Full Text of - Plato's Republic (Allan Bloom's Translation) - PDF
Full Text of - Plato's Republic (Allan Bloom's Translation) - PDF
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THE REPUBLIC
m OF
Tj PLATO
SECOND EDITION
ALLAN BLOOM
BasicBooks
A Division of HarperCoWmsPublishers
91 92 93 94 SP/HC 987654321
PREFACE TO THE
SECOND EDITION
When I teach the Republic now, the reactions to it are more urgent and
more intense than they were a quarter-century ago when I was working on
this translation and this interpretation. The Republic is, of course, a
permanent book, one of the small number of books that engage the interest
and sympathy of thoughtful persons wherever books are esteemed and
read in freedom. No other philosophic book so powerfully expresses the
human longing for justice while satisfying the intellect's demands for
clarity. The problems of justice as presented by Plato arouse more interest,
excitement, and disagreement at some points than at others. When non-
philosophers begin their acquaintance with philosophers, they frequently
say, "This is nonsense." But sometimes they say, "This is outrageous
nonsense," and at such moments their passions really become involved
with the philosophers, frequently culminating in hatred or in love. Right
now Plato is both attractive and repulsive to the young.
This is most obvious when they reach the section of the Republic
where Socrates legislates about music. Between the late 1940s and the
mid-1960s there was a lull in music's power over the soul, between the
declining magnetism of high romanticism and the surge of rock, and music
was not much of a practical or theoretical problem for students. They took
note of the fact that Socrates is for censorship — a no-no, of course — and
went on, not taking much account of what in particular is being censored. If
forced to think about it, they tended to be surprised that music above all
vn
But, above all, the Platonic text is now gripping because of its very
[ viii ]
For students the story of man bound in the cave and breaking the
bonds, moving out and up into the light of the sun, is the most memorable
from their encounter with the Republic. This is the image of every serious
student's profoundest longing, the longing for liberation from convention
in order to live according to nature, and one of the book's evidently
permanent aspects. The story still exercises some of its old magic, but it
now encounters a fresh obstacle, for the meaning of the story is that truth is
substituted for myth. Today students are taught that no such substitution is
possible and that there is nothing beyond myth or "narrative." The myths
of the most primitive cultures are not, it is said, qualitatively different from
the narratives of the most rigorous science. Men and women must bend to
the power of my th rather than try to shuck it off as philosophy wrongly used
to believe. Socrates, who gaily abandons the founding myth or noble lie he
himseff made up for the sake of the city, looks quixotic in this light. This can
be disheartening to the young person who cares, but it can be a beginning
of philosophy, for he is perplexed by a real difficulty in his own breast. This
is another case where Platonic radicalism is particularly timely for us.
[ ix ]
on education. Rousseau was one of the great readers of Plato, and from my
time on that work I gained an even greater respect for the Republic. Emile
is its natural companion, and Rousseau proved his greatness by entering
the lists in worthy combat with it. He shows that Plato articulated first and
best all the problems, and he himself differs only with respect to some of
the solutions. If one takes the two books together, one has the basic training
necessary for the educational wars. And wars they are, now that doctrine
tells us that these two books are cornerstones of an outlived canon. So, I
conclude, the Republic is always useful to students who read it, but now
more than ever.
Paris, iggi
[ X ]
PREFACE
[ xi ]
Preface
the study of difficult texts. Nor should he try to make an ancient mode
of thought sound "contemporary." Such translations become less useful
as more attention is paid to the text. At the very least, one can say that
a literal translation is a necessary supplement to more felicitous rendi-
tions which deviate widely from their original.
The difference from age to age in the notions of the translator's re-
sponsibility is in itself a chapter of intellectual history. Certainly the
popularization of the classics is one part of that chapter. But there
seem to be two major causes for the current distaste for literal transla-
tions — one rooted in the historical science of our time, the other rooted
in a specific, and I believe erroneous, view of the character of Platonic
books.
ly, the claim of the older thinkers that the truth is potentially attainable
by the efforts of unaided human reason at all times and in all places. If
we begin by denying the fundamental contention of men like Plato and
Aristotle, they are refuted for us from the outset, not by any immanent
criticism but by our unreflecting acceptance of the self-contradictory
principle that all thought is related to a specific age and has no grasp of
reality beyond that age./On this basis, it is impossible to take them
seriously. One often suspects that this is what is lacking in many
translations: they are not animated by the passion for the truth; they
are really the results of elegant trifling. William of Moerbeke was
motivated by the concern that he might miss the most important coun-
sels about the most important things, counsels emanating from a man
wiser than he. His knowledge of the world and his way of life, nay, his
very happiness, depended on the success of his quest to get at Aris-
totle's real meaning.
[ xii ]
Preface
[ xiii ]
preface
[ xiv ]
Preface
One who opened Jowett's version at random and lighted on the state-
ment (at 549B) that the best guardian for a man's "virtue" is
"philosophy tempered with music," might run away with the idea
that in order to avoid irregular relations with women, he had better
play the violin in the intervals of studying metaphysics. There may
be some truth in this; but only after reading widely in other parts of
the book would he discover that it was not quite what Plato meant
by describing logos, combined with musike, as the only sure safe-
guard oi arete (ibid., p. vi.).
[ XV ]
Preface
[ xvi ]
Preface
on men's virtues, not on institutions; if the highest virtues are not pres-
ent in the rulers, an inferior regime must be instituted. There are no
guardians above the guardians; )the only guardian of the guardians is a
proper education/ It is this theme to which the reader's attention must
be brought.
[ xvii ]
Preface
to translate every Greek word in the same way. But the only standard
for change was the absolute unintelligibility of the rendition and not
any desire to make Plato sound better or to add variety where he might
seem monotonous. And the most crucial words, like those just men-
tioned and form and regime, etc., are always the same in spite of the
difficulties this procedure sometimes causes. Ordinarily in con-
temporary translations the occurrence of, for example, nature in the
English is no indication that there is anything related to physis in the
Greek, and the occurrence of physis in the Greek does not regularly
call forth any word related to nature from the translator. But, since
nature is the standard for Plato, this confusion causes the reader either
to be ignorant of the fact that nature is indeed Plato's standard or to
mistake which phenomena he considers natural. Literal translation
makes the Republic a difficult book to read; but it is in itself a difficult
bock, and our historical situation makes it doubly difficult for us. This
must not be hidden./Plato intended his works essentially for the in-
telligent and industrious few, a natural aristocracy determined neither
by birth nor wealthyand this translation attempts to do nothing which
would contradict that intention.
vention the truth of which is not in its literal expression, whereas the
inhabitants of Socrates' city are to believe the untrue story to be true.
His ijjterlocutors are shocked by the notion, but— according to Corn-
ford— we are to believe it is harmless because it might conjure up
unpleasant associations.
XV]]]
Preface
and in the assertions that gods cannot lie (381 e-382 e) and that rulers
may lie (380 b-c). Now, finally,jit is baldly stated that the only truly
just civil society must be founded on a lie. Socrates prefers to face up to
the issue with clarity. A good regime cannot be based on enlighten-
ment; if there is no lie, a number of compromises— among them private
property-^must be made and hence merely conventional inequalities
must be accepted. This is a radical statement about the relationship
between truth and justice, one which leads to the paradox that wisdom
can rule only in an element dominated by falsehood^It is hardly worth
obscuring this issue for the sake of avoiding the crudest of misun-
derstandings. And perhaps the peculiarly modem phenomenon of prop-
aganda might become clearer to the man who sees that it is somehow
related to a certain myth of enlightenment which is itself brought into
question by the Platonic analysis.^
stripped away to get to the philosophic core. We then have Plato the
poet and Plato the philosopher, two beings rolled into one and coexist-
ing in an uneasy harmony. This is the fatal error which leads to the
distinction between form and substance. The student of philosophy
then takes one part of the dialogue as his special domain and the stu-
dent of literature another as his; the translator follows suit, using great
license in the bulk of the book and reverting to a care appropriate to
Aristotle when philosophy appears to enter.
[ xix ]
Treface
ment of truth which constitutes the core of his critique of poetry, just as
the indifference to forms, and hence to man, constitutes the core of his
criticism of pre-Socratic^philosophy/The dialogue is the synthesis of
these two poles and is an organic unity. Every argument must be inter-
preted dramatically, for every argument is incomplete in itself and only
the context can supply the missing links. And every dramatic detail
must be interpreted philosophically, because these details contain the
images of the problems which complete the arguments. Separately
these two aspects are meaningless; together they are an invitation to the
philosophic quest.
Comford cites the Laws as proof that Plato gradually mended his
ways; thus he has a certain Platonic justification for his changes in the
text. But the difference in form between the Republic and the Laws is
not a result of Plato's old age having taught him the defects of his man-
nered drama, as Comford would have it, or its having caused him to
lose his dramatic flair, as others assert. Rather the difference reflects
the differences in the participants in the dialogues and thereby the dif-
ference of intention of the two works. This is just one example of what
is typical of every part of the Platonic works. By way of the drama one
comes to the profoundest issues. In the Republic Socrates discusses the
best regime, a regime which can never be actualized, with two young
men of some theoretical gifts whom he tries to convert from the life of
political ambition to one in which philosophy plays a role. He must
persuade them; every step of the argument is directed to their par-
ticular opinions and characters. Their reasoned assent is crucial to the
whole process. The points at which they object to Socrates' reasoning
are always most important, and so are the points when they assent
when they should not. Each of the exchanges reveals something, even
when the responses seem most uninteresting. In the Laws the Athenian
Stranger engages in the narrower task of prescribing a code of laws for
a possible but inferior regime. His interlocutors are old men who have
[ XX ]
Preface
no theoretical gifts or openness. The Stranger talks to them not for the
end of any conversion but only because one of them has the political
power the Stranger lacks. The purpose of his rhetoric is to make his
two companions receptive to this unusual code. The Stranger must
have the consent of the other two to operate his reforms of existing or-
ders. Their particular prejudices must be overcome, but not by true
persuasion of the truth; the new teaching must be made to appear to be
in accord with their ancestrally hallowed opinions. Important conces-
sions must be made to those opinions, since they are inalterable. The
discussions indicate such difficulties and are preliminary to the essen-
tial act of lawgiving. Laws by their nature have the character of
monologue rather than dialogue, and they are not supposed to discuss
or be discussed; thus the presentation of the laws tends to be inter-
rupted less.(The strength and weakness of law lies in the fact that it is
the polar opposite of philosophic discussion. The intention of a
dialogue is the cause of its form, and that intention comes to light only
to those who reflect on its form. I
[ xxi ]
Preface
cates that we are not open to one of the mysteries, for such sentiments
are the protective mechanisms which prevent our framework from
being shaken.
xxu
Preface
passively receive the words of wisdom from the mouth of the master.
And this means that the translation must, insofar as humanly possible,
present all the nuances of the original— the oaths, the repetitions of
words, the slight changes in the fonn of responses, etc.— so that the
reader can look at the progress of the drama with all the perceptiveness
and sharpness of which his nature permits him, which he would bring
to bear on any real situation which concerned him. The translator can-
not hope to have understood it all, but he must not begrudge his possi-
ble moral and intellectual superiors their possibility of insight. It is in
the name of this duty that one risks the ridiculousness of pedan try in
preserving the uncomfortable details which force a sacrifice of the
easygoing charms of a more contemporary style.
[ xxiii ]
Preface
Allan Bloom
Ithaca, New York
July 1968
XXIV
CONTENTS
THE
REPUBLIC
Book I
Book II
35
Book III
63
Book IV
97
Book V
127
Book VI
163
Book VII
193
Book VIII
221
Book IX
251
Book X
277
INTERPRETIVE
ESSAY
305
NOTES
437
INDEX
473
BOOK I
serve how they would put on the festival,^ since they were now hold-
ing it for the first time. Now, in my opinion, the procession of the native
inhabitants was fine; but the one the Thracians conducted was no less
fitting a show. After we had prayed and looked on, we went off toward
town.
And I turned around and asked him where his master was. "He is
coming up behind," he said, "just wait."
"Well, " he said, "do you see how many of us there are? "
"Of course."
[3]
227 c "Isn't there still one other possibility . . . ," I said, "our per-
seated on a sort of cushioned stool and was crowned with a wreath, for
he had just performed a sacrifice in the courtyard. We sat down beside
him, for some stools were arranged in a circle there. As soon as Ceph-
alus saw me, he greeted me warmly and said:
quently. I want you to know that as the other pleasures, those con-
nected with the body, wither away in me, the desires and pleasures that
have to do with speeches grow the more. Now do as I say: be with these
young men, but come here regularly to us as to friends and your very
own kin."
certain road that perhaps we too will have to take, one ought, in my
opinion, to learn from them what sort of road it is — ^whether it is rough
and hard or easy and smooth. From you in particular I should like to
learn how it looks to you, for you are now at just the time of life the
[ 4 ]
poets call 'the threshold of old age.''^ is it a hard time of life, or what 328 c
"By Zeus, I shall tell you just how it looks to me, Socrates," he
said. "Some of us who are about the same age often meet together and 329 a
keep up the old proverb. '^^ Now then, when they meet, most of the
members of our group lament, longing for the pleasures of youth and
reminiscing about sex, about drinking bouts and feasts and all that goes
with things of that sort; they take it hard as though they were deprived
of something very important and had then lived well but are now not
even alive. Some also bewail the abuse that old age receives from b
relatives, and in this key they sing a refrain about all the evils old age
has caused them. But, Socrates, in my opinion these men do not put
their fingers on the cause. For, if this were the cause, I too would have
suffered these same things insofar as they depend on old age and so
would everyone else who has come to this point in life. But as it is, I
have encountered others for whom it was not so, especially Sophocles. I
was once present when the poet was asked by someone, 'Sophocles,
how are you in sex? Can you still have intercourse with a woman?' c
'Silence, man,' he said. 'Most joyfully did I escape it, as though I had
run away from a sort of frenzied and savage master.' I thought at the
time that he had spoken well and I still do. For, in every way, old age
brings great peace and freedom from such things. When the desires
cease to strain and finally relax, then what Sophocles says comes to pass
in every way; it is possible to be rid of very many mad masters. But of d
these things and of those that concern relatives, there is one just
cause: not old age, Socrates, but the character of the human beings. ^4
If they are orderly and content with themselves, ^^ even old age is only
moderately troublesome; if they are not, then both age, Socrates, and
youth alike turn out to be hard for that sort."
Then I was full of wonder at what he said and, wanting him to say
still more, I stirred him up, saying: "Cephalus, when you say these e
things, I suppose that the manyi^ do not accept them from you, but
believe rather that it is not due to character that you bear old age so
easily but due to possessing great substance. They say that for the rich
there are many consolations. '
"What you say is true," he said. "They do not accept them. And
they do have something there, but not, however, quite as much as they
think; rather, the saying of Themistocles holds good. When a Seriphian
abused him — saying that he was illustrious not thanks to himself but 330 a
[ 5]
330 a had he been an Athenian. And the same argument also holds good for
those who are not wealthy and bear old age with difficulty: the decent
man would not bear old age with poverty very easily, nor would the one
who is not a decent sort ever be content with himself even if he were
wealthy."
"Cephalus," I said, "did you inherit or did you earn most of what
you possess?"
b "What do you mean, earned, Socrates!" he said. "As a money-
"The reason I asked, you see," I said, "is that to me you didn't
c seem overly fond of money. For the most part, those who do not make
money themselves are that way. Those who do make it are twice as at-
tached to it as the others. For just as poets are fond of their poems and
fathers of their children, so money-makers too are serious about
money — as their own product; and they also are serious about it for the
same reason other men are — for its use. They are, therefore, hard even
to be with because they are willing to praise nothing but wealth."
suppose is the greatest good that you have enjoyed from possessing
great wealth?"
331 a and good hope is ever beside him — a nurse of his old age, as Pindar
puts it. For, you know, Socrates, he put it charmingly when he said that
whoever lives out a just and holy life
How very wonderfully well he says that. For this I count the possession
of money most wroth-while, not for any man, but for the decent and or-
derly one. The possession of money contributes a great deal to not b
cheating or lying to any man against one's will, and, moreover, to
not departing for that other place frightened because one owes some
sacrifices to a god or money to a human being. It also has many other
uses. But, still, one thing reckoned against another, I wouldn't count
this as the least thing, Socrates, for which wealth is very useful to an in-
telligent man. "
to this very thing, justice, shall we so simply assert that it is the truth
and giving back what a man has taken from another, or is to do these
very things sometimes just and sometimes unjust? Take this case as an
example of what I mean: everyone would surely say that if a man takes
weapons from a friend when the latter is of sound mind, and the friend
demands them back when he is mad, one shouldn't give back such
things, and the man who gave them back would not be just, and
moreover, one should not be willing to tell someone in this state the
whole truth. "
"Then this isn't the definition of justice, speaking the truth and
giving back what one takes."
"Well, then, " said Cephalus, "I hand down the argument to you,
for it's already time for me to look after the sacrifices. "
"Tell me, you, the heir of the argument, " I said, "what was it Si- e
monides said about justice that you assert he said correctly? "
[ 7]
332 a "Yes."
"True," he said.
"I understand," I said. "A man does not give what is owed in giv-
ing back gold to someone who has deposited it, when the giving and the
b taking turn out to be bad, assuming the taker and the giver are
friends. Isn't this what you assert Simonides means?"
"Most certainly."
"Then, " I said, "it seems that Simonides made a riddle, after the
c fashion of poets, when he said what the just is. For it looks as if he
thought that it is just to give to everyone what is fitting, and to this he
gave the name 'what is owed. "
"In the name of Zeus," I said, "if someone were to ask him,
'Simonides, the ait^ called medicine gives what that is owed and
fitting to which things?' what do you suppose he would answer us?"
"The art called cooking gives what that is owed and fitting to
which things? "
d "Seasonings to meats. "
"All right. Now then, the art that gives what to which things
would be called justice?"
"In my opinion."
"A doctor."
[ 8]
"And with respect to the danger of the sea, who has this power 332 e
"A pilot."
"And what about the just man, in what action and with respect to
what work is he most able to help friends and harm enemies?"
"All right. However, to men who are not sick, my friend Polemar-
chus, a doctor is useless."
"True."
"Yes."
"Then to men who are not at war, is the just man useless?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Certainly."
"Contracts, Socrates."
"Partnerships, of course."
"Then is the just man a good and useful partner in setting down b
"In setting down bricks and stones, is the just man a more useful
and better partner than the housebuilder?"
"Not at all."
"But in what partnership then is the just man a better partner than
the harp player, just as the harp player is better than the just man when
one has to do with notes?"
9]
"Do you mean when there is no need to use them, and they are
left lying?"
"Certainly."
d "Is it when money is useless that justice is useful for it?"
ture."
"Will you also assert that when a shield and a lyre must be
guarded and not used, justice is useful; but when they must be used, the
soldier's art and the musician's art are useful?"
"Necessarily."
is useful for useless things. Let's look at it this way. Isn't the man who
is cleverest at landing a blow in boxing, or any other kind of fight, also
the one cleverest at guarding against it?"
"Certainly."
334 a who can also steal the enemy's plans and his other dispositions?"
"Certainly."
robber, and I'm afraid you learned this from Homer. For he admires
[ 10 ]
surpassed all men 'in stealing and in swearing oaths.' Justice, then, 334 b
dividual, or those who are, even if they don't seem to be, and similarly
with enemies?"
"It's likely, " he said, "that the men one believes to be good, one
loves, while those he considers bad one hates."
"But don't human beings make mistakes about this, so that many
seem to them to be good although they are not, and vice versa? "
"So for them the good are enemies and the bad are friends? "
"Certainly."
"But nevertheless it's still just for them to help the bad and harm
the good?" d
"Yet the good are just and such as not to do injustice? "
"True."
"Then, according to your argument, it's just to treat badly men who
have done nothing unjust? "
"Then, after all," I said, "it's just to harm the unjust and help the
just?"
are bad; and just to help enemies, for they are good. So we shall say the
very opposite of what we asserted Simonides means."
"It does really turn out that way, " he said. "But let's change what
we set down at the beginning. For I'm afraid we didn't set down the
definition of friend and enemy correctly."
"We set dovwi that the man who seems good is a friend. "
"The man who seems to be, and is, good, is a friend," he said,
"while the man who seems good and is not, seems to be but is not a 335 a
friend. And we'll take the same position about the enemy."
[ 11 ]
"Yes."
opinion."
"Is it, then," I said, "the part of a just man to harm any human
being whatsoever?"
"Worse."
"And when dogs are harmed, do they become worse with respect
to the virtue of dogs and not to that of horses?"
"Necessarily."
c "Should we not assert the same of human beings, my comrade —
that when they are harmed, they become worse with respect to human
virtue?"
"Most certainly."
"Impossible."
"But are just men able to make others unjust by justice, of all
d things? Or, in sum, are good men able to make other men bad by vir-
tue?"
"Impossible."
"For I suppose that cooling is not the work of heat, but of its op-
posite."
"Yes."
"Certainly,"
[ 12 ]
"Nor is harming, in fact, the work of the good but of its opposite." 335 d
"Certainly. "
"Then it is not the work of the just man to harm either a friend or
anyone else, Polemarchus, but of his opposite, the unjust man."
"Then if someone asserts that it's just to give what is owed to each e
"We shall do battle then as partners, you and I," I said, "if
someone asserts that Simonides, or Bias, or Pittacus^ or any other
wise and blessed man said it."
"I, for one," he said, "am ready to be your partner in the battle. "
"Do you know," I said, "to whom, in my opinion, that saying 336 a
belongs which asserts that it is just to help friends and harm ene-
mies?"
Now Thrasymachus had many times started out to take over the b
fools making way for one another? If you truly want to know what
the just is, don't only ask and gratify your love of honor by refuting
whatever someone answers — you know that it is easier to ask than to
answer — but answer yourself and say what you assert the just to be.
And see to it you don't tell me that it is the needful, or the helpful, d
[ 13 ]
THHASYMACHUS/SOCRATES THEREPUBLIC
336 d clearly and precisely what you mean, for I ' won't accept it if you say
such inanities."
chus, don't be hard on us. If we are making any mistake in the con-
sideration of the arguments, Polemarchus and I, know well that we're
making an unwilling mistake. If we were searching for gold we would
never willingly make way for one another in the search and ruin our
chances of finding it; so don't suppose that when we are seeking for
justice, a thing more precious than a great deal of gold, we would ever
foolishly give in to one another and not be as serious as we can be
about bringing it to light. Don't you suppose that, my friend! Rather, as
I suppose, we are not competent. So it's surely far more fitting for us to
being, that it is two times six, or three times four, or six times two, or
four times three; I won't accept such nonsense from you' — it was plain
to you, I suppose, that no one would answer a man who asks in this
way. And if he asked, 'Thrasymachus, what do you mean? Shall I
answer none of those you mentioned before? Even if it happens to be
one of these, shall I say something other than the truth, you surprising
c man? Or what do you mean?' — what would you say to him in re-
sponse?"
"Very well," he said, "as if this case were similar to the other."
"Well, is that what you are going to do?" he said. "Are you going
to give as an answer one of those I forbid?"
consideration."
[ 14 i
"What if I could show you another answer about justice besides 337 d
all these and better than they are?" he said. "What punishment do you
think you would deserve to suffer?"
"What else than the one it is fitting for a man who does not know
to suffer?" I said. "And surely it is fitting for him to learn from the man
who knows. So this is what I think I deserve to suffer."
"He has some," said Glaucon. "Now, for money's sake, speak,
Thrasymachus. We shall all contribute for Socrates."^i
"I certainly believe it," he said, "so that Socrates can get away e
with his usual trick; he'll not answer himself, and when someone else
has answered he gets hold of the argument and refutes it."
"You best of men," I said, "how could a man answer who, in the
first place, does not know and does not profess to know; and who, in
the second place, even if he does have some supposition about these
things, is forbidden to say what he believes by no ordinary man? It's ^
more fitting for you to speak; for you are the one who says he knows 338 a
and can tell. Now do as I say; gratify me by answering and don't be-
grudge your teaching to Glaucon here and the others."
goes around learning from others, and does not even give thanks to
them."
"When you say I learn from others," I said, "you speak the truth,
Thrasymachus; but when you say I do not make full payment in thanks,
you lie. For I pay as much as I can. I am only able to praise. I have no
money. How eagerly I do so when I think someone speaks well, you
will well know as soon as you have answered; for I suppose you will
speak well."
"Now Hsten," he said. "I say that the just is nothing other than the c
advantage of the stronger .^2 vVell, why don't you praise me? But you
won't be willing."
"First I must learn what you mean," I said. "For, as it is, I don't
yet understand. You say the just is the advantage of the stronger. What
ever do you mean by that, Thrasymachus? You surely don't assert such
a thing as this: if Polydamas, the pancratiast,^^ is stronger than we are
[ 15 1
338 d and beef is' advantageous for his body, then this food is also ad-
"Not at all, best of men," I said. "Just tell me more clearly what
you mean."
"Don't you know," he said, "that some cities are ruled tyrannical-
ly, some democratically, and some aristocratically?"
"Of course."
"Certainly."
e "And each ruling group sets dovm laws for its own advantage; a
"It isn't plain yet whether it's a big one. But it is plain that we
must consider whether what you say is true. That must be considered,
because, while I too agree that the just is something of advantage, you
add to it and assert that it's the advantage of the stronger, and I don't
know whether it's so."
"That's what I'm going to do," I said. "Now, tell me; don't you
say though that it's also just to obey the rulers?"
"I do."
c "Are the rulers in their several cities infallible, or are they such as
"When they put their hands to setting down laws, do they set some
down correctly and some incorrectly?"
[ 16 ]
"Is that law correct which sets down what is advantageous for 339 c
themselves, and that one incorrect which sets down what is disad-
vantageous?— Or, how do you mean it?"
"But whatever the rulers set down must be done by those who are
ruled, and this is the just?"
"Of course."
advantageous for the stronger but also the opposite, what is disad-
vantageous."
"Well, then," I said, "also suppose that you're agreed that it is just e
to do what is disadvantageous for those who are the rulers and the
stronger, when the rulers unwillingly command what is bad for them-
selves, and you assert it is just to do what they have commanded. In
this case, most wise Thrasymachus, doesn't it necessarily follow that it
is just for the others to do the opposite of what you say? For the weaker
are commanded to do what is doubtless disadvantageous for the
stronger."
"If it's you who are to witness for him, Polemarchus," said Cleito-
phon interrupting.
further agreed that sometimes the stronger order those who are weaker
and are ruled to do what is to the disadvantage of the stronger. On the
basis of these agreements, the advantage of the stronger would be no
more just than the disadvantage."
[ 17 ]
cleitophon/polemarchus/socrates/thrasymachus t (^
THE REPUBLIC
to the stronger to be the advantage of u*^ ^^^ *^® J"^* '^' '^^^* *^^ad-
vantageous or not? Shall we assert that th^ stronger, whether i* *f
"Not in the least," he said. "Do y ^^ ^^ *he way you mean i*- , ^
makes mistakes 'stronger' at the rnn ^ ^^PP^se that I call a man "^
takes?" ""^"t when he is making ^>''
the rulers are not infallible but also m^V ^^^o, "when you agr^e^^
d "That's because you're a sycopJi^ .^^^*^kes in some things- ^
would say that the doctor made a ^ '^ """ling, although eveO' ^
mistake. What I answered you earlier fU^ ^ ^"^ *he ruler ma
way. But what follows is the most pj-g . ^"' you must also take m
34J a is a ruler, does not make mistakes; anrl^ Way: the ruler, insofar
down what is best for himself. And thi "^* making mistakes, he
is ruled. So I say the just is exactiy ^i "^Ust be done by the man
beginning, to do the advantage of the st "ave been saying from
b won't get away with doing harm unn .^ ^ ^^t it won't profit yon-
unnoticed, you won't be able to overpQ^^^ ^^^" and, failing to g^*
[ 18 ]
you meant by the ruler and stronger the man who is such only in com- 341 b
mon parlance or the man who is such in precise speech, whose ad-
vantage you said a moment ago it will be just for the weaker to serve
because he is stronger?"
"The one who is the ruler in the most precise sense," he said. "Do
harm to that and play the sycophant, if you can— I ask for no
favors— but you won't be able to."
"At least you tried just now," he said, "although you were a
nonentity at that too."
"Enough of this," I said. "Now tell me, is the doctor in the precise
sense, of whom you recently spoke, a money-maker or one who cares
for the sick? Speak about the man who is really a doctor."
"And what about the pilot? Is the man who is a pilot in the cor-
rect sense a ruler of sailors or a sailor?"
ship, and he shouldn't be called a sailor for that. For it isn't because of
sailing that he is called a pilot but because of his art and his rule over
sailors."
"True," he said.
"Certainly."
"And isn't the art," I said, "naturally directed toward seeking and
providing for the advantage of each?"
"And is there then any advantage for each of the arts other than to
be as perfect as possible?"
"Just as," I said, "if you should ask me whether it's enough for a
body to be a body or whether it needs something else, I would say: 'By
all means, it needs something else. And the art of medicine has now
been discovered because a body is defective,^^ and it won't do for it to
be like that. The art was devised for the purpose of providing what is
advantageous for a body.' Would I seem to you to speak correctly in
saying that or not?"
"And what about medicine itself, is it or any other art defective, 342
and does it need some supplementary virtue? Just as eyes need sight
and ears hearing and for this reason an art is needed that will consider
and provide what is advantageous for them, is it also the case that there
[ 19 ]
342 a is some defect in the art itself and does each art have need of another
art that considers its advantage, and does the art that considers it need
in its turn another of the same kind, and so on endlessly? Or does each
b consider its own advantage by itself ? Or does it need neither itself nor
"Yes," he said.
He assented.
"Then such a pilot and ruler will consider or command the benefit
not of the pilot, but of the man who is a sailor and is ruled."
[ 20 ]
advantageous and fitting for it that he says everything he says and does 342
everything he does."
When we came to this point in the argument and it was evident to 343 i
everyone that the argument about the just had turned around in the op-
posite direction, Thrasymachus, instead of answering, said, "Tell me,
Socrates, do you have a wet nurse?"
stronger and rules, and a personal harm to the man who obeys and
serves. Injustice is the opposite, and it rules the truly simple and just;
and those who are ruled do what is advantageous for him who is
stronger, and they make him whom they serve happy but themselves
not at all. And this must be considered, most simple Socrates: the just
man everywhere has less than the unjust man. First, in contracts, when
the just man is a partner of the unjust man, you will always find that
at the dissolution of the partnership the just man does not have more
than the unjust man, but less. Second, in matters pertaining to the city,
when there are taxes, the just man pays more on the basis of equal proper-
ty, the unjust man less; and when there are distributions, the one makes
no profit, the other much. And, further, when each holds some ruling
office, even if the just man suffers no other penalty, it is his lot to see
his domestic affairs deteriorate from neglect, while he gets no ad-
vantage from the public store, thanks to his being just; in addition to
this, he incurs the ill vidll of his relatives and his acquaintances when he
is unwilling to serve them against what is just. The unjust man's sit-
uation is the opposite in all of these respects. I am speaking of the man
I just now spoke of, the one who is able to get the better^"^ in a big 34<
way. Consider him, if you want to judge how much more to his private
advantage the unjust is than the just. You will learn most easily of all if
[ 21 ]
rHRASYMACHUS/SOCRATES THEREPUBLIC
344 a you turn to the most perfect injustice, which makes the one who does
injustice most happy, and those who suffer it and who would not be
willing to do injustice, most wretched. And that is tyranny, which by
stealth and force takes away what belongs to others, both what is sacred
and profane, private and public, not bit by bit, but all at once. When
b someone does some part of this injustice and doesn't get away with it,
c blessed, not only by the citizens but also by whomever else hears that
he has done injustice entire. For it is not because they fear doing unjust
deeds, but because they fear suffering them, that those who blame in-
justice do so. So, Socrates, injustice, when it comes into being on a
sufficient scale, is mightier, freer, and more masterful than justice; and,
as I have said from the beginning, the just is the advantage of the
stronger, and the unjust is what is profitable and advantageous for
oneself."
the basis of which each of us would have the most profitable ex-
istence?"
do a good deed for so many as we are. I must tell you that for my part I
am not persuaded; nor do I think injustice is more profitable than
justice, not even if one gives it free rein and doesn't hinder it from
doing what it wants. But, my good man, let there be an unjust man, and
let him be able to do injustice, either by stealth or by fighting out in the
open; nevertheless, he does not persuade me that this is more profitable
b than justice. And perhaps, someone else among us— and not only
[ 22 ]
"By Zeus, don't you do it," I said. "But, first, stick to what you
said, or if you change what you set down, make it clear that you're
doing so, and don't deceive us. As it is, Thrasymachus, you see
that— still considering what went before — after you had first defined c
the true doctor, you later thought it no longer necessary to keep a pre-
cise guard over the true shepherd. Rather you think that he, insofar as
he is a shepherd, fattens the sheep, not looking to what is best for the
sheep, but, like a guest who is going to be feasted, to good cheer, or in d
the rulers in the cities, those who truly rule, rule willingly?"
ways say that each of the arts is different on the basis of having a dif-
ferent capacity? And don't answer contrary to your opinion, you
blessed man, so that we can reach a conclusion."
"Certainly."
"And does the wage-earner's art furnish wages? For this is its b
power. Or do you call the medical art the same as the pilot's art? Or, if
you wish to make precise distinctions according to the principle you set
down, even if a man who is a pilot becomes healthy because sailing on
the sea is advantageous to him, nonetheless you don't for that reason
call what he does the medical art?"
[ 23 ]
346 b "Nor do you, I suppose, call the wage-earner's art the medical art,
"And, what about this? Do you call the medical art the wage-
earner's art, even if a man practicing medicine should earn wages?"
c He said that he did not.
"And we say that the benefit the craftsmen derive from receiving
wages comes to them from their use of the wage-earner's art in addi-
tion."
ov^Ti art; but, if it must be considered precisely, the medical art pro-
duces health, and the wage-earner's art wages; the housebuilder s art
produces a house and the wage-earner's art, following upon it,
wages; and so it is with all the others; each accomplishes its own
work and benefits that which it has been set over. And if pay were
not attached to it, would the craftsman derive benefit from the art?"
e "It doesn't look like it," he said-
seems, that there must be wages for those who are going to be willing to
rule — either money, or honor, or a penalty if he should not rule."
[ 24 ]
"Then you don't understand the wages of the best men," I said, 347 1
"on account of which the most decent men rule, when they are wilHng
to rule. Or don't you know that love of honor and love of money are
said to be, and are, reproaches?"
"I for my part choose the life of the just man as more profitable."
[ 25 ]
34a b of counting the good things and measuring how many each of us has in
each speech, and then we'll be in need of some sort of judges^^ who
will decide. But if we consider just as we did a moment ago, coming to
agreement with one another, we'll ourselves be both judges and
pleaders at once."
"Well, then, how do you speak about them in this respect? Surely
you call one of them virtue and the other vice?"
"Of course."
"That's likely, you agreeable man," he said, "when I also say that
injustice is profitable and justice isn't."
"What then?"
"Yes, those who can do injustice perfectly," he said, "and are able
to subjugate cities and tribes of men to themselves. You, perhaps, sup-
pose I am speaking of cutpurses. Now, such things, too, are profitable,"
he said, "when one gets away with them; but they aren't worth men-
tioning compared to those I was just talking about."
e "As to that," I said, "I'm not unaware of what you want to say.
But I wondered about what went before, that you put injustice in the
camp of virtue and wisdom, and justice among their opposites?"
[ 26 ]
count all the other things which we used to set down as belonging to the 349 a
just."
other things: in your opinion would the just man be willing to get the better
of the just man in anything?"
"And what about this: would he be willing to get the better of the just
action?"
"That," I said, "is not what I am asking, but whether the just man
wants, and claims he deserves, to get the better of the unjust and not of c
"Then will the unjust man also get the better of the unjust hu-
man being and action, and will he struggle to take most of all for
himself?"
"That's it."
"Let us say it, then, as follows," I said, "the just man does not get
the better of what is like but of what is unhke, while the unjust man
gets the better of like and unlike? " d
"And," I said, "is the unjust man both prudent and good, while
the just man is neither?"
"Then," I said, "is the unjust man also like the prudent and the
good, while the just man is not like them? "
[ 27]
349 d "How " he said, "could he not be Hke such men, since he is such
"I do."
"Yes."
350 a "And what about a medical man? Is it not the same with him?"
"Then, you best of men, is any musical man who is tuning a lyre
in your opinion willing to get the better of another musical man in
tightening and relaxing the strings, or does he claim he deserves
more?"
"Not in my opinion."
"Necessarily," he said.
"Surely not."
"And what about the ignorant man? Would he not get the better
of both the man who knows and the man who does not?"
"Perhaps."
"Then the man who is both good and wise will not want to get the
better of the like, but of the unlike and opposite?"
[ 28 ]
"But the bad and unlearned will want to get the better of both the
like and the opposite?"
"Then, Thrasymachus," I said, "does our unjust man get the bet-
ter of both like and unlike? Weren't you saying that?"
"And the just man will not get the better of like but of unlike?" c
"Yes."
"Then," I said, "the just man is like the wise and good, but the
unjust man like the bad and unlearned."
"We were."
"Then the just man has revealed himself to us as good and wise,
and the unjust man unlearned and bad."
quantity of sweat, for it was summer. And then I saw what I had not
yet seen before — ^Thrasymachus blushing. At all events, when we had
come to complete agreement about justice being virtue and wisdom,
and injustice both vice and lack of learning, I said, "All right, let that
be settled for us; but we did say that injustice is mighty as well. Or
don't you remember, Thrasymachus?"
"I remember," he said. "But even what you're saying now doesn't
satisfy me, and I have something to say about it. But if I should speak,
I know well that you would say that I am making a public harangue. So e
then, either let me say as much as I want; or, if you want to keep on
questioning, go ahead and question, and, just as with old wives who tell
tales, I shall say to you, 'All right,' and I shall nod and shake my
head."
"To satisfy you," he said, "since you won't let me speak. What
else do you want?"
"Then ask."
[ 29 ]
351 a "if justice is indeed both wisdom and virtue, I believe it will easily
cities unjustly, and has reduced them to slavery, and keeps many
enslaved to itself?"
"Of course," he said. "And it's this the best city will most do, the
"It's good of you to do so. But gratify me this much more and tell
me: do you believe that either a city, or an army, or pirates, or robbers,
or any other tribe which has some common unjust enterprise would be
able to accomplish anything, if its members acted unjustly to one
another?"
d "Surely not," he said.
"And what if they didn't act unjustly? Wouldn't they be more able
to accomplish something?"
"Certainly," he said.
"And it's good of you to do so, you best of men. Now tell me this:
when injustice comes into being, both among free men and slaves, will
it not also cause them to hate one another and to form factions, and to
"Certainly."
"And what about when injustice comes into being between two?
Will they not differ and hate and be enemies to each other and to just
men?"
"And if, then, injustice should come into being within one man.
[ 30 ]
you surprising fellow, will it lose its power or will it remain undimin-
ished?"
"Certainly."
"Yes."
"Then the unjust man will also be an enemy to the gods, Thra-
symachus, and the just man a friend."
"Come, then," I said, "fill out the rest of the banquet for me by
answering just as you have been doing. I understand that the just come
to light as wiser and better and more able to accomplish something,
while the unjust can't accomplish anything with one another—for we
don't speak the complete truth about those men who we say vigorously c
and not as you set them down at first. But whether the just also live bet-
ter than the unjust and are happier, which is what we afterwards pro-
posed for consideration, must be considered. And now, in my opinion,
they do also look as though they are, on the basis of what we have said.
Nevertheless, this must still be considered better: for the argument is
not about just any question, but about the way one should live."
[ 31 ]
352 d "I shall," I said. "Tell me, in your opinion is there some work that
belongs to a horse?"
e "Yes."
"Look at it this way: is there anything with which you could see
other than eyes?"
"Surely not."
"And what about this? Could you hear with anything other than
ears?"
"By no means."
"Certainly."
353 a "And what about this: you could cut a slip from a vine with a dag-
"Of course."
"But I suppose you could not do as fine a job with anything other
than a pruning knife made for this purpose."
Irue.
"All right," I said, "does there seem to you also to be a virtue for
each thing to which some work is assigned? Let's return again to the
same examples. We say that eyes have some work?"
"They do."
"And what about ears? Wasn't it agreed that they have some
work?"
"Yes."
"And what about all other things? Aren't they the same?"
They are.
"Stop for a moment. Could eyes ever do a fine job of their work if
[ 32 ]
they did not have their proper virtue but, instead of the virtue, 353 c
vice?"
