of the art of the wool-carder. Or 
 shall we dare to call the art of wool-carding the 
 weaving art, and a wool-carder a weaver ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — By no means. 
 
 Guest. — But if any one should call the art of making 
 the warp and woof the weaving art, would he not assert 
 a parodox, and give it a false name ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 Gtiest. — But whether shall we say that the whole of the 
 fuller's and the mender's art contribute nothing to the 
 attention to and care of garments ? Or shall we call all 
 these weaving arts ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — By no means. 
 
 Guest. — But all these contend with the power of the 
 weaving art, respecting the care and the production of 
 garments; attributing, indeed, to it the greatest part, but 
 likewise assigning to themselves great portions of the 
 same art. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — Besides these, it further appears requisite, that 
 the handicraft arts, relating to the instruments through 
 
36 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 which the works of the weaver are performed, should lay 
 claim to be co-causes of all weaving. 
 Soc. jun. — Most right. 
 
 Guest. — Whether then will our discourse about the 
 weaving art, a part of which we have chosen, be suffi- 
 ciently defined, if we lay it down that it is the most 
 beautiful and the greatest of all the arts, which are 
 employed about woolen garments ? Or shall we thus, 
 indeed, speak something of the truth, but yet neither 
 clearly nor perfectly, till we have separated all these arts 
 from it ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — Correctly. 
 
 [23.] Guest. — Must we not then after this so act, that, 
 what we say, may proceed in an orderly series ? 
 Soc. jun. — How not ? 
 
 Guest. — In the first place then let us consider two arts, 
 which exist about all things. 
 Soc. jun. — What are they? 
 
 Guest. — One is the co-cause of generation, and the 
 other is the cause itself. 
 Soc. jun. — How ? 
 
 Guest. — Such arts, as do not fabricate the thing itself, 
 but prepare instruments for the fabricating (arts), with- 
 out the presence of which the proposed work could not 
 be effected by each of the arts, these are co-causes: but 
 those, which fabricate the thing itself, are causes. 
 
 Soc. jun. — This is reasonable. 
 
 Guest. — In the next place, those arts which produce 
 the distaff, and the shuttle, and such other instruments 
 as contribute to the making of garments, all these are 
 co-causes : but those which pay attention to and fabricate 
 garments, causes. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Most right. 
 
 Guest. — But of causes, it is reasonable to comprehend 
 that portion of it especially, which pertains to washing 
 and mending, and all the caring about these, since the 
 adorning art is abundant, and to denominate the whole 
 the fuller's art. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It will so. 
 
 Guest. — Moreover, the carding and spinning, and all 
 that relates to the making of the garment, of which we 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 37 
 
 are detailing' the parts, is one art, called by all persons 
 the wool-working. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — Of the wool- working- there are two sections, 
 and each of these arc together naturally parts of two arts. 
 Soc. Jun. — How ? 
 
 Guest. — The carding, and the half of that which uses 
 the shuttle, and separates from each other whatever are 
 placed together, all this in short is a part of the wool- 
 working art; and there were two great parts as regards 
 the whole, one commingling, and the other separating. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — Yes. 
 
 Guest. — Of the separating then both the carding and 
 all those just now mentioned are a part. For that, which 
 in the case of the wool and thread is the separating art, 
 takes place, after one manner with the shuttle, and 
 after another with the hands, has the names which we 
 have just now mentioned. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — Entirel)'' so. 
 
 Guest. — Again, let us take a part of the commingling, 
 and of the wool-working contained in it; but let us pass 
 by all that was there relating to the separating, and let 
 us bisect the wool-working (art) together into the com- 
 mingling and separating section. 
 
 Sec. Jun. — Let it be so divided. 
 
 Guest. — We must then, Socrates, divide the commin- 
 gling, and at the same time the wool-working, if we are 
 about to comprehend sufficiently the proposed weaving art. 
 
 Soc. Ju7i. — It will be requisite. 
 
 Guest. — It will indeed; and let us say, that one part of 
 it is twisting, and the other complicating. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — Do I then understand you ? For you appear 
 to me to say that the working of the thread is twisting. 
 
 Guest. — Not the working of this only, but likewise of 
 the woof. Or shall we find any production of it which 
 is not twisting ? 
 
 Soc. Jun. — By no means. 
 
 Guest. — Define also each of these: for perhaps the 
 definition will be suitable. 
 Soc. Jun. — In what way? 
 
 Guest. — In this. We say that of the operations of wool- 
 
38 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 carding, that which has been drawn out into length and 
 possesses breadth, is a certain filament. 
 Soc.jun. — We do. 
 
 Guest. — And of this, when it is turned by the spindle, 
 and becomes a solid thread, do thou call a stamen; but 
 the art, which regulates it, let us say that this is stamen- 
 weaving. 
 
 Soc.jun. — Right. 
 
 Guest. — But such fabrics as receive a loose twisting, 
 and, by the infolding of the stamen through the dragging 
 of the knapping process, acquire a moderate softness, of 
 these we call what is spun the woof, but the art itself 
 which presides over these, woof -spinning. 
 
 Soc.jun. — Most right. 
 
 Guest. — And now that part of the weaving art, which 
 we have brought forward, is obvious to every one. For, 
 with respect to a part of the commingling art in wool- 
 working, when it accomplishes that, which is woven by 
 a straight knitting together of the woof and the thread, 
 then the whole of the thing v*'oven vv'c call a woolen 
 garment, but the art (presiding) over it, weaving. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Most right. 
 
 [24.] Guest. — Be it so. But why then did we not im- 
 mediately answer, that the weaving (art) is that which 
 infolds the woof and the thread, instead of proceeding in 
 a roundabout way, and defining many things in vain ? 
 
 Soc. juru — It does not appear to me, O guest, that of 
 what has been said a single thing has been said in 
 vain. 
 
 Guest. — This is not at all wonderful. But perhaps, O 
 blessed youth, it will appear so. But against such a 
 disorder, should it hereafter by chance come upon you 
 — for nothing is wonderful — hear a certain discourse, 
 proper to be spoken about all such things as these. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Only relate it. 
 
 Guest. — Let us then in the first place look into the 
 whole of excess and deficiency, in order that we may 
 praise and blame according to reason whatever is said on 
 each occasion at greater length, or the contrary, than is 
 becoming in disputations of this kind. 
 
 Soc. juii. — It will be proper so to do. 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 39 
 
 Guest. — Onr discourse taking- place on these points, 
 would, I think, take place rig-htly. 
 Soc. jiin. — About what things? 
 
 Guest. — About length and shortness, and the whole of 
 excess and deficiency. For the art of measuring is con- 
 versant with all these. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It is. 
 
 Guest. — Let us divide it then into two parts. For it 
 is necessary for that, to which we are hastening. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Inform me how this division (is to be made). 
 
 Guest. — Thus. One part according to the ideas relat- 
 ing in common to great and little, but the other part 
 according to the necessary existence of production. 
 
 Soc. J2tn. — How say you? 
 
 Guest. — Does it not appear to you to be according to 
 nature, that we ought to speak of the greater as being 
 greater than nothing else but the lesser ? and, on the 
 other hand, of the lesser as being lesser than the greater, 
 but nothing else ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — To me it does. 
 
 Guest. — But what, must we not say that, what sur- 
 passes the nature of moderation, and is surpassed by it, 
 whether in words or actions, is, when produced in reality, 
 that by which the good and bad of us differ the most 
 from each other ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — It appears so. 
 
 Guest. — These twofold existences then and judgments 
 respecting the great and the small we must lay down ; 
 but not, as we just now said, with reference to each 
 other only; but, as is just now said, we must speak of 
 one as being referable to each other, but of the other 
 ( as referable ) to moderation. Are we, however, willing 
 to learn on what account this is requisite ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not ? 
 
 Guest. — If any one admits the nattire of the greater 
 ( to be referable ) to nothing but the lesser, it will not 
 be ( referable ) to moderation. Will it ? 
 
 Soc. jun.— {It will be) thus. 
 
 Guest. — Shall we not then destroy the arts themselves, 
 and all their works, according to this reasoning ? And 
 shall we not cause to disappear entirely the statesman's 
 
40 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 science, which we are now investigating, and that which 
 is called the weaving art ? For all such things as these 
 guard against that, which is more or less than modera- 
 tion, not as if it had no existence, but as a thing of a 
 difficult nature in practice ; and after this manner pre- 
 serving moderation, they effect everything beautiful and 
 good. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not ? 
 
 Guest. — If then we cause to disappear the statesman's 
 science, will not our subsequent search of king-science 
 be without a road ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — Very much so. 
 
 Guest. — Whether, then, as in the Sophist, we com- 
 pelled nonentity to exist, after the discourse about it 
 had fled from us in that direction, so now we shall com- 
 pel the more and the less to become measured, not only 
 with reference to each other, but likewise to the pro- 
 duction of moderation ? For no one can become indis- 
 putably a statesman, or be any person else, possessing 
 a knowledge relating to actions, if this be not ac- 
 knowledged. 
 
 Soc. jun. — We ought then to do this even now as 
 much as possible. 
 
 [25.] Guest. — This, Socrates, is a still greater work than 
 that, although we remember how great was its prolixity. 
 But it is very just to put hypothetically something of 
 this kind respecting them. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Of what kind? 
 
 Guest. — That there will be a need of what has been just 
 stated, for the demonstration of what is accurate respect- 
 ing it. But as regards the present question, this reason- 
 ing is shown, well and sufficiently, it appears to me, to 
 assist us in a conspicuous manner, so that we must think 
 all arts are to be measured according to something more 
 and at the same time less, not only with reference to one 
 another, but to the production likewise of moderation. 
 For when this exists, they exist also; and when they 
 exist, this exists also; but when either of these does not 
 exist, neither of those will exist. 
 
 Soc. jun. — This, indeed, is right. But what is there 
 after this ? 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 41 
 
 Guest. — It is evident that we should divide the art of 
 measuring, as has been said, into two parts; placing as 
 one of its parts all those arts, which measure number, and 
 length, and depth, and breadth, and thickness, with refer- 
 ence to the contrary; but placing as its other part, such 
 arts as regard the moderate and the becoming, the sea- 
 sonable and the fit, and all such as are separated from 
 the extremes toward the middle (point). 
 