"Whatever their virtue may be," I said. "For I'm not yet asking
that, but M'hether their work, the things to be done by them, will be
done well with their proper virtue, and badly with vice."
"Will ears, too, do their work badly when deprived of their vir-
tue?"
"Certainly." d
"Come, let's consider this now: is there some work of a soul that
you couldn't ever accomplish with any other thing that is? For exam-
ple, managing, ruling, and deliberating, and all such things — could we
justly attribute them to anything other than a soul and assert that they
are peculiar to it?"
"And, further, what about living? Shall we not say that it is the
work of a soul?"
"We do."
"Impossible."
"Necessarily."
"Then the just soul and the just man will have a good life, and the
unjust man a bad one."
"And the man who lives well is blessed and happy, and the man 354 a
"Of course."
"Then the just man is happy and the unjust man wretched."
[ 33 ]
happy."
"Let that," he said, "be the fill of your banquet at the festival of
Bendis,45 Socrates."
before. Before finding out what we were considering at first— what the
just is— I let go of that and pursued the consideration of whether it is
vice and lack of learning, or wisdom and virtue. And later, when in its
turn an argument that injustice is more profitable than justice fell in my
way, I could not restrain myself from leaving the other one and going
after this one, so that now as a result of the discussion I know nothing.
c So long as I do not know what the just is, I shall hardly know whether it
[ 34]
BOOK II
Now, when I had said this, I thought I was freed from argument. 357 a
But after all, as it seems, it was only a prelude. For Glaucon is always
most courageous in everything, and so now he didn't accept Thra-
symachus' giving up but said, "Socrates, do you want to seem to have
persuaded us, or truly to persuade us, that it is in every way better to be b
"Well, then," he said, "you're not doing what you want. Tell me,
is there in your opinion a kind of good that we would choose to have
not because we desire its consequences, but because we delight in it for
its own sake — such as enjoyment and all the pleasures which are
harmless and leave no after effects Other than the enjoyment in
having them?"
"And what about this? Is there a kind we like both for its own c
sake and for what comes out of it, such as thinking and seeing and
being healthy? Surely we delight in such things on both accounts."
[ 35 ]
357 c would say that they are drudgery but beneficial to us; and we would not
d choose to have them for themselves but for the sake of the wages and
"Yes, there is also this third " I said, "but what of it?"
"In which of them," he said, "would you include justice?"
358 a "I, for my part, suppose," I said, "that it belongs in the finest
kind, which the man who is going to be blessed should like both for
itself and for what comes out of it."
"I know this is the popular opinion," I said, "and a while ago
justice, taken as being such, was blamed by Thrasymachus while in-
justice was praised. But I, as it seems, am a poor learner."
b "Come, now," he said, "hear me too, and see if you still have the
c this way, if you too consent: I'll restore Thrasymachus' argument, and
first I'll tell what kind of thing they say justice is and where it came
from; second, that all those who practice it do so unwillingly, as
necessary but not good; third, that it is fitting that they do so, for the
life of the unjust man is, after all, far better than that of the just man, as
they say. For, Socrates, though that's not at all my own opinion, I am at
a loss: I've been talked deaf by Thrasymachus and countless others,
while the argument on behalf of justice — that it is better than in-
d justice— I've yet to hear from anyone as I want it. I want to hear it ex-
tolled all by itself, and I suppose I would be most likely to learn that
from you. That's the reason why I'll speak in vehement praise of the
unjust life, and in speaking I'll point out to you how I want to hear you,
in your turn, blame injustice and praise justice. See if what I'm saying
is what you want."
e "What you say is quite fine," he said. "Now listen to what I said I
was going to tell first— what justice is and where it came from.
"They say that doing injustice is naturally good, and suffering in-
justice bad, but that the bad in suffering injustice far exceeds the good
in doing it; so that, when they do injustice to one another and suffer it
[ 36 ]
and taste of both, it seems profitable— to those who are not able to 358 e
escape the one and choose the other— to set down a compact among 359 a
themselves neither to do injustice nor to suffer it. And from there they
began to set down their own laws and compacts and to name what the
law commands lawful and just. And this, then, is the genesis and being
of justice; it is a mean between what is best — doing injustice without
paying the penalty— and what is worst— suffering injustice without
being able to avenge oneself. The just is in the middle between these
two, cared for not because it is good but because it is honored due to a
want of vigor in doing injustice. The man who is able to do it and is b
truly a man would never set down a compact with anyone not to do in-
justice and not to suffer it. He'd be mad. Now the nature of justice is
this and of this sort, and it naturally grows out of these sorts of things.
So the argument goes.
do whatever he wants, while we follow and watch where his desire will
lead each. We would catch the just man red-handed going the same way
as the unjust man out of a desire to get the better; this is what any
nature naturally pursues as good, while it is law^ which by force per-
verts it to honor equality. The license of which I speak would best be
realized if they should come into possession of the sort of power that it
is said the ancestor of Gyges,* the Lydian, once got. They say he was a d
shepherd toiling in the service of the man who was then ruling Lydia.
There came to pass a great thunderstorm and an earthquake; the earth
cracked and a chasm opened at the place where he was pasturing.
He saw it, wondered at it, and went down. He saw, along with other
quite wonderful things about which they tell tales, a hollow bronze
horse. It had windows; peeping in, he saw there was a corpse inside
that looked larger than human size. It had nothing on except a gold ring
on its hand; he slipped it off and went out. When there was the usual e
ting with the others, he chanced to turn the collet of the ring to himself,
toward the inside of his hand; when he did this, he became invisible to
those sitting by him, and they discussed him as though he were away. 360 a
He wondered at this, and, fingering the ring again, he twisted the collet
toward the outside; when he had twisted it, he became visible. Think-
ing this over, he tested whether the ring had this power, and that was
exactly his result: when he turned the collet inward, he became invisi-
ble, when outward, visible. Aware of this, he immediately contrived to
[ 37]
"Now if there were two such rings, and the just man would put
one on, and the unjust man the other, no one, as it would seem, would
be so adamant as to stick by justice and bring himself to keep away
from what belongs to others and not lay hold of it, although he had li-
cense to take what he wanted from the market without fear, and to go
into houses and have intercourse with whomever he wanted, and to
d profit than justice. And what they suppose is true, as the man who
makes this kind of an argument will say, since if a man were to get hold
of such license and- were never willing to do any injustice and didn't lay
e "As to the judgment itself about the life of these two of whom we
are speaking, we'll be able to make it correctly if we set the most just
man and the most unjust in opposition; if we do not, we won't be able
to do so. What, then, is this opposition? It is as follows: we shall take
away nothing from the injustice of the unjust man nor from the justice
of the just man, but we shall take each as perfect in his own pursuit. So,
first, let the unjust man act like the clever craftsmen. An outstanding
pilot or doctor is aware of the difference between what is impossible in
361 a his art and what is possible, and he attempts the one, and lets the other
go; and if, after all, he should still trip up in any way, he is competent
to set himself aright. Similarly, let the unjust man also attempt unjust
deeds correctly, and get away with them, if he is going to be extremely
unjust. The man who is caught must be considered a poor chap. For the
extreme of injustice is to seem to be just when one is not. So the per-
fectly unjust man must be given the most perfect injustice, and nothing
must be taken away; he must be allowed to do the greatest injustices
while having provided himself with the greatest reputation for justice.
h And if, after all, he should trip up in anything, he has the power to set
[ 38 ]
capable both of speaking persuasively and of using force, to the extent 361 I
that force is needed, since he is courageous and strong and since he has
provided for friends and money. Now, let us set him down as such, and
put beside him in the argument the just man in his turn, a man simple
and noble, who, according to Aeschylus,^ does not wish to seem, but
rather to be, good. The seeming must be taken away. For if he should
seem just, there would be honors and gifts for him for seeming to be c
such. Then it wouldn't be plain whether he is such for the sake of the
just or for the sake of the gifts and honors. So he must be stripped of
everything except justice, and his situation must be made the opposite
of the first man's. Doing no injustice, let him have the greatest reputa-
tion for injustice, so that his justice may be put to the test to see if it is
softened by bad reputation and its consequences. Let him go un-
changed till death, seeming throughout life to be unjust although he is d
just, so that when each has come to the extreme — ^the one of justice, the
other of injustice — ^they can be judged as to which of the two is hap-
pier."
"My, my," I said, "my dear Glaucon, how vigorously you polish
up each of the two men—just like a statue — ^for their judgment."
"As much as I can," he said. "With two such men it's no longer
hard, I suppose, to complete the speech by a description of the kind of
life that awaits each. It must be told, then. And if it's somewhat (
rustically told, don't suppose that it is I who speak, Socrates, but rather
those who praise injustice ahead of justice. They'll say that the just man
who has such a disposition will be whipped; he'll be racked; he'll be
bound; he'll have both his eyes burned out; and, at the end, when he 362 c
has undergone every sort of evil, he'll be crucified and know that one
shouldn't wish to be, but to seem to be, just. After all, Aeschylus' say-
ing applies far more correctly to the unjust man. For really, they will
say, it is the unjust man, because he pursues a thing dependent on truth
and does not live in the light of opinion, who does not wish to seem un-
just but to be unjust.
[ 39 ]
362 c enemies. To the gods he makes sacrifices and sets up votive offerings,
adequate and magnificent, and cares for the gods and those human
beings he wants to care for far better than the just man. So, in all
hkehhood, it is also more appropriate for him to be dearer to the gods
than is the just man. Thus, they say, Socrates, with gods and with hu-
mans, a better life is provided for the unjust man than for the just
man."
d When Glaucon had said this, I had it in mind to say something to
it, but his brother Adeimantus said in his turn, "You surely don't
believe, Socrates, that the argument has been adequately stated?"
"Then," I said, "as the saying goes, 'let a man stand by his
brother."' So, you too, if he leaves out anything, come to his defense.
And yet, what he said was already enough to bring me to my knees and
make it impossible to help out justice."
e And he said, "Nonsense. But still hear this too. We must also go
363 a them, as do all those who have care of anyone, that one must be just.
However, they don't praise justice by itself but the good reputations
that come from it; they exhort their charges to be just so that, as a
result of the opinion, ruling offices and marriages will come to the one
who seems to be just, and all the other things that Glaucon a moment
ago attributed to the just man as a result of his having a good reputa-
tion. And these men tell even more of the things resulting from the
opinions. For by throwing in good reputation with the gods, they can
tell of an inexhaustible store of goods that they say gods give to the
holy. And in this way they join both the noble Hesiod and Homer.
The former says that for the just the gods make the oaks
and many other very good things connected with these. And the other
has pretty much the same to tell, as when he says.
And Musaeus and his son give the just even headier goods than these
from the gods. In their speech they lead them into Hades and lay them
[ 40 ]
holy, and they then make them go through the rest of time drunk, in the
behef that the finest wage of virtue is an eternal drunk.^" Others ex- d
tend the wages from the gods yet further than these. For they say that a
holy and oath-keeping man leaves his children's children and a whole
tribe behind him. So in these and like ways they extol justice. And, in
turn, they bury the unholy and unjust in mud in Hades and compel
them to carry water in a sieve; and they bring them into bad reputation
while they are still alive. Thus, those penalties that Glaucon described e
as the lot of the just men who are reputed to be unjust, these people
say are the lot of the unjust. But they have nothing else to say. This
full of drudgery, while intemperance and injustice are sweet and easy to
acquire, and shameful only by opinion and law. They say that the un-
just is for the most part more profitable than the just; and both in
public and in private, they are ready and willing to call happy and to
honor bad men who have wealth or some other power and to dishonor
and overlook those who happen in some way to be weak or poor, al-
though they agree they are better than the others. But the most won- b
derful of all these speeches are those they give about gods and virtue.
They say that the gods, after all, allot misfortune and a bad life to many
good men too, and an opposite fate to opposite men. Beggar priests and
diviners go to the doors of the rich man and persuade him that the gods
have provided them with a power based on sacrifices and incantations.
If he himself, or his ancestors, has committed some injustice, they can c
heal it with pleasures and feasts; and if he wishes to ruin some enemies
at small expense, he will injure just and unjust alike with certain evoca-
tions and spells. They, as they say, persuade the gods to serve them.
And they bring the poets forward as witnesses to all these arguments
about vice, and they present it as easy, saying that.
And they use Homer as a witness to the perversion of the gods by hu-
man beings because he too said:
[ 41 ]
those who are dead. These, which they call initiations,^'* deliver us
from the evils in the other place; while, for those who did not sacrifice,
terrible things are waiting.
"My dear Socrates," he said, "with all these things being said— of
this sort and in this quantity — about virtue and vice and how human
beings and gods honor them, what do we suppose they do to the souls
of the young men who hear them? I mean those who have good natures
and have the capacity, as it were, to fly to all the things that are said
and gather from them what sort of man one should be and what way
b one must follow to go through life best. In all likelihood he would say
c wise make plain to me, 'the seeming overpowers even the truth'^^ and
is the master of happiness, one must surely turn wholly to it. As facade
and exterior I must draw a shadow painting^® of virtue all around me,
while behind it I must trail the wily and subtle fox of the most wise Ar-
chilochus.^'' 'But,' says someone, 'it's not always easy to do bad and get
d away with it unnoticed.' 'Nothing great is easy,' we'll say. 'But at all
e away? And if there are gods and they care, we know of them or have
heard of them from nowhere else than the laws^^ and the poets who
have given genealogies; and these are the very sources of our being told
that they are such as to be persuaded and perverted by sacrifices, sooth-
[ 42 I
ing vows, and votive offerings. Either both things must be believed or '^^^ ^
punished by the gods. That is all. And we'll refuse the gains of in-
justice. But if we are unjust, we shall gain and get off unpunished as
well, by persuading the gods with prayers when we transgress and make
mistakes.' 'But in Hades we'll pay the penalty for our injustices here,
either we ourselves or our children's children.' 'But, my dear,' will say
the man who calculates, 'the initiations and the delivering gods have
great power, as say the greatest cities and those children of gods who ^
have become poets and spokesmen of the gods and reveal that this is
the case.'
family— be made willing to honor justice and not laugh when he hears
it praised? So, consequently, if someone can show that what we have
said is false and if he has adequate knowledge that justice is best, he
undoubtedly has great sympathy for the unjust and is not angry with
them; he knows that except for someone who from a divine nature can-
not stand doing injustice or who has gained knowledge and keeps away
from injustice, no one else is willingly just; but because of a lack of d
courage, or old age, or some other weakness, men blame injustice be-
cause they are unable to do it. And that this is so is plain. For the first
man of this kind to come to power is the first to do injustice to the best
of his ability. And there is no other cause of all this than that which
gave rise to this whole argument of his and mine with you, Socrates.
We said, 'You surprising man, of all you who clairn to be praisers of e
justice— beginning with the heroes^^ at the beginning (those who have
left speeches) up to the human beings of the present— there is not one
who has ever blamed injustice or praised justice other than for the
reputations, honors, and gifts that come from them. But as to what each
itself does with its own power when it is in the soul of a man who
possesses it and is not noticed by gods and men, no one has ever, in
poetry or prose, adequately developed the argument that the one is the
greatest of evils a soul can have in it, and justice the greatest good. For
if all of you had spoken in this way from the beginning and persuaded 367 a
us, from youth onwards, we would not keep guard over each other for
fear injustice be done, but each would be his own best guard, afraid
that in doing injustice he would dwell with the greatest evil.'
[ 43 ]
ADEIMANTUS/SOCRATES THEKEPUBLlC
367 a "This, Socrates, and perhaps yet more than this, would Thrasyma-
chus and possibly someone else say about justice and injustice, vulgarly
turning their powers upside down, in my opinion at least. But I— for I
b need hide nothing from you— out of my desire to hear the opposite
from you, speak as vehemently as I can. Now, don't only show us by
the argument that justice is stronger^^ than injustice, but show what
each in itself does to the man who has it that makes the one bad and the
other good. And take away the reputations, as Glaucon told you to. For
if you don't take the true reputation from each and attach the false one
to it, we'll say that you aren't praising the just but the seeming, nor
c blaming being unjust but the seeming; and that you're exhorting one to
be unjust and to get away with it; and that you agree with Thrasyma-
chus that the just is someone else's good, the advantage of the stronger,
while the unjust is one's own advantage and profitable, but disadvan-
tageous to the weaker. Now, since you agreed that justice is among the
greatest goods— those that are worth having for what coines from them
but much more for themselves, such as seeing, hearing, thinking, and,
d of course, being healthy and all the other goods that are fruitful by their
own nature and not by opinion — upraise this aspect of justice. Of what
profit is justice in itself to the man who possesses it, and what harm does
injustice do? Leave wages and reputations to others to praise. I could
endure other men's praising justice and blaming injustice in this way,
extolling and abusing them in tenns of reputations and wages; but from
you I couldn't, unless you were to order me to, because you have spent
e your whole life considering nothing other than this. So, don't only show
us by the argument that justice is stronger than injustice, but show what
each in itself does to the man who has it — whether it is noticed by gods
and human beings or not— that makes the one good and the other
bad."
368 a delighted and said, "That wasn't a bad beginning, you children of that
man,2i that Glaucon's lover made to his poem about your distinguish-
ing yourselves in the battle at Megara:
suaded. I infer it from the rest of your character, since, on the basis of
the arguments themselves, I would distrust you. And the more I trust
you, the more I'm at a loss as to what I should do. On the one hand, I
[ 44 ]
can't help out. For in my opinion I'm not capable of it; my proof is that 368 i
am still breathing and able to make a sound. So the best thing is to suc-
cour her as I am able."
Glaucon and the others begged me in every way to help out and
not to give up the argument, but rather to seek out what each is and the
truth about the benefit of both. So I spoke my opinion.
"I'll tell you," I said. "There is, we say, justice of one man; and
there is, surely, justice of a whole city too?"
"Certainly," he said.
"So then, perhaps there would be more justice in the bigger and it
would be easier to observe closely. If you want, first we'll investigate
what justice is like in the cities. Then, we'll also go on to consider it in 369 a
"Probably," he said.
"When this has been done, can we hope to see what we're looking
for more easily?" h
"Is it resolved^s that we must try to carry this out? I suppose it's
no small job, so consider it."
"Well, then," I said, "a city, as I believe, comes into being be-
[ 45 ]
another for another need, and, since many things are needed, many
men gather in one settlement as partners and helpers, to this common
settlement we give the name city, don't we?"
"Most certainly."
"Certainly."
"Come, now," I said, "let's make a city in speech from the begin-
ning. Our need, as it seems, will make it. "
"Certainly."
"That's so."
"Now wait," I said. "How will the city be sufficient to provide for
this much? Won't one man be a farmer, another the housebuilder, and
still another, a weaver? Or shall we add to it a shoemaker or some other
man who cares for what has to do with the body?"
"Certainly."
"Now, what about this? Must each one of them put his work at
the disposition of all in common — for example, must the farmer, one
man, provide food for four and spend four times as much time and
labor in the provision of food and then give it in common to the others;
or must he neglect them and produce a fourth part of the food in a
370 a fourth part of the time and use the other three parts for the provision of
a house, clothing,^^ and shoes, not taking the trouble to share in com-
mon with others, but minding his own business for himself? '
"It wouldn't be strange, by Zeus, " I said. "I myself also had the
thought when you spoke that, in the first place, each of us is naturally
not quite like anyone else, but rather differs in his nature; different
b men are apt for the accomplishment of difiFerent jobs. Isn't that your
opinion?"
"It is."
46
"And, what about this? Who would do a finer job, one man prac- 370 b
"And, further, it's also plain, I suppose, that if a man lets the cru-
cial moment in any work pass, it is completely ruined."
"Yes, it is plain."
"I don't suppose the thing done is willing to await the leisure of
the man who does it; but it's necessary for the man who does it to
follow close upon the thing done, and not as a spare-time occupation." c
"It is necessary."
"So, on this basis each thing becomes more plentiful, finer, and
easier, when one man, exempt from other tasks, does one thing accord-
ing to nature and at the crucial moment."
won't either— and he needs many too. And it will be the same with the
weaver and the shoemaker, won't it?"
True.
"So, carpenters, smiths, and many other craftsmen of this sort be-
come partners in our little city, making it into a throng."
"Most certainly."
"And, further," I said, "just to found the city itself in the sort of
place where there will be no need of imports is pretty nearly impossi-
ble."
"Yes, it is impossible."
"Then, there will also be a need for still other men who will bring
to it what's needed from another city."
"Then they must produce at home not only enough for themselves
but also the sort of thing and in the quantity needed by these others of
whom they have need."
[ 47 ]
"And similarly, surely, other agents as well, who will import and
export the various products. They are merchants, aren't they?"
Yes.
"Certainly."
"Throngs, indeed."
"Now what about this? In the city itself, how will they exchange
what they have produced with one another? It was for just this that we
made a partnership and founded the city."
"Most certainly."
c "If the farmer or any other craftsman brings what he has pro-
duced to the market, and he doesn't arrive at the same time as those
who need what he has to exchange, will he sit in the market idle, his
craft unattended?"
"Not at all," he said. "There are men who see this situation and
set themselves to this service; in rightly governed cities they are usually
those whose bodies are weakest and are useless for doing any other job.
d They must stay there in the market and exchange things for money with
those who need to sell something and exchange, for money again, with
all those who need to buy something."
"Most certainly."
g "There are, I suppose, still some other sei'vants who, in terms of
"Most certainly."
"So the wage earners too, as it seems, go to fill out the city."
[ 48 ]
"Perhaps." 371 g
"Where in it, then, would justice and injustice be? Along with
which of the things we considered did they come into being?"
"Perhaps what you say is fine," I said. "It really must be con-
sidered and we mustn't back away. First, let's consider what manner of
life men so provided for will lead. Won't they make bread, wine, cloth-
ing, and shoes? And, when they have built houses, they will work in the
summer, for the most part naked and without shoes, and in the winter
adequately clothed and shod. For food they will prepare barley meal h
and wheat flour; they will cook it and knead it. Setting out noble loaves
of barley and wheat on some reeds or clean leaves, they will stretch out
on rushes strewn with yew and myrtle and feast themselves and their
children. Afterwards they will drink wine and, crowned with wreathes,
sing of the gods. So they will have sweet intercourse with one another,
and not produce children beyond their means, keeping an eye out
against poverty or war." c
"What you say is true," I said. "I forgot that they'll have relishes,
too — it's plain they'll have salt, olives, cheese; and they will boil onions
and greens, just as one gets them in the country. And to be sure, we'll
set desserts before them— figs, pulse and beans; and they'll roast myrtle-
berries and acorns before the fire and drink in measure along with it. d
And so they will live out their lives in peace with health, as is likely,
and at last, dying as old men, they will hand down other similar lives to
their offspring."
And he said, "If you were providing for a city of sows, Socrates,
on what else would you fatten them than this?"
[ 49]
and cakes— all sorts of all of them. And, in particular, we can't still
postulate the mere necessities we were talking about at first— houses,
clothes, and shoes; but painting and embroidery must also be set in mo-
tion; and gold, ivory, and everything of the sort must be obtained. Isn't
that so?"
h "Yes," he said.
"Then the city must be made bigger again. This healthy one isn't
adequate any more, but must already be gorged with a bulky mass of
things, which are not in cities because of necessity— all the hunters and
imitators, many concerned with figures and colors, many with music;
and poets and their helpers, rhapsodes, actors, choral dancers, con-
tractors, and craftsmen of all sorts of equipment, for feminine adom-
c ment as well as other things. And so we'll need more servants too. Or
"Of course."
d "Won't we be in much greater need of doctors if we follow this
"Much greater."
"And the land, of course, which was then sufficient for feeding the
men who were then, will now be small although it was sufficient. Or
how should we say it?"
"And let's not yet say whether war works evil or good," I said,
"but only this much, that we have in its turn found the origin of
war— in those things whose presence in cities most of all produces evils
both private and public."
"Most certainly."
"Now, my friend, the city must be still bigger, and not by a small
374 a number but by a whole army, which will go out and do battle with in-
[ 50 ]
vaders for all the wealth and all the things we were just now talking 374 c
about."
"Not if that was a fine agreement you and all we others made
when we were fashioning the city," I said. "Surely we were in agree-
ment, if you remember, that it's impossible for one man to do a fine job
in many arts."
"Well then," I said, "doesn't the struggle for victory in war seem i
"Should one really care for the art of shoemaking more than for
the art of war?"
"Not at all."
mg?
"Then," I said, "to the extent that the work of the guardians is
more important, it would require more leisure time than the other tasks
as well as greater art and diligence."
"Of course."
"Then it's our job, as it seems, to choose, if we're able, which are
the natures, and what kind they are, fit for guarding the city."
"By Zeus," I said, "it's no mean thing we've taken upon our-
[ 51 ]
our power."
"Do you suppose," I said, "that for guarding there is any dif-
ference between the nature of a noble puppy and that of a well-bom
young man?"
"Well, surely both of them need sharp senses, speed to catch what
they perceive, and, finally, strength if they have to fight it out with what
"Of course."
"As for the body's characteristics, it's plain how the guardian
must be."
"Yes."
"That too."
not, they'll not wait for others to destroy them, but they'll do it them-
selves beforehand."
"True," he said.
I too was at a loss, and, looking back over what had gone before, I
said, "It is just, my friend, that we're at a loss. For we've abandoned
the image we proposed."
"We didn't notice that there are, after all, natures such as we
[ 52 ]
"Where, then?"
"Then," I said, "it is possible, after all; and what we're seeking for
in the guardian isn't against nature."
"In your opinion, then, does the man who will be a fit guardian
need, in addition to spiritedness, also to be a philosopher in his
nature?"**
"This, too, you'll observe in dogs," I said, "and it's a thing in the
beast worthy of our wonder."
"What?"
"Well, this does look like an attractive affection of its nature and
truly philosophic." b
"Well," I said, "but aren't love of learning and love of wisdom the
same?"
[ 53 ]
come into being in a city? We don't want to scant the argument, but we
don't want an overlong one either."
And Glaucon's brother said, "I most certainly expect that this
present consideration will contribute to that goal."
"No, it mustn't."
"Come, then, like men telling tales in a tale and at their leisure,
let's educate the men in speech."
e "We must."
"Yes, it is."
"Of course."
"I do."
"Do speeches have a double form, the one true, the other false?"
"Yes."
"That's so."
"Don't you know that the beginning is the most important part of
h every work and that this is especially so with anything young and ten-
der? For at that stage it's most plastic, and each thing assimilates itself to
the model whose stamp anyone wishes to give to it."
"Quite so."
"Then shall we so easily let the children hear just any tales
fashioned by just anyone and take into their souls opinions for the most
[ .54 ]
part opposite to those we'll suppose they must have when they are 377 b
grown up?"
rejected. We'll persuade nurses and mothers to tell the approved tales
to their children and to shape their souls with tales more than their
bodies with hands. Most of those they now tell must be thrown out."
"In the greater tales we'll also see the smaller ones," I said. "For
both the greater and the smaller must be taken from the same model
and have the same power. Don't you suppose so?" d
"I do," he said. "But I don't grasp what you mean by the greater
ones."
"The ones Hesiod and Homer told us, and the other poets too.
They surely composed false tales for human beings and used to tell
them and still do tell them."
"What's that?"
and heroes are like, just as a painter who paints something that doesn't
resemble the things whose likeness he wished to paint."
"First," I said, 'the man who told the biggest lie about the biggest
things didn't tell a fine lie — how Uranus did what Hesiod says he did,
and how Cronos in his turn took revenge on him.^^ And Cronos' deeds 378 a
and his sufferings at the hands of his son,^^ not even if they were true
would I suppose they should so easily be told to thoughtless young
things; best would be to keep quiet, but if there were some necessity to
tell, as few as possible ought to hear them as unspeakable secrets, after
making a sacrifice, not of a pig but of some great offering that's hard to
come by, so that it will come to the ears of the smallest possible num-
ber."
"Nor must it be said within the hearing of a young person that in doing
the extremes of injustice, or that in punishing the unjust deeds of his
father in every way, he would do nothing to be wondered at, but would
[ 55]
378 b be doing only what the first and the greatest of the gods did."
"Above all," I said, "it mustn't be said that gods make war on
c gods, and plot against them and have battles with them— for it isn't
even true — ^provided that those who are going to guard the city for us
must consider it most shameful^"* to be easily angry with one another.
They are far from needing to have tales told and embroideries woven^i
about battles of giants and the many diverse disputes of gods and
hei"oes with their families and kin. But if we are somehow going to per-
suade them that no citizen ever was angry with another and that to be
so is not holy, it's just such things that must be told the children right
d away by old men and women; and as they get older, the poets must be
compelled to make up speeches for them which are close to these. But
Hera's bindings by her son,'*^ and Hephaestus' being cast out by his
father when he was about to help out his mother who was being
beaten,43 ^^^j ^w ^^g battles of the gods Homer^^ made, must not be
accepted in the city, whether they are made with a hidden sense or
without a hidden sense. A young thing can't judge what is hidden sense
and what is not; but what he takes into his opinions at that age has a
e tendency to become hard to eradicate and unchangeable. Perhaps it's
for this reason that we must do everything to insure that what they hear
first, with respect to virtue, be the finest told tales for them to hear."
And I said, "Adeimantus, you and I aren't poets right now but
379 a founders of a city. It's appropriate for founders to know the models ac-
cording to which the poets must tell their tales. If what the poets pro-
duce goes counter to these models, founders must not give way;
however, they must not themselves make up tales."
"That's correct," he said. "But, that is just it; what would the
models for speech about the gods^^ be."
"Doubtless something like this," I said. "The god must surely al-
ways be described such as he is, whether one presents him in epics,
lyrics, or tragedies."
so?"
"Of course."
"Not in my opinion."
"In no way."
[ 56 ]
"That which does no evil would not be the cause of any evil?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Then," I said, "the god, since he's good, wouldn't be the cause of
everything, as the many say, but the cause of a few things for human
beings and not responsible for most. For the things that are good for us
are far fewer than those that are bad; and of the good things, no one
else must be said to be the cause; of the bad things, some other causes
but the man to whom he doesn't give a mixture, but the second pure.
And, as to the violation of the oaths and truces that Pandarus com-
mitted, if someone says Athena and Zeus were responsible for its hap-
pening,'*8 we'll not praise him; nor must the young be allowed to hear
that Themis and Zeus were responsible for strife and contention among 380 a
[ 57]
scx^haWaohiman^s THEREPUBLIG'
being punished. But the poet mustn't be allowed to say that those who
pay the penalty are wretched and that the one who did it was a god. If,
however, he should say that the bad men were wretched because they
needed punishment and that in paying the penalty they were benefited
by the god, it must be allowed. As for the assertion that a god, who is
good, is the cause of evil to anyone, great exertions must be made
against anyone's saying these things in his owti city, if its laws are going
to be well observed, or anyone's hearing them, whether he is younger or
c older, whether the tale is told in meter or without meter. For these are
"Now, then," I said, "this would be one of the laws and models
concerning the gods, according to which those who produce speeches
will have to do their speaking and those who produce poems will have
to do their making: the god is not the cause of all things, but of the
good."
"Yes, it is necessary."
"Are things that are in the best condition least altered and moved
by something else— for example, a body by food, drink, and labor, and
all plants by the sun's heat, winds, and other affections of the sort;
"Of course."
[ 58]
"And, again, the same argiunent surely also holds for all com- 381 a
posites, implements, houses, and clothing; those that are well made and
in good condition are least altered by time and the other affections."
"That's so." j
"Now, the god and what belongs to the god are in every way in the
best condition."
"Of course."
"So, in this way, the god would least of all have many shapes."
For surely we won't say that the god is wanting in beauty or virtue."
"What you say is very right," I said. "And, if this is so, in your
opinion, Adeimantus, does anyone, either god or human being,
willingly make himself worse in any way at all?"
"Then, you best of men," I said, "let none of the poets tell us d
that
and let none tell lies about Proteus and Thetis^^ or bring on an altered
Hera, either in tragedies or the other kinds of poetry, as a priestess
ing like all sorts of strangers— lest they slander the gods while at the
same time making the children more cowardly."
"No, they shouldn't," he said.
"But," I said, "while the gods themselves can't be transformed, do
[ 59 ]
381 e they make us think they appear in all sorts of ways, deceiving and
bewitching us?"
"Perhaps," he said.
"Don't you know," I said, "that all gods and human beings hate
the true lie, if that expression can be used?"
"But I mean that to lie and to have lied to the soul about the things that
are, and to be unlearned, and to have and to hold a lie there is what
everyone would least accept; and that everyone hates a lie in that place
most of all."
called truly a lie— the ignorance in the soul of the man who has been
lied to. For the lie in speeches is a kind of imitation of the affection in
the soul, a phantom of it that comes into being after it, and not quite an
"Most certainly."
"So the real lie is hated not only by gods, but also by human
beings."
"Yes, in my opinion."
"Now, what about the one in speeches? When and for whom is it
also useful, so as not to deserve hatred? Isn't it useful against enemies,
and, as a preventive, like a drug, for so-called friends when from
madness or some folly they attempt to do something bad? And, in the
d telling of the tales we were just now speaking about — those told be-
cause we don't know where the truth about ancient things lies — liken-
ing the lie to the truth as best we can, don't we also make it useful?"
"Not in my opinion."
[ 60 ]
"Then, there's nothing for the sake of which a god would lie?"
"There is nothing."
"Then the demonic^ and the divine are wholly free from lie."
"Then the god is altogether simple and true in deed and speech,
and he doesn't himself change or deceive others by illusions, speeches,
or the sending of signs either in waking or dreaming. "
"Do you then agree," I said, "that this is the second model ac- 383 a
cording to which speeches and poems about gods must be made; they
are neither wizards who transform themselves, nor do they mislead us
by lies in speech or in deed?"
"I do agree."
When someone says such things about gods, we'll be harsh and not pro- c
vide a chorus;^''' and we'll not let the teachers use them for the educa-
tion of the young, if our guardians are going to be god-revering and
divine insofar as a human being can possibly be."
[ 6i ]
BOOK
"About gods, then," I said, "such, it seems, are the things that 386 a
should and should not be heard, from childhood on, by men who would
honor gods and ancestors and not take lightly their friendship with each
other."
domain exists and is full of terror will be fearless in the face of death
and choose death in battles above defeat and slavery?"
"Not at all."
[ 63 ]
and.
and this.
and.
and.
Hades,
Wailing his fate, leaving manliness and the bloom
of youth^
"And we must, further, also throw out all those terrible and fear-
ful names applied to this domain: Cocytus, Styx, 'those below,' 'the
withered dead,' and all the other names that are part of this model and
which make all those who hear them shiver, as is thought.^ Perhaps
they're good for something else, but we fear that our guardians, as a
result of such shivers, will get hotter and softer than they ought."
"Yes."
[ 64 ]
"Must the model opposite to these be used in speaking and writ- 387 c
ing?"
"Plainly."
"Will we then take out the laments and wailings of famous men, d
too?"
"Surely not."
"True," he said.
"Then he laments the least and bears it most gently when some
such misfortune overtakes him."
"Quite so."
"So, we'd be right in taking out the wailings of renowned men and
we'd give them to women— and not to the serious ones, at that — and to
all the bad men. Thus the men we say we are rearing for the guard- 388 a
"Then, again, we'll ask Homer and the other poets not to make
Achilles, son of a goddess,
nor taking black ashes in both hands and pouring them over his b
head,!^ nor crying and lamenting as much as, or in the ways. Homer
made him do; nor Priam, a near offspring of the gods, entreating and
[ 65 ]
388 b And yet far more than this, we'll ask them under no condition to make
best man. ^3
But, if they do make gods so, at least they shouldn't dare to make so
unlikely an imitation of the greatest of the gods as when he says.
and.
"But that mustn't be, as the argument was just indicating to us.
We must be persuaded by it until someone persuades us with another
and finer one."
"So, we won't accept from Homer such things about the gods as.
"If you want to consider it mine," he said. "At any rate, it mustn't
b be accepted."
[ 66 ]
"Further, truth must be taken seriously too. For if what we were 389 h
just saying was correct, and a lie is really useless to gods and useful to
human beings as a form of remedy, it's plain that anything of the sort
must be assigned to doctors while private men*^ must not put their
hands to it."
"Then, it's appropriate for the rulers, if for anyone at all, to lie for
the benefit of the city in cases involving enemies or citizens, while all
the rest must not put their hands to anything of the sort. We'll say that
for a private man to lie to such rulers is a fault the same as, and even c
greater than, for a sick man or a man in training not to tell the truth
about the affections of his body to the doctor or the trainer, or for a
man not to say to the pilot the things that are^^ concerning the ship
and the sailors, lying about how he himself or his fellow sailors are far-
ing.
"Of course."
"So I suppose we'll assert that it's fine to say the sort of thing
Diomede says in Homer,
[ 67 ]
a deer.24
390 a And what comes right after, and all the rest of the youthful insolence of
private men to rulers that anyone has ever said in speech or in poem
are they fine things to say?"
"1 don't suppose they're fit for the young to hear, so far as
moderation is concerned. But, if they provide some other pleasure, it's
no surprise. How does it look to you?"
"And what about making the wisest of men say that, in his
opinion, the finest of all things is when
Do you think that's fit for a young man to hear for his self-mastery? Or
this:
Hunger is the most pitiful way to die and find one's fate?^^
Or Zeus, alone and awake, making plans while the other gods and men
'^ sleep, easily forgetting all of them because of sexual desire, and so
struck when he sees Hera that he isn't even willing to go into the house,
but wants to have intercourse right there on the ground, saying that he
wasn't so full of desire even when they first went unto one another,
'unbeknownst to their dear parents?'^'' Nor is Hephaestus' binding of
Ares and Aphrodite fit, for similar reasons.''^^
"But," I said, "if there are any speeches and deeds of endurance
by famous men in the face of everything, surely they must be seen and
heard, such as.
[ 68 ]
sible-'^ speech in advising him to come to the aid of the Achaeans pro- 390 e
vided he gets gifts, but faihng gifts not to desist from wrath. Nor should
we think it worthy of Achilles himself. Nor shall we agree that he was
such a lover of money as to take gifts from Agamemnon, or, again, to
give up a corpse when getting paid for it, but otherwise not to be
willing. "32 391 a
"It's not just, in any case," he said, "to praise such things."
"And, for Homer's sake," I said, "I hesitate to say that it's not
holy to say these things against Achilles and to believe them when said
by others; or, again, to believe that he said to Apollo,
all gods.
power;-'-'
and that he was disobedient to the river, who was a god, and ready to b
do battle with it;34 ^nd that he said about the locks consecrated to
another river, Spercheius,
although he was a corpse. It must not be believed that he did. The drag-
ging of Hector around Patroclus' tomb, the slaughter in the fire of the
men captured alive: we'll deny that all this is truly told. And we'll not
let our men believe that Achilles — the son of a goddess and Peleus, a c
most moderate man and third from Zeus, Achilles who was reared by
the most wise Chiron — was so full of confrision as to contain within
himself two diseases that are opposite to one another — illiberality ac-
companying love of money, on the one hand, and arrogant disdain for
gods and human beings, on the other."
"Then let's not believe it," I said, "and let us not believe, or let it
be said, that Theseus, Poseidon's son, and Perithous, Zeus' son, so
eagerly undertook terrible rapes, or that any other child of a god and d
himself a hero would have dared to do terrible and impious deeds such as
the current lies accuse them of Rather we should compel the poets to deny
either that such deeds are theirs, or that they are children of gods, but not
to say both, nor to attempt to persuade our youngsters that the gods
produce evil and that heroes are no better than human beings. For, as
we were saying before, these things are neither holy nor true. For,
surely, we showed that it's impossible for evil to be produced by e
gods."
[ 69 ]
"And, further, they are harmful to those who hear them. Everyone
will be sympathetic with himself when he is bad, persuaded that after
all similar things are done and were done even by
and
On that account such tales must cease, for fear that they sow a strong
3Q2 a proclivity for badness in our young."
"Why?"
"Because I suppose we'll say that what both poets and prose
h writers^'' say concerning the most important things about human beings
is bad— that many happy men are unjust, and many wretched ones
just, and that doing injustice is profitable if one gets away with it, but
justice is someone else's good and one's own loss. We'll forbid them
to say such things and order them to sing and to tell tales about the op-
posites of these things. Or don't you suppose so?"
"I know it quite well," he said.
made about human beings when we find out what sort of a thing justice
is and how it by nature profits the man who possesses it, whether he
seems to be just or not?"
"Very true," he said.
"So then let that be the end of what has to do with speeches. After
this, I suppose, style^^ must be considered, and then we'll have made a
[ 70 ]
said."
"But, you just have to," I said. "Perhaps you'll grasp it better in
this way. Isn't everything that's said by tellers of tales or poets a nar-
rative of what has come to pass, what is, or what is going to be?"