 Soc. jun. — Each of these sections is great, and they 
 differ much from each other. 
 
 Guest. — That, Socrates, which many clever men, who 
 think they are saying something wise, sometimes assert, 
 when they say that the art of measuring is conversant with 
 all generated natures, that very thing happens to be now 
 asserted by us. For all things of art do after a certain 
 manner partake of measure; but, in consequence of not 
 being accustomed to divide according to species, these 
 men immediately bring together to the same point things 
 widely differing from each other, ani consider them as 
 similar ; and, on the other hand, they do the very contrary 
 to this, by not dividing according to their parts things 
 that are different; although it is requisite that when any 
 one first perceives the communion of many things, he 
 should not desist till he perceives all the differences in 
 it, which are placed in species; and again, when the all- 
 various dissimilitudes in multitudes are perceived, he 
 should not be able, through a feeling of disgust, to desist 
 (from this unpleasant view), till having enclosed all such 
 things as are allied in one similitude, he invests them 
 with the existence of a certain genus. And thus much 
 may suffice respecting these particulars, and concerning 
 defect and excess. Let us only carefully observe that 
 two genera of the measuring art respecting these have 
 been found out, and let us remember what we say they are. 
 
 [26.] Soc. jun. — We will remember. 
 
 Guest. — After this discussion, let us assume another 
 respecting the objects of our search, and the whole mental 
 exercise in discourses of this kind. 
 
 Soc. jun. — What is it ? 
 
 Guest. — If anyone should ask us respecting the assem- 
 bling together of those that learn their letters, when one 
 
42 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 is asked of what letters does any word (consist), shall we 
 say that the inquiry is then made for the sake of the 
 one word proposed, rather than that of the party becom- 
 ing more skillful as a grammarian, with respect to every- 
 thing placed before him. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Evidently as regards everything (of gram- 
 mar). 
 
 Guest. — Has the inquiry respecting a statesman been pro- 
 posed by us more for the sake of the statesman himself, 
 than for ourselves to become more skillful dialecticians 
 on every point ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — This too is evident, that (it is for ourselves to 
 become such) on every point. 
 
 Guest. — No one indeed indued with intellect would be 
 willing to hunt out the rationale of the art of weaving, 
 for its own sake alone. But I think it has lain hid from 
 most men, that to some things, which are naturally easy to 
 learn, there are certain similitudes to be perceived by the 
 senses, which it is not difficult to make manifest, when any 
 one wishes to point them out to some one inquiring a 
 reason respecting a thing, not with trouble, but easily 
 without a (long) speech. But of things the greatest and 
 the most honored, there is not any image made clear for 
 men, by which being shown, he who wishes to fill the 
 soul of the inquirer, will fill it sufficiently by suiting it 
 to one of the senses. Hence it is requisite to practice 
 oneself in being able to give and receive a reason for 
 everything. For incorporeal natures, being the most 
 beautiful and the greatest, are exhibited by reason alone, 
 and by nothing else ; and it is for this that all has been 
 said now. But the consideration of every particular oc- 
 curs more easily in small things than in great. 
 
 Soc. jun. — You speak most beautifully. 
 
 Guest. — Let us then remember that all these things have 
 been said by us on this account. 
 
 Soc. jun. — On what? 
 
 Guest. — Not the least on account of the disgust, which 
 we have felt disgustingly through the prolix discourse 
 about the weaving art, and about the revolution of the 
 universe, and that of the sophist about the existence of 
 a nonentity, conceiving it to have a rather (considerable) 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 43 
 
 length. And on all these accounts we reproached our- 
 selves, fearing- lest we should speak superfluously in con- 
 junction with prolixity. That we may not then suffer 
 anything of this kind again, think that on account of 
 all these things our former remarks have been made. 
 
 Soc. Jim. — Be it so. Only say what is in order. 
 
 Guest. — I say then, it is requisite that both you and I 
 should be mindful of what we have now said, and to 
 give on each occasion blame and praise of brevity as well 
 as prolixity respecting what we may happen to be speak- 
 ing, not judging of prolixities with reference to each 
 other, but according to that part of the measuring art, 
 which wo then said we ought to remember relating to 
 the becoming. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Right. 
 
 Guest. — But yet all things are not (to be referred) to 
 this. For we shall not be in need of prolixity, which, 
 as regards pleasure, is not all fitting, unless as something 
 of no importance: on the other hand, as regards the 
 search of what has been proposed, in order that we may 
 find it most easily, and quickly, reason bids us regard it 
 as a secondary, not primary object; but to honor the 
 most and in the first place, the method of being able to 
 divide according to species; and to pay a serious regard 
 to a discourse, if when spoken at great length it renders 
 the hearer more inventive ; and not to take it ill ; and in 
 like manner, if it be shorter. And still, in addition to 
 this, (reason says) that he who blames long discourses 
 in meetings such as these, and who does not admit round- 
 about periods, must not dismiss them altogether, rapidly, 
 and immediately, by abusing merely what has been spoken 
 at great length, but he must show moreover that he 
 thinks that (words) being shorter would render persons 
 coming together more fitted for dialectics, and more able 
 to discover the demonstration by reason of existing things ; 
 but of the praise and blame of others relating to any other 
 subjects we need take no thought, nor appear to hear at 
 all such words as these. [27.] But of this there is enough, 
 if so it seems likewise to you. Let us then again return 
 to the statesman, introducing the pattern of the above- 
 mentioned weaving art. 
 
44 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 Soc. jun. — You speak well; and let us do as you say. 
 
 Guest. — Has not then the king been separated from 
 the majority (of arts), as are fellow-tending, or rather 
 from all that relate to herds ? But the remaining, we 
 say, (are those) that (belong to) the co-causes, and 
 causes relating to the state itself, which we must separate 
 from each other. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Right. 
 
 Guest. — You know then that it is difficult to bisect 
 these ; and the reason will, I think, as we advance be not 
 the less apparent. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — It will be then meet to do so. 
 
 Guest. — Let us then separate them like a victim piece- 
 meal ; since we cannot do so by a bisection : for it is always 
 requisite to cut into the nearest number possible. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How then shall we do so at present ? 
 
 Guest. — Just as before; for we laid down as co-causes 
 whatever (arts) furnished instruments for weaving. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Yes. 
 
 Guest. — The same thing therefore we must do now, 
 and still more than then. For such arts as fabricate, 
 with regard to a state instrument, either small or large, 
 we must lay down all of them as co-causes; since without 
 these a state could not exist, nor yet statesmanship. But 
 on the other hand we will not lay down any one of these 
 as the work of kingship. 
 
 Soc. jun. — We will not. 
 
 Guest. — And yet we are attempting to do a difficult 
 thing, in separating this genus from the rest. For if it 
 appears that he, who says that whatever exists is an 
 instrument of some one thing, says what is credible, still 
 on the other hand let us say that there is this thing differ- 
 ent from the possessions in a state. 
 
 Soc. jun. — What thing? 
 
 Guest. — As it is not having this very power. For that 
 thing is not put together like an instrument, as a cause 
 of production, but for the safety of that which is fabricated. 
 
 Soc. jun. — What kind of thing ? 
 
 Guest. — That thing, which being worked up from mate- 
 rials dry and moist, and exposed to fire, and without fire, 
 is a species of varied kind, which we call by one appella- 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 45 
 
 tion, a vessel; and though it is a numerous species, it 
 does not I think belong- at all to the science we are 
 seeking. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not ? 
 
 Guest. — Of these possessions, there is another and 
 third species very numerous to be looked into, being on 
 land and in the water and much-wandering and not- 
 wandering, and honorable and dishonorable ; but possess- 
 ing one name, because the whole of it exists for the 
 sake of a certain sitting, as becoming always a seat for 
 something. 
 
 Soc. jun. — What kind of thing is it ? 
 
 Guest. — We call it a vehicle, a thing not at all the work 
 of the statesman's science, but rather more of the carpen- 
 ter, potter, and brass-founder. 
 
 [28.] Soc. jun. — I understand. 
 
 Guest. — What of the fourth (species) ? Must we speak 
 of one different from these, in which the most of the 
 things formerly mentioned are contained; every kind of 
 dress, the greater part of arms, and all walls, such as are 
 thrown round, of earth or stone, and ten thousand other 
 things ? And since all these are constructed for the sake 
 of a protection, the whole may most justly be called a 
 defense ; and may, for the most part, be considered much 
 more the work of the architect, and more rightly of the 
 weaver, than of the statesman. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — Are we willing to rank in the fifth place the 
 arts of adorning and painting, and such as making use 
 of it (painting) and music, finish as imitations, fabricated 
 for our pleasure, and which may be justly comprehended 
 in one name ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — In what name? 
 
 Guest. — They may be surely denominated amusement, 
 Soc. jun. — How not ? 
 
 Guest. — This one name then will suit, when pronounced, 
 with all these : for not one of these things is done through 
 seriousness, but all for the sake of amusement. 
 
 Soc. jun. — This too I nearly understand. 
 
 Guest. — But that, which prepares for all these materi- 
 als bodies, out of which and in which, whatever arts 
 
46 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 have now been mentioned, manufacture (something), 
 shall we not place as a sixth all-various species, the 
 offspring of many other arts. 
 
 Soc. j'mi. — Of what (art) are you speaking? 
 
 Guest. — That (which furnishes) gold and silver, and 
 other substances found as metals, and whatever the art 
 of felling trees, and the whole of the clipping art, fur- 
 nishes to the carpenter, and the knitting art, and still 
 further that which barks trees, and takes off the skins 
 of living animals, [the currier's art], and all such (arts) 
 as are conversant with things of this kind, and such as 
 working on corks, and papyrus-reeds, and withies, furnish 
 the means of manufacturing from genera, not put to- 
 gether, species that are put together. The whole of this 
 let us call the first-born possession of man, without any 
 putting together, and by no means the work of the 
 science of kingship. 
 