"I do."
the poet himself speaks and doesn't attempt to turn our thought else-
where, as though someone other than he were speaking. But, in what
follows, he speaks as though he himself were Chryses and tries as hard
as he can to make it seem to us that it's not Homer speaking, but the b
priest, an old man. And in this way he made pretty nearly all the rest of
the narrative about the events in Ilium as well as about those in Ithaca
and the whole Odyssey."
"Isn't it narrative when he gives all the speeches and also what
comes between the speeches?"
"Of course."
won't we say that he then likens his own style as much as possible to
that of the man he has announced as the speaker?"
"Surely."
"Then, in this case, it seems, he and the other poets use imitation
in making their narrative."
[ 71 ]
"If *he poet nowhere hid himself, his poetic work and narrative as
d a whole would have taken place without imitation. So that you won't
say you don't understand again, I'll tell you how this would be. If
Homer said that Chryses came bringing ransom for his daughter and as
a suppliant to the Achaeans, especially to the kings, and after that
didn't speak as though he had become Chryses but still as Homer, you
know that it wouldn't be imitation but simple narrative. It would be
something like this— I'll speak without meter; I'm not poetic: The
e priest came and prayed that the gods grant them the capture of Troy
and their own safety, and that they accept compensation and free his
daughter out of reverence for the god. When he had said this, the others
there showed pious respect and consented, but Agamemnon was angry
and ordered him to leave immediately and not to come back again or
else his scepter and the god's chaplets wouldn't protect him. Before his
daughter would be freed, he said she'd grow old with him in Argos. He
ordered him to go away and not provoke him if he wished to get home
394 a safely. The old man heard and was frightened; he went away in silence.
But when he had withdrawn from the camp, he made a great prayer to
Apollo, calling upon the god with his special names,'*^ reminding him
and asking a return if anything he had ever given had been pleasing,
whether it was in the building of temples or the sacrifice of victims. In
return for them he called down the god's arrows on the Achaeans in
payment for his tears. That, my comrade, " I said, "is the way simple
b narrative without imitation comes to pass."
and comedy; another, by *^be poet's own report — this, of course, you
would find especially in dithyrambs; and still another by both — this is
found in epic poetry and many other places too, if you understand
me.
"And remember, too, that before this we asserted that what must
be said had already been stated, but that how it must be said had still to
be considered."
[ 72 ]
as to whether we'll let the poets make their narratives for us by imita-
tion; or whether they are to imitate some things and not others, and
what sort belongs to each group; or whether they are not to imitate at
all."
imitators or not. Or does this follow from what went before — that each
one would do a fine job in one activity, but not in many, and if he
should try to put his hand to many, he would surely fail of attaining
fame in all? "
"Doesn't the same argument also hold for imitation — the same
man isn't able to imitate many things as well as one?"
"No, he isn't."
"Then, he'll hardly pursue any of the noteworthy activities while 395 a
at the same time imitating many things and being a skilled imitator.
For even in two kinds of imitation that seem close to one another, like
writing comedy and tragedy, the same men aren't capable of producing
good imitations in both at the same time. Weren't you just calling these
two imitations? "
"I was, and what you say is true. The same men aren't capable of
doing both."
"Nor are they able to be rhapsodes and actors at the same time."
"True."
"Nor are the same actors, you know, even able to do both comic
and tragic poets. But all these are imitations, aren't they?" b
"If, then, we are to preserve the first argument — that our guard-
ians must give up all other crafts and very precisely be craftsmen of
the city's freedom and practice nothing other than what tends to c
[73]
socrates/adeimantus THEREPUBLIc
"So then," I said, "we won't allow those whom we claim we care
for and who must themselves become good men to imitate wom-
en — since they are men — either a young woman or an older one, or
one who's abusing her husband, or one who's striving with gods and
e boasting because she supposes herself to be happy, or one who's caught
in the grip of misfortune, mourning and wailing. And we'll be far from
needing one who's sick or in love or in labor. "
"Nor must they in any event imitate slaves, women or men, who
are doing the slavish things."
"Nor, as it seems, bad men who are cowards and doing the op-
posite of what we just now said, insulting and making fun of one
another, and using shameful language, drunk or sober, or committing
396 a the other faults that such men commit against themselves and others in
"How could that be," he said, "since they won't even be permitted
to pay attention to any of these things?"
"And what about this? Horses neighing, bulls lowing, the roaring
of rivers, the crashing of the sea, thunder, and everything of the
sort — will they imitate them?"
c whenever he must say something, and, again, another form, unlike this
[74 ]
one, in the man who is by nature and rearing the opposite of this 39i
"In my opinion," I said, "when the sensible man comes in his nar-
rative to some speech or deed of a good man, he will be willing to
report it as though he himself were that man and won't be ashamed of
such an imitation. He will imitate the good man most when he is acting
steadily and prudently; less, and less willingly, when he's unsteadied by
diseases, loves,^^ drink, or some other misfortune. But when he meets
with someone unworthy of himself, he won't be willing seriously to rep-
resent himself as an inferior, unless, of course, it's brief, when the
man does something good; rather, he'll be ashamed, both because he's
unpracticed at imitating such men and because he can't stand forming
himself according to, and fitting himself into, the models of worse men.
In his mind he despises this, unless it's done in play."
"That, " he said, "is just the way the model of such a speaker must
be."
"Now, then," I said, "as for the man who's not of this sort, the
more common he is, the more he'll narrate everything and think noth- 397
"Well, then," I said, "these are the two forms of style I meant."
"And what about the form of the other? Doesn't it need the op-
posites — all modes and all rhythms — if it's going to be spoken in its
own way, because it involves all species of changes? "
[ 75]
397 c "Do all the poets and the men who say anything fall into one of
"Necessarily," he said.
d "What will we do then?" I said. "Shall we admit all of them into
"If my side wins," he said, "it will be the unmixed imitator of the
decent."
"Isn't it for this reason that it's only in such a city that we'll find
the shoemaker a shoemaker, and not a pilot along with his shoemaking,
and the farmer a farmer, and not a judge along with his farming, and
the skilled warrior a skilled warrior, and not a moneymaker along with his
warmaking, and so on with them all?"
"True," he said.
every sort of thing and to imitate all things should come to our city,
wishing to make a display of himself and his poems, we would fall on
our knees before him as a man sacred, wonderful, and pleasing; but we
would say that there is no such man among us in the city, nor is it
lawful^ for such a man to be bom there. We would send him to an-
other city, with myrrh poured over his head and crowned with wool,
while we ourselves would use a more austere and less pleasing poet and
b teller of tales for the sake of benefit, one who would imitate the
style of the decent man and would say what he says in those models
that we set down as laws at the beginning, when we undertook to edu-
cate the soldiers."
"Plainly."
[ 76]
how they must be if we're going to remain in accord with what has
already been said?"
And Glaucon laughed out and said, "I run the risk of not being
included in everyone. At least I'm not at present capable of suggesting
what sort of things we must say. However, I've a suspicion."
"At all events," I said, "you are, in the first place, surely capable d
"True," he said.
"And, further, the harmonic mode and the rhythm must follow
the speech."
"Of course."
"What are the wailing modes? Tell me, for you're musical." e
"The mixed Lydian," he said, "and the 'tight' Lydian and some
similar ones."
"Certainly."
"Of course."
"There are some Ionian, " he said, "and some Lydian, too, which
are called 'slack.'"
"Not at all," he said. "So, you've probably got the Dorian and the
Phrygian left."
"I don't know the modes," I said. "Just leave that mode which
would appropriately imitate the sounds and accents of a man who is
courageous in warlike deeds and every violent work, and who in failure
or when going to face wounds or death or falling into some other b
disaster, in the face of all these things stands up firmly and patiently
against chance. And, again, leave another mode for a man who per-
forms a peaceful deed, one that is not violent but voluntary, either per-
[ 77 ]
These two modes — a violent one and a voluntary one, which will pro-
duce the finest imitation of the sounds of unfortunate and fortunate,
moderate and courageous men — leave these."
"Then we'll not support the craftsmen who make lutes, harps, and
d all the instruments that are many-stringed and play many modes."
"And what about this? Will you admit flutemakers and flutists in-
to the city? Or, isn't the flute the most many-stringed of all, and aren't
the panharmonic instruments themselves imitations of it?"
"Plainly," he said.
"The lyre and the cither are left you as useful for the city," I said.
"And, further, for the country, there'd be a sort of pipe for the
herdsmen."
"And, by the dog," I said, "unawares we've again purged the city
that a while ago we said was luxurious."
"Come, then," I said, "and let's purge the rest. Now, following on
harmonic modes would be our rule about rhythms: we mustn't seek
subtle ones nor all sorts of feet, but we'll see which are the rhythms of
an orderly and courageous life; and when we have seen them, we'll
compel the foot and the tune to follow the speech of such a man, rather
400 a than the speech following the foot and the tune. Whatever these
"But, by Zeus, I can't say," he said. "There are three forms out of
[ 78 ]
which the feet are woven, just as there are four for sounds from which 400 a
all the modes are compounded— this I've observed and could tell. But
as to which sort are imitations of which sort of life, I can't say/'^s
"We'll consult with Damon^^ too," I said, "about which feet are b
think he blamed and praised the tempo of the foot no less than the
rhythms themselves, or it was the two together— I can't say. But, as I
said, let these things be turned over to Damon. To separate them out^"
is no theme for a short argument. Or do you think so?"^^
"Not I, by Zeus."
"But you are able to determine that grace and gracelessness^^ ac-
company rhythm and lack of it?"
"Of course."
"Further, rhythm and lack of it follow the style, the one likening d
itself to a fine style, the other to its opposite; and it's the same with har-
mony and lack of it, provided, that is, rhythm and harmonic mode
follow speech, as we were just saying, and not speech them."
"What about the manner of the style and the speech?" I said.
"Don't they follow the disposition of the soul?"
"Of course."
"Yes."
"Surely painting is full of them, as are all crafts of this sort; weav- 401 a
ing is full of them, and so are embroidery, housebuilding, and also all
the crafts that produce the other furnishings; so, furthermore, is the
nature of bodies and the rest of what grows. In all of them there is
grace or gracelessness. And gracelessness, clumsiness, inhar-
[ 79 ]
401 a moniousness, are akin to bad speech and bad disposition, while their
opposites are akin to, and imitations of, the opposite — moderate and
good disposition."
b "Must we, then, supervise only the poets and compel them to im-
press the image of the good disposition on their poems or not to make
them among us? Or must we also supervise the other craftsmen and
prevent them from impressing this bad disposition, a licentious,
illiberal, and graceless one, either on images of animals or on houses or
on anything else that their craft produces? And the incapable craftsman
we mustn't permit to practice his craft among us, so that our guardians
"In this way," he said, "they'd have by far the finest rearing."
"So, Glaucon," I said, "isn't this why the rearing in music is most
sovereign? Because rhythm and harmony most of all insinuate them-
selves into the inmost part of the soul and most vigorously lay hold of it
in bringing grace with them; and they make a man graceful if he is cor-
402 a on them and become a gentleman. He would blame and hate the ugly in
the right way while he's still young, before he's able to grasp reasonable
speech. And when reasonable speech comes, the man who's reared in
this way would take most delight in it, recognizing it on account of its
being akin?"
the few letters there are didn't escape us in any of the combinations in
b which they turn up, and we didn't despise them as not needing to be
\ 80
noticed in either small writing or large, but were eager to make them 402 b
True.
"Then," I said, "if the fine dispositions that are in the soul and d
those that agree and accord with them in the form should ever coincide
in anyone, with both partaking of the same model, wouldn't that be the
fairest sight for him who is able to see?"
"By far."
"Of course."
"It's the musical man who would most of all love such human
beings, while if there were one who lacked harmony, he wouldn't love
him."
"No, he wouldn't," he said, "at least if there were some defect in the
soul. If, however, there were some bodily defect, he'd be patient and
would willingly take dehght in him." e
"I understand," I said. "You have, or had, such a boy and I con-
cede your point. But tell me this: does excessive pleasure have anything
in common with moderation?"
"How could it," he said, "since it puts men out of their minds no
less than pain? "
"Most of all."
"Can you tell of a greater or keener pleasure than the one con-
nected with sex?"
[ 81 ]
403 a "Is the naturally right kind of love to love in a moderate and
b "Then this pleasure mustn't approach love, and lover and boysleen
who love and are loved in the right way mustn't be partner to it?" Ufg i
"So then, as it seems, you'll set dovsTi a law in the city that's being bata
founded: that a lover may kiss, be with, and touch his boy as though he shaf
were a son, for fair purposes, if he persuades him; but, as for the rest, wati
his intercourse with the one for whom he cares will be such that their for j
c relationship will never be reputed to go further than this. If not, he'll be
music has reached an end? " I said. "At least it's ended where it ought
to end. Surely musical matters should end in love matters that concern of ^
the fair."
"In this too they must then receive a precise training from child- thf
and you consider it too. It doesn't look to me as though it's a sound evi
body that by its virtue makes the soul good, but the opposite: a good an
soul by its own virtue makes the body as good as it can be. How does it look
to you?"
"If we gave adequate care to the intellect and turned over to it the it
concern for the precise details about the body, while we, so as not to
e talk too much, showed the way only to the models, would we be doing a^
"Now we said that they must keep away from drunkenness. Surely
82 ]
"Yes." 403 e
"Then would the habit of the ordinary athletes be proper for 404 a
them?"
"Perhaps."
"There's need then," I said, "for a subtler exercise for these com-
batants in war, since they must be sleepless like hounds, see and hear as
sharply as possible, and in their campaigns undergo many changes of
water, food, the sun's heat, and winds without being too highly tuned b
"From Homer too," I said, "one could learn things very much of
this sort. For you know that, during the campaign, at the feasts of the
heroes, he doesn't feast them on fish— and that, although they are by
the sea at the Hellespont— nor on boiled meats but only roasted, which c
"Quite so."
"Necessarily."
[ 83 ]
404 d "In likening such food and such a way of life as a whole to melo-
dies and songs written in the panharmonic mode and with all rhythms
e we would make a correct likeness, I suppose."
"Of course."
courts and hospitals opened, and aren't the arts of the law court and
medicine full of pride when even many free men take them very
seriously?"
"In your opinion, is this really baser," I said, "than when some-
one not only wastes most of his life in courtrooms defending and ac-
cusing, but, from inexperience in fair thmgs, is also persuaded to pride
himself on this very thing, because he is clever at doing injustice and
c competent at practicing every dodge, escaping through every loophole
by writhing and twisting and thereby not paying the penalty, and all
this for the sake of little and worthless things; ignorant of how much
finer and better it is to arrange his life so as to have no need of a dozing
judge?"
"No," he said, "but this case is even baser than the other one."
"And," I said, "needing medicine, not because one has met with
wounds or some of the seasonal maladies, but as a result of idleness and
d a way of life such as we described, full of humors and winds like a
"Quite so," he said. "How truly new and strange are these names
for diseases."
e pose. 1 infer this from the fact that at Troy his sons didn't blame the
406 a with a great deal of barley and grated cheese sprinkled on it; and it's
[ 84 ]
just these that are thought to be inflammatory; nor did they criticize 406
"But for all of that," he said, "the drink is certainly strange for
one in that condition."
"No, it isn't," I said, "if only you recognize that this current art of
medicine which is an education in disease was not used by the Ascle-
piads of former times, or so they say, until Herodicus came on the
scene. He was a gymnastic master and became sickly; so 'he mixed
gymnastic with medicine, and he first and foremost worried himself
"He drew out his death," I said. "Attending the mortal disease, he
wasn't able to cure it, I suppose, and spent his whole life treating it
with no leisure for anything else, mightily distressed if he departed a bit
from his accustomed regimen. So, finding it hard to die, thanks to his
wisdom, he came to an old age."
"Well," he said, "that was a fine prize^^ he won for his art."
"Such as is fitting," I said, "for one who didn't know that it wasn't
from ignorance or inexperience in this form of medicine that Asclepius
didn't reveal it to his offspring, but rather because he knew that for all
men obedient to good laws a certain job has been assigned to each in
the city at which he is compelled to work, and no one has the leisure to
be sick throughout life and treat himself. It's laughable that we
recognize this for the craftsmen, while for the rich and reputed happy
we don't."
"A carpenter," I said, "when he's sick, thinks fit to drink some
medicine from the doctor and vomit up his disease or have it purged
out from below, or submit to burning or cutting and be rid of it. If
someone prescribes a lengthy regimen for him, putting bandages
around his head and what goes with them, he soon says that he has
no leisure to be sick nor is a life thus spent — paying attention to a
disease while neglecting the work at hand— of any profit. And, with
that, he says goodbye to such a doctor and returns to his accus-
tomed regimen; regaining his health, he lives minding his own busi-
ness; if his body is inadequate to bearing up under it, he dies and is
rid of his troubles."
"Is it," I said, "because he had a definite job, and if he couldn't do 407 1
"Plainly," he said.
[ 85 ]
407 a "While the rich man, as we claim, has no such job at hand that
makes his life unlivable if he's compelled to keep away from it."
"Let's not fight with him about that," I said. "But let's instruct
ourselves as to whether the rich man must practice it and whether life is
b unlivable for the one who doesn't practice it, or whether care of
"But most important of all, surely, is that it also makes any kind
c of learning, thought, or meditation by oneself hard; it is always on the
lookout for tensions and spinning in the head and holds philosophy to
blame. So that wherever virtue is practiced and made to undergo scru-
tiny in this way, this care of the body is in every way a hindrance. It al-
ways makes one suppose he's sick and never cease to take pains about
,his body."
"Then won't we say that Asclepius, top, knew this and revealed, an
art of medicine for those whose bodies are by nature and regimen in a
healthy condition but have some distinct and definite disease in them?
His medicine is for these men and this condition; with drugs and cut-
ting to drive out the diseases, he prescribed their customary regimen so
as not to harm the city's affairs. But with bodies diseased through and
through, he made no attempt by regimens— drawing off a bit at one
time, pouring in a bit at another— to make a lengthy and bad life for a
human being and have him produce offspring likely to be such as he;
he didn't think he should care for the man who's not able to live in his
established round, on the grounds that he's of no profit to himself or to
e the city."
"Plainly," I said. "And don't you see that his sons, because he was
408 a like that, both showed themselves to be good men in the war at Troy
and made use of the art of medicine in the way I say? Or don't you re-
member that as well from the wound Pandarus inflicted on Menelaus,
They sucked out the blood and sprinkled gentle drugs on it^^
[ 86 ]
and that after this they didn't prescribe what he must drink or eat 408 a
to cure men who before their wounds were healthy and orderly in
their regimen, even if they should happen to take a drink mixed with b
barley, cheese, and wine right away? And, as for those with a naturally
them, and that they mustn't be treated— not even if they were richer
than Midas."
"It's appropriate," I said. "And yet it's in just this that the tragic
poets as well as Pindar^** don't obey us. Although they claim Ascle-
pius was the son of Apollo, they also say he was persuaded by gold to
cure a rich man who was as good as dead and it's for this that he was
struck with a thunderbolt. But we, in accord with what was said before, c
won't believe both things from them; rather if he was a god's son, we'll
say he wasn't basely greedy, and if he was basely greedy, he wasn't a
god's son."
"Quite right in that," he said. "But what do you say about this,
Socrates? Won't we need to get good doctors in the city? And, of
course, those who have handled the most healthy men and the most d
sick ones would be the best, and the best judges, similarly, would be
those who have been familiar with all sorts of natures."
"Yes indeed, I mean good ones," I said. "But do you know whom I
consider to be such?"
"Well, I'll try," I said. "However you asked about dissimilar mat-
ters in the same speech."
not be quite healthy by nature. For I don't suppose they care for a body
with a body— in that case it wouldn't be possible for the bodies them-
selves ever to be, or to have been, bad— but for a body with a soul; and
it's not possible for a soul to have been, and to be, bad and to care for
anything well."
"Correct," he said.
"A judge, on the other hand, my friend, rules a soul with a soul, 409 a
and it's not possible for it to have been reared and been familiar with
bad souls from youth on, and to have gone through the list of all unjust
deeds and to have committed them itself so as to be sharp at inferring
from itself the unjust deeds of others like diseases in the body. Rather,
[ 87 ]
when it was young, if, as a fine and good soul, it's going to make
healthy judgments about what is just. This is exactly why decent men
when they are young, look as though they were innocents^^ and easily
h deceived by unjust men, because they have in themselves no patterns of
affections similar to those of bad men. "
"That, you see, is why," I said, "the good judge must not be young
but old, a late learner of what injustice is; he must not have become
"Well," he said, "a judge who's like that seems to be most noble."
"And good, too," I said, "which is what you asked. The man who
has a good soul is good. That clever and suspicious man, the one who
has himself done many unjust things and supposes he's a master crim-
inal and wise, looks clever, because he is on his guard, when he keeps
company with his likes — taking his bearings by the patterns within
himself. But when he has contact with good men who are older, he now
d looks stupid, distrustful out of season, and ignorant of a healthy
disposition, because he does not possess a pattern for such a man. But
since he meets bad men more often than good ones, he seems to be
rather more wise than unlearned, both to himself and to others."
"Then it's not in such a man that the good and wise judge must be
looked for but in the former," I said. "For badness would never know
virtue and itself, while virtue in an educated nature will in time gain a
"Will you set down a law in the city providing as well for an art of
medicine such as we described along with such an art of judging, which
410 a will care for those of your citizens who have good natures in body and
soul; while as for those who haven't, they'll let die the ones whose bod-
ies are such, and the ones whose souls have bad natures and are in-
curable, they themselves will kill?"
"Well," he said, "that's the way it looked best for those who un-
dergo it and for the city."
[ 88 ]
same tracks, and, if he wishes, catch it, so that he will require no art of
medicine except in case of necessity?"
"That's my opinion."
by some, that the latter should care for the body and the former for the
soul?"
"It's likely," I said, "that they established both chiefly for the
soul."
"How's that?"
"Don't you notice," I said, "the turn of mind of those who main-
tain a lifelong familiarity with gymnastic but don't touch music; or,
again, that of those who do the opposite?"
"I do notice," he said, "that those who make use of unmixed gym-
nastic turn out more savage than they ought, while those who make use
of music become in their turn softer than is fine for them."
"And, surely," I said, "the savage stems from the spirited part of
their nature, which, if rightly trained, would be courageous; but, if
raised to a higher pitch than it ought to have, would be likely to be-
come cruel and harsh."
"And what about this? Wouldn't the philosophic nature have the
tame; and if it is relaxed somewhat more, would it be softer than it
ought to be, while if it is finely reared, it would be tame and orderly?"
"That's so."
"And we do say that the guardians must have both of these two
natures."
[ 89 ]
411a "Certainly."
"Of course."
"Then, when a man gives himself to music and lets the flute play
and pour into his soul through his ears, as it were into a funnel— using
those sweet, soft, wailing harmonies we were just speaking of— and
spends his whole life humming and exulting in song, at first, whatever
spiritedness he had, he softened like iron and made useful from having
b been useless and hard. But when he keeps at it without letting up and
charms his spirit, he, as the next step, already begins to melt and li-
quefy his spirit, until he dissolves it completely and cuts out, as it were,
the sinews from his soul and makes it 'a feeble warrior.' "^^
"And," I said, "if from the start he got a spiritless soul from
nature, he accomplishes this quickly. But if it's spirited, the spirit is
weakened and made temperamental, quickly inflamed by little things
and quickly extinguished. Thus these men have become quick-
c tempered and irritable from having been spirited, and they are filled
with discontent."
"Quite so."
"Now what about the man who labors a great deal at gymnastic
and feasts himself really well but never touches music and philosophy?
At first, with his body in good condition, isn't he filled with high
thought and spirit, and doesn't he become braver than himself?"
"Very much."
"But what about when he does nothing else and never communes
d with a Muse? Even if there was some love of learning in his soul, be-
"Now I, for one, would assert that some god gave two arts to hu-
man beings for these two things, as it seems — music and gymnastic for
the spirited and the philosophic — not for soul and body, except inci-
dentally, but rather for these two. He did so in order that they might be
':12 a harmonized with one another by being tuned to the proper degree of
[ 90 ]
"Then the man who makes the finest mixture of gymnastic with
music and brings them to his soul in the most proper measure is the one
of whom we would most correctly say that he is the most perfectly
musical and well harmonized, far more so than of the man who tunes
the strings to One another."
"Of course." c
"That the rulers must be older and the ruled younger is plain, isn't
it?"
"Yes, it is."
"And the best of the farmers, aren't they the most skillful at fann-
ing?"
"Yes."
"Now since they must be the best of the guardians, mustn't they
be the most skillful at guarding the city?"
"Yes."
"That's so." d
"A man would care most for that which he happened to love."
"Necessarily."
"Then we must select from the other guardians the sort of men
who, upon our consideration, from everything in their lives, look as if
[ 91 ]
"What?" I said. "Don't you too believe that human beings are un-
willingly deprived of good things and willingly of bad ones? Or isn't
being deceived about the truth bad, and to have the truth good? Or isn't
it your opinion that to opine the things that are, is to have the truth?"
forced?"
"Yes."
"And, then, by the forced I mean those whom some grief or pain
causes to change their opinions."
"I understand that too," he said, "and what you say is correct."
c "And, further, the bewitched you too, I suppose, would say are
those who change their opinions either because they are charmed by
pleasure or terrified by some fear."
"Now then, as I said a while ago, we must look for some men who
are the best guardians of their conviction that they must do what on
each occasion seems best for the city. So we must watch them straight
from childhood by setting them at tasks in which a man would most
likely forget and be deceived out of such a conviction. And the man
who has a memory and is hard to deceive must be chosen, and the one
d who's not must be rejected, mustn't he?"
[ 92 ]
"Yes." 413 d
"Correct," he said.
"Then," I said, "we must also make them a competition for the
third form, wizardry, and we must look on. Just as they lead colts to
noises and confosions and observe if they're fearfol, so these men when
they are young must be brought to terrors and then cast in turn into
pleasures, testing them far more than gold in fire. If a man appears e
and he must be given honors, both while living and when dead, and
must be allotted the greatest prizes in burial and the other memorials.
And the man who's not of this sort must be rejected. The selection and
appointment of the rulers and guardians is, in my opinion, Glaucon," I
said, "something like this, not described precisely, but by way of a
model."
"Isn't it then truly most correct to call these men complete guard- b
ians? They can guard over enemies from without and friends from
within— so that the ones will not wish to do harm and the others will
be unable to. The young, whom we were calling guardians up to now,
we shall call auxiliaries and helpers of the rulers' convictions."
"I shall speak— and yet, I don't know what I'll use for daring or d
[ 93]
414 d speeches in telling it — and I'll attempt to persuade first the rulers and
the soldiers, then the rest of the city, that the rearing and education we
gave them were like dreams; they only thought they were undergoing
all that was happening to them, while, in truth, at that time they
were under the earth within, being fashioned and reared themselves,
e and their arms and other tools being crafted. When the job had been
completely finished, then the earth, which is their mother, sent them
up. And now, as though the land they are in were a mother and nurse,
they must plan for and defend it, if anyone attacks, and they must think
of the other citizens as brothers and born of the earth."
"It wasn't, " he said, "for nothing that you were for so long
ashamed to tell the lie."
415 a "It was indeed appropriate," I said. "All the same, hear out the
rest of the tale. 'All of you in the city are certainly brothers,' we shall
say to them in telling the tale, 'but the god, in fashioning those of you
who are competent to rule, mixed gold in at their birth; this is why they
are most honored; in auxiliaries, silver; and iron and bronze in the farm-
ers and the other craftsmen. So, because you're all related, although for
the most part you'll produce offspring like yourselves, it sometimes hap-
b pens that a silver child will be bom from a golden parent, a golden
child from a silver parent, and similarly all the others from each other.
Hence the god commands the rulers first and foremost to be of nothing
such good guardians and to keep over nothing so careful a watch as the
children, seeing which of these metals is mixed in their souls. And, if a
child of theirs should be bom with an admixture of bronze or iron, by
c no manner of means are they to take pity on it, but shall assign the
proper value to its nature and thrust it out among the craftsmen or the
farmers; and, again, if from these men one should naturally grow who
has an admixture of gold or silver, they will honor such ones and lead
them up, some to the guardian group, others to the auxiliary, believ-
ing that there is an oracle that the city will be destroyed when an iron
or bronze man is its guardian.' So, have you some device for per-
suading them of this tale?"
their sons and their successors and the rest of the human beings who
come afterwards."
"Well, even that would be good for making them care more for
the city and one another, " I said. "For I understand pretty much what
you mean.
"Well, then, this will go where the report^^ of men shall lead it.
And when we have armed these earth-bom men, let's bring them forth
led by the rulers. When they've come, let them look out for the fairest
94
place in the city for a military camp, from which they could most con- 415 d
trol those within, if anyone were not willing to obey the laws, and ward e
off those from without, if an enemy, like a wolf, should attack the
flock. When they have made the camp and sacrificed to whom they
ought, let them make sleeping places. Or how should it be?"
"How," he said, "do you mean to distinguish the one from the 416 a
other?"
"I shall try to tell you," I said. "Surely the most terrible and
shameful thing of all is for shepherds to rear dogs as auxiliaries for the
flocks in such a way that due to licentiousness, hunger or some other
bad habit, they themselves undertake to do harm to the sheep and in-
stead of dogs become like wolves."
thing like that to the citizens, since they are stronger than they, becom-
ing like savage masters instead of well-meaning allies?"
And I said, "It's not fit to be too sure about that, my dear Glau-
con. However, it is fit to be sure about what we were saying a while
ago, that they must get the right education, whatever it is, if they're c
going to have what's most important for being tame with each other
and those who are guarded by them."
"Well, then," I said, "see if this is the way they must live and be
housed if they're going to be such men. First, no one will possess any
private property except for what's entirely necessary. Second, no one
will have any house or storeroom into which everyone who wishes can-
not come. The sustenance, as much as is needed by moderate and
courageous men who are champions of war, they'll receive in fixed ^
[ 95 ]
socrates/glaucon THEREPUBLIQ
416 e installments from the other citizens as a wage for their guarding; in
such quantity that there will be no surplus for them in a year and no
lack either. They'll go regularly to mess together^ like soldiers in a
camp and live a life in common. We'll tell them that gold and silver of a
divine sort from the gods they have in their soul always and have no
further need of the human sort; nor is it holy to pollute the possession
of the former sort by mixing it with the possession of the mortal sort
because many unholy things have been done for the sake of the currency
417 a of the many, while theirs is untainted. But for them alone of those in the
city it is not lawful to handle and to touch gold and silver, nor to go
under the same roof wth it, nor to hang it from their persons, nor to
drink from silver or gold. And thus they would save themselves as well
as save the city. Whenever they'll possess private land, houses, and cur-
rency, they'll be householders and farmers instead of guardians, and
h they'll become masters and enemies instead of allies of the other
citizens; hating and being hated, plotting and being plotted against,
they'll lead their whole lives far more afraid of the enemies within than
those without. Then they themselves as well as the rest of the city are
already rushing toward a destruction that lies very near. So, for all
these reasons," I said, "let's say that the guardians must be provided
with houses and the rest in this way, and we shall set this doMm as a law,
shall we not?"
[ 96 ]
BOOK IV
apologyi be, Socrates, if someone were to say that you're hardly mak-
ing these men happy, and further, that it's their own fault — they to
whom the city in truth belongs but who enjoy nothing good from the
city as do others, who possess lands, and build fine big houses, and
possess all the accessories that go along with these things, and make
private sacrifices to gods, and entertain foreigners, and, of course, also
acquire what you were just talking about, gold and silver and all that's
conventionally held to belong to men who are going to be blessed? But,
he would say, they look exactly like mercenary auxiliaries who sit in
the city and do nothing but keep watch." 420 a
"Yes," I said, "and besides they do it for food alone; they get no
wages beyond the food, as do the rest. So, if they should wish to make a
private trip away from home, it won't even be possible for them, or
give gifts to lady companions, or make expenditures wherever else they
happen to wish, such as those made by the men reputed to be happy.
You leave these things and a throng of others like them out of the ac-
cusation."
"Yes."
[ 97
ADEIMANTUS/SOCRATES THEREPUBLIq|
420 b "Making our way by the same road," I said, "I suppose we'll find
d purple but black — ^we would seem to make a sensible apology to him
by saying: 'You surprising man, don't suppose we ought to paint eyes so
fair that they don't even look like eyes, and the same for the other parts;
but observe whether, assigning what's suitable to each of them, we
make the whole fair. So now too, don't compel us to attach to the
guardians a happiness that will turn them into everything except guard-
e ians. We know how to clothe the fanners in fine robes and hang gold on
them and bid them work the earth at their pleasure, and how to make
the potters recline before the fire, drinking in competition from left to
right^ and feasting, and having their wheel set before them as often as
they get a desire to make pots, and how to make all the others blessed
in the same way just so the city as a whole may be happy. But
don't give us this kind of advice, since, if we were to be persuaded by
421 a you, the fanner won't be a fanner, nor the potter a potter, nor will
anyone else assume any of those roles that go to make up a city. The
argument has less weight for these others. That men should become
poor menders of shoes, corrupted and pretending to be what they're
not, isn't so terrible for a city. But you surely see that men who are not
guardians of the laws and the city, but seem to be, utterly destroy an
entire city, just as they alone are masters of the occasion to govern it
well and to make it happy.' Now if we're making true guardians, men
b least likely to do harm to the city, and the one who made that speech is
making some farmers and happy banqueters, like men at a public
festival and not like members of a city, then he must be speaking of
something other than a city. So we have to consider whether we are
establishing the guardians looking to their having the most happiness.
Or else, whether looking to this happiness for the city as a whole, we
must see if it comes to be in the city, and must compel and persuade
[ 98 ]
must let nature assign to each of the groups its share of happiness." 421 c
"Take the other craftsmen again and consider whether these things d
"Like this: in your opinion, will a potter who's gotten rich still be
willing to attend to his art?"
"Not at all," he said.
"And further, if from poverty he's not even able to provide him-
self with tools or anything else for his art, he'll produce shoddier works,
and he'll make worse craftsmen of his sons or any others he teaches." e
"Of course."
"Then from both poverty and wealth the products of the arts are
worse and the men themselves are worse."
"It looks like it."
"Wealth and poverty," 1 said, "since the one produces luxury, 422 a
"Well," I said, "in the first place, if the guardians should have to
fight, won't it be as champions in war fighting with rich men?"
"Yes," he said, "that's so."
[ 99 ]
422 h "Not even if it were possible for him to withdraw a bit," I said
c "and turning on whichever one came up first, to strike him, and if he
did this repeatedly in sun and stifling heat? Couldn't such a man handle
even more of that sort?"
"But don't you suppose the rich have more knowledge and ex-
perience of boxing than of the art of war?"
"Then in all likelihood our champions will easily fight with two or
three times their number."
"I'll grant you that," he said, "for what you say is right in my
opinion."
d "What if they sent an embassy to the other city and told the truth?
'We make use of neither gold nor silver, nor is it lawful for us, while it
is for you. So join us in making war and keep the others' property.' Do
you suppose any who hear that will choose to make war against solid,
lean dogs^ rather than with the dogs against fat and tender sheep?"
"You are a happy one," I said, "if you suppose it is fit to call 'city'
another than such as we have been equipping."
"The others ought to get bigger names," I said. "For each of them
is very many cities but not a city, as those who play say.^ There are
423 a two, in any case, warring with each other, one of the poor, the other of
the rich. And within each of these there are very many. If you ap-
proach them as though they were one, you'll be a complete failure; but
if you approach them as though they were many, offering to the ones
the money and the powers or the very persons of the others, you'll al-
ways have the use of many allies and few enemies. And as long as your
city is moderately governed in the way it was just arranged, it will be
biggest; I do not mean in the sense of good reputation but truly biggest,
even if it should be made up of only one thousand defenders. You'll not
easily find one city so big as this, either among the Greeks or the bar-
h barians, although many seem to be many times its size. Or do you sup-
pose otherwise?"
[ loo ]
"I suppose this one," I said, "up to that point in its growth at 423 b
guardians. This was intended to make plain that each of the other
citizens too must be brought to that which naturally suits him — one
man, one job — so that each man, practicing his own, which is one,
will not become many but one; and thus, you see, the whole city
will naturally grow to be one and not many."
"And hence," I said, "the regime, once well started, will roll on
like a circle in its growth. For sound rearing and education, when they
are preserved, produce good natures; and sound natures, in their turn
receiving such an education, grow up still better than those before
them, for procreation as well as for the other things, as is also the case
with the other animals." j,
[ loi ]
424 c someone might perchance suppose the poet means not new songs, but a
new way of song, and praises that. Snch a saying shouldn't be praised
nor should this one be taken in that sense. For they must beware of change
to a strange fomn of music, taking it to be a danger to the whole
For never are the ways'' of music moved without the greatest political
laws being moved, as Damon says, and I am persuaded."
"Include me, too," said Adeimantus, "among those who are per-
suaded."
d "So it's surely here in music, as it seems," I said, "that the guard-
"It's precisely when the boys make a fine beginning at play and
receive lawfulness from music that it— as opposed to what happened in
the former case— accompanies them in everything and grows, setting
right anything in the city that may have previously been neglected."
"Then, these men," I said, "will also find out the seemingly small
conventions that were all destroyed by their predecessors."
of older ones, making way for them and rising, care of parents; and
hair-dos, clothing, shoes, and, as a whole, the bearing of the body, and
everything else of the sort. Or don't you think so?"
"I do."
"But to set them down as laws is, I believe, foolish.^ Surely they
[ 102 ]
don't come into being, nor would they be maintained, by being set 425 b
"At least it's likely, Adeimantus," I said, "that the starting point
of a man's education sets the course of what follows too. Or doesn't like c
"Of course."
"Then, I suppose we'd also say that the final result is some one
complete and hardy thing, whether good or the opposite."
"That," I said, "is why I for one wouldn't go further and un-
dertake to set down laws about such things."
"And, in the name of the gods," I said, "what about that market
business — the contracts individuals make with one another in the
market, and, if you wish, contracts with manual artisans, and libel, in- d
themselves."
"Yes, my friend," I said, "provided, that is, a god grants them the
preservation of the laws we described before. "
"You mean," I said, "that such men will live like those who are
sick but, due to licentiousness, aren't vvalling to quit their worthless way
of life."
"And don't they go on charmingly? For all their treatment, they 426 a
"Yes, " he said, "the affections of men who are sick in this way are
exactly like that."
[ 103 ]
426 a truth— namely, that until one gives up drinking, stuffing oneself, sex
b and idleness, there will be no help for one in drugs, burning, or cutting,
"Not quite charming," he said. "Being harsh with the man who
says something good isn't charming."
a whole, under pain of death for the man who does; while the man who
serves them most agreeably, with the regime as it is, and gratifies them
by flattering them and knowing their wishes beforehand and being
clever at fulfilling them, will on that account be the good man and the
one wise in important things and be honored by them?"
"I do," he said, "except for those who are deceived by them and
suppose they are truly statesmen because they are praised by the many."
"Then don't be harsh. For such men are surely the most charming
of all, setting down laws like the ones we described a moment ago and
correcting them, always thinking they'll find some limit to wrongdoing
in contracts and the other things I was just talking about, ignorant that
they are really cutting off the heads of a Hydra."
"I, for one," I said, "therefore thought that the time lawgiver
wouldn't have to bother with that class of things^** in the laws and the
regime, either in a city with a bad regime or in one with a good
regime — in the one case because it's useless and accomplishes nothing;
in the other, partly because anyone at all could find some of these
things, and partly because the rest follow of themselves from the prac-
tices already established."
b "Then what," he said, "might still remain for our legislation?"
[ 104 ]
And I said, "For us, nothing. However for the Apollo at Del- 427 b
phi** there remain the greatest, fairest, and first of the laws which are
given."
shall we make use of any interpreter other than the ancestral one. Now
this god is doubtless the ancestral interpreter of such things for all hu-
mans, and he sits in the middle of the earth at its navel and delivers his
interpretations."
"What you say is fine," he said. "And that's what must be done."
and look yourself— and call in your brother and Polemarchus and the
others— whether we can somehow see where the justice might be and
where the injustice, in what they differ from one another, and which
the man who's going to be happy must possess, whether it escapes the
notice of all gods and humans or not."
"Now, then," I said, "I hope I'll find it in this way. I suppose our
city— if, that is, it has been correctly founded— is perfectly good."
"Necessarily," he said.
"Plainly."
[ 105 ]
socrates/glaucon THEREPUBLic
428 a "With these things too, since they happen to be four, mustn't we
"Plainly."
"What?" he said.
"Plainly."
"But, on the other hand, there's much knowledge of all sorts in the
city.
"Of course."
"Then, it's not thanks to the knowledge that counsels about how
wooden implements would be best that a city must be called wise."
"Surely not."
"And not to the knowledge about the production of the crop from
the earth; for that, rather, it is called skilled in fanning."
"That's my opinion."
"What about this?" I said. "Is there in the city we just founded a
d about the affairs connected with some particular thing in the city, but
about how the city as a whole would best deal with itself and the other
cities?"
"There is indeed."
"It's the guardian's skill," he said, "and it's in those rulers whom
we just now named perfect guardians."
[ 106 ]
"Among' those," I said, "who receive a special name for possess- 428 e
ing some kind of knowledge, wouldn't the guardians be the fewest of all
in number?"
"By far."
"It is, therefore, from the smallest group and part of itself and the
knowledge in it, from the supervisingis and ruling part, that a city
founded according to nature would be wise as a whole. And this class,
which properly has a share in that knowledge which alone among the 429 a
"So we've found — I don't know how— this one of the four, both it
and where its seat in the city is."
discovered."
"How's that?"
looking to any part other than the one that defends it and takes the field
on its behalf?"
"I don't suppose," I said, "that whether the other men in it are
cowardly or courageous would be decisive for its being this or that."
"No, it wouldn't."
opinion about which things are terrible — that they are the same ones
and of the same sort as those the lawgiver transmitted in the education.
Or don't you call that courage?"
"I didn't quite understand what you said," he said. "Say it again."
"But I do wish."
"Don't you know," I said, "that the dyers, when they want to dye
wool purple, first choose from all the colors the single nature belonging
to white things; then they prepare it beforehand and care for it with no
[ 107 ]
429 d little preparation so that it will most receive the color; and it is only
e then that they dye? And if a thing is dyed in this way, it becomes color-
fast, and washing either without lyes or with lyes can't take away its
color. But those things that are not so dyed — whether one dyes other
colors or this one without preparatory care — you know what they be-
come like."
430 a educated them in music and gymnastic. Don't think we devised all that
"Well, now, " I said, "there are still two left that must be seen in
d the city, moderation and that for the sake of which we are making the
whole search, justice. "
"Most certainly."
"I for my part don't know," he said, "nor would I want it to come
to light before, if we aren't going to consider moderation any further. If
you want to gratify me, consider this before the other."
e "But I do want to," I said, "so as not to do an injustice."
[ 108 ]
"It must be considered," I said. "Seen from here, it's more Hke a
kind of accord and harmony than the previous ones."
"How?"
and some other phrases of the sort are used that are, as it were, its
tracks. 1'^ Isn't that so?"
all of them."
"Now, then," I said, "take a glance at our young city, and you'll
find one of these conditions in it. For you'll say that it's justly
designated stronger than itself, if that in which the better rules over the
worse must be called moderate and 'stronger than itself "
"Most certainly."
"But the simple and moderate desires, pleasures and pains, those
led by calculation accompanied by intelligence and right opinion, you
will come upon in few, and those the ones born with the best natures
and best educated."
"True," he said.
"Don't you see that all these are in your city too, and that there
the desires in the common many are mastered by the desires and the d
[ 109 J
"And, moreover, if there is any city in which the rulers and the
e ruled have the same opinion about who should rule, then it's this one.
Or doesn't it seem so?"
"In which of the citizens will you say the moderation resides,
when they are in this condition? In the rulers or the ruled?"
"You see," I said, "we divined pretty accurately a while ago that
moderation is like a kind of harmony."
"Why so?"
432 a a part, the one making the city wise and the other courageous. Modera-
tion doesn't work that way, but actually stretches throughout the whole,
from top to bottom of the entire scale,i^ making the weaker, the
stronger and those in the middle — whether you wish to view them as
such in terms of prudence, or, if you wish, in terms of strength, or mul-
titude, money or anything else whatsoever of the sort — sing the same
chant together. So we would quite rightly claim that this unanimity is
moderation, an accord of worse and better, according to nature, as to
which must rule in the city and in each one."
h "I am," he said, "very much of the same opinion."
"All right," I said. "Three of them have been spied out in our
city, at least sufficiently to form some opinion. Now what would be the
remaining form thanks to which the city would further partake in vir-
tue? For, plainly, this is justice."
"Plainly."
a circle around the thicket and pay attention so that justice doesn't slip
of it; you might somehow see it before me and could tell me."
[ no ]
shadows," I said. "At least it's dark and hard to search out. But, all the
same, we've got to go on."
"How's that?"
"It appears, you blessed man, that it's been rolling around^o at
our feet from the beginning and we couldn't see it after all, but were
quite ridiculous. As men holding something in their hand sometimes
seek what they're holding, we too didn't look at it but turned our gaze e
somewhere far off, which is also perhaps just the reason it escaped our
notice."
"It's this way," I said. "In my opinion, we have been saying and
hearing it all along without learning from ourselves that we were in a
way saying it."
"Listen whether after all I make any sense," I said. "That rule we 433 a
"Yes, we have."
[ 111 ]
ruler and ruled — each one minded his own business and wasn't a
busybody?"
"Wouldn't you name justice that which is the rival of these others
e in contributing to a city's virtue?"
"Now consider if it will seem the same from this viewpoint too.
Will you assign the judging of lawsuits in the city to the rulers? "
"Of course."
"Will they have any other aim in their judging than that no one
have what belongs to others, nor be deprived of what belongs to
him?"
"Yes."
"And therefore, from this point of view too, the having and doing
434 a of one's own and what belongs to oneself would be agreed to be justice."
"Hardly," he said.
[ H2 ]
or when the same man tries to do all these things at once— then I sup- 434 b
pose it's also your opinion that this change in them and this meddling
are the destruction of the city."
"Meddling among the classes, of which there are three, and ex-
change with one another is the greatest harm for the city and would c
most correctly be called extreme evil-doing."
"Quite certainly."
"Won't you say that the greatest evil-doing against one's own city
is injustice?"
"Of course."
"Then, that's injustice. Again, let's say it this way. The opposite
of this— the money-making, auxiliary, and guardian classes doing
what's appropriate, each of them minding its own business in a city —
would be justice and would make the city just."
"Let's not assert it so positively just yet," I said. "But, if this form
is applied to human beings singly and also agreed by us to be justice
there, then we'll concede it. What else will there be for us to say? And
if not, then we'll consider something else. Now let's complete the con-
sideration by means of which we thought that, if we should attempt to
see justice first in some bigger thing that possessed it, we would more
easily catch sight of what it's like in one man. And it was our opinion
that this bigger thing is a city; so we founded one as best we could, e
knowing full well that justice would be in a good one at least. Let's ap-
ply what came to light there to a single man, and if the two are in
agreement, everything is fine. But if something different should turn up
in the single man, we'll go back again to the city and test it; perhaps,
considering them side by side and rubbing them together like sticks, 435 a
we would make justice burst into flame, and once it's come to light,
confirm it for ourselves."
"Then," I said, "is that which one calls the same, whether it's big-
ger or smaller, unlike or like in that respect in which it's called the
same?"
"Like," he said.
"Then the just man will not be any different from the just city h
with respect to the form itself of justice, but will be like it."
[ 11,3 ]
435 b natures present in it minded its own business and, again, moderate
"True," he said.
"Then it's in this way, my friend, that we'll claim that the single
c man — ^with these same forms in his soul — thanks to the same affections
as those in the city, rightly lays claim to the same names."
"Now it's a slight question about the soul we've stumbled upon,
you surprising man," I said. "Does it have these three forms in it
or not?"
"It looks like it," I said. "But know well, Glaucon, that in my
longer and further road leading to it. But perhaps we can do it in a way
"So don't grow weary, " he said, "but go ahead vsath the considera-
tion."
e "Isn't it quite necessary for us to agree that the very same forms
and dispositions as are in the city are in each of us? " I said. "Surely
they haven't come there from any other place. It would be ridiculous if
someone should think that the spiritedness didn't come into the cities
from those private men who are just the ones imputed with having this
character, 23 such as those in Thrace, Scythia, and pretty nearly the
whole upper region; or the love of learning, which one could most im-
436 a pute to our region, or the love of money, which one could affirm is to
be found not least among the Phoenicians and those in Egypt. "^^
"Surely not."
[ 114 ]
3ooklVI435b-437a claucon/socrat:
"Now let's try to determine whether these things are the same or
Jifferent from each other in this way."
"How?"
"It's plain that the same thing won't be willing at the same time to
do or suffer opposites with respect to the same part and in relation to
the same thing. 25 So if we should ever find that happening in these
"Is it possible that the same thing at the same time and with
respect to the same part should stand still and move?"
"Not at all."
"Now let's have a still more precise agreement so that we won't have
any grounds for dispute as we proceed. If someone were to say of a hu-
man being standing still, but moving his hands and his head, that the
same man at the same time stands still and moves, I don't suppose we'd
claim that it should be said like that, but rather that one part of him
stands still and another moves. Isn't that so?"
"Yes, it is."
"Then if the man who says this should become still more charm-
ing and make the subtle point that tops as wholes stand still and move
at the same time when the peg is fixed in the same place and they spin,
or that anything else going around in a circle on the same spot does this
too, we wouldn't accept it because it's not with respect to the same part
of themselves that such things are at that time both at rest and in mo-
tion. But we'd say that they have in them both a straight and a cir-
cumference; and with respect to the straight they stand still since they
don't lean in any direction — ^while with respect to the circumference
they move in a circle; and when the straight inclines to the right, the
left, forward, or backward at the same time that it's spinning, then in
no way does it stand still."
"Then the saying of such things won't scare us, or any the more
persuade us that something that is the same, at the same time, with
respect to the same part and in relation to the same thing, could ever 437 *
[ 115 ]
b "Then, would you set down all such things as opposites to one
"IshaU."
"Now since this is so, shall we assert that there is a form of desires
and that what we call being thirsty and hungry are the most vivid of
them?"
"Isn't the one for drink and the other for food?"
"Yes."
"That's the way it is, " he said. "Each particular desire itself is
only for that particular thing itself of which it naturally is, while the
desire for this or that kind depends on additions."
438 a "Now let no one catch us unprepared, " I said, "and cause a
disturbance, alleging that no one desires drink, but good drink, nor
[ 116 ]
food, but good food; for everyone, after all, desires good things; if, 438
then, thirst is a desire, it would be for good drink or for good whatever
it is, and similarly with the other desires."
"Perhaps," he said, "the man who says that would seem to make
some sense."
"Certainly."
"Yes."
"Yes."
"And, then, also the once-greater than the once-less, and the-
going-to-be-greater than the-going-to-be-less?"
"And, further, the more in relation to the fewer, the double to the c
half, and everything of the sort; and, again, heavier to lighter, faster to
slower; and further, the hot to the cold, and everything like them—
doesn't the same thing hold?"
"Most certainly."
"And what about the various sorts of knowledge? Isn't it the same
way? Knowledge itself is knowledge of learning itself, or of whatever it
is to which knowledge should be related; while a particular kind of
knowledge is of a particular kind of thing. I mean something like this. c
"Of course."
"Yes."
It IS.
"Well, then," I said, "say that what I wanted to say then, if you
now understand after all, is that of all things that are such as to be
[ 117 ]
438 d related to something, those that are only themselves are related to
things that are only themselves, while those that are related to things of
a particular kind are of a particular kind. And I in no sense mean that
e they are such as the things to which they happen to be related, so that it
would follow that the knowledge of things healthy and sick is healthy
and sick and that of bad and good is itself bad and good. But when
knowledge became knowledge not of that alone to which knowledge is
related but of a particular sort of thing, and this was health and
sickness, it as a consequence also became of a certain sort itself; and
this caused it not to be called knowledge simply any more but, with the
particular kind having been added to it, medicine."
toward it."
"Plainly."
"If ever something draws it back when it's thirsting, wouldn't that
be something different in it from that which thirsts and leads it like a
beast to drink? For of course, we say, the same thing wouldn't perform
opposed actions concerning the same thing with the same part of itself
at the same time."
"No, it wouldn't."
"Just as, I suppose, it's not fair to say of the archer that his hands
at the same time thrust the bow away and draw it near, but that one
hand pushes it away and the other pulls it in."
c "That's entirely certain," he said.
"Now, would we assert that sorhetimes there are some men who
are thirsty but not willing to drink?"
"What should one say about them?" I said. "Isn't there something
in their soul bidding them to drink and something forbidding them to
do so, something different that masters that which bids?"
"Doesn't that which forbids such things come into being — when it
[ 118 ]
comes into being — ^from calculation, *7 while what leads and draws 439 d
"So we won't be irrational," I said, "if we claim they are two and
different from each other, naming the part of the soul with which it cal-
culates, the calculating, and the part with which it loves, hungers,
thirsts and is agitated by the other desires, the irrational^s and de-
siring, companion of certain replenishments and pleasures."
that."
"Therefore, ' I said, "let these two forms in the soul be distin-
guished. Now, is the part that contains spirit and with which we are
spirited a third, or would it have the same nature as one of these
others?"
"But," I said, "I once heard something that I trust. Leontius, the
son of Aglaion, was going up from the Piraeus under the outside of the
North Walps when he noticed corpses lying by the public execu-
tioner.^ He desired to look, but at the same time he was disgusted
and made himself turn away; and for a while he struggled and covered
his face. But finally, overpowered by the desire, he opened his eyes 440 a
wide, ran toward the corpses and said: 'Look, you damned wretches,
take your fill of the fair sight. ' "
"And in many other places, don't we," I said, "notice that, when
desires force someone contrary to calculation, he reproaches him- b
self and his spirit is roused against that in him which is doing the forc-
ing; and, just as though there were two parties at faction, such a man's
spirit becomes the ally of speech? But as for its making common cause
with the desires to do what speech has declared must not be done,
I suppose you'd say you had never noticed anything of the kind happen-
ing in yourself, nor, I suppose, in anyone else. "
"True," he said.
[ 119]
440 c "And what about when a man believes he's being done injustice?
Doesn't his spirit in this case boil and become harsh and form an
alliance for battle with what seems just; and, even if it suffers ijj
hunger, cold and everything of the sort, doesn't it stand firm and con-
d quer, and not cease from its noble efforts before it has succeeded, or
"That what we are now bringing to light about the spirited is the
opposite of our recent assertion. Then we supposed it had something to
do with the desiring part; but now, far from it, we say that in the fac-
tion of the soul it sets its arms on the side of the calculating part."
441 a the city that held it together, money-making, auxiliary, and delibera-
tive, is there in the soul too this third, the spirited, by nature an
auxiliary to the calculating part, if it's not corrupted by bad rearing?"
"But it's not hard," he said, "for it to come to light as such. For,
even in little children, one could see that they are full of spirit straight
from birth, while, as for calculating, some seem to me never to get a
b share of it, and the many do so quite late."
c Here, you see. Homer clearly presents that which has calculated about
[ 120 ]
"Well," I said, "we've had a hard swim through that and pretty
much agreed that the same classes that are in the city are in the soul of
each one severally and that their number is equal."
"Of course."
"And, further, that a city be courageous because of the same thing <
and in the same way as a private man is courageous, and that in every-
thing else that has to do with virtue both are alike?"
"Moreover, we surely haven't forgotten that this city was just be-
cause each of the three classes in it minds its ov^ti business."
"Then we must remember that, for each of us too, the one within
whom each of the parts minds its own business will be just and mind <
"Isn't it proper for the calculating part to rule, since it is wise and
has forethought about all of the soul, and for the spirited part to be
obedient to it and its ally?"
"Certainly."
"And these two, thus trained and having truly learned their own
business and been educated, will be set over the desiring— which is
surely most of the soul in each and by nature most insatiable for
money— and they'll watch it for fear of its being filled with the so-
called pleasures of the body and thus becoming big and strong, and
then not minding its own business, but attempting to enslave and rule
what is not appropriately ruled by its class and subverting every-
one's entire life."
[ 121 ]
i42 b the one deliberating, the other making war, following the ruler, and
that part— when his spirited part preserves, through pains and
pleasures, what has been proclaimed by the speeches about that which
is terrible and that which is not."
"Correct," he said.
"And wise because of that little part which ruled in him and pro-
claimed these things; it, in its turn, possesses within it the knowledge of
that which is beneficial for each part and for the whole composed of the
community of these three parts."
"Most certainly."
"Quite necessarily."
"What about this?" I said. "Has our justice in any way been
blunted so as to seem to be something other than what it came to light
as in the city?"
"If there are still any doubts in our soul," I said, "we could
e reassure ourselves completely by testing our justice in the light of the
vulgar standards."
"Which ones?"
"For example, if, concerning this city and the man who by nature
and training is like it, we were required to come to an agreement about
whether, upon accepting a deposit of gold or silver, such a man would
seem to be the one to filch it — do you suppose anyone would suppose
that he would be the man to do it and not rather those who are not such
■3 a as he is?"
[ 122 ]
"Isn't the cause of all this that, so far as ruling and being ruled are b
and his own. He doesn't let each part in him mind other people's
business or the three classes in the soul meddle with each other,
but really sets his own house in good order and rules himself; he ar-
ranges himself, becomes his own friend, and harmonizes the three
parts, exactly like three notes in a harmonic scale, lowest, highest
and middle. And if there are some other parts in between, he binds
them together and becomes entirely one from many, moderate and
harmonized. Then, and only then, he acts, if he does act in some e
"All right," I said. "If we should assert that we have found the
just man and city and what justice really is in them, I don't suppose
we'd seem to be telling an utter lie. "
[ 123 ]
"Plainly."
b "Mustn't it, in its turn, be a certain faction among those three— a
and, again, doing just things, isn't what all of them are by now clearly
manifest, if injustice and justice are also manifest?"
"How so?"
"Because," I said, "they don't differ from the healthy and the
sick; what these are in a body, they are in a soul."
"Yes."
"Doesn't doing just things also produce justice and unjust ones in-
d justice?"
"Necessarily."
It IS.
"So it is."
"Necessarily."
[ 124 ]
profitable to do just things, practice fine ones, and be just — whether or 445 a
even if a man does whatever else he might want except that which will
rid him of vice and injustice and will enable him to acquire justice and
virtue? Isn't this clear now that all of these qualities have manifested
their characters in our description?"
"Yes, it is ridiculous," I said. "But all the same, since we've come
to the place from which we are able to see most clearly that these things
are so, we mustn't weary. "
"Now come here," I said, "so you too can see just how many c
forms vice, in my opinion, has; those, at least, that are worth looking
at.
"Well, " I said, "now that we've come up to this point in the argu-
sment, from a lookout as it were, it looks to me as though there is one
jibrm for virtue and an unlimited number for vice, but some four among
IJthem are also worth mentioning. "
"I say that one type of regime would be the one we've described,
jbut it could be named in two ways," I said. "If one exceptional man
^ arose among the rulers, it would be called a kingship, if more, an
J^^stocracy."
^^- "True," he said.
"Therefore, " I said, "I say that this is one form. For whether it's
ynany or one who arise, none of the city's laws that are worth mention- e
[ 125 ]
BOOK V
"Good, then, and right, is what I call such a city and regime and 449 a
such a man, while the rest I call bad and mistaken, if this one is really
right; and this applies to both governments of cities and the organiza-
tion of soul in private men. There are four forms of badness."
And I was going to speak of them in the order that each appeared
to me to pass from one to the other. But Polemarchus^ — ^he was sit- h
ting at a little distance from Adeimantus — stretched out his hand and
took hold of his cloak from above by the shoulder, began to draw him
toward himself, and, as he stooped over, said some things in his
ear, of which we overheard nothing other than his saying: "Shall we let
it go or what shall we do?"
"You," he said.
[ 127 ]
"Yes," he said, "but this 'right,' Hke the rest, is in need of argu-
ment as to what the manner of the community is. There could be many
d ways. So don't pass over the particular one you mean, since we've been
waiting all this time supposing you would surely mention begetting of
children — ^how they'll be begotten and, once bom, how they'll be
reared — and that whole community of women and children of which
you speak. We think it makes a big difference, or rather, the whole dif-
ference, in a regime's being right or not right. Now, since you're taking
on another regime before having adequately treated these things, we've
450 a resolved what you heard — not to release you before you've gone
"What a thing you've done in arresting me, " I said. "How much
discussion you've set in motion, from the beginning again as it were,
about the regime I was delighted to think I had already described,
content if one were to leave it at accepting these things as they were
stated then. You don't know how great a swarm of arguments you're
h stirring up with what you are now summoning to the bar. I saw it then
and passed by so as not to cause a lot of trouble."
"It's not easy to go through, you happy man," I said. "Even more
than what we went through before, it admits of many doubts. For, it
could be doubted that the things said are possible; and, even if, in the
best possible conditions, they could come into being, that they would
be what is best will also be doubted. So that is why there's a certain
d hestitation about getting involved in it, for fear that the argument might
seem to be a prayer, my dear comrade. '
128
And I said, "Best of men, presumably you're saying that because 450 d
tat a time when one is in doubt and seeking — which is just what I am 451 a
doing — ^is a thing both frightening and slippery. It's not because I'm
afraid of being laughed at — that's childish — but because I'm afraid that
in slipping from the truth where one least ought to slip, I'll not only fall
myself but also drag my friends down with me. I prostrate myself
before Adrasteia,^ Glaucoa, for what I'm going to say. I expect that
it's a lesser fault to prove to be an unwilling murderer of someone than
J a deceiver about fine, good, and just things in laws. It's better to run
that risk with enemies than friends. So you've given me a good exhorta- b
*tion."
} who is guiltless of murder and you won't be our deceiver. Be bold and
speak."
"Then," I said, "I must now go back again and say what perhaps
T should have been said then in its turn. However, maybe it would be c
..right this way — after having completely finished the male drama, to
complete the female,* especially since you are so insistent about issu-
'I "For human beings bom and educated as we described, there is,
^^ other than in their following that path along which we first directed
c as guardians of a herd."
k "Yes."
I "So let's follow this up by prescribing the birth and rearing that go d
^ guard the things the males guard along with them and hunt with them,
' and do the rest in common; or must they stay indoors as though they
[ 129 ]
451 d were incapacitated as a result of bearing and rearing the puppies, while
the males work and have all the care of the flock?"
e "Everything in common," he said, "except that we use the females
"Is it possible," I said, "to use any animal for the same things if
you don't assign it the same rearing and education?"
"If, then, we use the women for the same things as the men, they
must also be taught the same things."
452 a "Yes."
"Yes."
"Then these two arts, and what has to do with war, must be
assigned to the women also, and they must be used in the same ways."
"On the basis of what you say," he said, "it's likely. "
"Whats the most ridiculous thing you see among them?" I said.
"Or is it plain that its the women exercising naked with the men in the
b palaestras,9 not only the young ones, but even the older ones, too, like
the old men in the gymnasiums who, when they are wrinkled and not
'By Zeus! '" he said, "that would look ridiculous in the present
state of things."
"But since weve begun to speak, we must make our way to the
rough part of the law, begging these men, not to mind their own
business, '° but to be serious; and reminding them that it is not so
long ago that it seemed shameful and ridiculous to the Greeks — as
it does now to the many among the barbarians — to see men naked;
and that when the Cretans originated the gymnasiums, and then the
Lacedaemonians, it was possible for the urbane of the time to make
d a comedy of all that. Or dont you suppose so? "^^
"I do."
[ 130 ]
then what was ridiculous to the eyes disappeared in the light of what's 452 d
duce laughter looking to any sight as ridiculous other than the sight of
the foolish and the bad; or, again, he who looks seriously to any stan- e
nature of the male class in all deeds or in none at all, or in some things
yes and in others no, particularly with respect to war? Wouldn't one
who thus made the finest beginning also be likely to make the finest
ending?"
"Do you want us," I said, "to carry on the dispute and represent
those on the other side ourselves so that the opposing argument won't
be besieged without defense?"
from a man?'"
"Certainly. "
"How can it be, then, that you aren't making a mistake now and
contradicting yourselves, when you assert that the men and the women
must do the same things, although they have a nature that is most
distinct?' What have you as an apology in the light of this, you surprising
man?"
"On the spur of the moment, it's not very easy, " he said. "But I
shall beg you, and do beg you, to interpret the argument on our behalf
too, whatever it may be. "
"This, Glaucon, and many other things of the sort, " I said,
"foreseeing them long ago, is what I was frightened of, and I shrank d
from touching the law concerning the possession and rearing of the
women and children. "
[ 131 ]
"Most certainly."
"Then we too must swim and try to save ourselves from the
argument, hoping that some dolphin might take us on his back or
for some other unusual rescue."^^
e "It seems so," he said.
"Come, then," I said, "let's see if we can find the way out. Now
we agree that one nature must practice one thing and a different nature
must practice a different thing, and that women and men are different.
But at present we are asserting that different natures must practice the
"Exactly."
grand."
"Why so?"
"How?"
ourselves whether the nature of the bald and the longhaired is the same
or opposite. And, when we agree that it is opposite, if bald men are
shoemakers, we won't let the longhaired ones be shoemakers, or if the
longhaired ones are, then the others can't be."
"Is it," I said, "ridiculous for any other reason than that we didn t
refer to every sense of same and different nature but were guarding
[ 132 ]
only that form of otherness and hkeness which appUes to the pursuits 454 c
souls are suited for the doctor's art have the same nature. Or don't you
suppose so?"
"I do."
"Then," I said, "if either the class of men or that of women shows
its superiority in some art or other practice, then we'll say that that art
must be assigned to it. But if they look as though they differ in this
alone, that the female bears and the male mounts, we'll assert that it e
has not thereby yet been proved that a woman differs from a man with
respect to what we're talking about; rather, we'll still suppose that our
guardians and their women must practice the same things."
"After that, won't we bid the man who says the opposite to teach
us this very thing — ^with respect to what art or what practice connected 455 a
with the organization of a city the nature of a woman and a man is not
the same, but rather different?"
"Well, now, perhaps another man would also say just what you
said a little while ago: that it's not easy to answer adequately on the
spur of the moment; but upon consideration, it isn't at all hard."
"Do you want us then to beg the man who contradicts in this way
to follow us and see if we can somehow point out to him that there is no h
"Certainly."
"'Come, now,' we'll say to him, 'answer. Is this what you meant?
Did you distinguish between the man who has a good nature for a thing
and another who has no nature for it on these grounds: the one learns
something connected with that thing easily, the other with difficulty;
the one, starting from slight learning, is able to carry discovery far for-
ward in the field he has learned, while the other, having chanced on a
lot of learning and practice, can't even preserve what he learned; and
the bodily things give adequate service to the thought of the man with
the good nature while they oppose the thought of the other man? Are
there any other things than these by which you distinguished the man c
who has a good nature for each discipline from the one who hasn't?' "
[ 133
socrates/glaucon THEREPUBLIp
455 c shall we draw it out at length by speaking of weaving and the care of
baked and boiled dishes — just those activities on which the reputation
d of the female sex is based and where its defeat is most ridiculous of all?"
"As you say," he said, "it's true that the one class is quite dom-
inated in virtually everything, so to speak, by the other. However, many
women are better than many men in many things. But, as a whole, it
is as you say. "
man; but the natures are scattered alike among both animals; and
"Certainly,"
"Of course."
456 a "And isn't there then also one apt at gymnastic and at war, and
"There is, therefore, one woman fit for guarding and another not.
Or wasn't it a nature of this sort we also selected for the men fit for
guarding?"
"Men and women, therefore, also have the same nature with
respect to guarding a city, except insofar as the one is weaker and the
other stronger."
with such men, since they are competent and akin to the men in their
nature."
"Certainly. "
"The same."
[ 134 ]
"So it seems."
"Yes, we were."
"Yes."
"Plainly."
"In making a woman fit for guarding, one education won't pro-
duce men for us and another women, will it, especially since it is
dealing with the same nature?" d
"What?"
"Not at all."
"In the city we were founding, which do you think will turn out to
be better men for us — the guardians who get the education we have
described or the shoemakers, educated in shoemaking? "
"I understand," I said. "And what about this? Aren't they the best
among the citizens? " g
"By far."
"And what about this? Won't these women be the best of the
women?"
"Of course."
"The law we were setting down is therefore not only possible but also
best for a city."
"So it is."
"Then the women guardians must strip, since they'll clothe them-
selves in virtue instead of robes, and they must take common part in
war and the rest of the city's guarding, and must not do other things.
I 135]
457 a But lighter parts of these tasks must be given to the women than the
men because of the weakness of the class. And the man who laughs at
b naked women practicing gymnastic for the sake of the best, 'plucks
from his wisdom an unripe fruit for ridicule''^ and doesn't
know — as it seeriis — at what he laughs or what he does. For this is
surely the fairest thing that is said and will be said — the beneficial is
fair and the harmful ugly."
"You'll say that it's not a big one either, " I said, "when you see
the next one."
"The law that follows this one," I said, "and the others that went
before is, as I suppose, this."
"What?"
"All these women are to belong to all these men in common, and
d no woman is to live privately with any man. And the children, in their
turn, will be in common, and neither will a parent know his own off-
spring, nor a child his parent."
"This one is far bigger than the other," he said, "so far as con-
cerns doubt both as to its possibility and its beneficialness."
"I must submit to the penalty, " I said. "Do me this favor,
458 a however. Let me take a holiday like the idle men who are accustomed
to feast their minds for themselves when they walk along. And such
men, you know, before finding out in what way something they desire
136
can exist, put that question aside so they won't grow weary deliberating 455 a
about what's possible and not. They set down as given the existence of
what they want and at once go on to arrange the rest and enjoy giving a
full account of the sort of things they'll do when it has come into being,
making yet idler a soul that is already idle. I too am by now soft myself, h
and I desire to put off and consider later in what way it is possible; and
now, having set it down as possible, I'll consider, if you permit me,
how the rulers will arrange these things when they come into being and
both the city and the guardians. I'll attempt to consider this with you
their commands the rulers wiU in their turn be obeying the laws; in
others— all those we leave to their discretion— they will imitate the
laws."
"Well, then," I said, "you, their lawgiver, just as you selected the
men, will hand over the women to them, having selected them in the
same way too, with natures that are as similar as possible. And all of
them will be together, since they have common houses and mess, with
"Very much so," I said. "But, next, Glaucon, to have irregular in-
tercourse with one another, or to do anything else of the sort, isn't holy
; in a city of happy men nor will the rulers allow it." e
"Then it's plain that next we'll make marriages sacred in the
highest possible degree. And the most beneficial marriages would be sa-
|cred."i8
: For I see hunting dogs and quite a throng of noble cocks in your house.
I Did you, in the name of Zeus, ever notice something about their mar-
riages and procreation?"
"What?" he said.
[ 137 ]
459 a "First, although they are all noble, aren't there some among them
"Do you breed from all alike, or are you eager to breed from the
best as much as possible?"
"And what do you think about horses and the other animals?" {
said. "Is it in any way different?"
"To this," I said. "It's likely that our rulers will have to use a
throng of lies and deceptions for the benefit of the ruled. And, of
d course, we said that everything of this sort is useful as a form of
remedy."
"How so?"
"On the basis of what has been agreed," I said, "there is a need
for the best men to have intercourse as often as possible with the best
women, and the reverse for the most ordinary men with the most ordi-
nary women; and the offspring of the former must be reared but not that
e of the others, if the flock is going to be of the most eminent quality. And
all this must come to pass without being noticed by anyone except the
rulers themselves if the guardians' herd is to be as free as possible from ;
faction."
[ 138 1
law at which we'll bring the brides and grooms together, and our poets
must make hymns suitable to the marriages that take place. The num- 460 a
ber of the marriages we'll leave to the rulers in order that they may
most nearly preserve the same number of men, taking into considera-
tion wars, diseases, and everything else of the sort; and thus our city
will, within the limits of the possible, become neither big nor little."
"Right," he said.
"I suppose certain subtle lots must be fabricated so that the ordi-
nary man will blame chance rather than the rulers for each union."
"Right."
"And as the offspring are bom, won't they be taken over by the
officers established for this purpose— men or women, or both, for pre-
sumably the offices are common to women and men— and . . ."
"Yes."
"So, I think, they will take the offspring of the good and bring c
them into the pen^^ to certain nurses who live apart in a certain sec-
tion of the city. And those of the worse, and any of the others bom
deformed, they will hide away in an unspeakable and unseen place, as
is seemly."
"Won't they also supervise the nursing, leading the mothers to the
pen when they are full with milk, inventing every device so that none d
will recognize her own, and providing others who do have milk if the
mothers themselves are insufficient? And won't they supervise the
mothers themselves, seeing to it that they suckle only a moderate time
and that the wakeful watching and the rest of the labor are handed over
to wet nurses and governesses?"
"Do you share the opinion that a woman's prime lasts, on the e
[ 139 ]
i60 e "A Woman," I said, "beginning with her twentieth year, bears for
the city up to her fortieth; and a man, beginning from the time when he
passes his swiftest prime at running, begets for the city up to his fifty,
fifth year."
461 a "Of course," he said, "this is the prime of body and prudence for
both."
nence."
"Right," he said.
"And the same law applies," I said, "when a man still of the age
to beget touches a woman of that age if a ruler has not united them.
We'll say he's imposing a bastard, an unauthorized and unconsecrated
child, on the city."
"Now I suppose that when the women and the men are beyond
the age of procreation, we will, of course, leave them free to have in-
c tercourse with whomsoever they wish, except with a daughter, a
just mentioned?"^''
"Not at all," I said. "But of all the children born in the tenth
month, and in the seventh, fpom the day a man becomes a bridegroom,
he will call the males sons and the females daughters; and they will call
him father; and in the same way, he will call their offspring grandchil-
dren, and they in their turn will call his group grandfathers and
grandmothers; and those who were born at the same time their mothers
and fathers were procreating they will call sisters and brothers. Thus, as
e we were just saying, they won't touch one another. The law will grant
[ 140 ]
that brothers and sisters Hve together if the lot falls out that way and 461 e
"Isn't the first step toward agreement for us to ask ourselves what we
can say is the greatest good in the organization of a city — that good aiming
at which the legislator must set down the laws — and what the greatest
evil; and then to consider whether what we have just described har-
monizes with the track of the good for us . and not with that of the
evil?"
"Have we any greater evil for a city than what splits it and makes
it many instead of one? Or a greater good than what binds it together b
"No, we don't."
"But the privacy of such things dissolves it, when some are over-
whelmed and others overjoyed by the same things happening to the city
and those within the city?" c
"Doesn't that sort of thing happen when they don't utter such
phrases as 'my own' and not my own' at the same time in the city, and
similarly with respect to 'somebody else's?"
"Entirely so."
"Is, then, that city in which most say 'my own' and 'not my own'
about the same thing, and in the same way, the best governed city? "
"By far."
"Then is that city best governed which is most like a single human
being? For example, when one of us wounds a finger, presumably the
entire community — that community tying the body together with the
soul in a single arrangement under the ruler within it — is aware of the
fact, and all of it is in pain as a whole along with the afflicted part; and d
it is in this sense we say that this human being has a pain in his finger.
And does the same argument hold for any other part of a human being,
both when it is afflicted by pain and when eased by pleasure?"
[ 141 ]
^Q2 d "Yes, it doesj" he said. "And, as to what you ask, the city with the
"I suppose, then, that when one of its citizens suffers anything at
e all, either good or bad, such a city will most of all say that the affected
part is its own, and all will share in the joy or the pain."
"It must be high time for us to go back to our city," I said, "and
consider in it the things agreed upon by the argument, and see whether
this city possesses them most, or whether some other city does to a
greater extent."
"Of course."
"And in addition to citizens, what does the people call the rulers
in the other cities?"
"And what do the rulers in the other cities call the people?"
"Slaves," he said.
"Fellow guardians."
"Can you say whether any of the rulers in the other cities is in the
habit of addressing one of his fellow rulers as his kin and another as an
outsider?"23
"Many do so."
"Doesn't he hold the one who is his kin to be his own, and speak
c of him as such, while the outsider he does not hold to be his own?"
[ 142 ]
Book V / 462d-464c
glaucon/socrati
parents and having to obey them— under pain of not i .^^ _ "S "*''
stead with gods or human beings, since a man would do h ^- ^" 8^^"
holy nor just if he did anything other than this? Will th ^^ "^ither
fi-om the mouths of your citizens ring in the ears of the hu^ saymgs *
earliest age, or will there be others about fathers— V, ^^^ ^" their
points out to them as fathers— and the other relatives?" "^^ver one
"Won't our citizens more than others have the sam tk-
mon, which is that very thing they will name 'my ow 'P a"^^" com-
that in common, will they thus more than others hav^ having
[ 143 ]
464 c the others, as a wage for guarding, and use it up in common all
"Right," he said.
"So, as I am saying, doesn't what was said before and what's being
said now form them into true guardians still more and cause them not
to draw the city apart by not all giving the name 'my own' to the same
thing, but different men giving it to different things — one man drag-
ging off to his own house whatever he can get his hands on apart from
d the others, another being separate in his own house with separate
women and children, introducing private pleasures and griefs of
things that are private? Rather, with one conviction about what's
their own, straining toward the same thing, to the limit of the possi-
ble, they are affected alike by pain and pleasure. "
"And what about this? Won't lawsuits and complaints against one
another virtually vanish from among them thanks to their possessing
nothing private but the body, while the rest is in common? On this
basis they will then be free from faction, to the extent at any rate that
e human beings divide into factions over the possession of money, chil-
dren, and relatives? "
"Right," he said.
465 a "This law is also right," I said, "in that, if a man's spiritedness is
"Most certainly."
"Plainly."
"And, further, unless rulers command it, it's not likely that a
younger man will ever attempt to assault or strike an older one. And he
won't, I suppose, dishonor one in any other way. For there are two
sufficient guardians hindering him, fear and shame: shame preventing
h him from laying hands as on parents, fear that the others will come to the
aid of the man who suffers it, some as sons, others as brothers, and
others as fathers."
"Then will the men, as a result of the laws, live in peace with one
another in all respects?"
[ 144 ]
"Since they are free from faction among themselves, there won't
ever be any danger that the rest of the city will split into factions
against these guardians or one another."
"Surely not."
of the evils of which they would be rid: poor men flattering rich, all the c
want and grief they have in rearing children and making money for the
necessary support of the household, making debts and repudiating
them, doing all sorts of things to provide for the allowances that they
turn over to the women and the domestics to manage. What and how
they suffer from these things, my friend, is perfectly plain, ignoble, and
not worth mentioning."
"So they'll be rid of all this and live a life more blessed than that
most blessed one the Olympic victors live."
"Surely the Olympic victors are considered happy for a small part
of what belongs to these men. Their victory is not only fairer but the
public support is more complete.^^ The victory they win is the
preservation of the whole city, and they are crowned with support and
everything else necessary to life— both they themselves and their chil-
dren as well; and they get prizes from their city while they live and e
when they die receive a worthy burial."
"Well, then, if the life of our auxiliaries now appears far finer and
better than that of the Olympic victors, is there any risk that it will in
some way appear comparable to that of the shoemakers or any other h
[ 145]
466 c gets hold of him, it will drive him to appropriate everything in the city
■ with his power, and he'll learn that Hesiod was really wise when he said
that somehow 'the half is more than the whole.' "^^
"Then," I said, "as we've described it, do you accept the coni.
munity of the women with the men in education, children, and guard-
ing the rest of the citizens; and that both when they are staying in the
d city and going out to war, they must guard and hunt together like dogs^
"You were just ahead of me," he said, "in mentioning what I was
going to take up."
e "For, as to war," I said, "I suppose it's plain how they'll make war."
"How?" he said.
467 a craft when they are grown up. Besides seeing, they'll help out and serve
in the whole business of war, and care for their fathers and mothers. Or
haven't you noticed in the other arts that, for example, potters' sons
look on as helpers for a long time before putting their hands to the
wheel?"
"Quite so."
"What you say is true," I said. "But do you believe that one must
first provide for the avoidance of all risks?"
"Not at all."
[ 146 ]
shouldn't it be those from which they will emerge better men when sue- 467 1
cessful?"
"Plainly."
"But do you suppose it makes only a small difference, and one not c
worth a risk, whether children who are to be men skilled in war look on
the business of war or not?"
"No, it does make a difference for what you are talking about."
"Yes."
"In the first place," I said, "won't their fathers, insofar as is hu-
man, be not ignorant but knowledgeable about all the campaigns that
are risky and all that are not?" d
"Then they'll lead them to the ones and beware of the others."
"Right."
"And as rulers," I said, "they'll presumably set over them not the
most ordinary men but those adequate by experience and age to be
leaders and tutors ."^^
"But, we'll say, many things for many men also turn out contrary
to their opinions."
"Indeed."