 Soc. Jim. — Right. 
 
 Guest. — The possession of nutriment, and of such things 
 as when mingled with the body possess a certain power, 
 by their parts, to be subservient to the parts of the 
 body, we must rank in the seventh place, by calling it 
 altogether our nurse, unless we have some other better 
 name to give. However, we will place the whole of this 
 under agriculture, hunting, exercise, medicine, and cook- 
 ing, and attribute it to these arts more properly than to 
 the science of the statesman. 
 
 [29.] Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — Nearly then all, whatsoever is connected with 
 possession, with the exception of tame animals, has I 
 think, been mentioned in these seven genera. But con- 
 sider. For it was most just that the species (called) 
 first-born should be placed first; and after this, instru- 
 ment, vessel, vehicle, protection, amusement, and cattle. 
 But if any thing of no great consequence has escaped 
 us, which it is possible to suit onl}^ (with difficulty) to 
 some one of these, we omit it; such as the idea of coin, 
 of seals, and of every thing bearing a mark. For these 
 things have not in themselves a genus much in com- 
 mon ; but some will agree as regards ornament, others 
 as regards instruments, drawn (into the discussion) 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 47 
 
 indeed with violence, but nevertheless completely. But 
 the tending of herds, as previously divided, will appear to 
 have comprehended the whole possession of tame ani- 
 mals with the exception of slaves. 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — The genus of slaves and of all servants remains; 
 among whom I conjecture will become apparent those, 
 who engaged in the very thing woven, contend with 
 the king in the same manner as those above, that are 
 engaged in knitting, and in wool-combing, and in such 
 other arts as we then mentioned, did with the weavers. 
 But all the rest, spoken of as co-causes, have, together 
 with the works just now mentioned, been done away 
 with, and separated from the action of the king and 
 statesman. 
 
 Soc. jun. — So they seem. 
 
 Guest. — Come then, let us approach nearer, and con- 
 sider the rest, that we may perceive them more firmly. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It is requisite (to do 30). 
 
 Guest. — We shall find then that the greatest servants, 
 so far as we can see from those here, are in a pursuit, 
 and under circumstances the very contrary to what we 
 have suspected. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Who are they? 
 
 Guest. — They who are purchased, and in this manner 
 become a property; whom, beyond all controversy, we 
 may call slaves and laying the least claim to the kingly 
 science. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not ? 
 
 Guest. — But what shall we say of those free-born per- 
 sons, who willingly put themselves to ministering to the 
 parties mentioned just now, and by conveying the produce 
 of agriculture, and of other arts, to each other, and by 
 equalizing the possession and value of articles, do some 
 at ( home ) markets, and others by going from state to 
 state, by sea and land exchange coin against other things, 
 or itself against itself ( whom we have called money- 
 changers, ship-owners, and hucksters), will these contend 
 for any part of the statesman's science ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — Perhaps some of the foreign merchants will. 
 
 Guest. — And yet we shall never find those, who for 
 
48 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 wages most readily become servants to all persons laying 
 any claim to the science of a king. 
 Soc. jun. — For how should we? 
 
 Guest. — What then (shall we say) of those, that do 
 such ministering for us on each occasion. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Of what and whom are you speaking? 
 
 Guest. — I speak of the tribe of heralds,* and of those 
 who become accomplished in the art of writing,! and often 
 act as ministers, and certain other persons, who have 
 very great talents for some other and many kinds of 
 business connected with public offices. What shall we 
 say of these ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — What you have said just now, that they are 
 ministers, but no rulers in states. 
 
 Guest. — But surely I was not, I think, seeing a vision, 
 when I said that in this way, perchance would be seen 
 those strenuously contending for the science of a statesman. 
 And yet it would seem to be very absurd to seek after 
 these in any ministering portion. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Very much so, indeed. 
 
 Guest. — Let us then approach still nearer to those who 
 have not been as yet examined. Now these are such as pos- 
 sess a certain portion of ministering science relating to divin- 
 ation. For they are held to be the interpreters of gods to men. 
 
 Soc. jun. — They are. 
 
 Guest. — The genus too of priests, as the law says, knows 
 how gifts should be offered by us through sacrifices to the 
 gods, agreeably to them ; and how we should request of 
 them by prayer the possession of good things. Now both 
 these are parts of the ministering art. 
 
 * The persons alluded to would be now called "diplomatists," as is 
 evident from the Hippias Major; where the Pantologist of his day is 
 said to have been frequently employed in that character. 
 
 t As the art of writing was in ancient times known only to a few, 
 such persons became of necessity the men of office and consideration in 
 the state; just as no man will ever become the prime minister of 
 England, unless he can figure as a debater. For though nearly every 
 body can read and write, yet few can open a debate with a long speech, 
 and fewer still close it with a reply to the different argnments urged on 
 the opposite side. The persons to whom Plato alludes were « Secre- 
 taries,** or "Under-Secretaries;** who, says Aristophanes in the Frogs^ 
 1095, while they amuse the people with monkey tricks, pick their pockets. 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 49 
 
 [30. ] Soc. j'un. — So it appears. 
 
 Guest. — Now then we seem to me to touch, as it were, 
 upon some foot-print of the object to which we are on the 
 road. For the figure of priests and prophets is replete 
 with prudence, and obtains a reputation for respect 
 through the greatness of the matters in their hands; so 
 that in Egypt it is not permitted for a king to govern 
 without the sacerdotal science ; and should any one pre- 
 viously of another genus* of men become by violence 
 (the king), he is afterward compelled to be initiated in 
 the mysteries of this genus. Further still among the 
 Greeks, one may find in many places that the greatest 
 sacrifices relating to matters of this kind are imposed upon 
 the greatest offices; and what I assert is shown particu- 
 larly among you. For to him who is chosen by lot the 
 king here,f they say that of all the ancient sacrifices, 
 those held in the highest veneration and most peculiar 
 to the country are assigned. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — We must then consider these kings chosen by 
 lot, together with the priests, and their ministers, and a 
 certain other very numerous crowd, which has just now be- 
 come manifest to us, apart from those previously mentioned. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Of whom are you speaking? 
 
 Guest. — Of certain very strange persons. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Why so ? 
 
 Guest. — As I was just now speculating, their genus 
 appeared to me to be all kinds. JFor many men resem- 
 ble lions and centaurs, and other things of this kind; 
 and very many are similar to satyrs, and to weak and 
 versatile wild beasts. They likewise rapidly change their 
 forms and their power into each other. J And indeed, 
 
 *The modern name is « caste, » still found in Hindostan; where have 
 been preserved not a few of the customs of Egypt. 
 
 f The second archon at Athens was called <<the king,» and had cog- 
 nizance over tbe principal religious festivals. 
 
 X — X With this passage in Plato may be compared that in Shakespeare, 
 where Hamlet thus amuses himself at the expense of Polonius. 
 
 Ham. — Do you see yonder cloud that is almost in the shape of a 
 camel? Pol. — By the mass, and it is like a camel, indeed. Ham. — 
 Methinks it is like a weasel. Pol. — It is backed like a weasel. Ham. — 
 Or like a whale. Pol. — Very like a whale.* 
 4 
 
5° 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 Socrates, I appear to myself to have just now perceived 
 these men for the first time. 
 
 Soc. jiin. — Speak; for you seem to see something 
 strange. 
 
 Guest. — I do; for what is strange is the result of igno- 
 rance in the case of all.* And I myself just now suffered 
 the very same thing: for I was suddenly involved in 
 doubt on seeing the dancing-troop relating to the state 
 affairs. 
 
 Soc. j'un. — Of what kind ? 
 
 Guest. — The greatest wizard of all the wise, and the 
 most skilled in this art; who must be separated from the 
 really existing statesmen and kings, although it is very 
 difficult so to separate him, if we are about to see clearly 
 the object of our search. 
 
 Soc. j'un. — We must not give up this, at least. 
 
 Guest. — Not, indeed, according to my opinion: but tell 
 me this. 
 
 [31.] Soc. jun. — What? 
 
 Guest. — Is not a monarchy one of the forms of state-rule? 
 Soc. jun. — It is. 
 
 Guest. — And after a monarchy one would, I think, 
 speak of an oligarchy. 
 Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — But is not the rule of the many called by the 
 name of a democracy, 'a third form of state-polity ? 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — Do not these being three become after a 
 manner five, by two producing from themselves two 
 other names in addition to their own ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — What? 
 
 Guest. — They who look to the violent and the volun- 
 tary, to poverty and wealth, to law and lawlessness, 
 which take place in them, give a twofold division to each 
 one of the two, and call monarchy, as exhibiting two 
 species, by two names, one tyranny, the other royalty. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — But the state ever governed by a few, (we call) 
 an aristocracy and an oligarchy. 
 
 * So Johnson said that wonder was the effect of novelty upon igno- 
 rance. 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — But of a democracy, whether the people govern 
 the rich violently, or with their consent, and whether 
 they strictly guard the laws or not, no one is ever accus- 
 tomed to change the name at all. 
 
 Soc. jun. — True. 
 
 Guest. — What, then? Do we think that any one of 
 these state-polities is right, thus bounded by these defi- 
 nitions, such as by one, and a few, and a many, and by 
 wealth and poverty, by the violent and the voluntary, 
 and happening to exist by statutes and without laws ? 
 
 Soc. Jun. — What should hinder? 
 
 Guest. — Consider more attentively, following me by this 
 road. 
 
 Soc. jun. — What road? 
 
 Guest. — Shall we abide by what was asserted at first, 
 or shall we dissent from it ? 
 
 Soc. Jun. — To what assertion are you alluding? 
 
 Guest. — I think we said that a regal government was 
 one of the sciences. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — Yes. 
 
 Guest. — Yet not one of those taken together as a whole; 
 but we selected it from the other sciences, as something 
 judicial and presiding. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — Yes. 
 
 Guest. — And from the presiding science (we selected) 
 one part as belonging to inanimate acts, and the other as 
 belonging to animals. And dividing after this fashion, 
 we have arrived thus far, not forgetful of science, but 
 unable to determine with sufficient accuracy what sci- 
 ence is. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — You say rightly. 
 