"Now what about the business of war?" I said. "How must your 468 c
soldiers behave toward one another and the enemies? Is the way it
looks to me right or not?"
"If one of them," I said, "leaves the ranks or throws away his
arms, or does anything of the sort because of cowardice, mustn't he be
demoted to craftsman or farmer?"
[ 147 ]
"And the man who's taken ahve by the enemy, won't we give him
as a gift to those who took him, to use their catch as they wish?"
h "Exactly."
"Is it or isn't it your opinion that the man who has proved best
and earned a good reputation must first be crowned by each of those
who made the campaign with him, youths and boys in turn?"
"That too."
"What?"
"Most of all," he said. "And I add to the law that as long as they
c are on that campaign no one whom he wants to kiss be permitted to
"All right. As for those who die on a campaign, won't we first say
that the man who died in earning a good reputation is a member of the
golden class?"3<*
"Most of all."
[ 148 ]
"We'll inquire, therefore, of the god hovi? the demonic and divine
beings should be buried and with what distinction, and we'll bury them
as he indicates."
"And for the rest of time well care for their tombs and worship at
them as at those of demons. And we'll make the same conventions for
any one of those who have been judged exceptionally good in life when
dying of old age or in some other way."
"And what about this? How will our soldiers deal with enemies?"
city to do it but make it a habit to spare the Greek stock, well aware of
the danger of enslavement at the hands of the barbarians?"
"Most certainly," he said. "At any rate in that way they would be
more inclined to turn to the barbarians and keep off one another."
"Quite so."
[ 149 ]
Xa«ATEs/GLAUCON THEREPUBLlf)
70 a the good v\rill of the other Greeks. Rather well be afraid it would be a
"I would be glad," he said, "to hear you present your opinion."
"Certainly."
"It appears to me that just as two different names are used, war
and faction, so two things also exist and the names apply to differences
in these two. The two things I mean are, on the one hand, what is one's
own and akin, and what is alien, and foreign, on the other. Now the
name faction is applied to the hatred of one's own, war to the hatred of
the alien."
"What you're saying," he said, "is certainly not off the point."
c "Now see whether what I say next is also to the point. I assert that
the Greek stock is with respect to itself its own and akin, with respect
to the barbaric, foreign and alien."
d faction."
"This frame of mind," he said, "belongs to far tamer men than the,
other."
"Now what about this?" I said. "Won't the city you are founding
be Greek?"
[ 150 ]
"Of course."
"And they will have their differences like men who, after all, will
be reconciled."
"Most certainly."
willing to ravage lands or tear down houses, since the many are
friendly; and they'll keep up the quarrel until those to blame are com-
pelled to pay the penalty by the blameless ones who are suffering."
"I for one," he said, "agree that our citizens must behave this way
toward their opponents; and toward the barbarians they must behave as
the Greeks do now toward one another."
"So, shall we also give this law to the guardians— neither waste
countryside nor bum houses?" c
"Let it be given," he said. "And this and what went before are
fine. But, Socrates, I think that if one were to allow you to speak about
this sort of thing, you would never remember what you previously set
aside in order to say all this. Is it possible for this regime to come
into being, and how is it ever possible? I see that, if it should come into
being, everything would be good for the city in which it came into be-
ing. And I can tell things that you leave out— namely, that they
would be best at fighting their enemies too because they would least d
desert one another, these men who recognize each other as brothers,
fathers, and sons and who call upon each other using these names. And
if the females join in the campaign too, either stationed in the line it-
seff, or in the rear, to frighten the enemies and in case there should ever
be any need of help— I know that with all this they would be un-
[ 151 ]
glaucon/socrates the R E P U B L T p
471 d beatable. And I see all the good things that they would have at home
e and are left out in your account. Take it that I agree that there would be
all these things and countless others if this regime should come into
being, and don't talk any more about it; rather, let's now only try to pgj.
suade ourselves that it is possible and how it is possible, dismissing all
the rest."
"The more you say such things," he said, "the less we'll let you off
b from telling how it is possible for this regime to come iiito being. So
"Nothing. But if we find out what justice is like, will we also insist
that the just man must not differ at all from justice itself but in every
c way be such as it is? Or will we be content if he is nearest to it and par-
"It was, therefore, for the sake of a pattern," I said, "that we were
seeking both for what justice by itself is like, and for the perfectly just
man, if he should come into being, and what he would be like once
come into being; and, in their turns, for injustice and the most unjust
man. Thus, looking ofi" at what their relationships to happiness and its
opposite appear to us to be, we would also be compelled to agree in our
d own cases that the man who is most like them will have the portion
most like theirs. We were not seeking them for the sake of proving that
it's possible for these things to come into being."
"Do you suppose a painter is any less good who draws a pattern of
what the fairest hiiman being would be like and renders everything in
the picture adequately, but can't prove that it's also possible that such a
man come into being?"
[ 152 ]
BookV 1 471d-473d
glaucon/socrate
"Certainly."
"Speak," he said.
dear Glaucon, nor I think for human kind r. ^"^ ^ ^"^^ *^^ ^'*'^^' "^^
[ 153]
rBATES/cLAUCON
THE REPUBLlc|)fcvi
'3 e now described in speech ever come forth from nature, insofar as possi-iti^ a sal
ble, and see the hght of the sun. This is what for so long was causing is 'ki^
my hesitation to speak: seeing how very paradoxical it would be to say^ dark^]
For it is hard to see that in no other city would there be private or| ^^^ tK|
public happiness." brk of i
And he said, "Socrates, what a phrase and argument you have let'd easil^
burst out. Now that it's said, you can believe that very many men, and word, ^
'4 a not ordinary ones, will on the spot throw off their clothes, and stripped jpressiqi
for action, taking hold of whatever weapon falls under the hand of i>uth." J
each, run full speed at you to do wonderful deeds. If you don't defend "If yS
yourself with speech and get away, you'll really pay the penalty in e" do;a
scorn. Ana
"Isn't it you," I said, "that's responsible for this happening to '^ sanig|
me?"
"And it's a fine thing I'm doing," he said. "But no, I won't betray
you, and I'll defend you with what I can. I can provide good will and
h another. And so, with the assurance of such support, try to show the
phy and to lead a city, and for the rest not to engage in philosophy and
to follow the leader."
"Lead," he said.
stand."
"It was proper for another, Glaucon, to say what you're saying," I
said. "But it's not proper for an erotic man to forget that all boys in the
bloom of youth in one way or another put their sting in an erotic lover
of boys and arouse him; all seem worthy of attention and delight. Or
don't you people behave that way with the fair? You praise the boy
retextWl
"4
ecomef
reatefl
(lore ofg
iometi^
t and i
'4
tvisdom
MrpS
ing, e|
whaf^
say tl|
desir^
inclu|
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[ 154 ]
with a snub nose by calling him 'cute'; the hook-nose of another you 474 d
say is 'kingly'; and the boy between these two is 'well proportioned'; e
the dark look 'manly'; and the white are 'children of gods.' And
as for the 'honey-colored,' do you suppose their very name is the
work of anyone other than a lover who renders sallowness endearing
and easily puts up with it if it accompanies the bloom of youth? And, in
a word, you people take advantage of every excuse and employ any
expression so as to reject none of those who glow with the bloom of 475 a
youth."
"If you want to point to me while you speak about what erotic
men do," he said, "I agree for the sake of the argument."
"And what about this?" I said. "Don't you see wine-lovers doing
the same thing? Do they delight in every kind of wine, and on every
pretext?"
"And further, I suppose you see that lovers of honor, if they can't
become generals, are lieutenants,^'^ and if they can't be honored by
greater and more august men, are content to be honored by lesser and h
"All," he said.
"We'll deny, therefore, that the one who's finicky about his learn-
ing, especially when he's young and doesn't yet have an account of c
what's useful and not, is a lover of learning or a philosopher, just as we
say that the man who's finicky about his food isn't hungry, doesn't
desire food, and isn't a lover of food but a bad eater."
"But the one who is willing to taste every kind of learning with
gusto, and who approaches learning with delight, and is insatiable, we
shall justly assert to be a philosopher, won't we?"
And Glaucon said, 'Then you'll have many strange ones. For all d
the lovers of sights are in my opinion what they are because they enjoy
learning; and the lovers of hearing would be some of the strangest to
include among philosophers, those who would never be willing to go
voluntarily to a discussion and such occupations but who— just as
though they had hired out their ears for hearing— run around to every
[ 155 ]
475 d chorus at the Dionysia, missing none in the cities or the villages. 38
Will we say that all these men and other learners of such things and the
e petty arts are philosophers?"
"It wouldn't be at all easy to tell someone else. But you, I sup-
pose, will grant me this."
"What?"
"That is so as well."
"Well, now," I said, "this is how I separate them out. On one side
I put those of whom you were just speaking, the lovers of sights, the
lovers of arts, and the practical men; on the other, those whom the argu-
b ment concerns, whom alone one could rightly call philosophers."
"The lovers of hearing and the lovers of sights, on the one hand,"
I said, "surely delight in fair sounds and colors and shapes and all that
craft makes from such things, but their thought is unable to see and
delight in the nature of the fair itself "
"Wouldn't, on the other hand, those who are able to approach the
fair itself and see it by itself be rare? "
c "Indeed they would."
"Is the man who holds that there are fair things but doesn't hold
that there is beauty itself and who, if someone leads him to the
knowledge of it, isn't able to follow — is he, in your opinion, living in a
dream or is he awake? Consider it. Doesn't dreaming, whether one is
asleep or awake, consist in believing a likeness of something to be not a
likeness, but rather the thing itself to which it is like? "
"I, at least, " he said, "would say that a man who does that
dreams."
"And what about the man who, contrary to this, believes that
d there is something fair itself and is able to catch sight both of it and of
[ 156 ]
itself, nor that it itself is what participates— is he, in your opinion, liv- 476 d
"Most certainly."
"Come, then, and consider what we'll say to him. Or do you want
us to question him in this way — ^saying that if he does know something,
it's not begrudged him, but that we would be delighted to see he knows
something— but tell us this: Does the man who knows, know something
or nothing? You answer me on his behalf"
"Most adequate."
"Most certainly."
"Of course."
"Different."
"What distinction?"
[ 157 ]
477 c "We will assert that powers are a certain class of beings by means
"In this one," he said, "as the most vigorous of all powers."
e "And what about opinion? Is it among the powers, or shall we
"But just a little while ago you agreed that knowledge and opinion
are not the same."
from knowledge."
"Yes, it is different."
"Necessarily."
"Yes."
"The same thing that knowledge knows? And will the knowable
and the opinable be the same? Or is that impossible?"
"On the basis of what's been agreed to, it's impossible," he said.
"If different powers are naturally dependent on different things and
[ 158 ]
both are powers— opinion and knowledge — and each is, as we say, dif- 478 h
ferent, then on this basis it's not admissible that the knowable and the
opinable be the same."
"If what is, is knowable, then wouldn't something other than that
which is be opinable?"
"Yes."
"But further, that which is not could not with any correctness be
addressed as some one thing but rather nothing at all." c
"Certainly."
"Right," he said.
"No, it doesn't."
"No, it is neither."
"Yes."
"Right."
"And now it is just that which we call opinion that has come to
light between them."
[ 159 ]
"Yes, it is."
"Now, with this taken for granted, let him tell me, I shall say, and
479 a let him answer— that good man who doesn't believe that there is any-
thing fair in itself and an idea of the beautiful itself, which always stays
the same in all respects, but does hold that there are many fair things,
this lover of sights who can in no way endure it if anyone asserts the
fair is one and the just is one and so on with the rest. 'Now, of these
many fair things, you best of men,' we'll say, 'is there any that won't
also look ugly? And of the just, any that won't look unjust? And of the
holy, any that won't look unholy?""
b "No," he said, "but it's necessary that they look somehow both
fair and ugly, and so it is with all the others you ask about."
"And what about the many doubles? Do they look any less half
than double?"
"No."
"And, then, the things that we would assert to be big and little,
light and heavy— will they be addressed by these names any more than
by the opposites of these names?"
"They are like the ambiguous jokes at feasts," he said, "and the
c children's riddle about the eunuch, about his hitting the bat— with
what and on what he struck it.*" For the manys are also ambiguous,
and it's not possible to think of them fixedly as either being or not
"Can you do anything with them?" I said. "Or could you find a
finer place to put them than between being and not to be? For pre-
sumably nothing darker than not -being will come to light so that some-
thing could not he more than it; and nothing brighter than being will
d come to light so that something could he more than it."
[ 160 ]
"And we agreed beforehand that, if any such thing should come to 479 d
Hght, it must be called opinable but not knowable, the wanderer be-
tween, seized by the power between."
"And, as for those who look at many fair things but don't see the e
fair itself and aren't even able to follow another who leads them to it,
and many just things but not justice itself, and so on with all the rest,
we'll assert that they opine all these things but know nothing of what
they opine."
"Necessarily," he said.
"And what about those who look at each thing itself— at the
things that are always the same in all respects? Won't we say that they
know and don't opine?"
"Won't we assert that these men delight in and love that on which
knowledge depends, and the others that on which opinion depends? Or 480 a
don't we remember that we were saying that they love and look at fair
sounds and colors and such things but can't even endure the fact that
the fair itself is something?"
"Yes, we do remember."
"No," he said, "that is, if they are persuaded by me. For it's not
lawful to be harsh with what's true."
[ 161 ]
BOOK VI
ment, who the philosophers are and who the nonphilosophers has, with
considerable effort, somehow been brought to light."
"What else but what's next?" I said. "Since philosophers are those
who are able to grasp what is always the same in all respects, while
those who are not able to do so but wander among what is many and
varies in all ways are not philosophers, which should be the leaders of a
city?"
"Right," he said.
[ 163 ]
socrates/glaucon THEREPUBLIC
484 c "Well, does there seem to be any difference, then, between blind
men and those men who are really deprived of the knowledge of what
each thing is; those who have no clear pattern in the soul, and are
hence unable— after looking off, as painters do, toward what is truest,
d and ever referring to it and contemplating it as precisely as
possible— to give laws about what is fine, just, and good, if any need to
be given, and as guardians to preserve those that are already estab-
lished?"
"It would be strange to choose others," he said, "if, that is, these
men don't lack the rest. For the very thing in which they would have
the advantage is just about the most important."
485 a "Then shouldn't we say how the same men will be able to possess
"Most certainly."
that is always and does not wander about, driven by generation and de-
cay."
"And, further," I said, "that just like the lovers of honor and the
erotic men we described before, they love all of it and don't willingly
let any part go, whether smaller or bigger, more honorable or more
contemptible."
"What?"
"No taste for falsehood; that is, they are completely unwilling to
admit what's false but hate it, while cherishing the truth."
"It's not only likely, my friend, but also entirely necessary that a
[ 164 ]
man who is by nature erotically disposed toward someone care for 485 c
"Right," he said.
"Now could you find anything more akin to wisdom than truth?"
"In no way."
"Entirely so."
"Of course."
"So, when in someone they have flowed toward learning and all
that's like it, 1 suppose they would be concerned with the pleasure of
the soul itself with respect to itself and would forsake those pleasures
that come through the body— if he isn't a counterfeit but a true
philosopher." e
"That's so."
"And you too must of course also consider something else when 486 a
"What?"
"Impossible," he said.
"Won't such a man also beheve that death is not something terri- b
bier
[ 165 1
socrates/glaucon THEREPUBLjI
486 b ' "So, a cowardly and illiberal nature would not, as it seems, na '^
"Not in my opinion." |
"What then? Is there any way in which the orderly man, who isn't ^
a lover of money, or illiberal, or a boaster, or a coward, could become
hard-bargainer or unjust?"
"There isn't."
"Most certainly."
c "And you won't leave this out either, I suppose."
"What?"
"So, toiling without profit, don't you suppose he'll finally be com-
pelled to hate both himself and an activity of this sort?"
"Of course."
d "Let us never, then, admit a forgetful soul into the ranks of those
"Most certainly."
"Of course."
"To measure."
"Of course."
e "What then? Have we, in your opinion, gone through particular
[ 166 ]
what is?"
"Is there any way, then, in which you could blame a practice like
this that a man colild never adequately pursue if he were not by nature
a rememberer, a good learner, magnificent, charming, and a friend and
kinsman of truth, justice, courage, and moderation?"
this. But here is how those who hear what you now say are affected on
each occasion. They believe that because of inexperience at question-
ing and answering, they are at each question misled a little by the argu-
ment; and when the littles are collected at the end of the arguments, the
slip turns out to be great and contrary to the first assertions. And just as
those who aren't clever at playing draughts are finally checked by those
who are and don't know where to move, so they too are finally checked c
by this other kind of draughts, played not with counters but speeches,
and don't know what to say. However, the truth isn't in any way af-
fected by this. In saying this, I look to the present case. Now someone
might say that in speech he can't contradict you at each particular thing
asked, but in deed he sees that of all those who start out on
philosophy— not those who take it up for the sake of getting educated
when they are young and then drop it, but those who linger in it for a d
longer time— most become quite queer, not to say completely vicious;
while the ones who seem perfectly decent, do nevertheless suffer at
least one consequence of the practice you are praising — they become
useless to the cities."
And when I heard this, I said: "Do you suppose that the men who
say this are lying?"
"I don't know," he said, "but I should gladly hear your opinion."
"Then, how," he said, "can it be good to say that the cities will e
"All right," I said. "Are you making fun of me after having in-
volved me in an argument so hard to prove? At all events, listen to the 488 i
[ 167 ]
"■•3
488 a image so you may see still more how greedy I am for images. So hard is
the condition suffered by the most decent men with respect to the cities
that there is no single other condition like it, but I must make my
image and apology on their behalf by bringing it together from many
sources— as the painters paint goatstags and such things by making
mixtures. Conceive something of this kind happening either on many
ships or one. Though the shipowner surpasses everyone on board in
b height and strength, he is rather deaf and likewise somewhat
fail at persuasion and other men succeed at it, they either kill the others
or throw them out of the ship. Enchaining the noble shipowner with
mandrake, drink, or something else, they rule the ship, using what's in
it; and drinking and feasting, they sail as such men would be thought
likely to sail. Besides this, they praise and call 'skilled sailor,' 'pilot,'
d and 'knower of the ship's business' the man who is clever at figuring out
how they will get the rule, either by persuading or by forcing the
shipowner, while the man who is not of this sort they blame as use-
less. They don't know that for the true pilot it is necessary to pay
careful attention to year, seasons, heaven, stars, winds, and every-
thing that's proper to the art, if he is really going to be skilled at rul-
e ing a ship. And they don't suppose it's possible to acquire the art and
practice of how one can get hold of the helm whether the others
wish it or not, and at the same time to acquire the pilot's skill. So
with such things happening on the ships, don't you believe that the
489 a true pilot will really be called a stargazer,^ a prater and useless to
"Now," I said, "I don't suppose you need to scrutinize the image
to see that it resembles the cities in their disposition toward the true
philosophers, but you understand what I mean."
"Indeed, I do," he said.
"First of all, then, teach the image to that man who wonders at the
philosophers' not being honored in the cities, and try to persuade him
b that it would be far more to be wondered at if they were honored."
[ i68 ]
"And, further, that you are telling the truth in saying that the most 489 h
is able to rule, not for the ruler who is truly of any use to beg the ruled
to be ruled. You'll make no mistake in imagining the statesmen now
ruling to be the sailors we were just now speaking of, and those who are
said by them to be useless and gossipers about what's above to be the
true pilots."
"Well, then, on this basis and under these conditions, it's not easy
for the best pursuit to enjoy a good reputation with those who practice
the opposite. But by far the greatest and most powerful slander^ comes d
"Yes."
"Yes indeed."
"Most certainly."
"Now isn't this one point quite contrary to the opinions currently
held about him?"
[ 169 ]
socbates/adeimantus the R E P U R T t ^
490 b does not lose the keenness of his passionate love nor cease from it
before he grasps the nature itself of each thing which is with the part of
the soul fit to grasp a thing of that sort; and it is the part akin to it that
is fit. And once near it and coupled with what really is, having begotten
intelligence and truth, he knows and lives truly, is nourished and so
ceases from his labor pains, but not before."^
"What then? Will this man have any part in caring for falsehood
or, all to the contrary, will he hate it?"
c "Hell hate it," he said.
"Right," he said.
"Why, then, must I also force the rest of the philosophic nature's
chorus into order all over again from the beginning? You surely re-
member that, appropriate to these, courage, magnificence, facility at
learning, and memory went along with them. And you objected, saying
d that everyone would be forced to agree to what we are saying, but if
they let the arguments go and looked to the men themselves whom the
argument concerns, they would say they see that some of them are
useless and the many bad, possessing vice entire. In considering the
cause of the slander, we've come now to this point: why are the many
bad? And it's for just this reason that we brought up the nature of the
true philosophers again and defined what it necessarily is."
e "That's so," he said.
491 a must look at the natures of the souls that imitate the philosophic nature
and set themselves up in its practice, and see what sort they are who
approach a practice that is of no value for them and beyond them, and
who often strike false notes, thereby attaching to philosophy every-
where and among all men a reputation such as you say."
"I shall try," I said, "if I am able, to go through them for you.
nature— possessing eveiything we prescribed just now for the man who
b born only rarely among human beings. Or don't you suppose so?"
[ 170 ]
Book VI / 490b-492a
•^^eimantus/sochat
491
"Indeed, I do."
"Now consider how many great sources of ruin there are fo i-V>
few."
"And what's more," I said, "besides these, all the things s "rl i,
^ ^'-isejy what
you mean.
earth or animals," 1 said, "we know that the more vigorous t • v.^
more it is deficient in its own properties when it doesn't get th f ^
climate, or place suitable to it. For surely bad is more onnncorl <.
than to not-good." i^POsed to good
"Of course."
"Yes, it is."
grow and come to every kind of virtue; but if it isn't sown nla t rl ^
of the gods chances to assist it. Or do you too believe as riA i-u ^
that certain young men are corrupted by sophists, and that tVi
[ 171 ]
492 a mentioning? Isn't it rather the very men who say this who are the big.
h gest sophists, who educate most perfectly and who turn out young and
old, men and women, just the way they want them to be?"
ble the uproar of blame and praise. Now in such circumstances, as the
saying goes, what do you suppose is the state of the young man's heart?
Or what kind of private education will hold out for him and not be
swept away by such blame and praise and go, borne by the flood,
wherever it tends so that he'll say the same things are noble and base as
they do, practice what they practice, and be such as they are?"
d "The necessity is great, Socrates," he said.
"What?" he said.
"What these educators and sophists inflict in deed when they fail
to persuade in speech. Or don't you know that they punish the man
who's not persuaded with dishonor, fines, and death?"
"No," I said, "but even the attempt is a great folly. For, a charac-
ter receiving an education contrary to theirs does not, has not, and will
not become differently disposed toward virtue, a human character that
is, my comrade; for the divine, according to the proverb, let's make an
"What?"
"That each of the private wage earners whom these men call
sophists and believe to be their rivals in art, educates in nothing other
than these convictions" of the many, which they opine when they
are gathered together, and he calls this wisdom. It is just like the case of
a man who learns by heart the angers and desires of a great, strong
[ 172 ]
beast he is rearing, how it should be approached and how taken hold 493 I
animal's opinions— calling what delights it good and what vexes it bad.
He has no other argument about them but calls the necessary just and
noble, neither having seen nor being able to show someone else how
much the nature of the necessary and the good really differ. Now, in
your opinion, wouldn't such a man, in the name of Zeus, be out of
place as an educator?"
"Well, then, keep all this in mind and recall this question: Can a
multitude accept or believe that the fair itself, rather than the many fair
things, or that anything itself, is, rather than the many particular 494
things?"
"Yes, it is impossible."
"Necessarily."
"As well as by all those private men who consort with the mob
and desire to please it."
"Plainly."
[ 173 ]
94 b over on the basis of what went before. We did agree that facility at
"Yes."
"Of course."
c "They will, therefore, lie at his feet begging and honoring him
condition and tell him the truth— that he has no intelligence in him al-
though he needs it, and that it's not to be acquired except by slaving for
its acquisition — do you think it will be easy for him to hear through a
wall of so many evils?"
"But if," I said, "thanks to his good nature and his kinship to such
e speeches, one young man were to apprehend something and be turned
"Not at all."
"Do you see," I said, "it wasn't bad when we said that the very
elements of the philosophic nature, when they get a bad rearing, are,
after all, in a way the cause of its being exiled from the practice, and so
are the so-called goods— wealth and all equipment of the sort."
[ 174 ]
"Then, you surprising man," I said, "such is the extent and 495 a
character of this destruction and corruption of the best nature with b
respect to the best pursuit. And such a nature is a rare occurrence in any
event, we say. And particularly from these men come those who do the
greatest harm to cities and private men, as well as those who do the
good, if they chance to be drawn in this direction. No little nature ever
does anything great either to private man or city."
"So these men, for whom philosophy is most suitable, go thus into
exile and leave her abandoned and unconsummated. They themselves c
live a life that isn't suitable or true; while, after them, other unworthy
men come to her— like an orphan bereft of relatives— and disgrace her.
These are the ones who attach to her reproaches such as even you say
are alleged by the men who reproach her— ^namely, that of those who
have intercourse with her, some are worthless and the many worthy of
many bad things."
"And what is said is fitting," I said. "For other manikins see that
this place has become empty although full of fine names and preten-
sions; and, just like those who run away from prisons to temples, these d
men too are overjoyed to leap out of the arts into philosophy, those
who happen to be subtlest in their little art. For, although philosophy is
faring thus, it still retains a more magnificent station in comparison with
the other arts at least. Aiming at this, many men with imperfect
natures— just as their bodies are mutilated by the arts and crafts, so too
their souls are doubled up and spoiled as a result of being in me- e
chanical occupations— or isn't that necessary?"^^
"Do you suppose," I said, "that they are any different to see than
a little, bald-headed worker in bronze who has gotten some silver, and,
newly released from bonds, just washed in a bathhouse, wearing a new-
made cloak and got up like a bridegroom, is about to marry his
master's daughter because he's poor and destitute?"^^
"What sort of things are such men likely to beget? Aren't they
bastard and ordinary?"
"Quite necessarily."
[ 175 ]
496 a "Then it's a very small group, Adeimantus," I said, "which re-
c to restrain him. For in Theages' case all the other conditions for an ex-
ile from philosophy were present, but the sicklinessi"^ of his body
shutting him out of politics, restrains him. My case — the demonic^s
sign — isn't worth mentioning, for it has perhaps occurred in some one
other man, or no other, before. Now the men who have become mem-
bers of this small band have tasted how sweet and blessed a possession
it is. At the same time, they have seen sufficiently the madness of the
many, and that no one who minds the business of the cities does virtually
anything sound, and that there is no ally with whom one could
savage animals — one would perish before he has been of any use to city
or friends and be of no profit to himself or others. Taking all this into
the calculation, he keeps quiet and minds his own business — as a man
in a storm, when dust and rain are blown about by the wind, stands
aside under a little wall. Seeing others filled full of lawlessness, he is
content if somehow he himself can live his life here pure of injustice
e and unholy deeds, and take his leave from it graciously and cheerfully
with fair hope."
497a "Well," he said, 'he would leave having accomplished not the
"But not the greatest either, " I said, "if he didn't chance upon a
suitable regime. For in a suitable one he himself will grow more and
save the common things along with the private.
"I have nothing further to say about this," he said. "But which of
the current regimes do you say is suitable for it?"
b "None at all, " I said, "but this is the very charge I'm bringing; not
[ 176 ]
too this class does not at present maintain its own power but falls away 497 I
into an alien disposition. But if it ever takes hold in the best regime,
just as it is itself best, then it will make plain that it really is divine as (
we agreed it is and that the rest are human, both in terms of their
natures and their practices. Of course, it's plain that next you'll ask
"You've not got it," he said. "That's not what I was going to ask,
but whether it is the same one we described in founding the city or
another."
"It is the same in the other respects," I said, "and, in this very one
too, which was stressed in connection with it — that there would always
have to be present in the city something possessing the same un-
derstanding of the regime as you, the lawgiver, had when you were set- <
ting down the laws."
"What is it?"
"All the same," he said, "let the proof get its completion by clear-
ing this up."
"How?"
money, they approach its hardest part and then leave, those, that is,
who are fancied to be complete philosophers. I mean by the hardest
part that which has to do with speeches.!^ In later life, if others are
doing this and they are invited, they believe it's a great thing if they are
willing to be listeners, thinking it ought to be done as a hobby. Toward
old age, except of course for a certain few, they are far more extin-
guished than Heracleitus' sun,^^ inasmuch as they are not re-
kindled again."
[ 177 ]
498 b "Entirely opposite. When they are youths and boys they ought to
take up an education and philosophy suitable for youths, and take very
good care of their bodies at the time when they are growing and bloom-
ing into manhood, thus securing a helper for philosophy. And as they
advance in age to the time when the soul begins to reach maturity, n
ought to be subjected to a more intense gymnastic. And when strength
begins to fail and they are beyond political and military duties, at this
c time they ought to be let loose to graze and do nothing else, except as a
spare-time occupation— those who are going to live happily and, when
they die, crown the life they have lived with a suitable lot in that other
place."
I said. "We'll not give up our efforts before we either persuade him and
the others, or give them some help in preparation for that other life
"No time at all, " I said, "if you compare it to the whole.
However, it's no wonder that the many are not persuaded by these
speeches. For they never saw any existing thing that matches the pres-
e ent speech. Far rather they have seen such phrases purposely
balanced' with one another, not falling together spontaneously as they
are now. But as for a man who to the limit of the possible is perfectly
likened' to and balanced'^i with virtue, in deed and speech, and
499 a holds power in a city fit for him, they have never seen one or more. Or
[ 178 ]
not, and the city to obey;^^ or a true erotic passion for true philoso- 499 .
phy flows from some divine inspiration into the sons of those who hold
power^'* or the office of king, or into the fathers themselves. I deny
that there is any reason why either or both of these things is impossible.
If that were the case we would justly be laughed at for uselessly saying
things that are like prayers. Or isn't that so?"
"Yes, it is."
"Therefore, if, in the endless time that has gone by, there has been
some necessity for those who are on the peaks of philosophy to take
charge of a city, or there even now is such a necessity in some barbaric
place somewhere far outside of onr range of vision, or will be later, in
this case we are ready to do battle for the argument that the regime
spoken of has been, is, and will be when this Muse has become master
of a city. For it's not impossible that it come to pass nor are we speak-
ing of impossibilities. That it's hard, we too agree."
"Will you," I said, "say that in the opinion of the many it isn't
so."^
"Perhaps," he said.
"Don't you also share my supposition that the blame for the many's
being harshly disposed toward philosophy is on those men from out-
side who don't belong and have burst in like drunken revelers, abusing
one another and indulging a taste for quarreling, and who always make
their arguments about persons,^^ doing what is least seemly in
philosophy?"
[ 179 ]
500 c will as a result of fighting with them. But, rather, because he sees and
contemplates things that are set in a regular arrangement and are al-
ways in the sanie condition— things that neither do injustice to one
another nor suffer it at one another's hands, but remain all in order ac-
cording to reason— he imitates them and, as much as possible, makes
himself like them. Or do you suppose there is any way of keeping
someone from imitating that which he admires and therefore keeps
company with?"
"Then it's the philosopher, keeping company with the divine and
d the orderly who becomes orderly and divine, to the extent that is possi-
"Now, if the many become aware that what we are saying about
e this man is true, will they then be harsh with the philosophers and dis-
trust us when we say that a city could never be happy otherwise than by
having its outlines drawn by the painters who use the divine pattern?"
"No, they won't be harsh," he said, "provided they do gain this
"They would take the city and the dispositions of human beings,
as though they were a tablet," I said, "which, in the first place, they
would wipe clean. And that's hardly easy. At all events, you know that
straight off in this they would differ from the rest— in not being willing
to take either private man or city in hand or to draw laws before they
receive it clean or themselves make it so."
"Next, don't you think they would outline the shape of the
regime?"
"Of course."
b "After that, I suppose that in filling out their work they would
look away frequently in both directions, toward the just, fair, and
moderate by nature and everything of the sort, and, again, toward what
is in human beings; and thus, mixing and blending the practices as
ingredients, they would produce the image of man,^^ taking hints
[ 180 ]
from exactly that phenomenon in human beings which Homer too 501 I
called god-like and the image of god."
"Right," he said.
"And I suppose they would rub out one thing and draw in another
again, until they made htiman dispositions as dear to the gods as they
admit of being."
"Are we then somehow persuading those men who you said were
coming at us full speed," I said, "that the man we were then praising to
them is such a painter of regimes? It was on his account that they were
so harsh, because we were handing the cities over to him. Are they any
gentler on hearing it now?"
"Yes, and very much so," he said, "if they are moderate."
"For how will they be able to dispute it? Will they say the
philosophers aren't lovers of that which is and of truth?"
"Surely not."
"Will they still be angry when we say that before the philosophic
class becomes master of a city, there will be no rest from ills either
for city or citizens nor will the regime about which we tell tales in
speech get its completion in deed?"
"If you please," I said, "let's not say that they are less angry but
that they have become in every way gentle and have been persuaded, so 502
"And if such men came into being, can anyone say that it's quite
necessary that they be corrupted? That it's hard to save them, we too
admit. But that in all of time not one of all of them could ever be saved,
is there anyone who would argue that?"
[ 181 ]
502 b "But surely," I said, "the birth of one, if he has an obedient city
"For, of course, when a ruler sets down the laws and practices that
we have gone through," I said, "it's surely not impossible that the
citizens be willing to carry them out."
"Not at all."
"Now, then, as it seems, it tumis out for us that what we are saying
about lawgiving is best if it could come to be, and that it is hard for it
to come to be; not, however, impossible."
end, mustn't we next speak about what remains — in what way and as a
d result of what studies and practices the saviors will take their place
within our regime for us and at what ages each will take up each
study?"
and children has been completed, but what concerns the rulers must
be pursued as it were from the beginning. We were saying, if you re-
03 a member, that they must show themselves to be lovers of the city,
tested in pleasures and pains, and that they must show that they don't
cast out this conviction in labors or fears or any other reverse. The
man who's unable to be so must be rejected, while the one who
emerges altogether pure, like gold tested in fire, must be set up as
ruler and be given gifts and prizes both when he is alive and after he
has died. These were the kinds of things that were being said as the
b argument, covering its face, sneaked by, for fear of setting in motion
"My friend, I shrank from saying what has now been dared
[ 182 ]
anyhow," I said. "And let's now dare to say this: philosophers must be 503 b
"Then bear in mind that you'll probably have but a few. For the
parts of the nature that we described as a necessary condition for them
are rarely willing to grow together in the same place; rather its many
parts grow forcibly separated from each other."
"You know that natures that are good at learning, have memories,
are shrewd and quick and everything else that goes along with these
qualities, and are as well full of youthful fire and magnificence— such
natures don't willingly grow together with understandings that choose
orderly lives which are quiet and steady. Rather the men who possess
them are carried away by their quickness wherever chance leads and all
steadiness goes out from them."
and which in war are hard to move in the face of fears, act the same
way in the face of studies. They are hard to move and hard to teach, as
if they had become numb;^** and they are filled with sleep and yawn-
ing when they must work through anything of the sort."
"Right," he said.
"Of course."
mentioned then; and moreover— what we passed over then but men-
tion now— it must also be given gymnastic in many studies to see
whether it will be able to bear the greatest studies, or whether it will
turn out to be a coward, as some turn out to be cowards in the other 504 a
things."
[ 183 ]
b "We were, I believe, saying that in order to get the finest possible
look at these things another and longer road around would be required,
and to the man who took it they would become evident, but that proofs
on a level with what had been said up to then could be tacked on. And
you all said that that would suffice. And so, you see, the statements
made at that time were, as it looks to me, deficient in precision. If they
were satisfactory to you, only you can tell."
falls short of that which is, is no measure at all. For nothing incomplete
is the measure of anything. But certain men are sometimes of the
opinion that this question has already been adequately disposed of
and that there is no need to seek further."
were just saying, he'll never come to the end of the greatest and most
fitting study."
"So these aren't the greatest," he said, "but there is something yet
greater than justice and the other things we went through?"
"There is both something greater," I said, "and also even for these
very virtues it won't do to look at a sketch, as we did a while ago, but
their most perfect elaboration must not be stinted. Or isn't it ridiculous
e to make every effort so that other things of little worth be as precise
and pure as can be, while not deeming the greatest things worth the
greatest precision?"
"Certainly not," I said. "Just ask. At all events, it's not a few
times already that you have heard it; but now you are either not think-
505 a ing or have it in mind to get hold of me again and cause me trouble. I
suppose it's rather the latter, since you have many times heard that the
idea of the good is the greatest study and that it's by availing oneself
of it along with just things and the rest that they become useful and
beneficial. And now you know pretty certainly that I'm going to say
[ 184 ]
this and, besides this, that we don't have sxifficient knowledge of it. 505 a
of the rest without this, you know that it's no profit to us, just as there
the good, while being prudent about nothing fine and good?"
"And, further, you also know that in the opinion of the many the
good is pleasure, while in that of the more refined it is prudence."
"Of course."
"And, my friend, that those who believe this can't point out what
kind of prudence it is, but are finally compelled to say 'about the
good.' "
"Of course, it is," I said, "if they reproach us for not knowing the c
good, and then speak as though we did know. For they say it is pru-
dence about the good as though we, in turn, grasped what they mean
when they utter the name of the good."
"And what about those who define pleasure as good? Are they any
less full of confusion than the others? Or aren't they too compelled to
agree that there are bad pleasures?"
"Then I suppose the result is that they agree that the same things
are good and bad, isn't it?"
"Of course." d
"Isn't it clear that there are many great disputes about it?"
"Of course."
"And what about this? Isn't it clear that many men would choose
to do, possess, and enjoy the reputation for things that are opined to be
just and fair, even if they aren't, while, when it comes to good things,
no one is satisfied with what is opined to be so but each seeks the things
that are, and from here on out everyone despises the opinion?"
"Now this is what every soul pursues and for the sake of which it
does everything. The soul divines that it is something but is at a loss e
about it and unable to get a sufficient grasp of just what it is, or to have
a stable trust such as it has about the rest. And because this is so, the
soul loses any profit there might have been in the rest. Will we say that
even those best men in the city, into whose hands we put everything,
must be thus in the dark about a thing of this kind and importance?" 506 c
[ 185 ]
"I suppose, at least," I said, "that just and fair things, when it isn't
known in what way they are good, won't have gotten themselves a guard-
ian who's worth very much in the man who doesn't know this. I divine
that no one will adequately know the just and fair things themselves
before this is known."
"Here's a real man!" I said. "It's been pretty transparent all along
that other people's opinions about these things wouldn't be enough for
you."
"And what about this?" I said. "Is it your opinion that it's just to
speak about what one doesn't know as though one knew?"
"No," he said.
"Do you want to see ugly things, blind and crooked, when it's
d possible to hear bright and fair ones from others?"
"It will quite satisfy me too, my comrade," I said. "But I fear I'll
not be up to it, and in my eagerness I'll cut a graceless figure and have
to pay the penalty by suffering ridicule. But, you blessed men, let's
e leave aside for the time being what the good itself is — for it looks to me
as though it's out of the range of our present thrust to attain the opin-
ions I now hold about it. But I'm willing to tell what looks like a child
of the good and most similar to it, if you please, or if not, to let it go."
"Do tell," he said. "Another time you'll pay us what's due on the
father's narrative."
'0' o "I could wish," I said, "that I were able to pay and you were able
[ 186 ]
to receive it itself, and not just the interest, as is the case now. Anyhow, 507 a
receive this interest and child of the good itself But be careful that I
don't in some way unwillingly deceive you in rendering the account of
the interest fraudulent.''^!
"We both assert that there are," I said, "and distinguish in speech,
many fair things, many good things, and so on for each kind of thing."
"Yes, so we do."
"And we also assert that there is a fair itself, a good itself, and so
on for all the things that we then set down as many. Now, again, we
refer them to one idea of each as though the idea were one; and we ad-
dress it as that which really is."
That s so.
"And, moreover, we say that the former are seen but not in-
tellected, while the ideas are intellected but not seen."
"Isn't it with hearing," I said, "that we hear the things heard, and
with the other senses that we sense all that is sensed?"
"Of course."
"No," he said.
"I suppose," I said, "that there are not many other things, not to
say none, that need anything of the kind. Or can you tell of any?"
"Don't you notice that the power of seeing and what's seen do
have such a need?"
"How?"