 Guest. — Do we then understand this very thing, that 
 the definition must be respecting them, not (as regards) 
 the few, nor the many, nor the voluntary or involuntary, 
 nor poverty or wealth, but (as regards) a certain science, 
 if we follow what has been formerly detailed ? 
 
 [32.] Soc. Jun. — It is impossible, indeed, not to do this. 
 
 Guest. — We must of necessity then consider now this; 
 in which of these does the science respecting the govern- 
 ment of men happen to exist, being nearly the greatest 
 
52 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 and most difficult to obtain. For it is requisite to inspect 
 it, that we may perceive who are the parties we must 
 take away from a prudent king, who lay claim to be 
 statesmen, and persuade the multitude (of it), and yet 
 are so not at all. 
 
 Soc. jtm. — We must do so, as the reasoning has pre- 
 viously told us. 
 
 Guest. — Does it then appear to you that the mass in 
 a city is able to acquire this science ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — How can they? 
 
 Guest. — But in a city of a thousand men, is it possible 
 for a hundred, or even fifty, to acquire it sufficiently? 
 
 Soc. jun. — It would be then the most easy of all arts. 
 For we know that among a thousand men there could not 
 be found so many tip-top draught-players as compared 
 with those in the rest of Greece, much less kings. For, 
 according to our former reasoning, we must call him, who 
 possesses the science of a king, whether he governs or not, 
 a regal character. 
 
 Guest. — You have very properly reminded me. And I 
 think it follows from this, that a right government, when 
 it exists rightly, ought to be investigated as about one 
 person, or two, or altogether about a few. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not ? 
 
 Guest. — And we must hold, as we think now, that these 
 exercise rule according to a certain art, whether they 
 govern the willing or the unwilling, whether according 
 to statutes or without statutes, and whether they are rich 
 or poor. For we have considered those as not the less 
 physicians, whether they cure us, willing or unwilling, 
 by cutting, or burning, or applying any other pain; and 
 whether according to written rules or not, and whether 
 they are themselves poor or rich. In all (these cases) we 
 say that they are no less physicians, so long as they stand 
 over (the patient)* according to art, purging or some other 
 way attenuating (the body), or in causing (it) to increase, 
 and so long as, for the good of the body alone, they 
 bring it from a worse to a better state, and by attending 
 preserve each (body) attended to. After this manner, 
 
 *This word is graphically applied here to a physician standing 
 over the bed of the patient. 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 53 
 
 and in no other, as I think, we will lay down that the 
 definition of the medicinal or any other rule is rightly made. 
 Soc. j'jcn. — And very much so. 
 
 [33.] Guest. — It is necessary, then, as it seems, that of 
 polities that must be pre-eminently correct, and the only 
 polity, in which the governors are found to possess science 
 truly, and not in appearance merely; whether they rule 
 according to laws or without laws, over the willing or the 
 unwilling, and are themselves poor or rich. For not one 
 of these things must we consider at all, as regards any 
 rectitude (of government). 
 
 Soc. j'un. — Beautifully (said). 
 
 Guest. — And whether they purge the state to its good, 
 by putting to death or banishing certain persons; or by 
 sending out colonies some where, like a swarm of bees, 
 they reduce it to a less size; or whether by introducing 
 some others from abroad they make citizens of them, 
 and thus increase its size, so long as by making use of 
 science aiad justice, they preserve it, and cause it to the 
 utmost of their power to pass from a worse condition to 
 a better one, then, and according to such limits, must 
 we speak of a polity as alone rightly existing. But we 
 must say that such others, as we have mentioned, are 
 not genuine, nor do they in reality exist; but that those, 
 which we call well-regulated, imitate this for the better, 
 the others for the worse. 
 
 Soc. JU71. — The other points, O guest, appear to have 
 been stated with moderation: but that it is requisite 
 to govern without laws, has been stated as a thing 
 rather harsh to hear. 
 
 Guest. — You have anticipated me a little, Socrates, 
 by your question. For I was about to ask you, whether 
 you admit all these points, or whether )"ou find any 
 difficulty in any matter that has been stated. It is 
 however evident, that we now wish to discuss the point re- 
 specting the rectitude of those, who govern without 
 laws. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — After a certain manner it is evident that 
 legislation is a part of the science of a king: but it 
 is best, not for the laws to prevail, but for a man, 
 
54 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 who has with prudence the power of a king. Do you 
 know in what way ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — In what way do you mean? 
 
 Guest. — Because the law cannot, by comprehending 
 that which is the best and most accurately just in all 
 cases, at the same time ordain what is the best. For 
 the inequalities of men and their actions, and the fact 
 that not a single atom, so to say, of human affairs, 
 enjoys a state of rest, do not permit any art what- 
 ever to exhibit in any case any thing simple (without 
 exception) respecting all matters and through all time. 
 Shall we admit this ? 
 
 Soc. Jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — And yet we see the law tending nearly to 
 this very point; and, like a certain self-willed and ig- 
 norant man, it does not suffer any person to do any 
 thing contrary to its own orders, nor to put a ques- 
 tion, not even should something new happen to be in 
 some case better as compared with the decree it had 
 ordained. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — True. For the law does really so, as you 
 have just now said, to each of us. 
 
 Guest. — Is it not then impossible for that, which is 
 under all cases simple, to do well in cases which are 
 never at any time simple ? 
 
 Soc. Jun. — It appears so nearly. 
 
 [34.] Guest. — Why then is it necessary to lay down 
 laws ? since law is not a thing of the greatest rectitude. 
 Of this we must inquire the cause. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — Are there not then amongst us, as in other 
 cities likewise, certain exercises of men collected together 
 for the sake of competition relating to running or some- 
 thing else ? 
 
 Soc. Jun. — Yes. There are very many. 
 
 Guest. — Come then, let us again recall to our memory 
 the orders of those who practice scientifically exercises 
 in meetings of this kind. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — What is this? 
 
 Guest. — They do not conceive it is requisite to be very 
 fine in ordering, according to each individual^ what is 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 55 
 
 suited to the body of each ; but think more stupidly, that 
 they ought to make their arrangements of what benefits 
 the body, suited to the majority of circumstances and 
 persons. 
 
 Soc. j'un. — Excellent. 
 
 Guest. — On which account assigning now equal labors 
 to persons collected together, they urge them on together, 
 and stop them together in the race, and wrestling, and 
 all the labors of the body. 
 
 Soc. j'un. — Such is the fact. 
 
 Guest. — Let us hold then, that the legislator who 
 would preside over his herds in matters of justice, and 
 their contracts with each other, will never be sufficient 
 for all collectively, by accurately enjoining upon each 
 individual what is fitting. 
 
 Soc. jun. — This is likely. 
 
 Guest. — But I think he will establish laws suited to the 
 majority of persons and circumstances, and somehow thus 
 in more stupid way for each, delivering them in writ- 
 ings, and in an unwritten (form), and legislating accord- 
 ing to the customs of the countr3^ 
 
 Soc. y?/w.— Right. 
 
 Guest. — Right indeed. For how, Socrates, can any one 
 be so all-sufficient, as, by sitting near through the whole 
 of life, to enjoin accurately what is adapted to each ? 
 Since, although an^^ one soever of those who possess the 
 science of a king could, I think, do this, he would 
 scarcely impose on himself impediments, by writing down 
 the so-called laws. 
 
 Soe. jun. — (So it appears), O guest, from what has 
 been now said. 
 
 Guest. — And still more, O thou best one, from what 
 will be said. 
 
 Soc. jun. — What is that? 
 
 Guest. — Of this kind. For let us thus say to ourselves. 
 "Would not a physician, or any teacher of gymnastics, 
 being about to travel, and to be absent as he fancied 
 from those under his care for a long time, and thinking 
 that those engaged in exercises, or sick, would not re- 
 member his precepts, be willing to write something to 
 refresh their memory? Or how (would he act)? 
 
56 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 Soc. jun. — In this way. 
 
 Guest. — But what, if the physician, having been abroad 
 a less time than he expected, should come back, would 
 he not dare to suggest certain other things besides those 
 contained in his writings, other circumstances occurring 
 more favorable for the sick, through winds, or any thing 
 else of those that are wont to take place from Zeus (the 
 air), contrary to expectation ? Would he think that he 
 ought to persevere in not going out of his old injunc- 
 tions, and neither himself order other things, nor dare 
 to do to the sick man things different from what had 
 been written, as if these were medicinal and salubrious, 
 but those of a different kind noxious, and not according 
 to art ? Or rather, would not everything of this kind, 
 occurring according to science and true art, in all mat- 
 ters become altogether the greatest ridicule of such in- 
 junctions ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — But shall not he, who writes down what is just 
 and unjust, beautiful and base, good and evil, and who 
 establishes unwritten laws for the herds of human beings 
 who live in cities, in each according to the laws of those 
 who have written them, whether he comes himself (back) 
 after having written (laws) contrary to art, or some other 
 like him, be permitted to enjoin things different from 
 these ? Or would not this interdiction appear to be in 
 reality no less ridiculous than the former ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 [35.] Guest. — Do you know then the language spoken 
 by the multitude respecting such a thing ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — I have it not at present in my mind. 
 
 Guest. — And yet it is very specious. For they say that, 
 if any one knows of laws better than those of their ances- 
 tors, such a person should, after persuading his own state, 
 become a legislator; otherwise not. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Do they not then (say) rightly? 
 
 Guest. — Perhaps so. But if any one should, not by 
 persuasion, force on the better, what would be the name 
 of this violence ? Do not, however, (say) a word, but pre- 
 viously respecting the former. 
 
 Soc. jun. — What do you mean ? 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 57 
 
 Guest. — Should some one, not by persuading a person 
 under a physician, but by possessing his art correctly, 
 compel a boy, or a man, or a woman, contrary to pre- 
 scriptions, to do that which is better, what will be the 
 name of this violence ? Ought it not to be called rather 
 anything than some mischievous transgression of art ? 
 And is it not for us to say, that everything (has hap- 
 pened) to the compelled person, rather than that he has 
 Buffered anything mischievous and without art from the 
 compelling physicians ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — You speak most true. 
 
 Guest. — But what is that error called by us, which is 
 contrary to the statesman's art ? Must it not be the base, 
 evil, and unjust ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Gtiest. — Of those, who have been forced to act contrary 
 to the written precepts, and the customs of the country, 
 more justly, better, and more beautifully than before, 
 come, (tell me), (can any one), unless he is about to be 
 the most ridiculous of all men, (pronounce) a disapproba- 
 tion of such violence done to such persons ? Must it not 
 be said rather by him on each occasion, that they, who 
 have been forced, have suffered at the hands of the forc- 
 ing party everything, except what is base, unjust, and 
 evil ? 
 
 Soc. jun.— Yon speak most true. 
 
 Guest. — But if he who forces is rich, will the acts done 
 forcibly by him be just, but, if he is poor, unjust ? Or, 
 whether a person persuades or does not persuade, (whether) 
 rich or poor, and (whether) according or contrary to 
 written statutes, he does what is useful, must this be the 
 definition the most true on all sides of the correct admin- 
 istration of a state, by which a wise and good man will 
 (well) administer the interests of those under his charge ; 
 just as a pilot watches over whatever happens to conduce 
 to the welfare of the vessel and crew ; and not by laying 
 down written orders, but by making his skill a law, he 
 preserves his fellow-sailors. And thus [after this very 
 same manner], will an upright polity be produced by 
 those who are able to govern thus, by exhibiting a 
 Strength of skill superior to the laws. And indeed in 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 the case of prudent rulers there will be no error, let 
 them do everything ; as long as they observe this one great 
 maxim, to distribute ever with intellect and art to those 
 in the state what is the most just, to keep them such as 
 they are, and to finish by rendering them, as far as pos- 
 sible, better instead of worse. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It is not possible to say the contrary to what 
 has been now asserted. 
 
 Guest — Nor yet against those who say even a word. 
 
 [36]. Soc. jun. — Of what are you speaking? 
 
 Guest — That no mob of any persons whatever can 
 receive this kind of science, and be able to administer 
 with intellect a state, but that we must seek for a correct 
 polity among a small number, and a few, and one per- 
 son; and that we must lay down other polities as imita- 
 tions, as we observed a little before, some for the better, 
 and some for the worse. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How and why say you this? For I did not 
 understand just now forsooth, the remark respecting 
 imitations. 
 
 Guest. — Truly it were not a stupid act for a person, 
 after starting an argument of this kind, to lay it down 
 there, and not, by going through it, to show the error 
 which at present exists about it. 
 
 Soc. jun. — What error ? 
 
 Guest. — It is meet to search into a thing of such a 
 kind as is not very usual, nor easy to perceive ; but at 
 the same time we must endeavor to apprehend it. For, 
 come, since the polity of which we have spoken is the 
 only correct one, you know that other polities ought to 
 be thus preserved, while they use the institutions of this, 
 and do what was just now praised, though it is not most 
 right ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — What is that? 
 
 Guest. — That no one of those in the city dare to do 
 anything contrary to the laws; and that he who dares, 
 shall pay the forfeit by death, and all the extreme of 
 punishments.* This too is most right and beautiful, as a 
 
 *This alludes to the confiscation of property, and the prohibition 
 of burial, which, as seen by the Ajax and Antigone of Sophocles, 
 was considered the extreme of punishment. 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 59 
 
 second thing; after that some one shall have first changed 
 the just now said. But in what manner that, which we 
 have called second, exists, let us proceed to state. Shall 
 we not ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — By all means. 
 
 [37.] Guest. — Let us then again return to the images, 
 to which it is ever necessary to assimilate kingly rulers. 
 Soc. jun. — Of what kind? 
 
 Guest. — The noble-minded pilot, and the physician, 
 who is of equal worth with many others. Let us then, 
 after molding from these (two) a certain figure, con- 
 template it. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — Of what kind ? 
 
 Guest. — Such a one, as if we all conceived that we are 
 suffering the most dreadful things from them. For such 
 of us as either of them wish to save, they do equally save ; 
 and such as they wish to injure, they injure by cutting and 
 burning, at the same time ordering us to bring to them 
 the means of expense, as a tribute, of which they spend 
 on the sick little or even nothing, but they and their 
 domestics make use of the rest. And lastly, receiving 
 money (as) wages, from either the kindred or some enemies 
 of the sick man, they cause him to die. They too who 
 have the command of a vessel, do ten thousand other things 
 of this kind. For after some plotting, when out at sea, 
 they leave persons deserted, and, committing errors at sea, 
 hurl them into the sea, and do them other mischief. If 
 then, reflecting on these matters, we should enter into 
 some consultation respecting them, (so that) we should no 
 longer permit either of those arts to have an absolute 
 control over slaves or the free-bom ; but that we should 
 collect together an assembly consisting of ourselves or all 
 the people, or the rich alone ; and that it should be lawful 
 for private individuals, and the rest of the operatives, to 
 bring together their opinions respecting sailing and dis- 
 eases, as to what manner it is meet to use medicines and 
 medical instruments for those that are ill; and moreover, 
 (how to use) both the vessels themselves and nautical 
 instruments for the requirements of vessels in case of 
 danger during the voyage from winds and the sea and the 
 meeting with pirates, and, if requisite, in fighting with 
 
6o 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 long ships* ag'ainst others of the like kind; and that, what 
 shall have been decreed by the multitiide on these points, 
 by the advice of physicians and pilots, or of other unskilled 
 individuals, persons should inscribe in triangular tables f 
 and pillars, and laying down other unwritten regulations, 
 as the customs of the country, it should be necessary to 
 navigate vessels in all future times according to this 
 method, and to administer remedies to the sick. 
 
 Soc. j'jin. — You have mentioned things really very 
 absurd. 
 
 Guest. — Further, that rulers of the people should be 
 appointed yearly, whoever may be chosen by lot from the 
 rich or from all the people; and that the rulers so ap- 
 pointed should rule according to the written regulations, 
 like pilots over vessels and physicians over the sick. 
 
 Soc. jiin. — These things are still more harsh. 
 
 [38.] Guest. — Let us see now after this what follows. 
 For when the year of each govornor shall have expired, 
 it will be necessary to appoint tribi;nals of persons, taken 
 either by a selection from the rich or from all the people 
 by lot, and to bring the rulers before them and to pass 
 their accounts, and for any one to accuse them for not 
 having acted, during his year, the pilot, according to the 
 written regulations, nor according to the old customs of 
 their forefathers; and for the very same things to take 
 place in the case of those healing the sick; and that 
 whoever of them should be convicted, certain persons 
 should fix what the party must suffer (in person) or pay 
 (in purse). 
 
 Soc. jun. — Would not he, who is ready of his own 
 accord to be a ruler under such circumstances, most 
 justly suffer (in person) and pay (in purse) ? 
 
 ♦Amongst the ancients, ships of war werf long, those of commerce 
 more round. 
 
 f The tablet called Khpfiic had three faces forming a triangle, fixed to 
 a centre pole, called the a^uv, and on each face was laid, probably, a 
 volume of the laws originallj;^ relating to religious matters, but subse- 
 quently to civil likewise. Such tablets were once found in Christian 
 churches ; and the priest, or rather some clerical assistant in the charac. 
 ter of a canon or a chori.ster, used to chant from it the Psalms, and to 
 read the two Lessons of the morning or evening service, which were 
 placed respectively on the three faces of the tablet. 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 6i 
 
 Guest. — Further still, it will be necessary to make a 
 law on all these points, that, if any one be proved to be 
 seeking out the art relating to piloting and ships in gen- 
 eral, or to health, and the truth of the physician's theory 
 about winds, heat, and cold, contrary to the written reg- 
 ulations, or devising anything whatever about affairs of 
 this kind, he shall, in the first place, be called neither 
 as one skilled in physicking or piloting, but a talker of 
 matters on high, or some babbler; and that, in the next 
 place, it shall be lawful for any one to write down an 
 indictment against him for lawlessness, and to bring him 
 before some court of justice, as corrupting the younger, 
 and persuading the silly to put their hands to the arts 
 of a pilot and a physician not according to the laws, and 
 to rule self-willed over vessels and the sick; and that if 
 any one shall be found persuading either young or old 
 men, contrary to the laws, and the written regulations, 
 (it shall be lawful) to punish him with the extreme (of 
 punishments). For no one ought to be wiser than the 
 laws ; nor on the other hand, should any one be ignorant 
 of the arts of medicine and of healing, nor of piloting 
 and shipping, (according to) the written regulations and 
 the customs laid down of the country; for he who wishes 
 may learn. If then, Socrates, this should take place 
 about the sciences we mentioned, and we should look 
 into any portion of the general's art, and the whole of 
 any kind of hunting, and of painting, or of imitation in 
 general, and carpentry, and the formation in general of 
 instruments of any kind, and of agriculture, and the art 
 relating to plants in general ; or, again, into the care of 
 breeding horses, according to written regulations, and 
 herds of cattle of every kind, and prophecy, and all the 
 portion that the ministering art embraces, the playing at 
 games of dice, the whole of arithmetic, (whether) simple 
 or (relating to) a plane, either in depth, or swiftness; 
 (if) respecting all these things (it were) so done, what 
 wouid appear produced according to written regulations, 
 and not according to art ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — It is evident that all arts would be entirely 
 subverted, nor would they exist again, through such a 
 law forbidding one to investigate. So that life, which is 
 
62 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 now difficult, would at that time become utterly unable 
 
 to be endured. 
 
 [39.] Guest. — But what (will you say) to this? If we 
 should compel each of the above-mentioned to take place 
 according to written regulations, and should appoint as 
 the guardian of these statutes a man either chosen by 
 suffrage, or chance, but who, giving no thought to them, 
 either for the sake of a certain gain, or private pleasure, 
 should endeavor, although knowing nothing, to act con- 
 trary to these statutes, would not this be a still greater 
 evil than the former ? 
 
 Soc. jun — Most truly so. 
 