"Surely, when sight is in the eyes and the man possessing them
tries to make use of it, and color is present in what is to be seen, in the
absence of a third class of thing whose nature is specifically directed to
[ 187 ]
507 e this very purpose, you know that the sight will see nothing and the col
"Then the sense of sight and the power of being seen are
yoked together with a yoke that, by the measure of an idea by no
508 a means insignificant, is more honorable than the yokes uniting other
"Which of the gods in heaven can you point to as the lord respon-
sible for this, whose light makes our sight see in the finest way and the
seen things seen?"
"The very one you and the others would also point to," he said.
"For it's plain your question refers to the sun."
"Is sight, then, naturally related to this god in the following way?" I
"How?" i
"Surely not."
"Yes, by far."
"Most certainly."
"And the sun isn't sight either, is it, but as its cause is seen by
sight itself?"
"Well, then," I said, "say that the sun is the offspring of the good
intellected, so the sun is in the visible region with respect to sight and
what is seen."
"You know," I said, "that eyes, when one no longer turns them to
those things over whose colors the light of day extends but to those over
which the gleams of night extend, are dimmed and appear nearly blind
as though pure sight were not in them."
by the sun, they see clearly and sight shows itself to be in these same
eyes."
[ 188 ]
I "Surely." 508 d
"Well, then, think that the soul is also characterized in this way.
I When it fixes itself on that which is illumined by truth and that which
P: fixes itself on that which is mixed with darkness, on coming into being
"Therefore, say that what provides the truth to the things known e
and gives the power to the one who knows, is the idea of the good.
And, as the cause of the knowledge and truth, you can understand it to
be a thing known; but, as fair as these two are— knowledge and
truth — if you believe that it is something different from them and still
fairer than they, your belief will be right. As for knowledge and truth,
just as in the other region it is right to hold light and sight sunlike, but 509 a
to believe them to be sun is not right; so, too, here, to hold these two to
be like the good is right, but to believe that either of them is the good is
not right. The condition which characterizes the good must receive still
greater honor."
"How?" b
"1 suppose you'll say the sun not only provides what is seen with
the power of being seen, but also with generation, growth, and nourish-
ment although it itself isn't generation."
"Of course."
"Therefore, say that not only being knovm is present in the things
known as a consequence of the good, but also existence and being are
in them besides as a result of it, although the good isn't being but is still
beyond being, exceeding it in dignity^^ and power."
excess."
"And don't under any conditions stop," he said, "at least until you
have gone through the likeness with the sun, if you are leaving anything
out."
[ 189 ]
509 c "I suppose I will leave out quite a bit," I said. "But all the same
insofar as it's possible at present, I'll not leave anything out willingly '*
"Don't," he said.
d "Well, then," I said, "conceive that, as we say, these two things
are, and that the one is king of the intelligible class and region, while
the other is king of the visible. I don't say 'of the heaven' so as not to
seem to you to be playing the sophist with the name.^ Now, do you
have these two forms, visible and intelligible? "
"I do."
"Then, take a line cut in two unequal segments, one for the class
that is seen, the other for the class that is intellected — and go on and
clarity and obscurity, you'll have one segment in the visible part for
510 a water and in all close-grained, smooth, bright things, and everything of
"I do understand."
"Then in the other segment put that of which this first is the
likeness — the animals around us, and everything that grows, and the
whole class of artifacts. "
"And would you also be willing," I said, "to say that with respect
to truth or lack of it, as the opinable is distinguished from the know-
able, so the likeness is distinguished from that of which it is the like-
ness?"
h "I would indeed," he said.
"Now, in its turn, consider also how the intelligible section should
be cut. "
"How?"
"Like this: in one part of it a soul, using as images the things that
were previously imitated, is compelled to investigate on the basis of
hypotheses and makes its way not to a beginning but to an end; while in
the other part it makes its way to a beginning^^ that is free from
hypotheses;^^ starting out from hypothesis and without the images
used in the other part, by means of forms themselves it makes its in-
quiry through them."
"I don't," he said, "sufficiently understand what you mean here. "
c "Let's try again," I said. "You'll understand more easily after this
introduction. I suppose you know that the men who work in geometry,
calculation, and the like treat as known the odd and the even, the
figures, three forms of angles, and other things akin to these in each
kind of inquiry. These things they make hypotheses and don't think it
worthwhile to give any further account of them to themselves or others.
[ 190 ]
as though they were clear to all. Beginning from them, they go ahead 510 d
with their exposition of what remains and end consistently at the object
toward which their investigation was directed."
"Most certainly, I know that," he said.
"Don't you also know that they use visible forms besides and
make their arguments about them, not thinking about them but about
those others that they are like? They make the arguments for the sake
of the square itself and the diagonal itself, not for the sake of the
diagonal they draw, and likewise with the rest. These things themselves g
that they mold and draw, of which there are shadows and images in
water, they now use as images, seeking to see those things themselves,
that one can see in no other way than with thought."
"I understand," he said, "that you mean what falls under geome- h
with respect to the objects, even though they are, given a begin-
ning, intelligible; and you seem to me to call the habit of geometers
and their likes thought and not intelligence, indicating that thought
is something between opinion and intelligence."
[ 191 ]
111 d "You have made a most adequate exposition," I said. "And, along
with me, take these four affections arising in the soul in relation to the
four segments: intellection in relation to the highest one, and thought in
e relation to the second; to the third assign trust, and to the last imagina-
say.
[ 192 ]
BOOK VII
"Next, then," I said, "make an image of our nature in its educa- 514 a
Their light is from a fire burning far above and behind them. Between
the fire and the prisoners there is a road above, along which see a wall,
built like the partitions puppet-handlers set in front of the human
beings and over which they show the puppets."
"Then also see along this wall human beings carrying all sorts of
artifacts, which project above the wall, and statues of men and other c
animals wrought from stoiie, wood, and every kind of material; as is to 515 a
be expected, some of the carriers utter sounds while others are silent."
"They're like us," I said. "For in the first place, do you suppose
such men would have seen anything of themselves and one another
other than the shadows cast by the fire on the side of the cave facing
them?"
193 ]
515 a "How could they," he said, "if they had been compelled to keen
b their heads motionless throughout life?"
"And what about the things that are carried by? Isn't it the same
with them?"
"Of course."
"If they were able to discuss things with one another, don't you
believe they would hold that they are naming these things going by
before them that they see?"*
"Necessarily"
"And what if the prison also had an echo from the side facing
them? Whenever one of the men passing by happens to utter a sound
do you suppose they would believe that anything other than the passing
shadow was uttering the sound?"
the light; and who, moreover, in doing all this is in pain and, because
he is dazzled, is unable to make out those things whose shadows he saw
d before. What do you suppose he'd say if someone were to tell him that
eyes hurt and would he flee, turning away to those things that he is able
to make out and hold them to be really clearer than what is being
shown?"
"And if," I said, "someone dragged him away from there by force
along the rough, steep, upward way and didn't let him go before he had
dragged him out into the light of the sun, wouldn't he be distressed and
516 a annoyed at being so dragged? And when he came to the light, wouldn't
he have his eyes full of its beam and be unable to see even one of the
things now said to be true?"
[ 194 ]
and after that the phantoms of the human beings and the other things in
water; and, later, the things themselves. And from there he could turn
to beholding the things in heaven and heaven itself, more easily at
night— looking at the light of the stars and the moon— than by b
"Of course."
"Necessarily," he said.
cause of all those things he and his companions had been seeing."
"What then? When he recalled his first home and the wisdom
there, and his fellow prisoners in that time, don't you suppose he would
consider himself happy for the change and pity the others?"
"Quite so."
"And if in that time there were among them any honors, praises,
and prizes for the man who is sharpest at making out the things that go
by, and most remembers which of them are accustomed to pass be-
fore, which after, and which at the same time as others, and who is d
thereby most able to divine what is going to come, in your opinion
would he be desirous of them and envy those who are honored and
hold power among these men? Or, rather, would he be affected as Ho-
mer says and want very much 'to be on the soil, a serf to another
man, to a portionless man,'^ and to undergo anything whatsoever
rather than to opine those things and live that way?"
"Now reflect on this too," I said. "If such a man were to come
down again and sit in the same seat, on coming suddenly from the sun
wouldn't his eyes get infected with darkness?"
[ 195 ]
517 a the source of laughter, and wouldn't it be said of him that he went up
and came back with his eyes corrupted, and that it's not even worth
trying to go up? And if they were somehow able to get their
hands on and kill the man who attempts to release and lead up
wouldn't they kill him?"
"I, too, join you in supposing that," he said, "at least in the way I
can."
don't be surprised that the men who get to that point aren't v^dlling to
mind the business of human beings, but rather that their souls are al-
d ways eager to spend their time above. Surely that's likely, if indeed this,
518 a "But if a man were intelligent," 1 said, "he would remember that
there are two kinds of disturbances of the eyes, stemming from two
sources — ^when they have been transferred from light to darkness and
when they have been transferred from darkness to light. And if he held
that these same things happen to a soul too, whenever he saw one that
is confused and unable to make anything out, he wouldn't laugh
[ 196 ]
by the greater brilliance. And then he would deem the first soul happy b
for its condition and its life, while he would pity the second. And, if he
wanted to laugh at the second soul, his laughing in this case would be
less a laugh of scorn than would his laughing at the soul which
"Then, if this is true," I said, "we must hold the following about
: these things: education is not what the professions of certain men assert
it to be. They presumably assert that they put into the soul knowledge
that isn't in it, as though they were putting sight into blind eyes." c
"Yes."
nor looking at what it ought to look at, and accomplishes this object. "
"So it seems," he said.
"Therefore, the other virtues of a soul, as they are called, are prob-
ably somewhat close to those of the body. For they are really not there
^ beforehand and are later produced by habits and exercises, while the e
% wise, how shrewdly their petty soul sees and how sharply it dis-
^ tinguishes those things toward which it is turned, showing that it
f doesn't have poor vision although it is compelled to serve vice; so
^ that the sharper it sees, the more evil it accomplishes?"
t» "Most certainly," he said.
[ 197 ]
"1
519 b their refinements naturally attach to the soul and turn its vision down
ward — if, I say, it were rid of them and turned around toward the tru
things, this same part of the same human beings would also see them
most sharply, just as it does those things toward which it now is
turned."
"True," he said.
"Then our job as founders," I said, "is to compel the best natures
to go to the study which we were saying before is the greatest, to see the
d good and to go up that ascent; and, when they have gone up and seen
sufficiently, not to permit them what is now permitted."
"What's that?"
"To remain there, " I said, "and not be willing to go down again
among those prisoners or share their labors and honors, whether they
be slighter or more serious."
concern of law that any one class in the city fare exceptionally well, but
it contrives to bring this about in the city as a whole, harmonizing the
citizens by persuasion and compulsion, making them share with one
520 a another the benefit that each is able to bring to the common-
wealth. And it produces such men in the city not in order to let them
turn whichever way each wants, but in order that it may use them in
binding the city together."
b in the other cities it is fitting for them not to participate in the labors of
those cities. For they grow up spontaneously against the will of the
regime in each; and a nature that grows by itself and doesn't owe its
rearing to anyone has justice on its side when it is not eager to pay on
[ 198 ]
the price of rearing to anyone. 'But you we have begotten for your- 520 b
selves and for the rest of the city like leaders and kings in hives; you
have been better and more perfectly educated and are more able to par-
ticipate in both lives. So you must go down, each in his turn, into the c
common dwelling of the others and get habituated along with them to
seeing the dark things. And, in getting habituated to it, you will see ten
thousand times better than the men there, and you'll know what each of
the phantoms is, and of what it is a phantom, because you have seen the
truth about fair, just, and good things. And thus, the city will be
governed by us and by you in a state of waking, not in a dream as the
many cities nowadays are governed by men who fight over shadows
with one another and form factions for the sake of ruling, as though it
were some great good. But the truth is surely this: that city in which d
those who are going to rule are least eager to rule is necessarily
governed in the way that is best and freest from faction, while the one
that gets the opposite kind of rulers is governed in the opposite
way.
"Do you suppose our pupils will disobey us when they hear this
and be unwilling to join in the labors of the city, each in his turn, while
living the greater part of the time with one another in the pure re-
gion.'^
"That's the way it is, my comrade," I said. "If you discover a life
better than ruling for those who are going to rule, it is possible that 521 a
your well-governed city will come into being. For here alone will the
really rich rule, rich not in gold but in those riches required by the hap-
py man, rich in a good and prudent life. But if beggars, men hungering
for want of private goods, go to public affairs supposing that in them
they must seize the good, it isn't possible. When ruling becomes a thing
fought over, such a war— a domestic war, one within the family— de-
stroys these men themselves and the rest of the city as well."
"Have you," I said, ^'any other life that despises political offices b
"But men who aren't lovers of ruling must go^ to it; otherwise,
rival lovers will fight."
"Of course."
[ 199 ]
521 b "Who else will you compel to go to the guarding of the city than
the men who are most prudent in those things through which a city jj
best governed, and who have other honors and a better life than the
political life?"
into being and how one will lead them up to the light, just as some men
are said to have gone from Hades up to the gods?"^
"Most certainly."
d "Then mustn't we consider what studies have such a power?"
"Of course."
"What then, Glaucon, would be a study to draw the soul from be-
coming to being? And, as I speak, I think of this. Weren't we saying
that it's necessary for these men to be champions in war when they are
young?"^
"Then the study we are seeking must have this further charac-
teristic in addition to the former one."
"What?"
[ 200 ]
nothing of the sort. But Glaucon, you demonic man, what could
there be that is like this? For all the arts surely seemed to be me-
^^chanical."
"Certainly they were. And, yet, what other study is left now separate
jErom music, gymnastic, and the arts?"
"For example, this common thing that all kinds of art, thought, c
"The lowly business," I said, "of distinguishing the one, the two,
and the three. I mean by this, succinctly, number and calculation. Or
r isn't it the case vvdth them that every kind of art and knowledge is com-
'pelled to participate in them?"
^ "Most of all," he said, "if he's going to have any professional knowl-
^-edge of the order of the army, but I should say rather, if he's going to be a
I human being."
^ "It probably is one of ^those things we are seeking that by nature 523 a
[ 201 ]
523 a to what we are speaking of; and agree or disagree so that we may see
"Show," he said.
"Here, I show," I said, "if you can make it out, that some objects
b of sensation do not summon the intellect to the activity of investigation
because they seem to be adequately judged by sense, while others bid it
in every way to undertake a consideration because sense seems to pro-
duce nothing healthy."
"Plainly you mean things that appear from far ofiF," he said, "and
shadow paintings."
"The ones that don't summon the intellect," I said, "are all those
c that don't at the same time go over to the opposite sensation. But the
ones that do go over 1 class among those that summon the intellect,
when the sensation doesn't reveal one thing any more than its opposite,
regardless of whether the object strikes the senses from near or far off.
But you will see my meaning more clearly this way: these, we say,
would be three fingers — the smallest, the second, and the middle. "^i
"Certainly," he said.
"Think of them while I'm speaking as if they were being seen up close.
Now consider this about them for me."
"What?"
"Then, " 1 said, "it isn't likely that anything of the sort would be
e apt to summon or awaken the activity of intellect. "
"Now what about this? Does the sight see their bigness and Ht-
tleness adequately, and does it make no difference to it whether a finger
hes in the middle or on the extremes? And similarly with the touch, for
thickness and thinness or softness and hardness? And do the other
senses reveal such things without insufficiency? Or doesn't each of
524 a them do the following: first, the sense set over the hard is also com-
pelled to be set over the soft; and it reports to the soul that the same
thing is sensed by it as both hard and soft? "
[ 202 ]
"Of course."
"Yes."
"Then, if each is one and both two, the soul will think the two as
separate. For it would not think the inseparable as two but as one."
"Right."
"But sight, too, saw big and little, we say, not separated, however,
but mixed up together. Isn't that so?"
"Yes."
"In order to clear this up the intellect was compelled to see big
and little, too, not mixed up together but distinguished, doing the op-
posite of what the sight did."
Irue.
"Isn't it from here that it first occurs to us to ask what the big and
the little are?"
"And so, it was on this ground that we called the one intelligible
and the other visible."
"Well, then, this was what I was just trying to convey in saying
that some things are apt to summon thought, while others are not,
defining as apt to summon it those that strike the sense at the same time
as their opposites, while all those that do not, are not apt to arouse in-
tellection."
"What then? To which of the two do number and the one seem to
belong?"
[ 203 ]
524 e some other sense, it would not draw men toward being, as we were
525 a be among those apt to lead and turn around toward the contempla-
"If this is the case with the one," I said, "won't it be the same for
all number?"
"Of course."
"And, further, the arts of calculation and number are both wholly
concerned with number."^^
"Quite so."
}) "Then it looks as if they lead toward truth."
"Preternaturally so."
"Certainly."
fashion of private men, but to stay with it until they come to the con-
templation of the nature of numbers with intellection itself, not practic-
ing it for the sake of buying and selling like merchants or tradesmen,
but for war and for ease of turning the soul itself around from becom-
ing to truth and being."
"And further," I said, "now that the study of calculation has been
d mentioned, I recognize how subtle it is and how in many ways it is
useful to us for what we want, if a man practices it for the sake of com-
ing to know and not for trade."
[ 204 ]
"In the very way we were just now saying. It leads the soul power- 525 d
into small coin, they multiply, taking good care against the one's ever
looking like it were not one but many pieces."
were to ask them, 'you surprising men, what sort of numbers are
you discussing, in which the one is as your axiom claims it to be —
each one equal to every other one, without the slightest difference
between them, and containing no parts within itself?' What do you
suppose they would answer?"
"I suppose they would answer that they are talking about those
numbers that admit only of being thought and can be grasped in no
other way."
"Do you see, then, my friend, " I said, "that it's likely that this b
study is really compulsory for us, since it evidently compels the soul
to use the intellect itself on the truth itself? "
"What about this? Have you already observed that men who
are by nature apt at calculation are naturally quick in virtually all
studies, while those who are slow, if they are educated and given
gymnastic in it, all make progress by becoming quicker than they
were, even if they are benefited in no other way? "
"And, further, I don't suppose you would easily find many studies c
that take greater effort in the learning and in the practice than this."
"Certainly not."
"Then, for all these reasons this study shouldn't be neglected, and
the best natures must be educated in it."
"Therefore we have settled on this one, " I said. "And let's con-
sider whether the study adjpining this one is in any way suitable. "
[ 205 ]
526 d mies make in the battle itself and on marches, it would make quite a
527 a "Well, then," I said, "none of those who have even a little ex-
perience with geometry will dispute it with us: this kind of knowledge
is exactly the opposite of what is said about it in the arguments of those
who take it up."
"How?" he said.
necessary. They speak as though they were men of action and were making
all the arguments for the sake of action, uttering sounds like squaring,'
'applying,' 'adding,' and everything of the sort, whereas the whole study is
"What?"
"That it is for the sake of knowing what is always, and not at all
for what is at any time coming into being and passing away. "
"Then, you noble man, it would draw the soul toward truth and be
"It does so, " he said, "to the greatest extent possible."
c "Then to the greatest extent possible," I said, "the men in your
"What you said about war, of course, " I said, "and, in addition,
with respect to finer reception of all studies, we surely know there is a
general and complete difference between the man who has been
devoted to geometry and the one who has not."
[ 206 ]
"Then, shall we set this down as the second study for the young?"
"And what about this? Shall we set astronomy down as the third? d
"You are amusing," I said. "You are like a man who is afraid of
the many in your not wanting to seem to command useless studies. It's
scarcely an ordinary thing, rather it's hard, to trust that in these studies
discussing. Or are you making the arguments for neither but chiefly for
your own sake, without, however, grudging anyone else who might be
able to get some profit from them?"
"I choose the latter," he said, "to speak and ask and answer
mostly for my own sake."
"After a plane surface," I said, "we went ahead and took a solid
in motion before taking it up by itself. But the right way is to take up b
the third dimension^^ next in order after the second, and this is
surely the dimension of cubes and what participates in depth."
"Of that," I said, "there are two causes. Because no city holds it
in honor, it is feebly sought due to its difficulty. And those who seek for
it need a supervisor, without whom they would not find it. And, in the
first place, he's hard to come by; and then, even when he's there, as
things stand he wouldn't be obeyed by those given to seeking it because
of their high opinion of themselves. But if a whole city should join in c
supervising it and take the lead in honoring it, these men would obey;
and, with it being continuously and eagerly sought for, its character
would come to light; for even now, although it is despised and cut short
by the many, and by those who seek it, since they have no account to
[ 207 ]
528 c give of the way it is useful, nevertheless in the face of all this it grows
more clearly what you meant just now; you presumably set geometry
down as that which treats of the plane."
"Yes," I said.
"Then," he said, "at first you set down astronomy after geometry
but later you withdrew."
depth was next in order, but, due to the ridiculous state of the search
for it, I skipped over it after geometry and said astronomy, which treats
"Well, then," I said, "as the fourth study let's set dovim astron-
omy, assuming that the study that is now being left aside will be
present if a city pursues it."
529 a praise it in the way that you approach it. In my opinion it's plain to
everyone that astronomy compels the soul to see what's above and leads
it there away from the things here."
"I am paying the just penalty," he said. "You are right in re-
proaching me. But just what did you mean when you said that
[ 208 ]
they now study it, if it's going to be studied in a way that's helpful
for what we are talking about?"
those movements in which the really fast and the really slow— in true
number and in all the true figures — are moved with respect to one
another and in their turn move what is contained in them. They, of
course, must be grasped by argument and thought, not sight. Or do you
suppose otherwise?"
the same and deviate in no way at all? For these things are connected
with body and are visible. Hence won't he consider it strange to seek in
every way to grasp their truth?"
"The task you prescribe," he said, "is many times greater than
what is now done in astronomy."
V "And," I said, "I suppose our prescriptions in the rest will also be
' of the same kind, if we are to be of any help as lawgivers. But have you
any suitable study to suggest?"
[ 209 ]
"What's that?"
mony too? For, measuring the heard accords and sounds agamst one
another, they labor without profit like the astronomers. ^^
"Yes, by the gods," he said "and how ridiculous they are. They
name certain notes 'dense'20 and set their ears alongside, as though
they were hunting a voice from the neighbors' house. Some say they
distinctly hear still another note in bet^veen and that this is the smallest
interval by which the rest must be measured, while others insist that it
b is like those already sounded. Both put ears before the intelligence.
"You mean," I said, "those good men who harass the strings and
put them to the torture, rackingthem on the pegs. I wont profong the
image with the blows struck by the plectrum, and the accusation
against the strings, and their denial and imposture.^^ I will put an
end to the image by saying that it isn't these men I mean but those
whom we just now said we are going to question about harmony. They
do the same thing the astronomers do. They seek the numbers m these
heard accords and don't rise to problems, to the consideration of which
numbers are concordant and which not, and why in each case.
"The thing you are speaking of," he said, "is demonic.
Useful, rather, for the quest after the fair and the good, I said,
"but pursued in any other way it is useless."
[ 210 ]
"And I suppose," I said, "that if the inquiry into all the things we 531 c
one another, and draws conclusions as to how they are akin to one
another, then the concern with them contributes something to what we
want, and is not a labor without profit, but otherwise it is."
"I, too, divine that this is the case," he said. "But it's a very big
job you speak of, Socrates."
"Do you mean the prelude or what?' I said. "Or don't we know
that all of this is a prelude to the song22 itself which must be
learned? For surely it's not your opinion that the men who are clever at
these things are dialecticians."
"But," I said, "was it ever your opinion that men who are unable
to give an account and receive one will ever know anything of what we
say they must know?"
"Glaucon," I said, "isn't this at last the song itself that dialectic 532 a
|itself, he comes to the very end of the intelligible realm just as that
tbther man was then at the end of the visible."
"Of course."
"Then," I said, "the release from the bonds and the turning
around from the shadows to the phantoms and the light, the way up
from the cave to the sun; and, once there, the persisting inability to
look at the animals and the plants and the sun's light, and looking in-
stead at the divine appearances in water and at shadows of the things c
(that are, rather than as before at shadows of phantoms cast by a light
ithat, when judged in comparison with the sun, also has the quality of
'" a shadow of a phant6m— all this" activity of the arts, which we
, went through, has the power to release and leads what is best in the
.soul up to the contemplation of what is best in the things that are,
I just as previously what is clearest in the body was led to the con-
I'templation of what is brightest in the region of the bodily and the
' visible." d
[ 211 ]
accept, however, but in another way hard not to accept. All the
same— since it's not only now that these things must be heard, but they
must all be returned to many times in the future— taking for granted
that this is as has now been said, let's proceed to the song itself and go
through it just as we went through the prelude. So tell what the charac-
ter of the power of dialectic is, and, then, into exactly what forms it is
e divided; and finally what are its ways. For these, as it seems, would lead
at last toward that place which is for the one who reaches it a haven
from the road, as it were, and an end of his journey."
53 a "You will no longer be able to follow, my dear Glaucon," I said,
"Of course."
are unable to give an account of them. When the beginning is what one
doesn't know, and the end and what comes in betwe:en are woven out of
what isn't known, what contrivance is there for ever turning such an
agreement into knowledge?"
"None," he said.
[ 212 ]
dimmer than knowledge. Thought was, I believe, the word by which we 533 d
two, intellection. And opinion has to do with coming into being and in-
tellection with being; and as being is to coming into being, so is in-
tellection to opinion; and as intellection is to opinion, so is knowledge
to trust and thought to imagination. But as for the proportion between
the things over which these are set and the division into two parts of
each— the opinable and the intelligible — let's let that go, Glaucon, so
as not to run afoul of arguments many times longer than those that have
been gone through."
"And do you also call that man dialectical who grasps the reason
for the being of each thing? And, as for the man who isn't able to do so,
to the extent he's not able to give an account of a thing to himself and
another, won't you deny that he has intelligence with respect to it?"
"Isn't it also the same with the good? Unless a man is able to
separate out the idea of the good from all other things and distinguish it c
somehow lays hold of some phantom of it, you will say that he does so
by opinion and not knowledge, and that, taken in by dreams and slum-
bering out his present life, before waking up here he goes to Hades and
falls finally asleep there?" d
"Then, as for those children of yours whom you are rearing and
educating in speech, if you should ever rear them in deed, I don't sup-
pose that while they are as irrational as lines^® you would let them
rule in the city and be the sovereigns of the greatest things."
"Then will you set it down as a law to them that they pay special
attention to the education on the basis of which they will be able to
question and answer most knowledgeably?"
[ 213 ]
534 e "I shall join with you," he said, "in setting down this law."
"Do you remember, in the former selection of the rulers, what sort
of men we selected?"
"True," he said.
c "And, of course, a man with a memory and who is firm and
be lame in his love of labor, loving half the labor while having no taste
for the other half. This is the case when a man is a lover of gymnastic
and the hunt and loves all the labor done by the body, while he isn't a
lover of learning or of hstening and isn't an inquirer, but hates the
labor involved in all that. Lame as well is the man whose love of labor
is directed exclusively to the other extreme."
[ 214 ]
"So," I said, "we must take good care of all such things since, if
we bring men straight of limb and understanding to so important a b
study and so important a training and educate them. Justice herself viill
not blame us, and we shall save the city and the regime; while, in
bringing men of another sort to it, we shall do exactly the opposite
and also pour even more ridicule over philosophy. "
"I forgot," I said, "that we were playing and spoke rather in- c
"No, by Zeus," he said, "that's not the way you seemed to me, the
listener. "
"But to me, the speaker," I said. "And let's not forget that in our
former selection we were picking old men, but in this one that isn't admissi-
ble. For we mustn't trust Solon when he says that in growing old a man d
is able to learn much; he's less able to do that than to run, and all the
great and numerous labors belong to the young."
"Necessarily," he said.
"Well then, the study of calculation and geometry and all the pre-
paratory education required for dialectic must be put before them as
children, and the instruction must not be given the aspect of a compul-
sion to learn."
[ 215 ]
e "Because," I said, "the free man ought not to learn any study
slavishly. Forced labors performed by the body don't make the body
any worse, but no forced study abides in a soul."
"True," he said.
"Don't you remember," I said, "that we also said that the children
must be led to war on horseback as spectators; and, if it's safe
anywhere, they must be led up near and taste blood, like the pup-
pies?"
"Then in all these, labors, studies, and fears," I said, "the boy who
shows himself always readiest must be chosen to join a select num-
ber."
jy "At what age?" he said.
which reveals the kinship of these studies with one another and with
the nature of that which is."
"At least, only such study," he said, "remains fast in those who
receive it."
"And it is the greatest test," I said, "of the nature that is dialec-
tical and the one that is not. For the man who is capable of an overview
"Well, then," I said, "in terms of these tests, you will have to con-
j sider who among them most meets them and is steadfast in studies and
steadfast in war and the rest of the duties established by law.^s And
to these men, in turn, when they are over thirty, you will give pref-
erence among the preferred and assign greater honors; and you must
[ 216 ]
consider, testing them with the power of dialectic, who is able to 537 d
release himself from the eyes and the rest of sense and go to that which
is in itself and accompanies truth. And here, my comrade, you have a
job requiring a great deal of guarding."
"Don't you notice," I said, "how great is the harm coming from e
"Do you suppose it's any wonder," I said, "that they are so af-
fected, and don't you sympathize?"
reaching manhood becomes aware that he does riot belong to these pre-
tended parents and isn't able to find those who really gave him birth.
Can you divine how he would be disposed toward the flatterers and
toward those who made the change, in the time when he didn't know
about the change, and then again when he did know it? Or do you want
to listen while I do the divining?"
"Well, then," I said, "I divine that in the time when he doesn't
know the truth he would be more likely to honor his father and his b
mother and the others who seem to be his kin than those who flatter
him. And he would be less likely to overlook any of their needs, less
likely to do or say anything unlawful to them, and less likely to disobey
them in the important things than the flatterers."
"And, when he has become aware of that which is, I divine that
now he would relax his honor and zeal for these people and intensify
them for the flatterers, be persuaded by them a great deal more than
before, and begin to live according to their ways, and have unconcealed c
relations with them. For that father and the rest of the adoptive kin,
unless he is by nature particularly decent, he wouldn't care."
"Everything you say," he said, "is just the sort of thing that would
happen. But how does this image apply to those who take up argu-
ments?"
[ 217 ]
pleasures that flatter our soul and draw it to them. They do not per-
suade men who are at all sensible;^^ these men rather honor the
ancestral things and obey them as rulers."
"That's so."
good and the things he held most in honor— after that, what do you
suppose he'll do about honoring and obeying as rulers the things he
heard from the lawgiver?"
"Necessarily."
those who take up the study of arguments in this way; and as I was just
saying, don't they deserve much sympathy?"
while they are young? I suppose you aren't unaware that when lads get
their first taste of them, they misuse them as though it were play, al-
ways using them to contradict; and imitating those men by whom they
are refuted, they themselves refute others, like puppies enjoying pulling
and tearing with argument at those who happen to be near."
"Then when they themselves refute many men and are refuted by
c many, they fall quickly into a profound disbelief of what they formerly
[ 218 ]
believed. And as a result of this, you see, they themselves and the 539 c
tradicts for the sake of the game. And he himself will be more sensible
and will make the practice of discussion more honorable instead of d
more dishonorable."
"And wasn't everything that was said before this also directed to
precaution— that those with whom one shares arguments are to have
orderly and stable natures, not as is done nowadays in sharing them
with whoever chances by and comes to it without being suited for
it."
"Don't worry about that," I said. "Set it down at five. Now, after
this, they'll have to go down into that cave again for you, and they must
be compelled to rule in the affairs of war and all the offices suitable for
young men, so that they won't be behind the others in experience. And
here, too, they must still be tested whether they will stand firm or give 540 a
"Fifteen years," I said. "And when they are fifty years old, those
who have been preserved throughout and are in every way best at
everything, both in deed and in knowledge, must at last be led to the
end. And, lifting up the brilliant beams of their souls, they must be
compelled to look toward that which provides light for everything.
Once they see the good itself, they must be compelled, each in his turn,
to use it as a pattern for ordering city, private men, and themselves for b
the rest of their lives. Forithe most part, each one spends his time in
philosophy, but when his turn comes, he drudges in politics and rules
for the city's sake, not as though he were doing a thing that is fine, but
one that is necessary. And thus always educating other like men and
leaving them behind in their place as guardians of the city, they go off
[ 219 ]
540 h to the Isles of the Blessed and dwell. The city makes public memorials
about the city and the regime are not in every way prayers; that they
are hard but in a way possible; and that it is possible in no other way
than the one stated: when the true philosophers, either one or more,
come to power in a city, they will despise the current honors and
believe them to be illiberal and worth nothing. Putting what is right
e and the honors coming from it above all, while taking what is just as
the greatest and the most necessary, and serving and fostering it, they
will provide for their own city."
"How?" he said.
"All those in the city who happen to be older than ten they will
541 a send out to the country; and taking over their children, they will rear
them — ^far away from those dispositions they now have from their
parents — in their own manners and laws that are such as we described
before. And, with the city and the regime of which we were speaking
thus established most quickly and easily, it will itself be happy and
most profit the nation in which it comes to be."
"That is by far the quickest and easiest way," he said. "And how
it would come into being, if it ever were to come into being, you have,
h in my opinion, Socrates, stated well."
"Isn't that enough already," I said, "for our arguments about this
city and the man like it? For surely it's plain what sort of man we'll say
he has to be."
[ 220 ]
BOOK VIII
"All right. This much has been agreed, Glaucon: for a city that is 543 a
established, they must take the lead and settle the soldiers in
houses — such as we spoke of before — that have nothing private for
anyone but are common for all. And, in addition to such houses, as to
possessions, if you remember, we presumably came to an agreement
about what sort they are to have."
"What you say is right," I said. "But come, since we have com-
pleted this, let's recall where we took the detour that brought us here so
that we can go back to the same way."
221 ]
543 c "That's not hard," he said. "You were presenting your arguments
pretty much as you are doing now, as though you had completed youj-
description of what concerns the city, saying that you would class a city
d such as you then described, and the man like it, as good. And you did
544 a this, as it seems, in spite of the fact that you had a still finer city and
man to tell of. Anyhow, you were saying that the other cities are
mistaken if this one is right. Concerning the remaining regimes, as I re-
member, you asserted that there are four forms it is worthwhile to have
an account of, and whose mistakes are worth seeing; and similarly with
the men who are like these regimes; so that, when we have seen them
all and agreed which man is best and which worst, we could consider
whether the best man is happiest and the worst most wretched, or
b whether it is otherwise. 'And just as I was asking which four regimes
you meant, Polemarchus and Adeimantus interrupted. That's how you
"Well, then, like a wrestler, give me the same hold again; and
when I put the same question, try to tell what you were going to say
then."
"And, in fact," he said, "I myself really desire to hear what four
regimes you meant."
c "It won't be hard for you to hear them," I said. "For those I mean
are also the ones having names; the one that is praised by the many,
that Cretan and Laconian regime; and second in place and second in
praise, the one called oligarchy, a regime filled with throngs of evils;
and this regime's adversary, arising next in order, democracy; and then
the noble tyranny at last, excelling all of these, the fourth and extreme
illness of a city. Or have you some other idea of a regime that fits into
d some distinct form? For dynasties and purchased kingships and certain
regimes of the sort are somewhere between these, and one would find
them no less among the barbarians than the Greeks."^
"At any rate," he said, "many strange ones are talked about."
you suppose that the regimes arise 'from an oak or rocks'^ and not
e from the dispositions of the men in the cities, which, tipping the scale
"No," he said. "I don't at all think they arise from anything other
than this."
"Surely."
222 ]
"Well, we have already described the man who is like the 544 e
"Must we next go through the worse men— the man who loves
victory and honor, fixed in relation to the Laconian regime; and then,
in turn, an oligarchic and a democratic man, and the tyrannic man, so
that seeing the most unjust man, we can set him in opposition to the
most just man? If so, we can have a complete consideration of how
pure justice is related to pure injustice with respect to the happiness
and wretchedness of the men possessing them. In this way we may be
persuaded either by Thrasymachus and pursue injustice, or by the
argument that is now coming to light and pursue justice." b
"It would, in any case," he said, "be a reasonable way for the ob-
servation and judgment to take place."
"Well, come, then," I said, "let's try to tell the way in which a
timocracy would arise from an aristocracy. Or is it simply the case that
change in every regime comes from that part of it which holds the d
ruling offices— when faction arises in it— while when it is of one mind,
it cannot be moved, be it composed of ever so few?"
"Then, Glaucon," I said, "how will our city be moved and in v/hat
way will the auxiliaries and the rulers divide into factions against each
other and among themselves? Or do you want us, as does Homer, to
pray to the Muses to tell us how 'faction first attacked,'^ and shall we e
say that they speak to" us with high tragic talk, as though they were
speaking seriously, playing and jesting with us like children?"
"How?"
But, since for everything that has come into being there is decay, not
even a composition such as this will remain for all time; it will be
[ 223 ]
546 a dissolved. And this will be its dissolution: bearing and barrenness of
soul and bodies come not only to plants in the earth but to animals on
the earth when revolutions complete for each the bearing round of
circles; for ones with short lives, the journey is short; for those whose
lives are the opposite, the journey is the opposite. Although they are
b wise, the men you educated as leaders of the city will nonetheless fail to
hit on the prosperous birth and barrenness of your kind with calcula-
tion aided by sensation, but it will pass them by, and they will at some
time beget children when they should not. For a divine birth there is a
period comprehended by a perfect number; for a human birth, by the
first number in which root and square increases, comprising three
distances and four limits, of elements that make like and unlike, and
that wax and wane, render everything conversable and rational. Of
c these elements, the root four-three mated with the five, thrice in-
e dians very apt at testing Hesiod's races^ and yours — gold and silver
'47 a and bronze and iron. And the chaotic mixing of iron with silver and of
"And we'll say," he said, "that what the Muses answer is right."
"Necessarijy," I said. "For they are Muses."
"Once faction had arisen," I said, "each of these two races, the
iron and bronze, pulled the regime toward money-making and the
possession of land, houses, gold, and silver; while the other two, the
gold and the silver— not being poor but rich by nature— led the souls
toward virtue and the ancient establishment. Struggling and straining
against one another, they came to an agreement on a middle way: they
[ 224 ]
distributed land and houses to be held privately, while those who pre- 547 c
viously were guarded by them as free friends and supporters they then
enslaved and held as serfs and domestics; and they occupied themselves
with war and with guarding against these men."
"Most certainly."
"Yes."
"But in being afraid to bring the wise to the ruling offices — be- e
cause the men of that kind it possesses are no longer simple and
earnest, but mixed — and in leaning toward spirited and simpler men,
men naturally more directed to war than to peace; in holding the wiles
and stratagems of war in honor; and in spending all its time making 548 a
"Yes."
"And such men," I said, "will desire money just as those in oligar-
chies do, and under cover of darkness pay fierce honor to gold and sil-
ver, because they possess storehouses and domestic treasuries where
they can deposit and hide them; and they will have walls around their
houses, exactly like private nests, where they can make lavish expen-
ditures on women and whomever else they might wish." b
"Then they will also be stingy with money because they honor it
and don't acquire it openly; but, pushed on by desire, they will love to
spend other people's money; and they will harvest pleasures stealthily,
running away from the la^ like boys from a father. This is because they
weren't educated by persuasion but by force — the result of neglect of
the true Muse accompanied by arguments and philosphy while giving
more distinguished honor to gymnastic than music." c
[ 225 ]
548 c spiritedness one thing alone is most distinctive in it: love of victories
and of honors."
"Then " I said, "this is the way this regime would come into being
and what it would be like— given the fact that we are only outlining a
d regime's figure in speech and not working out its details precisely, since
even the outline is sufficient for seeing the justest man and the unjustest
one, and it is an impractically long job to go through all regimes and all
dispositions and leave nothing out."
"Right," he said.
"Which respects?"
"Such, then," I said, "is the timocratic youth, like the timocratic
city." i
c "Most certainly."
[ 226 ]
suits, and everything of the sort that's to the busybody's taste, and who 549 c
"When," I said, "in the first place, he listens to his mother com-
plaining. Her husband is not one of the rulers and as a result she is at a
disadvantage among the other women. Moreover, she sees that he isn't d
very serious about money and doesn't fight and insult people for its
sake in private actions in courts and in public but takes everything of
the sort in an easygoing way; and she becomes aware that he always
turns his mind to himself and neither honors nor dishonors her very
much. She complains about all this and says that his father is lacking in
courage and too slack, and, of course, chants all the other refrains such
as women are likely to do in cases of this sort." e
"Yes, indeed," said Adeimantus, "it's just like them to have many
complaints."