 Guest. — For he, who should dare to act contrary to 
 those laws, which have been laid down after much ex- 
 perience, (or) through certain advisers recommending 
 each in a pleasant manner, and persuading the people to 
 pass them, will commit an error many-fold greater than an 
 error, and subvert every process much more than written 
 statutes. 
 
 Soc. jun — How is he not about (to do so) ? 
 
 Guest — Hence there is a second sailing, as is said, for 
 those that establish laws and statutes respecting any thing 
 whatever, that is, not to suffer any one person, or the 
 multitude, to do any thing of any kind at any time con- 
 trary to them. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — Right. 
 
 Guest. — Will not these statutes then, written by men in- 
 telligent as far as their power permits, be imitations of 
 the truth of each of these ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — And yet, if we remember, we said that the 
 man who is in reality a statesman, would, being in- 
 telligent, do many things from art, in reference to his 
 own course of action without giving a thought to statutes, 
 when other things seem to him better than what had 
 been written by himself and enjoined upon some persons 
 absent. 
 
 Soc. jun. — We did say so. 
 
 Guest. — Would not then any single man whatever, or 
 any people whatever, by whom laws happen to be laid 
 down, act in the same way as that true (statesman), should 
 
THE STATESMAN 63 
 
 they endeavor to do to the utmost of their power con- 
 trary to them (the laws) what is something different and 
 better ? 
 
 Sac. jim. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — If then they should without knowledge act in 
 this manner, would they not attempt to imitate what is 
 true ? and yet they would imitate all badly ; but if with 
 art, this is no longer an imitation, but is the very truth 
 itself. 
 
 Soc. jiin. — Altogether so. 
 
 Guest. — And yet it was before laid down as a thing 
 acknowledged by us, that the mob is incapable of receiv- 
 ing any art whatever. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It was so laid down. 
 
 Guest. — If then there is a certain kingly art, the mob 
 of the rich, and the whole of the people, could never 
 receive this science of the statesman. 
 
 Soc. jun. — For how can they? 
 
 Guest. — It is requisite then, as it seems, that such-like 
 polities, if they are about to imitate correctly, to the best 
 of their power, the true polity under a single person, ruling 
 with art, must never, the laws having been laid down by 
 them, do anything contrary to the written statutes and 
 customs of the country. 
 
 Soc. jun. — You speak most beautifully. 
 
 Guest. — When therefore the rich imitate this polity, we 
 then denominate such a polity an aristocracy; but when 
 they give no thought to the laws, an oligarchy. 
 
 Soc jun. — So it nearly seems. 
 
 Guest. — And again, when one man rules according to 
 the laws, imitating the person indued with science, we 
 call him a king, not distinguishing by name the person 
 ruling alone with science, or with opinion according to 
 the laws. 
 
 Soc. jun. — We nearly appear to do so. 
 
 Guest. — If then a person possessing in reality science 
 rules alone, he is called altogether by the same name, a 
 king, and no other will be mentioned in addition through 
 which the five names of the polities just now mentioned 
 become only one. 
 
 Soc. jun. — So it appears. 
 
64 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 Guest. — But when one man rules neither according to 
 the laws nor the customs of the country, but pretends, 
 as the person possessing science, that the best is to be 
 done, contrary to the written statutes, and there exist a 
 certain desire and ignorance as the leaders of this imitation, 
 must we not call each man of this kind a tyrant ? 
 
 [40.] Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — Thus then we say has been produced a tyrant, 
 a king, an oligarchy, an aristocracy, and a democracy, 
 from mankind indignantly bearing with such a single 
 monarch, and not believing that any one would ever be 
 worthy of such an oflfice, so as to be both willing and 
 able to rule with virtue and science, and to distribute 
 properly to all persons things just and holy ; but ( disposed ) 
 to maim, and kill, and maltreat* whomsoever he might 
 wish: yet, if such a person should arise, as we have 
 mentioned, he would be beloved and live at home happily, 
 gliding throughout, like a pilot, alone a polity accurately 
 correct. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — But now, as we truly say, since there is no 
 such king produced in states, as is produced by nature 
 in a swarm of bees, excelling straightway alone in body 
 and soul, we must, as it seems, come together and write 
 down statutes, treading in the footsteps of a polity the 
 most true. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It nearly appears so. 
 
 Guest. — And do we wonder then, Socrates, that in 
 such-like polities evils, such as do happen, and will hap- 
 pen, are produced, when the foundation placed under 
 them (exists) by statutes and customs, and not with the 
 foundation of science, which performs its action in a 
 different way than what a polity does, which, making use 
 of imprudence, will be evident to every one, that it will 
 destroy everything produced by that (imprudence). Or 
 ought we not to wonder rather at this, how strong a thing a 
 city naturally is? For, though cities have for time without 
 
 * Here the maltreating, after killing, has reference to the con- 
 duct pursued by tyrants to the dead bodies of their political ene- 
 mies, as shown in the case of Ajax by the Atridae, and in that 
 of Polynices by Creon. 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 65 
 
 end been suffering- thus, yet some of them are still 
 remaining, and are not overturned. Many, however, 
 sometimes, like sinking vessels, are perishing-, have per- 
 ished, and will perish, through the incorrect conduct of 
 the pilot and sailors,* who, having- obtained the greatest 
 ignorance respecting the greatest concerns, do still, 
 although they know nothing about state affairs, think 
 they have obtained this knowledge the most clearly 
 of all. 
 
 [41.] Soc. jun. — Most true. 
 
 Guest. — Which then of these incorrect polities, where 
 all are full of difficulties, is the least difficult to live in, 
 and which the most oppressive, it is meet for las to look 
 into a little; although it is what is called a by-deed as 
 regards our present inquiry; yet, perhaps, on the whole, 
 we all of us do all things for the sake of a thing of this 
 kind. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It is meet. How not? 
 
 Guest. — Of three things then, say that the same is re- 
 markably difficult, and at the same time most easy. 
 Soc. jun. — How say you ? 
 
 Guest. — Not otherwise than, as I said before, that a 
 monarchy, the government of a few, and of many, are 
 those three polities mentioned by us at the commencement 
 of the discourse, which has now flowed upon us. 
 
 Soc. jun. — They were. 
 
 Guest. — Bisecting then each of these, we shall produce 
 six, separating from these the correct polity, as a seventh. 
 Soc. jun. — How so? 
 
 Guest. Out of monarchy there came, we said, the regal 
 and the tyrannic; and out of that (composed) not of the 
 many, the well-omened aristocracy and oligarchy. But 
 out of that (composed) of the many, we then laid it down 
 under the name of a simple democracy; but we must 
 now lay it down as two-fold. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How so? And after what manner do we 
 make this division ? 
 
 Guest. — Not at all different from the others; even al- 
 though the name of this is now two-fold. But to govern 
 
 * By sailors are meant those who are sailing in the vessel of the 
 State. 
 
66 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 according to the laws, and contrary to them, is common 
 both to this and the rest. 
 Soc. jun. — It is so. 
 
 Guest. — Then indeed, when we were seeking a correct 
 polity, this bisection was of no use, as we have shown 
 above; but since we have separated it from the others, 
 and have considered the others as necessary, the being 
 contrary or according to law causes a bisection in each of 
 these. 
 
 Soc. jun. — So it appears from what has now been said. 
 
 Guest. — A monarchy then, yoked to correct writings, 
 which we call laws, is the best of all the six polities; 
 but when it is without law, it is grievous, and most 
 burdensome to live under. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It nearly appears so. 
 
 Guest. — But the polity of the not-many we have con- 
 sidered as a medium between both, as a few is a medium 
 between one and many, but on the other hand, the polity 
 of the many, as being weak in all things, and unable, 
 as compared with the others, to do any thing great, 
 either for good or evil, through the offices in this polity 
 being divided into small parts among many. Hence, 
 of all the polities acting according to law, this is the 
 worst, but the best of all such as act contrary to law. 
 And where all are intemperate, it is the best to live in 
 a democracy; but where all are temperate, this polity is 
 the worst to live in. In the first polity is the first and 
 best condition (of life), with the exception of the seventh; 
 for we must separate this from all the other polities, as 
 a god from men. 
 
 Soc. jun. — These things appear thus to be produced 
 and happen; and that must be done, which you mention. 
 
 Guest. — Ought we not then, to take away the sharers 
 in all these polities, with the exception of the scientific 
 one, as being not truly statesman-like but seditious-like; 
 and as presiding over the greatest resemblances, and 
 being such themselves; and, as they are the greatest 
 mimics and enchanters, to be called too, the greatest 
 sophists of sophists ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — This appellation seems nearly to be retorted 
 most correctly on those called statesmen. 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 6? 
 
 Guest. — Be it so. This indeed is, as it were, a drama 
 for us; just as it was lately said, that wc saw a certain 
 dancing-troop of Centaurs and Satyrs, which was to be 
 separated from the statesman's art; and now this separa- 
 tion has been with so much difficulty effected. 
 
 Soc. Jim. — So it appears. 
 
 Guest. — But another thing remains, still more difficult 
 than this, through its being more allied to the kingly 
 genus, and at the same time more difficult to understand. 
 And we appear to me to be affected in a manner 
 similar to those that wash gold. 
 
 Soc. j'un. — How so ? 
 
 Guest. — Those workmen first of all separate earth, 
 stones, and many other things; but after this there are 
 left substances, allied to gold, mixed together and of value, 
 and to be separated only by fire, such as brass and silver, 
 and sometimes a diamond; which being with difficulty 
 separated by the experiments of fusion (in the crucible), 
 suffer us to see itself by itself that which is called pure 
 gold. 
 
 Soc. fun. — It is said that such things are so done. 
 
 [42.] Guest. — After the same manner then it seems that 
 things different from, and such as are foreign and not 
 friendly to, the statesman's science, have been separated 
 by us; but there have been left such as are of value and 
 allied to it. Now of these are the military and judicial 
 arts, and that oratory, which has a share of the kingly 
 science, and does, by persuading men to do justice, con- 
 jointly regulate affairs in states ; by separating ( all ) of 
 which in a certain manner, most easily will a person show 
 naked and alone by itself the character of which we are 
 now in search. 
 