"And you know," I said, "that the domestics of such men — those
domestics who seem well-disposed — ^sometimes also secretly say
similar things to the sons, and if they see someone who owes him
money or does some other injustice and whom the father doesn't
prosecute, they urge the son to punish all such men when he becomes a
man, and thus to be more of a man than his father. And when the son 550 a
goes out, he hears and sees other similar things — those in the city who
mind their own business called simpletons and held in small account,
and those who don't, honored and praised. Now when the young man
hears and sees all this, and, on the other hand, hears his father's argu-
ments and sees his practices at close hand contrasted with those of the
others, he is drawn by both of these influences. His father waters the
calculating part of his soul, and causes it to grow; the others, the desir- b
ing and spirited parts. Because he doesn't have a bad man's nature, but
has kept bad company with others, drawn by both of these influences,
he came to the middle, and turned over the rule in himself to the mid-
dle part, the part that loves victory and is spirited; he became a
haughty-minded man who loves honor."
"Therefore," I said, "we have the second regime and the second c
man." i
"Then, next, shall we, with Aeschylus, tell of 'another man set
against another city,'^ or rather, shall we follow our plan and tell first
of the city?"
[ 227 ]
"Yes."
"How?"
"The treasure house full of gold," I said, "which each man has
destroys that regime. \ First they seek out expenditures for themselves
and pervert the laws in that direction; they themselves and their wives
disobey them."
with him, and thus they made the multitude like themselves."
"That's likely."
sider virtue. Or isn't virtue in tension with wealth, as though each were
lying in the scale of a balance, always inclining in opposite directions?"
"Plainly."
"That's so."
"Instead of men who love victory and honor, they finally become
lovers of money-making and money; and they praise and admire the
wealthy man and bring him to the ruling offices, while they dishonor
the poor man."
"Certainly."
less? Prescribing that the man whose substance is not up to the level of
the fixed assessment shall not participate in the ruling offices, don't
[ 228 ]
5 they either put this into effect by force of arms or, before it comes to 551 b
that, they arouse fear and so estabhsh this regime? Or isn't it that
iway?"
"First," I said, "the very thing that defines the regime is one.
Reflect: if a man were to choose pilots of ships in that way — on the basis of
property assessments — and wouldn't entrust one to a poor man, even if he
were a more skilled pilot — "
proportions."
"And what about this? Is this a lesser mistake than the former
one?"
"What?"
"Such a city's not being one but of necessity two, the city of the
poor and the city of the rich, dwelling together in the same place, ever
plotting against each other. "
"And further, this isn't a fine thing: their being perhaps unable to
fight any war, first, on account of being compelled either to use the
multitude armed and be more afraid of it than the enemy, or not to use e
seem right?"
"Now see whether this regime is the first to admit the greatest of
all these evils."
[ 229 ]
552 a 'rWhatr
poor."
"Right."
"Reflect on this. When such a man was wealthy and was spending
was he then of any more profit to the city with respect to the functions
we were mentioning just now? Or did he seem to belong to the rulers
while in truth he was neither a ruler nor a servant of the city but a
spender of his means?"
-c "That's the way it was," he said, "he seemed, but was nothing
"Do you wish us," I said, "to say of him that, as a drone growing
up in a cell is a disease of a hive, such a man growing up in a house is a
drone and a disease of a city?"
"Hasn't the god made all drones with wings stingless, Adeiman-
tus, but only some drones with feet stingless while others have terrible
stings? From the stingless ones come those who end up as beggars in
d old age, while from those who have stings come all who are called
wrongdoers."
"It's plain, therefore," I said, "that in a city where you see beg-
gars, somewhere in the neighborhood thieves, cutpurses, temple rob-
bers, and craftsmen of all such evils are hidden."
wrongdoers with stings among them, whom the ruling offices diligently
hold down by force?"
[ 230 ]
"Then let's take it," I said, "that we have developed the regime 553 a
called oligarchy, one that gets its rulers on the basis of a property
assessment, and next let's consider how the man similar to it comes into
being and what he's like once he has come into being."
"Is this the principal way in which the transformation from that
timocratic man to an oligarchic one takes place?"
"How?"
"When his son is bom and at first emulates his father and follows
in his footsteps, and then sees him blunder against the city as against a b
reef and waste his property as well as himself. He had either been a
general or had held some other great ruling office, and then got entan-
gled with the court — suffering at the hands of sycophants — and under-
went death, exile, or dishonori^ and lost his whole substance."
"And the son, my friend, seeing and suffering this and having lost
his substance, is frightened, I suppose, and thrusts love of honor and
spiritedness headlong out of the throne of his soul; and, humbled by c
it on the ground on either side and be slaves, letting the one neither cal-
culate about nor consider anything but where more money will come
from less; and letting the other admire and honor nothing but wealth
and the wealthy, while loving the enjoyment of no other honor than
that resulting from the possession of money and anything that happens
to contribute to getting it."
"At least he is transformed out of a man who was like the regime
out of which oligarchy came."
[ 231 ]
"Most certainly."
"Good," I said. "But consider this. Won't w^e say that due to lack
of education dronelike desires come to be in him — some of the beggar
c variety, others of the wrongdoing variety — ^held dovioi forcibly by his
general diligence. "
"Surely," he said.
"Do you know," I said, "to what you must look if you want to see
the wrongdoings of these men?"
justice. "
Irue.
"Isn't it plain from this that when such a man has a good reputa-
tion in other contractual relations — ^because he seems to be just — he is
d forcibly holding dovioi bad desires, which are there, with some decent
part of himself He holds them dovioi not by persuading them that they
'had better not' nor by taming them vdth argument, but by necessity
and fear, doing so because he trembles for his whole substance."
"And, by Zeus, my friend," I said, "you'll find the desires that are
akin to the drone present in most of them when they have to spend
what belongs to others."
[ 232 ]
though for the most part his better desires would master his worse 554 e
desires."
Ihats so.
"That's my opinion."
of ambition in a city; he's not willing to spend money for the sake of
good reputation or any such contests. Afraid to awaken the spendthrift
desires and to summon them to an alliance and a love of victory, he
makes war like an oligarch, with a few of his troops, is defeated most of
the time, and stays rich."
"How?" he said.
much, they are unwilling to control those among the youth who become
licentious by a law forbidding them to spend and waste what belongs
to them— in order that by buying and making loans on the property
of such men they can become richer and more honored."
[ 233 ]
"Then I suppose these men sit idly in the city, fitted out with
stings and fully armed, some owing debts, some dishonored, and some
both, hating and plotting against those who acquired what belongs to
them and all the rest too, gripped by a love of change."
e "That's so."
556 a spring in interest, ^^ they make the drone and the beggar great in
the city."
"What law?"
"The one that takes second place to the former law and which
compels the citizens to care for virtue. For if someone were to
b prescribe that most voluntary contracts are to be made at the con-
tractor's own risk, the citizens would make money less shamelessly in
the city and fewer evils of the kind we were just describing would grow
in it."
"But, as it is," I said, "for all these reasons, the rulers in the city
treat the ruled in this way. And as for themselves and their own, aren't
their young luxurious and without taste for work of body or of soul, too
c soft to resist pleasures and pains, and too idle?"
"When the rulers and the ruled, each prepared in this fashion,
come alongside of each other — either wayfaring or in some other com-
munity, on trips to religious festivals or in campaigns, becoming ship-
d mates or fellow soldiers, or even observing one another in dangers
themselves — the poor are now in no wise despised by the rich. Rather
it is often the case that a lean, tanned poor man is ranged in battle next
to a rich man, reared in the shade, surrounded by a great deal of alien
flesh, and sees him panting and full of perplexity. Don't you suppose he
believes that it is due to the vice of the poor that such men are rich, and
when the poor meet in private, one passes the word to the other: 'Those
men are ours. For they are nothing?"
[ 234 ]
"I certainly know very well," he said, "that this is what they do." 556 e
"Just as a sickly body needs only a slight push from outside to be-
come ill, and sometimes even without any external influence becomes
divided by factions within itself, so too doesn^t a city that is in the same
kind of condition as that body, on a small pretext— men brought in as
allies from outside, from a city under an oligarchy, by the members of
one party, from a city under a democracy by the members of the
other— fall sick and do battle with itself, and sometimes even without
any external influence become divided by faction?"
"In what way do these men live?" I said. "And what is the charac-
ter of such a regime? For it's plain that the man who is like it will turn b
out to be democratic."
"In the first place, then, aren't they free? And isn't the city full of
freedom and free speech? And isn't there license in it to do whatever
one wants?"
"And where there's license, it's plain that each man would
organize his life in it privately just as it pleases him."
"Yes, it is plain."
[ 235 ]
557 d of regimes, and, once having chosen, he would thus establish his
regime."
e "Perhaps," he said, "he wouldn't be at a loss for patterns at least "
558 a compulsion keeping you from ruling and being a judge anyhow, if you
long to do so — isn't such a way of passing the time divinely sweet for
the moment?"
"Then, democracy," I said, "would have all this and other things
akin to it and would be, as it seems, a sweet regime, without rulers and
many-colored, dispensing a certain equality to equals and unequals
alike."
"Reflect, then," I said, "who is the private man like this? Or, just
as we did in the case of the regime, must we first consider how he
comes to be?"
"Yes," he said.
"Of course."
"Now, this son too, forcibly ruling all the pleasures in himself that
are spendthrifty and do not conduce to money-making, those ones that
"Plainly," he said.
[ 236 ]
"So that we don't discuss in the dark," I said, "do you want us to 558 d
"Quite so."
"That is just."
"And what about this? If we were to affirm that all those are un-
necessary of which a man could rid himself if he were to practice from
youth on and whose presence, moreover, does no good — and sometimes
even does the opposite of good— would what we say be fine?"
"Yes, we must."
"Yes."
"Most certainly."
"But what about the desire that goes beyond toward sorts of food
other than this, of which the many can be rid if it is checked in
youth and educated, and is harmful to the body and to the soul with
respect to prudence and moderation? Wouldn't it rightly be called un- c
necessary?"
"Surely."
"Then won't we also assert the same about sex and the other
desires?"
"And weren't we also saying that the man we just named a drone
is full of such pleasures and desires and is ruled by the unnecessary
ones, while the stingy oligarchic man is ruled by the necessary ones?" d
[ 237 ]
"Well, then, going back again," I said, "let's say how the demo-
cratic man comes out of the oligarchic one. And it looks to me as
though it happens in most cases like this."
"How?"
to a democratic one."
560 a or from other relatives, then faction and counterfaction arise in him and
"Surely."
iled, a certain shame arose in the young man's soul, and order was re-
established."
"But I suppose that once again other desires, akin to the exiled
b ones, reared in secret due to the father's lack of knowledge about rear-
"Of course."
[ 238 ]
E among them? And if some help should come to the stingy element in
t his soul fj-om relatives, those boasting speeches close the gates of the
f kingly wall within him; they neither admit the auxiliary force itself nor
doing battle they hold sway themselves; and naming shame simplicity,
, they push it out with dishonor, a fugitive; calling moderation
cowardliness and spattering it with mud, they banish it;^" persuading
that measure and orderly expenditure are rustic and illiberal, they join
with many useless desires in driving them over the frontier."
"Indeed they do."
"Now, once they have emptied and purged these from the soul of
the man whom they are seizing and initiating in great rites, they pro- e
and doesn't give himself wholly over to the invaders— then he lives his
life in accord with a certain equality of pleasures he has established. To
whichever one happens along, as though it were chosen by the lot, he
hands over the rule within himself until it is satisfied; and then again to
another, dishonoring none but fostering them all on the basis of
equality."
"Most certainly."
"And," I said, "he doesn't admit true speech or let it pass into the
guardhouse, if someone says that there are some pleasures belonging to
fine and good desires and some belonging to bad desires, and that the c
ones must be practiced and honored and the others checked and
enslaved. Rather, he shakes his head at all this and says that all are
alike and must be honored on an equal basis."
[ 239 ]
561 c flute, at another downing water and reducing; now practicing gyii^,
"Well," I said, "I suppose that this man is all-various and full of
the greatest number of dispositions, the fair and many-colored man
like the city. Many men and women would admire his life because it
contains the most patterns of regimes and characters."
"Then," I said, "the fairest regime and the fairest man would be
left for us to go through, tyranny and the tyrant."
"Certainly," he said.
"Yes, it is plain."
"How?"
"The good that they proposed for themselves," I said, "and for the
sake of which oligarchy was established, was wealth, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"And then the greediness for wealth and the neglect of the rest for
the sake of money-making destroyed it."
"True," he said.
"And does the greediness for what democracy defines as good also
dissolve it?"
son it is the only regime worth living in for anyone who is by nature
free."
[ 240 ]
"Then," I said, "as I was going to say just now, does the insatiable 562 c
desire of this and the neglect of the rest change this regime and prepare
a need for tyranny?"
"How?" he said.
"I suppose that when a democratic city, once it's thirsted for free-
dom, gets bad winebearers as its leaders and gets more drunk than it d
should on this unmixed draught, then, unless the rulers are very gentle
and provide a great deal of freedom, it punishes them, charging them
with being polluted and oligarchs."
"And it spatters with mud those who are obedient, alleging that
they are willing slaves of the rulers and nothings," I said, "while it
praises and honors— both in private and in public— the rulers who are
like the ruled and the ruled who are like the rulers. Isn't it necessary in
such a city that freedom spread to everything?" e
as well as of their attendants. And, generally, the young copy their el-
ders and compete with them in speeches and deeds while the old come
down to the level of the young; imitating the young, they are overflow-
ing with facility and charm, and that's so that they won't seem to be b
unpleasant or despotic."
our lips'?"24
"Certainly," 1 said, "I shall do just that. A man who didn't have
[ 241 ]
563 c the experience couldn't be persuaded of the extent to which beasts sub-
ject to human beings are freer here than in another city. The bitches
follow the proverb exactly and become like their mistresses;^^ and
of course, there come to be horses and asses who have gotten the habit
of making their way quite freely and solemnly, bumping into whomever
they happen to meet on the roads, if he doesn't stand aside, and all else
d is similarly full of freedom."
can't stand it? And they end up, as you well know, by paying no atten-
tion to the laws, written or unwritten, in order that they may avoid hav-
e ing any master at all."
"The same disease," I said, "as that which arose in the oligarchy
and destroyed it, arises also in this regime — ^but bigger and stronger as
a result of the license — and enslaves democracy. And, really, anything
that is done to excess is likely to provoke a correspondingly great
change in the opposite direction— in seasons, in plants, in bodies, and,
"Too much freedom seems to change into nothing but too much
slavery, both for private man and city."
"But I suppose you weren't asking that," I said, "but rather what
b disease, growing naturally in oligarchy and democracy alike, enslaves
the latter."
"Well, then," I said, "I meant that class of idle, extravagant men.
The most courageous part of them leads, the less courageous part
follows. It's just these whom we liken to drones, some equipped with
stings, others without stings."
[ 242 ]
"Well, then," I said, "when these two come into being in any 564 b
regime, they cause trouble, like phlegm and bile in a body. And it's
against them that the good doctor and lawgiver of a city, no less than a c
"Well, then," I said, "let's take it like this so that we may more
distinctly see what we want."
"How?" ^
"In the argument let's divide the city under a democracy into three
parts, which is the way it actually is divided. One class is surely that which, d
Thats so.
"How's that?"
"There, due to its not being held in honor but being driven from
the ruling offices, it is without exercise and isn't vigorous. But in a
democracy, presumably, this class, with few exceptions, leads, and its
fiercest part does the speaking and the acting, while the rest alight near
the platform and buzz and don't endure the man who says anything
else; the result is that everything, apart from a certain few exceptions, e
"What class?"
"Likely."
"Then I suppose that it is there that the most honey, and that
easiest to get to, can be squeezed out by the drones."
"How," he said, "could one squeeze it out of those who have lit-
tle?"
"Then I suppose such rich men are called the drones' pasture."
"And the people wotild be the third class, all those who do their 565 a
ovi^n work, don't meddle in affairs, and don't possess very much.
Whenever they assemble, they constitute the most numerous and most
sovereign class in a democracy."
"Yes, they do," he said. "But they aren't willing to assemble very
frequently unless they get some share of the honey."
[ 243 ]
565 fl "Therefore, they always get a share," 1 said, "to the extent that
the leaders, in taking away the substance of those who have it and
distributing it among the people, are able to keep the greatest part for
themselves."
b "Yes," he said, "they do get a share in that way."
"Then I suppose that those men whose property is taken away are
compelled to defend themselves by speaking before the people and by
doing whatever they can."
"Of course."
"For this they are charged by the others, even if they don't desire
to make innovations, with plotting against the people and being
oligarchs."
"Of course."
"And, therefore, when they see that the people are trying to do
them an injustice, not willingly but out of ignorance and because they
c are deceived by the slanderers, they at last end up, whether they want
"Quite so."
"What's that?"
'That the man who tastes of the single morsel of human inwards
cut up with those of other sacrificial victims must necessarily become a
e wolf. Or haven't you heard that speech?"
"I have."
"Isn't it also the same for the leader of a people who, taking over
a particularly obedient mob, does not hold back from shedding the
blood of his tribe but unjustly brings charges against a man— which is
exactly what they usually do — and, bringing him before the court, mur-
ders him, and, doing away with a man's life, tastes of kindred blood
[ 244 ]
with unholy tongue and mouth, and banishes, and Idlls, and hints at 565 e
necessarily fated, I say, that after this such a man either be slain by his
enemies or be tyrant and turn from a human being into a wolf?"
"Then this," I said, "is the man who incites faction against those
who have wealth."
"This is he."
"If he's exiled and comes back in spite of his enemies, does he
come back a complete tyrant?"
"Plainly."
him to the city, they plot to do away with him stealthily by a violent
death."
"All those, then, whose careers have progressed to this stage now
hit upon the notorious tyrannical request — to ask the people for some
bodyguards to save the people's defender for them."
"Then I suppose the people grant the request, frightened for him
and sure of themselves."
"Quite so."
"Necessarily."
"And surely it's plain that this leader himself doesn't lie 'great in
his greatness' on the ground, but, having cast down many others, stands d
"Then let us," I said, "go through the happiness of the man and
the city in which such a mortal comes to be. "
"In the first days of his time in office," I said, "doesn't he smile at
and greet whomever he meets, and not only deny he's a tyrant but prom-
[ 245 ]
566 e ise much in private and public, and grant freedom from debts and
distribute land to the people and those around himself, and pretend to
be gracious and gentle to all?"
"Necessarily," he said.
"That's likely."
567 a "And, also, so that, becoming poor from contributing money, they
"Plainly."
"It is necessary."
"Of course."
"Also, don't some of those who helped in setting him up and are
in power — the manliest among them — speak frankly to him and to one
another, criticizing what is happening?"
"That's likely."
"Then the tyrant must gradually do away with all of them, if he's
going to rule, until he has left neither friend nor enemy of any worth
whatsoever."
"Plainly."
"Yes," I said, "the opposite of the one the doctors give to bodies.
For they take off the worst and leave the best, while he does the op-
posite."
prescribes that he either dwell with the ordinary many, even though
[ 246 ]
"To the extent that he is more hateful to the citizens for doing 567 d
these things, won't he have more need of more — and more trustw^orthy
—armed guards?"
"Of course."
"Who are these trustworthy men? And where will he send for
them?"
"On their own, many will come flying," he said, "if he gives the
wages."
"These are drones, by the dog," I said, "of whom you are, in my
opinion, again speaking, foreign ones of all sorts." e
"What?"
"—to take away the slaves from the citizens, free them and
include them among the armed guards surrounding himself?"
"It's not for nothing," I said, "that tragedy in general has the
reputation of being wise and, within it, Euripides of being particularly
so.
"Why is that?"
wise.'2* And he plainly meant that these men we just spoke of are the
wise with whom a tyrant has intercourse."
"Therefore," I said, 'Tjecause the tragic poets are wise, they par-
don us, and all those who have regimes resembling ours, for not admit-
ing them into the regime on the ground that they make hymns to
tyranny."
"I suppose," he said, "they pardon us, at least all the subtle ones
among them." c
[ 247 ]
568 c crowds, and hiring fine, big and persuasive voices, they draw the
"Quite so."
"And, besides this, they get wages and are honored too, most of
democracy. But the higher they go on the slope of the regimes, the
d more their honor fails, as though it were unable to proceed for want of
breath."
"Most certainly."
"It's plain," he said, "that he and his drinking fellows and com-
rades, male and female, will get their support from his father's proper-
"I understand," I said. "The people that begot the tyrant will sup-
port him and his comrades. "
"But what do you have to say to this?" I said. "What if the people
are discontented and say that it is not just for a son in his prime to be
supported by his father, but the reverse, the father should be supported
569 a by the son; and that they didn't beget and set him up so that when he
had grown great they should be slaves to their own slaves and support
him and the slaves along vwth other flotsam, but so that with him as
leader they would be freed from the rich and those who are said to be
gentlemen in the city; and they now bid him and his comrades to go
away from the city^ — like a father driving a son along with his trouble-
some drinking fellows out of the house?"
"By Zeus, how this kind ofa people will then know," he said, "the kind
b of a beast they have begotten, welcomed, and made great, and that
they are the weaker driving out the stronger! "
"What are you saying?" I said. "Will the tyrant dare to use
force on his father, and if he doesn't obey, strike him?"
"Yes," he said, "once he's taken away his father's arms. "
[ 248 ]
enslavement to free men would have fallen into the fire of being under 569 c
the mastery of slaves; in the place of that great and unseasonable free-
dom they have put on the dress of the harshest and bitterest enslave-
ment to slaves."
[ 249 ]
BOOK IX
"What?"
[ 251 ]
571 c drink, is skittish and, pushing sleep away, seeks to go and satisfy its
"But, on the other hand, I can suppose a man who has a healthy
and moderate relationship to himself and who goes to sleep only after
he does the following: first, he awakens his calculating part and feasts it
on fair arguments and considerations, coming to an understanding with
e himself; second, he feeds the desiring part in such a way that it is
neither in want nor surfeited — in order that it will rest and not disturb
572 a the best part by its joy or its pain, but rather leave that best part alone
pure and by itself, to consider and to long for the perception of some-
thing that it doesn't know, either something that has been, or is, or is
going to be; and, third, he soothes the spirited part in the same way and
does not fall asleep with his spirit aroused because there are some he
got angry at. When a man has silenced these two latter forms
and set the third — the one in which prudent thinking comes to be — in
motion, and only then takes his rest, you know that in such a state he
most lays hold of the truth and at this time the sights that are hostile to
b law show up least in his dreams. "
"Well now, we have been led out of the way and said too much
about this. What we wish to recognize is the following: surely some ter-
rible, savage, and lawless form of desires is in every man, even in some
of us who seem to be ever so measured. And surely this becomes plain
in dreams. Now reflect whether I seem to be saying something and
whether you agree with me. "
"I do agree."
"Yes."
"And once having had intercourse with subtler men who are full
of those desires we just went through, he began by plunging himself in-
to every insolence and assuming the form of these men, out of hatred of
his father's stinginess. But, because he has a nature better than that of
[ 252 ]
i bis corrupters, he was drawn in both directions, and settled down ex- 572 c
; actly in the middle between the two ways; and enjoying each in d
"That was and is," he said, "the opinion about this kind of man."
"Well, then," I said, "assume again that such a man, now grown
older, has a young son reared, in turn, in his father's dispositions."
"Well, assume further that those same things happen to the son
that also happened to his father and he is drawn to complete hostility to
law, though it is named complete freedom by those who are introducing e
him to it, and that his father and his other relatives bring aid to those
middle desires while these dread enchanters and tyrant-makers give aid
to the other side. And when they have no hope of getting hold of the
young man in any other way, they contrive to implant some love in
him— a great winged drone— to be the leader of the idle desires that in-
sist on all available resources being distributed to them. Or do you sup- 573 a
pose that love in such men is anything other than a winged drone?"
the man any opinions or desires accounted good and still admitting of
shame, it slays them and pushes them out of him until it purges him of
moderation and fills him with madness brought in from abroad."
"Is it for this reason, too," I said, "that love has from old been
called a tyrant?"
"Yes, he does."
"And, further, the man who is mad and deranged undertakes and
expects to be able to rule not only over human beings but gods, too."
[ 253 ]
socrates/adeimantus THEREPUBLjpl
573 c "This, as it seems, is also the way such a man comes into beine
"I shall," I said. "I suppose that next there are among them feasts
revels, parties, courtesans, and everything else of the sort that belongs
to those in whom the tryant love dwells and pilots all the elements of
the soul."
"Necessarily," he said.
"So that whatever revenues there may be are quickly used up."
"Of course."
e "And next surely come borrowing and the stripping away of his
estate. "
"What else?"
"Then when all this gives out, won't the crowd of intense desires
hatched in the nest necessarily cry out; and won't these men, driven as
it were by the stings of the other desires but especially by love itself,
which guides all the others as though they were its armed guards, rage
and consider who has anything they can take away by deceit or
574 a force?"
"Yes, it is necessary."
"Then, just as the pleasures that came to be in him later got the
better of the old ones and took away what belonged to them, so won't
he, a younger man, claim he deserves to get the better of his father and
mother and, if he has spent his own part, take away and distribute the
paternal property? "
"Exactly."
"And where he's not able to, won't he next seize it and use
force?"
"And then, you surprising man, if the old man and the old woman
hold their ground and fight, would he watch out and be reluctant to do
any tyrannic deeds?"
[ 254 ]
"But, in the name of Zeus, Adeimantus, is it your opinion that for 574 b
a man will strike his old friend and necessary mother, or that for the
sake of a newly-found and unnecessary boy friend, in the bloom of
youth, he will strike his elderly and necessary father who is no longer in
the bloom of youth and is the oldest of friends, and that he will enslave
his parents to them if he should bring them into the same house?"
"What then? When what belongs to his father and mother gives d
out on such a man and there's already quite a swarm of pleasures densely
gathered in him, won't he begin by taking hold of the walP of
someone's house or the cloak of someone who goes out late at night,
and next, sweep out some temple? And throughout all this, those
opinions he held long ago in childhood about fine and base things, the
opinions accounted just,^ are mastered by the opinions newly re-
leased from slavery, now acting as love's bodyguard and conquering
along with it. These are the opinions that were formerly released as
dreams in sleep when, still under laws and a father, there was a dem- e
"And if," I said, "there are few such men in a city and the rest of
the multitude is behaving moderately, they emigrate and serve as b
"Oh, they steal, break into houses, cut purses, go off with people's
clothes, rob temples, and lead men into slavery; at times they are syco-
phants, if they are able to speak, and they bear false witness and take
bribes."
[ 255 ]
575 c "These are small evils you speak of," he said, "if such men are
few."
is then that they, together with the folly of the people, generate the
tyrant, that one among them who in particular has the biggest and most
d extreme tyrant within his own soul."
"That's if they submit willingly. But if the city doesn't offer itself,
just as he then punished his mother and father, so now he will, if he
can, punish the fatherland, bringing in new comrades; and his way of
keeping and cherishing his dear old motherland — as the Cretans
say— and fatherland will be to enslave them to these men. And this
must surely be the end toward which such a man's desire is direct-
ed."
e "That's exactly it," he said.
"When these men are in private life, before they rule, aren't they
like this: in the first place, as to their company, either they have in-
tercourse with their flatterers, who are ready to serve them in every-
thing, or, if they have need of anything from anyone, they themselves
cringe and dare to assume any posture, acting as though they belonged
576 a to hirn, but when they have succeeded they become quite alien."
"Therefore, they live their whole life without ever being friends of
anyone, always one man's master or another's slave. The tyrannic na-
ture never has a taste of freedom or true friendship."
"Most certainly."
"Of course."
"And, further, could we call them as unjust as they can be, if our
b previous agreement about what justice is was right?"
"Most certainly."
"The man who turns out to be worst," I said, "will he also turn
[ 256 ]
out to be most wretched? And he who is for the longest time the most a 576 c
tyrant, will he also have been most wretched for the longest time — in
the light of the truth? However, the many have many opinions."
"Of course."
"Everything is the opposite," he said. "The one was the best, the
"I won't ask you which you mean," I said. "It's plain. But as to
their happiness and wretchedness, do you judge similarly or dif-
ferently? And let's not be overwhelmed at the sight of the tyrant — one
man — or a certain few around him; but, as one must, let's go in and
view the city as a whole, and, creeping down into every comer and e
"And about these same things, as they exist in the men," I said,
"would I also be right in suggesting that that man should be deemed fit 577 a
to judge them who is able with his thought to creep into a man's disposi-
tion and see through it — a man who is not like a child looking from out-
side and overwhelmed by the tyrannic pomp set up as a facade for those
outside, but who rather sees through it adequately? And what if I were
to suppose that all of us must hear that man who is both able to judge
and has lived together with the tyrant in the same place and was
witness to his actions at home and saw how he is with each of his ov^ti,
among whom he could most be seen stripped of the tragic gear; and, again, b
has seen him in public dangers; and, since he has seen all that,
we were to bid him to report how the tyrant stands in relation to the
others in happiness and wretchedness?"
"Do you want us," I said, "to pretend that we are among those
who would be able to judge and have already met up with such men, so
that we'll have someone to answer what we ask?"
[ 257 ]
glaucon/socrates THEREPUBLIc
577 b "Certainly."
Recalhng for yourself the likeness of the city and the man, and reflect-
ing on each in turn, tell of the states of both."
"In the first place," I said, "speaking of a city, will you say that
one under a tyranny is free or slave?"
"I do," he said, "see a small part of the land, but virtually the
whole of it and the most decent part is slave, without honor, and wret-
ched."
d "If, then," I said, "a man is like his city, isn't it also necessary that
the same arrangement be in him and that his soul be filled with much
slavery and illiberality, and that, further, those parts of it that are most
decent be slaves while a small part, the most depraved and maddest, be
master?"
"What, then? Will you assert that such a soul is slave or free?"
"Slave, of course."
"And, further, doesn't the city that is slave and under a tyranny
least do what it wants?"
"By far."
e "And therefore, the soul that is under a tyranny will least do what
"Of course."
"Poor."
"Quite necessarily."
"Not at all."
[ 258 ]
$'
tf
-like them and judged this city to be the most wretched of cities." 578 b
I "Quite right," I said. "But, now, what do you say about the tyran-
b "This man," I said, "is not yet, I suppose, the most wretched."
"What man?"
private life but has bad luck and by some misfortune is given the occa-
sion to become a tyrant."
"I conjecture," he said, "on the basis of what was said before, that
what you say is true."
"Yes," I said. "But in an argument such as this, one must not just
suppose such things but must consider them quite well. For, you know,
the consideration is about the greatest thing, a good life and a bad
one."
"Which one?"
"The point of view of the individual private men who are rich in
cities and possess many bondsmen. For they are similar to the tyrant in
ruling many, although the multitude of the tyrant is greater."
"Yes, it is greater."
"You know that they are confident, and not frightened, of the
domestics?"
"What you say is fine," I said. "But what if some one of the gods ^
were to lift one man who has fifty or more bondsmen out of the
city— him, his wife, and his children— and set them along with the rest
of his property and the domestics in a desert place where none of the
free men is going to be able to help him? What do you suppose will be
the character and extent of his fear that he, his children, and his wife
will be destroyed by the domestics?"
[ 259 ]
slaves and promise them much and free them although there is
obligation for him to do so? And wouldn't he himself turn out to be the
flatterer of servants?"
"And," 1 said, "what if the god settled many other neighbors all
around him who won't stand for any man's claiming to be another's
master, and if they ever can get their hands on such a one, they subject
him to extreme punishments."
b '"He would," he said, "'1 suppose, be in an even greater extreme of
"Isn't the tyrant bound in such a prison, he who has a nature such
as we described, full of many fears and loves of all kinds? And he, whose
soul is so gourmand, alone of the men in the city can't go anywhere
abroad or see all the things the other free men desire to see; but, stuck
in his house for the most part, he lives like a "woman, envying any of the
c other citizens who travel abroad and see anything good."
""The case is in every way most similar, " he said, "'and what you
say, Socrates, is most true."
whole. Throughout his entire life his is full of fear, overflowing with
convulsions and pains, if indeed he resembles the disposition of the
city he rules. And he does resemble it, doesn't he? "
[ 260 ]
"Come, then," I said, "just as the man who has the final decision
in the whole contest^ declares his choice, you, too, choose now for me b
who in your opinion is first in happiness, and who second, and the others
in order, five in all — kingly, timocratic, oligarchic, democratic, tyrannic."
while the worst and most unjust man is most wretched and he, in his
turn, happens to be the one who, being most tyrannic, is most tyrant of
"All right, then," I said. "That would be one proof for us. Look at
this second one and see if there seems to be anything to it." d
"What is it?"
"What is it?"
"One part, we say, was that with which a human being learns, and
another that with which he becomes spirited; as for the third, because
of its many forms, we had no peculiar name to call it by, but we named e
it by what was biggest and strongest in it. For we called it the desiring
part on account of the intensity of the desires concerned with eating,
drinking, sex, and all their followers; and so, we also called it the
[ 261 ]
581 a money-loving part, because such desires are most fulfilled by means
of money."
"Then if we were to say that its pleasure and love is of gain, would
we most satisfactorily fix it in one general form for the argument, so
that when we speak of this part of the soul we will plainly indicate
something to ourselves; and would we be right in calling it money-
loving and gain-loving?"
"And what about this? Don't we, of course, say that the spirited
part is always wholly set on mastery, victory and good reputation?"
b "Quite so."
"And, moreover, it's plain to everyone that the part with which
we learn is always entirely directed toward knowing the truth as it is;
and of the parts, it cares least for money and opinion."
"By far."
"Of course."
"And," I said, "doesn't this part rule in the souls of some men,
c while in that of others another of these parts rules, whichever it hap-
pens to be?"
"Then that's why we assert that the three primary classes of hu-
"Entirely so."
"Certainly."
"Do you know," I said, "that if you were willing to ask three such
men, each in turn, what is the sweetest of these lives, each would most
d laud his own? The money-maker will assert that, compared to gaining, the
"True," he said.
[ 262 ]
he call them really necessary since he doesn't need all the others if
necessity did not accompany them?"
"Since, then," I said, "the pleasures of each form, and the life it-
self, dispute with one another, not about living more nobly or
shamefully or worse or better but about living more pleasantly and
painlessly, how would we know which of them speaks most truly?" 582 a
"Great indeed." c
aim. For the wealthy man is honored by many; and so are the
courageous man and the wise one. Therefore, all have experience of the
kind of pleasure that comes from being honored. But the kind of
pleasure connected vnth the vision of what is cannot be tasted by
anyone except the lover of wisdom."
[ 263 ]
"By far."
"Of course."
"What's that?"
"Yes."
"Of course."
most true."
"Plainly."
to that part of the soul with which we learn; and the man among us in
whom this part rules has the most pleasant life."
"What life," I said, "does the judge say is in second place and
what pleasure is in second place?"
been victorious over the unjust one. Now the third, in Olympic fashion,
to the savior and the Olympian Zeus.'' Observe that the other men's
pleasure, except for that of the prudent man, is neither entirely true nor
pure but is a sort of shadow painting, as I seem to have heard from
[ 264 ]
some one of the wise. And yet this would be the greatest and most 583 b
"Ask," he said.
"Quite so."
"Don't we also say that being aflPected by neither joy nor pain is
something?"
"Is it in the middle between these two, a certain repose of the soul
with respect to them? Or don't you say it's that way?"
"What words?"
"That after all nothing is more pleasant than being healthy, but
before they were sick it had escaped them that it is most pleasant." d
"And don't you also hear those who are undergoing some intense
suffering saying that nothing is more pleasant than the cessation of suf-
fering?"
"For," he said, "at that time repose perhaps becomes pleasant and
enough to content them."
"Perhaps," he said.
"So it seems."
"Not in my opinion."
"And, moreover, the pleasant and the painful, when they arise in
the soul, are both a sort of motion, aren't they?"
"Yes."
"And didn't what is neither painful nor pleasant, however, just 584 a
[ 265 ]
584 a "Then how can it be right to believe that the absence of suffering
"In no way."
pains, so that you won't perhaps suppose in the present instance that it
is naturally the case that pleasure is rest from pain and pain rest from
pleasure."
"There are many others, too," I said, "but, if you are willing to
reflect on them, the pleasures of smells in particular. For these, without
previous pain, suddenly become extraordinarily great and, once having
ceased, leave no pain behind."
"Isn't this also the case with the anticipatory pleasures and pains
arising from expectation of pleasures and pains that are going to be?"
Yes, it IS.
d "Do you," I said, "know what sort of things they are and what
"What?" he said.
"Do you," I said, "hold that up, down, and middle are something
in nature?"
"I do."
"Do you suppose that a man brought from the downward region
to the middle would suppose anything else than that he was being
brought up? And standing in the middle and looking away to the place
from which he was brought, would he believe he was elsewhere than in
the upper region since he hasn't seen the true up?"
"No, by Zeus," he said. "I don't suppose such a man would sup-
pose otherwise."
[ 266 ]
"Of course."
"Plainly."
a way that, when they are brought to the painful, they suppose truly and 585 a
are really in pain, but, when brought from the painful to the in-
between, they seriously suppose they are nearing fulfillment and
pleasure; and, as though out of lack of experience of white they looked
from gray to black, out of lack of experience of pleasure they look from
pain to the painless and are deceived?"
"Of course."
"Quite so."
"And wouldn't the man who partakes of nourishment and the one
who gets intelligence become full?"
"Surely."
"As to fullness, is the truer fullness that of a thing which is less or of one
which is more."
virtue? Judge it in this way: In your opinion which thing is more: one
that is connected with something always the same, immortal and true,
and is such itself and comes to be in such a thing; or one that is con-
nected with something never the same and mortal, and is such itself and
comes to be in such a thing? "
"And the being of that which is always the same, does it par-
ticipate in being any more than in knowledge?"^
"Not at all."
[267 ]
socrates/glaucon THEREPUBLic
"Necessarily."
d "Generally, isn't it the case that the classes that have to do with
the care of the body participate less in truth and being than those hav-
ing to do with the care of the soul?"
"Far less."
"Don't you suppose the same is the case with body itself as com-
pared to soul?"
"I do."
"Isn't what is full of things that are more, and itself is more, really
fuller than what is full of things that are less and itself is less?"
"Of course."
takes in things that are less would be less truly and surely full and
but are always living with feasts and the like are, it seems, brought
dov^Ti and then back again to the middle and throughout life wander in
this way; but, since they don't go beyond this, they don't look upward
toward what is truly above, nor are they ever brought to it; and they
aren't filled with what really is, nor do they taste of a pleasure that is
sure and pure; rather, after the fashion of cattle, always looking down
and with their heads bent to earth and table, they feed, fattening them-
b selves, and copulating; and, for the sake of getting more of these things,
they kick and butt with horns and hoofs of iron, killing each other be-
cause they are insatiable; for they are not filling the part of themselves
that is, or can contain anything, with things that are."
"That, Socrates," said Glaucon, "is exactly the life of the many
presented in the form of an oracle."
"Then isn't it also necessary that the pleasures they live with be
mixed with pains— mere phantoms and shadow paintings of true
c pleasure? Each takes its color by contrast with the others, so that they
look vivid and give birth to frenzied loves of themselves in the foolish
and are fought over, like the phantom of Helen that Stesichorus says
the men at Troy fought over out of ignorance of the truth."^
"And what about this? In what concerns the spirited part, won't
other like things necessarily come to pass for the man who brings this
[ 268 ]
"Therefore, when all the soul follows the philosophic and is not
factious, the result is that each part may, so far as other things are con-
cerned, mind its own business and be just and, in particular, enjoy its
own pleasures, the best pleasures, and, to the greatest possible extent,
the truest pleasures." ' 587 1
"And, therefore, when one of the other parts gets control, the
result is that it can't discover its owti pleasure and compels the others
to pursue an alien and untrue pleasure."
"By far."
"And is what is most distant from law and order most distant
from argument?"
"Plainly."
"And didn't the erotic and tyrannic desires come to light as most
distant?"
"By far."
"Yes."
"Necessarily."
"Quite necessarily."
"Do you know," I said, "how much more unpleasant the tyrant's
life is than the king's?"
[ 269 ]
c bastard. The tyrant, going out beyond the bastard ones, once he has
pleasures; and the extent of his inferiority isn't at all easy to tell, except
perhaps as follows."
"How?" he said.
"The tyrant, of course, stood third from the oligarchic man; the
man of the people was between them."
"Yes."
"That's so."
"And the oligarchic man is in his turn third from the kingly man,
d if we count the aristocratic and the kingly man as the same."
"Yes, he is third."
"Entirely so."
"Then if one turns it around and says how far the king is removed
e from the tyrant in truth of pleasure, he will find at the end of the mul-
tiplication that he lives 729 times more pleasantly, while the tyrant
lives more disagreeably by the same distance."