 Soc.j'un. — It is evident that we should endeavor to do 
 this in some way. 
 
 Guest. — As far as experiment goes, it will be evident. 
 But let us endeavor to show it by means of music. Tell 
 me, then — 
 
 Soc. jun. — What ? 
 
 Guest. — Have we any teaching of music, and univer- 
 sally of the sciences, relating to handicraft trades ? 
 Soc. j'mt. — We have. 
 
68 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 Guest — But what, shall we say that there is this too, 
 a certain science respecting those very things, (which 
 teaches us) whether we ought to learn any one of them 
 whatever or not ? Or how shall we say ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — We will say that there is. 
 
 — Shall we not then confess, that this is different 
 from the others ? 
 
 Soc. jiin. — Yes. 
 
 Guest. — But whether must we say that not one of them 
 ought to rule over the other ? or the others over this ? 
 or that this, as a guardian, ought to rule over all the 
 others ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — That this science (ought to rule) over those; 
 ( which teaches ) whether it is requisite to learn, or not. 
 
 Guest. — You tell us then that it ought to rule over 
 both the taught and the teaching. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Very much so. 
 
 Guest. — And that the science (which decides) whether 
 it is requisite to persuade or not, should rule over that 
 which is able to persuade ? 
 
 Soc. jun, — How not ? 
 
 Guest. — To what science then shall we attribute that, 
 which persuades the multitude and the crowd, through 
 fable-talking, but not through teaching ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — I think it is evident that this is to be attrib- 
 uted to the science of the orator. 
 
 Guest. — But on what science, on the other hand, shall 
 we impose this, ( to decide ) whether it is meet to do any 
 thing whatever to any persons by persuasion, or violence, 
 or to abstain entirely. 
 
 Soc. jun. — To that, which rules over the arts of per- 
 suasion and discourse. 
 
 Guest. — But this, as I think, will not be any other 
 than the power of the statesman. 
 
 Soc.juyi. — You have spoken most beautifully. 
 
 Guest. — Thus then the science of the orator appears to 
 have been very rapidly separated from that of the states- 
 man, as being another species, but subservient to this. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Yes. 
 
 [43.] Guest. — Eut what on the other hand must we con- 
 ceive respecting this power ? 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 69 
 
 Soc. j'lcn. — What power ? 
 
 Guest. — (Respecting) that, by which we are to war with 
 each of those against whom we may have chosen to war. 
 Whether shall we say that this power is without art or 
 with art ? 
 
 Soc.jun. — And how can we conceive that power to be 
 withoiit art, which the general's art and all warlike opera- 
 tions put into practice ? 
 
 Guest. — But must we consider that power, which is 
 able and skillful in deliberating, whether we ought to 
 engage in war, or separate peaceably, as different from 
 this, or the same with it ? 
 
 Soc.jun. — To those following the preceding (reasoning) 
 it is of necessity different. 
 
 Guest. — Shall we not, then, assert that this (the art of 
 deliberation) rules over that (which carries on war), if 
 we understand in a manner similar to what has been 
 advanced before ? 
 
 Soc.jun. — So I say. 
 
 Guest. — What power then shall we endeavor to show as 
 the mistress of the whole art of war, so terrible and 
 mighty, except the truly kingly science ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — None other. 
 
 Guest. — We must not then lay down the science of 
 generalship as that of the statesman, of which the former 
 is the ministering assistant. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It is not reasonable. 
 
 Guest. — But come, let us contemplate the power of 
 judges, who judge rightly. 
 Soc. jun. — By all means. 
 
 Guest. — Is it then capable of doing anything more than 
 merely judging respecting compacts, when, having re- 
 ceived from a king the lawgiver, whatever has been laid 
 down as legal, and looking both to those, and to what 
 has been ordained to be just and unjust, it exhibits its 
 own peculiar virtue, of never being overcome by certain 
 bribes, or fear, or pity, or any other hatred, or love, so 
 as to be willing to settle mutual accusations contrary to 
 the ordonnance of the legislator. 
 
 Soc. jun. — The employment of this power is nearly 
 nothing else than what you have mentioned. 
 
70 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 Guest. — We find, then, that the strength of judges is 
 not kingly, but the guardianship of the laws, and minis- 
 tering to the kingly science. 
 
 Soc. j'un. — It appears so. 
 
 Guest. — This also must be understood by him, who 
 looks into all the aforesaid sciences, that the statesman's 
 science has not appeared to be one of them. For it is 
 not meet for the truly kingly science to act itself, but to 
 rule over those able to act ; since it knows that the com- 
 mencement and progress of things of the greatest conse- 
 quence in states depends on opportunity and the want of 
 it; but it is the province of the other sciences to do as 
 they are ordered. 
 
 Soc. j'un. — Right. 
 
 Guest. — Hence, since the sciences which we have just 
 now discussed, neither rule over each other nor them- 
 selves, but that each is occupied with a certain proper 
 employment of its own, they have justly obtained ac- 
 cording to the peculiarity of their actions a peculiar 
 name. 
 
 Soc. j'un. — So they seem. 
 
 Guest. — But we, having rightly comprehended its power 
 under an appellation in common, should, it seems, most 
 justly call that the science of the statesman, which rules 
 over all these and takes care of the laws, and of every- 
 thing relating to the state, and weaves all things together 
 most correctly. 
 
 Soc. ju7i. — Entirely so. 
 
 [44.] Guest. — Are we then willing to go through this 
 science at present, according to the pattern of the weav- 
 ing art, since all the genera pertaining to a state have 
 become manifest to us ? 
 
 Soc. j'un. — And very much so. 
 
 Guest. — We must then, as it seems, define what is the 
 kingly entwining, and what, after entwining, is the web 
 it produces for us. 
 
 Soc. j'un. — It is evident. 
 
 Guest. — It has become necessary as it appears, to show 
 forth a thing really difficult. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It must, however, be told by all means. 
 Guest. — For that a part of virtue differs in a certain 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 7' 
 
 manner from a species of virtue, is a point that may be 
 very easily attacked by those, who contend in discourses 
 against the opinions of the many. 
 
 Soc. jun. — I do not tmderstand you. 
 
 Guest. — (Think) again in this way. For I suppose you 
 consider fortitude to be one part of virtue. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — And that temperance is different indeed from 
 fortitude, but that this is also a part of what that is 
 likewise. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Yes. 
 
 Guest. — On these points then we must dare to unfold 
 a certain marvelous discourse. 
 Soc. jun. — Of what kind? 
 
 Guest. — That they have after a certain manner very 
 great!)'' an enmity with each other, and are of an oppo- 
 site faction in many of the things that exist. 
 
 Soc. ju7i. — How say you? 
 
 Guest. — An assertion by no means usual. For all the 
 parts of virtue are said to be friendly to each other. 
 Soc. jun. — Yes. 
 
 Guest. — Let us consider then, applying very closely 
 our mind, whether this is so without exception, or whether 
 rather any part of them differs from their kindred. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Inform me how we are to consider. 
 
 Guest. — In all such things as we call beautiful, it is 
 proper to investigate, but we refer them to two species 
 contrary to each other. 
 
 Soc. jun. — ^ Speak more clearly. 
 
 Guest. — Of acuteness then and swiftness, either in bodies 
 or mind, or of the throwing out the voice, when such things 
 exist themselves or in their resemblances, such as music 
 and painting by imitating exhibit, have you ever been a 
 praiser yourself, or, being not present, have you heard 
 another person praising any one of these things ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — Do you, likewise, remember after what manner 
 they do this in each of these cases ? 
 Soc. jun. — By no means. 
 
 Guest. — Shall I then be able to point out to you through 
 words, as I have it in my mind ? 
 
72 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 Soc. jun. — Why not? 
 
 Guest. — You seem to think a thing of this kind easy. 
 Let us consider it then in general somewhat contrary. 
 For in many actions, and oftentimes on each occa- 
 sion, when we admire the swiftness, vehemence, and 
 acuteness of thought, body or voice, we praise them, and 
 at the same time employ one of the appellations of manli- 
 ness. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How so? 
 
 Guest. — We say it is acute and manly, swift and manly, 
 and in a similar manner vehement; and universally, by 
 applying the name which I say is common to all these nat- 
 ural qualities, we praise them. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Yes. 
 
 Guest. — But what, have we not often praised in many 
 actions the species of quiet production ? 
 Soc. jun. — And very much so. 
 
 Guest. — Do we not then, in saying the contrary to what 
 (we did) about them say this? 
 Soc. jun. — How so ? 
 
 Guest. — As we speak on each occasion of things done 
 quietly and moderately as regards the mind, and admire 
 them; and as regards actions, slowly and softly; and 
 further as respects voice, smoothly and gravely, and of all 
 rhythmical movement, and the whole of music which 
 makes use of slowness opportunely, do we not assign to all 
 these the appellation of the moderate, and not of the 
 manly ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — Most assuredly. 
 
 Guest. — But when, on the other hand, both these 
 take place unseasonabl)'-, we then in turn blame each 
 of them by their names, distributing (them) back to 
 their opposites. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How so? 
 
 Guest. — By calling things that are and seem (to be) 
 more acute, and quick, and harsh than is seasonable, 
 by the names of insolent and mad; but those that are 
 more slow and soft, (by the names of) timid and 
 slothful. And for the most part nearly we find that 
 these, and the moderate and manly natures, having 
 like hostile species obtained by lot their respective 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 73 
 
 stations opposite to each other, never mingle together 
 in actions about things of this kind; and still further 
 we shall see, if we pursue (the inquiry) diligently, 
 that they who possess these in their souls, are at vari- 
 ance with each other. 
 
 [45.] Soc. jun. — Where do you say? 
 
 Guest. — In all the points which we have just now 
 mentioned, and, it is likely, in many others. For I 
 think that, on account of their alliance with each, by 
 praising some things as their own property, but blam- 
 ing the things of those who differ, as being foreign, 
 they stand in great enmity with each other and on 
 account of many things. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — They nearly appear to do so. 
 
 Guest. — This difference then between these species 
 is a kind of sport. But a disease the most baneful 
 of all others happens to states about things of the 
 greatest consequence. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — About what things are you speaking? 
 
 Guest. — About the whole form of living, as it is 
 reasonable I should. For they who are pre-eminently 
 well-ordered are always prepared to live a quiet life, 
 themselves by themselves, managing only their own 
 concerns, and so associating with all at home, and 
 being ready, in like manner, to be at peace, after a 
 certain fashion, with foreign states; and through this 
 desire, more unseasonable than is fitting, when they 
 are doing that which they wish, they become uncon- 
 sciously unwarlike, and affect the young men m a 
 similar manner, and become ever the prey of parties 
 attacking; of whom in not many years themselves, their 
 children, and the whole city, often unconsciously, in- 
 stead of being free, become the slaves. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — You speak of a severe and terrible suffering. 
 
 Guest. — But what are they, who incline more to man- 
 liness ? Do they not incite their own cities ever to some 
 warfare, through a desire more vehement than is becoming 
 of such a kind of life ; and thus standing in hostile array 
 against many and powerful (nations), either entirely de- 
 stroy their own country, or place it in slavery under the 
 power of their foes ? 
 
74 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 Soc. jun. — This too is the case. 
 
 Guest. — How then shall we not say, that in these cases 
 both these genera have ever against each other the great- 
 est enmity and array ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — It can never be that we should say no. 
 
 Guest. — Have we not then found out, what we were 
 considering at the beginning, that certain parts of virtue 
 differ not a little from each other naturally, and that 
 they likewise cause those, who possess them, to do the 
 same ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — They nearly appear (to do so). 
 Guest. — Let us handle again this too. 
 [46.] Soc. jtin. — What? 
 
 Gtiest. — Whether any one of the sciences, that bring 
 things together, does compose any act of its works, al- 
 though it should be the vilest, willingly from things evil 
 and useful ? Or does every science always reject things 
 evil to the utmost of its power, and receive such as are 
 apt and useful ? and that from these, both similar and 
 dissimilar, it does, by collecting all into one, fabricate one 
 certain power and form ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — The stateman's science, when it really exists 
 according to nature, will never willingly form a state com- 
 posed of good and bad men; but it is very evident, that it 
 will first examine by means of play; and, after the exam- 
 ination, it will hand over to such as are able to instruct and 
 to minister to this very purpose, itself commanding and 
 presiding, just as the weaving art presides over the wool 
 combers, and those who prepare the rest of the materials 
 for weaving, and following them up, gives its orders and 
 stands over them, pointing out to each to complete their 
 work, such as it conceives to be fitted for its own putting 
 together. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — In the very same way the kingly science appears 
 to me to keep to itself the power of the presiding art, and 
 not to permit all, who instruct and rear up according to 
 law, to practice aught, except what any one would, by 
 working out a manner suited to its own temperament, 
 effect ; and this alone it exhorts them to teach ; but those 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 75 
 
 who are unable to communicate a manner manly and mod- 
 erate, and whatever else tends to virtue, and through the 
 force of a depraved nature arc impelled to ungodliness, 
 and insolence, and injustice, it casts out, punishing them 
 with death and exile and the greatest of dishonors. 
 
 Soc. jun. — This is said to be the case. 
 
 Guest. — But those who wallow in ignorance and have a 
 very abject spirit, it yokes to the race of slaves. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Most right. 
 
 Guest. — With respect to the rest, however, whose natures 
 meeting with instruction are sufficient to reach to what is 
 high-minded, and to receive through art a commingling 
 with each other, of these it considers such, as incline more 
 to manliness, to have a firmness of conduct like the 
 strong thread in the web ; but such (as incline) more to a 
 well-ordered conduct (it considers) as making use (of a 
 thread) supple and soft, and according to the simile (from 
 weaving), suited to a thinner stuff; and it endeavors to 
 bind and weave together the natures inclining in a con- 
 trary direction from each other in some such manner — 
 
 Soc.jicn. — In what manner? 
 
 Guest. — In the first place, according to the alliance hav- 
 ing fitted together the eternal part of their soul with a 
 divine bond; and after that the divine (portion) that pro- 
 duces life with human — 
 
 [47.] Soc. Jun. — Why again have you said this? 
 
 Guest. — When an opinion really true exists with firmness 
 in the soul, respecting the beautiful, and just, and good, 
 and the contraries to these, I say that a god-like (opinion) 
 is produced in a divine genus. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It is proper it should. 
 
 Guest. — Do we not know that it befits the statesman 
 and a good legislator alone to be able, with the discipline 
 of the kingly science, to effect this very thing in those 
 who take properly a share in instruction, and whom we 
 have just now mentioned ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — This is reasonable. 
 
 Guest. — But the person, Socrates, who cannot accom- 
 plish a thing of this kind, we must by no means call by 
 the names now sought for. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Most right. 
 
76 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 Guest. — What then? Is not a manly soul, when it lays 
 hold of a truth of this kind, rendered mild ? and would 
 it not be willing in the highest degree to partake of 
 things just ? But not sharing it, will it not incline rather 
 to a certain savage nature ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — But what, does not that, which is a part of a 
 well-ordered nature, after receiving these opinions, be- 
 come truly moderate and prudent, at least in a polity ? 
 But when it has not partaken of the things we are speak- 
 ing of, does it not obtain most justly some disgraceful 
 reputation for stupidity ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — Entirely so. 
 
 Guest. — Must we not say that this entwining and bind- 
 ing together of the evil with themselves, and of the good 
 with the evil, can never become stable, and that no 
 science will ever employ it with any serious care on such 
 as these ? 
 
 Soc. jun. — For how can it? 
 
 Guest. — But that in those alone, who have been born 
 with noble manners from the first, and educated accord- 
 ing to nature, this (bond) is naturally implanted through 
 the laws: and for these too there is a remedy through 
 art ; and, as we said before, that this is the more divine 
 bond of the parts of virtue which are naturally dissimilar, 
 and tending to contraries. 
 
 Soc. jun. — Most true. 
 
 Guest. — Since then this divine bond exists, there is 
 scarcely any difficulty in either understanding the other 
 bonds which are human, or for a person understanding 
 to bring them to a completion. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How so ? And what are these bonds ? 
 
 Guest. — Those of intermarriages and of a communion 
 of children, and those relating to private betrothals and 
 espousals. For the majority are in these matters not 
 properly bound together for the purpose of begetting 
 children. 
 
 Soc. jtm. — Why ? 
 
 Guest. — The pursuit of wealth and power on such occa- 
 sions who would seriously blame, as being worthy of 
 notice ? 
 
THE STATESMAN 
 
 77 
 
 Soc. j'un. — It is not. 
 
 [48.] Guest. — But it will be more just to speak of those, 
 who make the genera the object of their care, should 
 they do anything not according to propriety. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It is at least reasonable. 
 
 Guest. — They do not indeed at all act from right rea- 
 son, but pursue a life easy for the present; and through 
 their hugging those similar to themselves, and of not 
 loving those that are dissimilar, they give up themselves 
 for the greatest part to an unpleasant feeling. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How so ? 
 
 Guest. — They that are well-ordered seek after manners 
 like their own, and as far as they can marry from amongst 
 such ; and on the other hand send away to them their own 
 daughters to be married. In the same manner acts the 
 genus that delights in manliness, while going in the pur- 
 suit of its own nature ; whereas it is requisite for both the 
 genera to do entirely the contrary. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How, and on what account? 
 
 Guest. — Because manliness, having been propagated, 
 unmixed for many generations with a temperate nature, is 
 naturally at the beginning blooming with strength, but 
 in the end bursts out altogether into madness. 
 
 Soc. jun. — It is likely. 
 
 Guest. — On the other hand, a soul very full of modesty, 
 and unmixed with manly boldness, when it has been prop- 
 agated in this manner for many generations, naturally 
 becomes unseasonably sluggish, and at last perfectly muti- 
 lated. 
 
 Soc. jun. — And this also is likely to happen. 
 
 Guest. — I have said that it is not difficult to bind to- 
 gether these bonds, the fact being that both genera have 
 one opinion respecting things beautiful and good. For 
 this is the one and entire work of kingly weaving, never 
 to suffer moderate manners to subsist apart from such 
 as are manly; but, placing both in the same shuttle, to 
 bring out from them a web smooth, and, as it is said, 
 well-woven, by means of similar opinions, and honors, 
 and dishonors, and glories, and the interchange of pledges, 
 and to commit over to these in common the offices in 
 the state 
 
78 
 
 THE STATESMAN 
 
 Soc. jiin. — How ? 
 
 Guest. — Wherever there happens to be a need of one 
 governor, by choosing a president who possesses both 
 these (manners) ; but where (there is need) of more than 
 one, by mingling a portion of both of them. For the 
 manners of temperate governors are very cautious, just, 
 and conservative; but they are in want of a certain sour- 
 ness, and a sharp and practical daring. 
 
 Soc. jun. — These things also appear so to me. 
 
 Guest. — On the other hand, manliness is with respect 
 to justice and caution rather deficient in those virtues; 
 but it has pre-eminently in actions a daring. It is how- 
 ever impossible for all things pertaining to states, both 
 of a private and public nature, to well exist, unless both 
 of these are present. 
 
 Soc. jun. — How not? 
 
 Guest. — Let us say then that this is the end of the 
 web of the statesman's doing, (so as for him) to 
 weave with straight weaving the manners of manly and 
 temperate men , when the kingly science shall by bring- 
 ing together their common life, through a similarity in 
 sentirhent and friendship, complete the most magnificent 
 and excellent of all webs, [so as to be common,] and en- 
 veloping all the rest in the state, both slaves and free- 
 men, shall hold them together by this texture, and, as 
 far as it is fitting for a state to become prosperous, shall 
 rule and preside over it, deficient in that point not one jot. 
 
 Soc. Jun. — You have brought, O guest, most beautifully, 
 on the other hand, the characters of the king and states- 
 man to a finish. 
 
1 
 
 Date Due 
 
 
 
 Wit 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 IN U. S. A.