588 a difference between the two men — the just and the unjust — in pleasure
and pain."
"Then if the good and just man's victory in pleasure over the bad
and unjust man is so great, won't his victory in grace, beauty, and vir-
tue of life be greater to a prodigious degree?"
ment, let's take up again the first things said, those thanks to which we
have come here. It was, I believe, said that doing injustice is profitable
[ 270 ]
for the man who is perfectly unjust but has the reputation of being just. 533 j
"Yes, it was."
"Now then," I said, "let's discuss with him, since we have agreed
about the respective powers of doing injustice and doing just things."
"How?" he said.
"By molding an image of the soul in speech so that the man who
says these things will see just what he has been saying."
"One of those natures such as the tales say used to come into be-
ing in olden times— the Chimsera, Scylla, Cerberus, and certain others, a
throng of them, which are said to have been many ideas grown
since speech is more easily molded than wax and the like, consider it as
molded."
"Now, then, mold another single idea for a lion, and a single one
for a human being. Let the first be by far the greatest, and the second,
second in size."
"Well, then, join them— they are three— in one, so that in some
way they grow naturally together with each other."
"Then let's say to the one who says that it's profitable for this hu-
man being to do injustice, and that it's not advantageous for him to do
just things, that he's affirming nothing other than that it is profitable for
him to feast and make strong the manifold beast and the lion and
what's connected with the lion, while starving the human being and
making him weak so that he can be drawn wherever either of the others 589
leads and doesn't habituate them to one another or make them friends
but lets them bite and fight and devour each other."
"That," he said, "is exactly what would be meant by the man who
praises doing injustice."
"On the other hand, wouldn't the one who says the just things
[ 271 ]
589 a are profitable affirm that it is necessary to do and say those things
from which the human being within will most be in control of the hu-
b man being and take charge of the many-headed beast — like a fann-
er, nourishing and cultivating the tame heads, while hindering the
growth of the savage ones — making the lion's nature an ally and,
caring for all in common, making them friends with each other and
himself, and so rear them?"
"That is exactly what in turn is meant by the man who praises the
just. "
"In every respect, surely, the man who lauds the just things would
c speak the truth and the man who lauds the unjust ones would lie. For,
just tells the truth, while the blamer says nothing healthy and blames
"Far more terrible indeed," said Glaucon. "I'll answer you on his
behalf"
"Don't you suppose that being licentious has also long been
blamed for reasons of this kind, since by that sort of thing that terrible,
great, and many-formed beast is given freer rein than it ought to
have?"
"Plainly," he said.
"And aren't stubbornness and bad temper blamed when they in-
[ 272 ]
harmoniously strengthen and strain the lion-like and snake-like part?" 590 i
"Most certainly."
"And aren't lixxury and softness blamed for slackening and relax-
ing this same part when they introduce cowardice in it?"
"Of course."
"And the law," I said, "as an ally of all in the city, also makes it
plain that it wants something of the kind; and so does the rule over the
children, their not being set free until we establish a regime in them as
in a city, and until— having cared for the best part in them with the like 591
[ 273 ]
socrates/glaucon THEREPUBLIc
591 b tame part freed, and doesn't his whole soul — brought to its best nature
to that end as long as he lives; in the first place, honoring the studies
that will make his soul such, while despising the rest?"
"Plainly," he said.
"Next," I said, "not only won't he turn the habit and nourishment of
the body over to the bestial and irrational pleasure and live turned in that
direction, but he'll not even look to health, nor give precedence to being
d strong, healthy, or fair unless he's also going to become moderate as a result
of them; rather he will always be seen adjusting the body's harmony for the
sake of the accord in the soul."
592 a "And, further, with honors too, he looks to the same thing; he will
willingly partake of and taste those that he believes will make him bet-
ter, while those that would overturn his established habit he will flee, in
private and in public."
"Yes, by the dog," I said, "he will in his own city, very much so.
However, perhaps he won't in his fatherland unless some divine chance
coincidentally comes to pass."
[ 274 ]
"But in heaven," I said, "perhaps, a pattern is laid up for the man 592 b
who wants to see and found a city within himself on the basis of what
he sees. It doesn't make any difference whether it is or will be
somewhere. For he would mind the things of this city alone, and of no
other."
[ 275 ]
BOOKX
"And, indeed, " I said, "I also recognize in many other aspects of 595 a
this city that we were entirely right in the way we founded it, but I say
this particularly when reflecting on poetry."
"In not admitting at all any part of it that is imitative. For that the
imitative, more than anything, must not be admitted looks, in my opin-
ion, even more manifest now that the soul's forms have each been
separated out." b
"Between us — and you all won't denounce me to the tragic poets and
all the other imitators — all such things seem to maim the thought of
those who hear them and do not as a remedy have the knowledge of how
they really are."
must not be honored before the truth, but, as I say, it must be told."
"Ask."
[ 277 ]
595 c "Could you tell me what imitation in general is? For I myself
596 a duller vision have often, you know, seen things before those who see
more sharply."
"I do."
"Then let's now set down any one of the 'manys' you please; for
b example, if you wish, there are surely many couches and tables."
"Of course:"
"But as for ideas for these furnishings, there are presumably two,
one of couch, one of table."
"Yes."
"In no way."
"He who makes everything that each one of the manual artisans
makes separately. "
"Not yet. In an instant you'll say that even more. For this same
manual artisan is not only able to make all implements but also makes
everything that grows naturally from the earth, and he produces all
animals — the others and himself too — and, in addition to that, pro-
duces earth and heaven and gods and everything in heaven and every-
thing in Hades under the earth. "
d "That's quite a wonderful sophist you speak of," he said.
"Are you distrustful?" I said. "And tell me, in your opinion could
there be altogether no such craftsman; or in a certain way, could a
maker of all these things come into being and in a certain way not? Or
aren't you aware that you yourself could in a certain way make all these
things?"
278 ]
"It's not hard," I said. "You could fabricate them quickly in many
ways and most quickly, of course, if you are willing to take a mirror and
carry it around everywhere; quickly you will make the sun and the e
things in the heaven; quickly, the earth; and quickly, yourself and the
other animals and implements and plants and everything else that was
just now mentioned."
"Yes," he said, "so that they look like they are; however, they
surely are not in truth."
"Fine," I said, "and you attack the argument at just the right
place. For I suppose the painter is also one of these craftsmen, isn't
he?"
"And what about the couchmaker? Weren't you just saying that 597 a
he doesn't make the form, which is what we, of course, say is just a couch,
but a certain couch?"
"Then, if he doesn't make what is, he wouldn't make the being but
something that is like the being, but is not being. And if someone were
to assert that the work of the producer of couches or of any other
manual artisan is completely being, he would run the risk of saying
what's not true."
"Yes," he said, "at least that would be the opinion of those who
spend their time in arguments of this kind."
"There turn out, then, to be these three kinds of couches: one that
is in nature, which we would say, I suppose, a god produced. Or who
else?"
"Yes," he said.
"Let it be so."
[ 279 ]
597 h "Then painter, couchmaker, god — these three preside over three
"Yes, three."
c "Now, the god, whether he didn't want to or whether some
necessity was laid upon him not to produce more than one couch in
nature, made only one, that very one which is a couch. And two or
more such weren't naturally engendered by the god nor will they be
begotten."
"Because," I said, "if he should make only two, again one would
come to light the form of which they in turn would both possess, and
that, and not the two, would be the couch that is. "
"Right," he said.
d "Then, I suppose, the god, knowing this and wanting to be a real
"So it seems."
"Yes."
"Not at all."
"All right," I said, "do you, then, call the man at the third genera-
tion from nature an imitator? "
"Probably."
598 a about the painter. In your opinion, does he in each case attempt to
"Such as they are or such as they look? For you still have to make
this further distinction."
[ 280 ]
"Like this. Does a couch, if you observe it from the side, or 598 a
from the front, or from anywhere else, differ at all from itself? Or
does it not differ at all but only look different, and similarly with the
rest?"
"Of course."
and all things human that have to do with virtue and vice, and the
divine things too. For it is necessary that the good poet, if he is go-
ing to make fair poems about the things his poetry concerns, be in
possession of knowledge when he makes his poems or not be able
to make them. Hence, we must consider whether those who tell us
this have encountered these imitators and been deceived; and
whether, therefore, seeing their works, they do not recognize that
these works are third from what is and are easy to make for the man 599 a
who doesn't know the truth— for such a man makes what look like
beings but are not. Or, again, is there also something to what they
[ 281 ]
599 a say, and do the good poets really know about the things that, in the
"Do you suppose that if a man were able to make both, the thing
to be imitated and the phantom, he would permit himself to be serious
about the crafting of the phantoms and set this at the head of his own
b life as the best thing he has?"
"No, I don't."
"I suppose so," he said. "For the honor and the benefit coming
from the two are hardly equal."
"Well, then, about the other things, let's not demand an account
c from Homer or any other of the poets by asking, if any one of them was
a doctor and not only an imitator of medical speeches, who are the men
whom any poet, old or new, is said to have made healthy, as Asclepius
did; or what students of medicine he left behind as Asclepius did his
ofiFspring.^ Nor, again, will we ask them about the other arts, but
we'll let that go. But about the greatest and fairest things of which
Homer attempts to speak — about wars and commands of armies and
d governances of cities, and about the education of a human being — it
is surely just to ask him and inquire, 'Dear Homer, if you are not
third from the truth about virtue, a craftsman of a phantom, just the
one we defined as an imitator, but are also second and able to recog-
nize what sorts of practices make human beings better or worse in
private and in public, tell us which of the cities was better governed
thanks to you, as Lacedaemon was thanks to Lycurgus, and many
e others, both great and small, were thanks to many others? What
city gives you credit for having proved a good lawgiver and ben-
efited them? Italy and Sicily do so for Charondas, and we for So-
lon;2 now who does it for you?' Will he have any to mention? '
"I don't suppose so," said Glaucon. "At least, the Homeridae
themselves do not tell of any."
"None."
[ 282 ]
thagoras himself was particularly cherished for this reason, and his
successors even now still give Pythagoras' name to a way of life that
makes them seem somehow outstanding among men."
supervise their education, and they are so intensely loved for this
wisdom that their comrades do everything but carry them about on
their heads. Then do you suppose that if he were able to help human
beings toward virtue, the men in Homer's time would have let him or
Hesiod go around being rhapsodes and wouldn't have clung to them
rather than to their gold? And wouldn't they have compelled these
teachers to stay with them at home; or, if they weren't persuaded, e
"Then, in this way, I suppose we'll claim the poetic man also
uses names and phrases to color each of the arts. He himself doesn't
understand; but he imitates in such a way as to seem, to men whose
condition is like his own and who observe only speeches, to speak
very well. He seems to do so when he speaks using meter, rhythm.
[ 283 ]
b ship, or anything else. So great is the charm that these things by na-
ture possess. For when the things of the poets are stripped of the
colors of the music and are said alone, by themselves, I suppose you
know how they look. For you, surely, have seen."
"Don't they," I said, "resemble the faces of the boys who are
youthful but not fair in what happens to their looks when the bloom
has forsaken them?"
"Exactly," he said.
"Yes."
"Well, then, let's not leave it half- said, but let's see it adequately."
"Speak," he said.
"Yes."
"Certainly."
"Then does the painter understand how the reins and the bit must
be? Or does even the maker not understand— the smith and the leather-
cutter — ^but only he who knows how to use them, the horseman?"
"Very true."
"How?"
d "For each thing there are these three arts— one that will use, one
"Yes."
"That's so."
"It's quite necessary, then, that the man who uses each thing be
most experienced and that he report to the maker what are the good or
bad points, in actual use, of the instrument he uses. For example, about
flutes, a flute player surely reports to the flute-maker which ones would
e serve him in playing, and he will prescribe how they must be made, and
"Of course."
"Doesn't the man who knows report about good and bad flutes,
and won't the other, trusting him, make them?"
"Yes."
[ 284 ]
? "Therefore the maker of the same implement will have right trust 601 e
• concerning its beauty and its badness from being with the man who
I knows and from being compelled to listen to the man who knows, while
the user will have knowledge." 602 a
"Certainly."
"And will the imitator from using the things that he paints have
knowledge of whether they are fair and right or not, or right opinion
due to the necessity of being with the man who knows and receiving
prescriptions of how he must paint?"
"Neither."
"Hardly." _
what way each thing is bad or good. But as it seems, whatever looks to
be fair to the many who don't know anything— that he will imitate."
"Then it looks like we are pretty well agreed on these things: the
imitator knows nothing worth mentioning about what he imitates;
imitation is a kind of play and not serious; and those who take up tragic
poetry in iambics and in epics are all imitators in the highest possible
degree."
"Most certainly."
"In the name of Zeus," I said, "then, isn't this imitating con- c
cerned with something that is third from the truth? Isn't that so?"
"Yes."
"Now, then, on which one of the parts of the human being does it
have the power it has?"
"This sort. The same magnitude surely doesn't look equal to our
sight from near and from far."
"No, it doesn't."
"And the same things look bent and straight when seen in water
and out of it, and also both concave and convex, due to the sight's
being misled by the colors, and every sort of confusion of this kind is
plainly in our soul. And, then, it is because they take advantage of this d
[ 2S5 ]
sockates/glaucon THEREPUBLI
602 d most charming helpers in these cases? As a result of them, we are not
"Undeniably."
e "But this surely must be the work of the calculating part in a
soul."
"And to it, when it has measured and indicates that some things
are bigger or smaller than others, or equal, often contrary appearances
are presented at the same time about the same things."
"Yes."
603 a "Therefore, the part of the soul opining contrary to the measures
would not be the same as the part that does so in accordance with the
measures."
"No, it wouldn't."
"Of course."
"Necessarily."
"Well, then, it was this I wanted agreed to when I said that paint-
ing and imitation as a whole are far from the truth when they produce
their work; and that, moreover, imitation keeps company with the part
h in us that is far from prudence, and is not comrade and friend for any
"Exactly," he said.
"Well, then," I said, "let's not just trust the likelihood based on
painting; but let's now go directly to the very part of thought with
^ which poetry's imitation keeps company and see whether it is ordinary
or serious."
[ 286 ]
"Nothing."
"Then, in all this, is a human being of one mind? Or, just as with
respect to the sight there was faction and he had contrary opinions in d
himself at the same time about the same things, is there also faction in
him when it comes to deeds and does he do battle with himself? But I
"Rightly," he said.
"Yes, it was right," I said. "But what we then left out, it is now
necessary to go through, in my opinion." e
"A decent man," I said, "who gets as his share some such chance
as losing a son or something else for which he cares particularly, as we
were surely also saying then, will bear it more easily than other men."
"Certainly."
"Now tell me this about him. Do you suppose he'll fight the pain 604 a
and hold out against it more when he is seen by his peers, or when he is
alone by himself in a deserted place?"
"But when left alone, I suppose, he'll dare to utter many things of
which he would be ashamed if someone were to hear, and will do many
things he would not choose to have anyone see him do."
"Isn't it argument and law that tell him to hold out, while the suf-
fering itself is what draws him to the pain?" h
True.
things in him."
"Undeniably."
[287 ]
604 h "Isn't the one ready to be persuaded in whatever direction the law
leads?"
"How so?"
"That," he said, "at all events, would be the most correct way for
a man to face what chance brings."
"Plainly."
"Plainly."
"Therefore it would at last be just for us to seize him and set him
beside the painter as his antistrophe. For he is like the painter in mak-
ing things that are ordinary by the standard of truth; and he is also
b similar in keeping company with a part of the soul that is on the same
[ 288 ]
ilevel and not with the best part. And thus we should at last be justified 605 b
Ijn not admitting him into a city that is going to be under good laws, be-
^cause he awakens this part of the soul and nourishes it, and, by making
lit strong, destroys the calculating part, just as in a city when someone,
|by making wicked men mighty, turns the city over to them and cor-
Irupts the superior ones. Similarly, we shall say the imitative poet pro-
Induces a bad regime in the soul of each private man by making phan-
^toms that are very far removed from the truth and by gratifying the c
soul's foolish part, which doesn't distinguish big from little, but
believes the same things are at one time big and at another little."
"Most certainly."
singing and beating his breast, you know that we enjoy it and that we
give ourselves over to following the imitation; suffering along with the
hero in all seriousness, we praise as a good poet the man who most puts
us in this state."
"But when personal sorrow comes to one of us, you are aware
that, on the contrary, we pride ourselves if we are able to keep quiet
and bear up, taking this to be the part of a man and what we then e
"Is that a fine way to praise?" I said. "We see a man whom we
would not condescend, but would rather blush, to resemble, and,
instead of being disgusted, we enjoy it and praise it?"
"If you are aware that what is then held down by force in our own
misfortunes and has hungered for tears and sufficient lament and
satisfaction, since it is by nature such as to desire these things, is that
which now gets satisfaction and enjoyment from the poets. What is by
nature best in us, because it hasn't been adequately educated by argu-
ment of habit, relaxes its guard over this mournful part because it sees
another's sufferings, and it isn't shameful for it, if some other man who b
claims to be good laments out of season, to praise and pity him; rather
[ 289 ]
606 b it believes that it gains the pleasure and wouldn't permit itself to be
"And as for sex, and spiritedness, too, and for all the desires,
pains, and pleasures in the soul that we say follow all our action, poetic
imitation produces similar results in us. For it fosters and waters them
when they ought to be dried up, and sets them up as rulers in us when
they ought to be ruled so that we may become better and happier in-
stead of worse and more wretched."
"I can't say otherwise," he said.
say that this poet educated Greece, and that in the management and
education of human affairs it is worthwhile to take him up for study
and for living, by arranging one's whole life according to this poet, you
607 a must love and embrace them as being men who are the best they can
be, and agree that Homer is the most poetic and first of the tragic poets;
but you must know that only so much of poetry as is hymns to gods or
celebration of good men should be admitted into a city. And if you ad-
mit the sweetened muse in lyrics or epics, pleasure and pain will jointly
be kings in your city instead of law and that argument which in each
instance is best in the opinion of the community."
"Very true," he said.
let it be our apology that it was then fitting for us to send it away from
the city on account of its character. The argument determined us. Let
us further say to it, lest it convict us for a certain harshness and
rusticity, that there is an old quarrel between philosophy and poetry.
For that 'yelping bitch shrieking at her master,' and 'great in the empty
c eloquence of fools,' 'the mob of overwise men holding sway,' and 'the
refined thinkers who are really poor'^ and countless others are signs of
290 ]
this old opposition. All the same, let it be said that, if poetry directed 607 c
to pleasure and imitation have any argument to give showing that they
should be in a city with good laws, we should be delighted to receive
them back from exile, since we are aware that we ourselves are
channed by them. But it isn't holy to betray what seems to be the truth.
Aren't you, too, my friend, channed by it, especially when you con-
template it through the medium of Homer?" d
"Isn't it just for it to come back in this way— when it has made an
apology in lyrics or some other meter?"
"Most certainly."
"And surely we would also give its protectors, those who aren't
poets but lovers of poetry, occasion to speak an argument without
meter on its behalf, showing that it's not only pleasant but also benefi-
cial to regimes and human life. And we shall listen benevolently. For
surely we shall gain if it should turn out to be not only pleasant but also e
beneficial."
"But if not, my dear comrade, just like the men who have once
fallen in love with someone, and don't believe the love is beneficial,
keep away from it even if they have to do violence to themselves; so we
too — due to the inborn love of such poetry we owe to our rearing in
these fine regimes— we'll be glad if it turns out that it is best and truest. 608 a
But as long as it's not able to make its apology, when we listen to it,
well chant this argument we are making to ourselves as a coun-
tercharm, taking care against falling back again into this love, which is
childish and belongs to the many. We are, at all events, aware that such
poetry mustn't be taken seriously as a serious thing laying hold of truth,
but that the man who hears it must be careful, fearing for the regime in b
"I join you in saying that," he said, "on the basis of what we have
gone through. And I suppose anyone else would too."
"And, yet," I said, "we haven't gone through the greatest rewards c
[ 291 ]
608 c "For surely, the whole of the time from childhood to old age would h
"It is for me," he said. "But I would gladly hear from you this
thing that isn't hard."
"I do."
e "Then do you have the same understanding of them as I do?"
"What's that?"
"What destroys and corrupts everything is the bad, and what saves
and benefits is the good."
"And what about this? Do you say there is something bad and
something good for each thing— for example, ophthalmia for the eyes,
609 a and sickness for the entire body, blight for grain, rot for wood, rust for
iron and bronze, and, as I say, for nearly all things is there an evil and
illness naturally connected with each?"
"Undeniably."
"Therefore the evil naturally connected with each thing and its
particular badness destroys it, or if this doesn't destroy it, surely there
h is nothing else that could still corrupt it. For surely the good would
never destroy anything, nor, again, would what is neither bad nor
good."
[ 292 ]
' "What then?" I said. "Doesn't the soul have something that makes
rjt bad?"
f> "Very much so/' he said, "all the things we were just going
f "Does any one of them dissolve and destroy it? And reflect, so
rthat we won't be deceived into supposing that the unjust and foolish
g|o the injustice, which is a badness of soul. But do it this way: just as
I jhe badness of body, which is disease, melts and destroys a body and
Ibrings it to the point where it is not even a body, similarly all the things
tof which we were just speaking are corrupted by their own specific
? vice, which attaches itself to them and is present in them, and they d
tfinally come to the point where they are not. Isn't that so?"
k Yes.
; and the rest of vice, when they are present in it, by being present and
[destroyed by a badness that is alien and not by one that is its own."
"It is unreasonable."
% "Reflect, Glaucon," I said, "that we don't suppose a body should e
[ by the badness of food, which is another thing, if the alien evil does not
; introduce the evil that is naturally connected with the body."
t^ "What you say," he said, "is quite right."
admit that a soul is destroyed by an alien evil that does not bring with it
; the specific badness of a soul— that is, we would not admit that one
"Well then, either let's refute what we are saying and show that
■ it's not fine, or, as long as it's unrefuted, let's never assert that by fever, b
whole body up into the smallest pieces— a soul is ever closer to being
[ 293 i
610 b these sufferings of the body the sou] itself becomes unjuster and
unholier. But when an ahen vice comes to be in something else and its
c own peculiar vice does not come to be in it, let's not permit anyone to
"On the contrary," he said, "no one will ever show that when men
are dying their souls become unjust due to death."
kills, those who get it die Irom it — those who get most, more quickly
those who get less, in more leisurely fashion. They would be unlike the
unjust men who, as things now stand, do indeed die from injustice, but
at the hands of other men who administer the penalty."
"By Zeus," he said, "then injustice won't look like such a very ter-
rible thing if it will be fatal to the one who gets it. For it would be a
relief from evils. But I suppose rather that it will look, all to the con-
e trary, like it kills other men, if it can, but makes its possessor very
"What you say is fine," I said. "For surely, whenever its own
badness and its own evil are not sufficient to kill and destroy a soul, an
evil assigned to the destruction of something else will hardly destroy a
soul, or anything else except that to which it is assigned."
611 a own or an alien— it's plainly necessary that it be always and, if it is al-
"Well, then," I said, "let this be so. And if it is, you recognize that
there would always be the same souls. For surely they could not be-
come fewer if none is destroyed, nor again more numerous. For if any
of the immortal things should become more numerous, you know that
they would come from the mortal, and everything would end up by
being immortal."
"But," I said, "let's not suppose this— for the argument won't per-
b mit it— nor that soul by its truest nature is such that it is full of much
"It's not easy," I said, "for a thing to be eternal that is both com-
294 ]
posed out of many things and whose composition is' not of the finest, as 611 b
"Well then, that soul is immortal both the recent argument and
the others would compel us to accept. But it must be seen such as it is
in truth, not maimed by community with body and other evils, as we c
now see it. But what it is like when it has become pure must be exam-
ined sufficiently by calculation. And one will find it far fairer and
discern justice and injustice^ and everything we have now gone
through more distinctly. Now we were telling the truth about it as it
looks at present. However that is based only on the condition in which
we saw it. Just as those who catch sight of the sea Glaucus^ would no d
longei- easily see his original nature because some of the old parts of his
body have been broken off and the others have been ground down and
thoroughly maimed by the waves at the same time as other things have
grown on him — shells, seaweed, and rocks — so that he resembles any
beast rather than what he was by nature, so, too, we see the soul in such
a condition because of countless evils. But, Glaucon, one must look
elsewhere."
"Where?" he said.
"To its love of wisdom, and recognize what it lays hold of and e
with what sort of things it longs to keep company on the grounds that it
is akin to the divine and immortal and what is always, and what it
would become like if it were to give itself entirely to this longing and
were brought by this impulse out of the deep ocean in which it now is,
and the rocks and shells were hammered off— those which, because it
feasts on earth, have grown around it in a wild, earthy, and rocky profu- 612 a
sion as a result of those feasts that are called happy. And then one
would see its true nature— whether it is many-formed or single-formed,
or in what way it is and how. But now, as I suppose, we have fairly
gone through its affections and forms in its human life."
reputations connected with justice as you said Hesiod and Homer do?
But we found that justice by itself is best for soul itself, and that the
soul must do the just things, whether it has Gyges' ring or not, and, in
addition to such a ring. Hades' cap."^^
[ 295 ]
socrates/glaucon THEREPUBLIC
612 c the soul from human beings and gods, both while the human being is
"Then, will you give back to me what you borrowed in the argu-
ment?"
"What in particular?"
"I gave you the just man's seeming to be unjust and the unjust
man just. You both asked for it; even if it weren't possible for this to
escape gods and human beings, all the same, it had to be granted for the
"Then," I said, "won't you first give this back: that it doesn't
escape the notice of gods, at least, what each of the two men is?"
"And if they don't escape notice, the one would be dear to the
gods and the other hateful, as we also agreed at the beginning?"
That s so.
"And won't we agree that everything that comes to the man dear
613 a to the gods— insofar as it comes from gods— is the best possible, except
for any necessary evil that was due to him for former mistakes?"
"Most certainly."
come just and, practicing virtue, likens himself, so far as is possible for
i> a human being, to a god."
"It's quite likely," he said, "that such a man isn't neglected by his
like."
"And, in the case of the unjust man, mustn't we think the opposite
of these things?"
"Then such would be some of the prizes from gods to the just
man."
[ 296 ]
"And what does he get from human beings?" I said. "Or, if that
which is must be asserted, isn't it this way? Don't the clever unjust men
do exactly as do all those in a race who run well from the lower end of
the course but not from the upper?ii ^t tjjg start they leap sharply
away but end up by becoming ridiculous and, with their ears on their c
shoulders,^2 j-^jj off uncrowned? But those who are truly run-
ners come to the end, take the prizes, and are crowned. Doesn't it also for
the most part turn out that way with the just? Toward the end of every
action, association, and life they get a good reputation and bear off
the prizes from human beings."
"Quite so."
"Will you, then, stand for my saying about them what you your-
self said about the unjust? For I shall say that it's precisely the just, d
when they get older, who rule in their city if they wish ruling offices,
and marry wherever they wish and give in marriage to whomever they
want. And everything you said about the unjust, I now say about these
men. And, again, about the unjust, I shall say that most of them, even if
they get away unnoticed when they are young, are caught at the end of
the race and ridiculed; and when they get old, they are insulted in their
wretchedness by foreigners and townsmen. As for being whipped and
the things that you, speaking truly, said are rustic— that they will be e
racked and burned— suppose that you have also heard from me that
they suffer all these things. But, as I say, see if you'll stand for it."
"Well, then," I said, "such would be the prizes, wages, and gifts
coming to the just man while alive from gods and human beings, in ad- 614 a
"Do tell," he said, "since there aren't many other things that b
"I will not, however, tell you a story of Alcinous," I said, "but
rather of a strong man, Er, son of Armenius, by race a Pam-
phylian.13 Once upon a time he died in war; and on the tenth day,
when the corpses, already decayed, were picked up, he was picked up
in a good state of preservation. Having been brought home, he was
about to be buried on the twelfth day; as he was lying on the pyre, he
came back to life, and, come back to life, he told what he saw in the
other world. He said that when his soul departed, it made a journey in
[ 297 ]
SOCRATES THEREPUBLlQ
614 c the company of many, and they came to a certain demonic place, where
there were two openings in the earth next to one another, and, again
two in the heaven, above and opposite the others. Between them sat
judges who, when they had passed judgment, told the just to continue
their journey to the right and upward, through the heaven; and they at-
tached signs of the judgments in front of them. The unjust they told to
continue their journey to the left and down, and they had behind them
d signs of everything they had done. And when he himself came forward
e pure from heaven. And the souls that were ever arriving looked as
though they had come from a long journey: and they went away with
delight to the meadow, as to a public festival, and set up camp there.
All those who were acquaintances greeted one another; and the souls
that came out of the earth inquired of the others about the things in the
other place, and those from heaven about the things that had happened
to those from the earth. And they told their stories to one another, the
tl5 a ones lamenting and crying, remembering how much and what sort of
things they had suffered and seen in the journey under the earth— the
journey lasts a thousand years — and those from heaven, in their turn,
told of the inconceivable beauty of the experiences and the sights there.
Now to go through the many things would take a long time, Glaucon.
But the sum, he said, was this. For all the unjust deeds they had done
anyone and all the men to whom they had done injustice, they had paid
the penalty for every one in turn, ten times over for each. That is, they
were punished for each injustice once every hundred years; taking this
h as the length of human life, in this way they could pay off the penalty
for the injustice ten times over. Thus, for example, if some men were
causes of the death of many, either by betraying cities or armies and
c measure did they receive reward. And about those who were only just
born and lived a short time, he said other things not worth mentioning.
And he told of still greater wages for impiety and piety toward gods
and parents and for murder. For he said he was there when one man
was asked by another, 'Where is Ardiaeus the Great?' This Ardiaeus
[ 298 ]
had been tyrant in a certain city of Pamphylia just a thousand years 615 c
before that time; he had, as was said, killed his old father and elder
brother and done many other unholy deeds." Now Er said that the d
man asked responded, 'He hasn't come. Nor will he come here,' he
asserted. 'For this too, of course, was one of the terrible sights we saw.
When we were near the mouth about to go up and had suffered every-
thing else, we suddenly saw him and others. Just about all of them were
tyrants, but there were also some private men, of those who had com-
mitted great faults. They supposed they were ready to go up, but the e
mouth did not admit thern; it roared when one of those whose badness
is incurable or who had not paid a sufficient penalty attempted to go
up. There were men at that place,' he said, 'fierce men, looking fiery
through and through, standing by and observing the sound, who took
hold of some and led them away, but who bound Ardiaeus and others
hands, feet, and head, threw them down and stripped off their skin. 616 a
They dragged them along the wayside, carding them like wool on
thorns; and they indicated to those who came by for what reason this
was done and that these men would be led away and thrown into Tar-
tarus.' They had experienced many fears of all kinds, he said, but more
extreme than any was the fear that each man experienced lest the sound
come as he went up; and when it was silent, each went up with the
greatest delight. Such then were the penalties and punishments; and, on
the other hand, the bounties were the antistrophes of these.
"When each group had spent seven days in the plain, on the b
eighth they were made to depart from there and continue their journey.
In four days they arrived at a place from which they could see a
straight light, like a column, stretched from above through all of heaven
and earth, most of all resembling the rainbow but brighter and purer.
They came to it after having moved forward a day's journey. And
there, at the middle of the light, they saw the extremities of its bonds c
stretched from heaven; for this light is that which binds heaven, like the
undergirders of triremes, thus holding the entire revolution together.
From the extremities stretched the spindle of Necessity, by which all
the revolutions are turned. Its stem and hook are of adamant, and its
whorl is a mixture of this and other kinds. The nature of the whorl is
like this: its shape is like those we have here; but, from what he said, it d
I 299 ]
THE REPUBLIC
16 e form one continuous whorl around the stem, which is driven right '
through the middle of the eighth.*^ Now the circle formed by the lip
of the first and outermost whorl is the broadest; that of the sixth, sec-
ond; that of the fourth, third; that of the eighth, fourth; that of the sev-
enth, fifth; that of the fifth, sixth; that of the.third, seventh; and that of
the second, eighth. And the lip of the largest whorl is multicolored; that
17 a of the seventh, brightest; that of the eighth gets its color from the sev-
enth's shining on it; that of the second and the fifth are like each
other, yellower than these others; the third has the whitest color; the
fourth is reddish; and the sixth is second in whiteness. The whole
spindle is turned in a circle with the same motion, but within the
revolving whole the seven inner circles revolve gently in the opposite
direction from the whole; of them, the eighth goes most quickly, second
b and together with one another are the seventh, sixth and fifth. Third in
e select you, but you will choose a demon. Let him who gets the first lot
"When he had said this, he cast the lots among them all, and each
picked up the one that fell next to him— except for Er who wasn't per-
mitted to do so. To the man who picked it up it was plain what number
he had drawn. After this, in turn, he set the patterns of the lives on the
[ 300 ]
ground before them; there were far more than there were souls present. ^^^ "
There were all sorts; lives of all animals, and, in particular, all the
varieties of hurrian lives. There were tyrannies among them, some last-
ing to the end, others ruined midway, ending both in poverty and exile
and in beggary. And there were lives of men of repute— some for their
forms and beauty and for strength in general as well as capacity in
contests; others for their birth and the virtues of their ancestors — and b
there were some for men without repute in these things; and the same
was the case for women, too. An ordering of the soul was not in them,
due to the necessity that a soul become different according to the life it
chooses. But all other things were, mixed with each other and with
wealth and poverty and with sickness and health, and also with the
states intermediate to these.
that study by which he might be able to learn and find out who will give
him the capacity and the knowledge to distinguish the good and the bad
life, and so everywhere and always to choose the better from among
those that are possible. He will take into account all the things we have
just mentioned and how in combination and separately they affect the
virtue of a life. Thus he may know the effects, bad and good, of beauty
mixed with poverty or wealth and accompanied by this or that habit of d
soul; and the effects of any particular mixture with one another of good
and bad birth, private station and ruling office, strength and weakness,
facility and difBculty in learning, and all such things that are connected
with a soul by nature or are acquired. From all this he will be able to
draw a conclusion and choose — in looking off toward the nature of the
soul— between the worse and the better life, calling worse the one that e
leads it toward becoming more unjust, and better the one that leads it
to becoming juster. He will let everything else go. For we have seen
that this is the most important choice for him in life and death. He
must go to Hades adamantly holding to this opinion so that he won't be 619 a
daunted by wealth and such evils there, and rush into tyrannies and
other such deeds by which he would work many irreparable evils, and
himself undergo still greater suffering; but rather he will know how al-
ways to choose the life between such extremes and flee the excesses in
either direction in this life, so far as is possible, and in all of the next
life. For in this way a human being becomes happiest. b
"And the messenger from that place then also reported that the
spokesman said the following: 'Even for the man who comes forward
last, if he chooses intelligently and lives earnestly, a life to content him
[ 301 ]
^CRATES THEREPUBtj
19 b is laid up, not a bad one. Let che one who begins not be careless ^^
"He said that when the spokesman had said this the man who v.
drawn the first lot came forward and immediately chose the gre^*.
tyranny, and, due to folly and gluttony, chose without having ^
sidered everything adequately; and it escaped his notice that eating , .~
own children and other evils were fated to be a part of that life. Wu
d habit, without philosophy. And, it may be said, not the least number
e lot for his choice does not fall out among the last, it's likely, on o
basis of what is reported from there, that he will not only be hanvN
here but also that he will journey from this world to the other ^^
back again not by the underground, rough road but by the smootv.
one, through the heavens.
"He said that this was a sight surely worth seeing: how each of 4-1^
20 a several souls chose a life. For it was pitiable, laughable, and won(Jgj.r.
to see. For the most part the choice was made according to the haK-
nation of their former life. He said he saw a soul that once belong^j
Orpheus choosing a life of a swan, out of hatred for womankind; dije t
his death at their hands, he wasn't willing to be born, generated j^^
woman. He saw Thamyras' soul choosing the life of a nightingale, a v^j
he also saw a swan changing to the choice of a human life; oth
musical animals did the same thing. The soul that got the twentieth 1
b chose the life of a lion; it was the soul of Ajax, son of Telamon, ^^^
c them. After this soul he saw that of Epeius, son of Panopeus, going jj^.
the nature of an artisan woman. And far out among the last he saw \}.
[ 302 ]
had been tyrant in a certain city of Pamphylia just a thousand years 615 c
before that time; he had, as was said, killed his old father and elder
brother and done many other unholy deeds.^* Now Er said that the d
man asked responded, 'He hasn't come. Nor will he come here,' he
asserted. 'For this too, of course, was one of the terrible sights we saw.
When we were near the mouth about to go up and had suffered every-
thing else, we suddenly saw him and others. Just about all of them were
tyrants, but there were also some private men, of those who had com-
mitted great faults. They supposed they were ready to go up, but the e
mouth did not admit them; it roared when one of those whose badness
is incurable or who had not paid a sufficient penalty attempted to go
up. There were men at that place,' he said, 'fierce men, looking fiery
through and through, standing by and observing the sound, who took
hold of some and led them away, but who bound Ardiaeus and others
hands, feet, and head, threw them down and stripped off their skin. 616 a
They dragged them along the wayside, carding them like wool on
thorns; and they indicated to those who came by for what reason this
was done and that these men would be led away and thrown into Tar-
tarus.' They had experienced many fears of all kinds, he said, but more
extreme than any was the fear that each man experienced lest the sound
come as he went up; and when it was silent, each went up with the
greatest delight. Such then were the penalties and punishments; and, on
the other hand, the bounties were the antistrophes of these.
"When each group had spent seven days in the plain, on the b
eighth they were made to depart from there and continue their journey.
In four days they arrived at a place from which they could see a
straight light, like a column, stretched from above through all of heaven
and earth, most of all resembling the rainbow but brighter and purer.
They came to it after having moved forward a day's journey. And
there, at the middle of the light, they saw the extremities of its bonds c
stretched from heaven; for this light is that which binds heaven, like the
undergirders of triremes, thus holding the entire revolution together.
From the extremities stretched the spindle of Necessity, by which all
the revolutions are turned. Its stem and hook are of adamant, and its
whorl is a mixture of this and other kinds. The nature of the whorl is
like this: its shape is like those we have here; but, from what he said, it d
[ 299 ]
)CRATEs THEREPUBLIG
16 e form one continuous whorl around the stem, which is driven right
through the middle of the eighth.^^ Now the circle formed by the lip
of the first and outermost whorl is the broadest; that of the sixth, sec-
ond; that of the fourth, third; that of the eighth, fourth; that of the sev-
enth, fifth; that of the fifth, sixth; that of the.third, seventh; and that of
the second, eighth. And the lip of the largest whorl is multicolored; that
17 a of the seventh, brightest; that of the eighth gets its color from the sev-
enth's shining on it; that of the second and the fifth are like each
other, yellower than these others; the third has the whitest color; the
fourth is reddish; and the sixth is second in whiteness. The whole
spindle is turned in a circle with the same motion, but within the
revolving whole the seven inner circles revolve gently in the opposite
direction from the whole; of them, the eighth goes most quickly, second
b and together with one another are the seventh, sixth and fifth. Third in
e select you, but you will choose a demon. Let him who gets the first lot
"When he had said this, he cast the lots among them all, and each
picked up the one that fell next to him— except for Er who wasn't per-
mitted to do so. To the man who picked it up it was plain what number
he had drawn. After this, in turn, he set the patterns of the lives on the
[ .300 ]
ground before them; there were far more than there were souls present. 618 a
There were all sorts; lives of all animals, and, in particular, all the
varieties of human lives. There were tyrannies among them, some last-
ing to the end, others ruined midway, ending both in poverty and exile
and in beggary. And there were lives of men of repute— some for their
forms and beauty and for strength in general as well as capacity in
contests; others for their birth and the virtues of their ancestors— and b
there were some for men without repute in these things; and the same
was the case for women, too. An ordering of the soul was not in them,
due to the necessity that a soul become different according to the life it
chooses. But all other things were, mixed with each other and with
wealth and poverty and with sickness and health, and also with the
states intermediate to these.
that study by which he might be able to learn and find out who will give
him the capacity and the knowledge to distinguish the good and the bad
life, and so everywhere and always to choose the better from among
those that are possible. He will take into account all the things we have
just mentioned and how in combination and separately they affect the
virtue of a life. Thus he may know the effects, bad and good, of beauty
mixed with poverty or wealth and accompanied by this or that habit of d
soul; and the effects of any particular mixture with one another of good
and bad birth, private station and ruling office, strength and weakness,
facility and difficulty in learning, and all such things that are connected
with a soul by nature or are acquired. From all this he will be able to
draw a conclusion and choose — in looking off toward the nature of the
soul— between the worse and the better life, calling worse the one that e
leads it toward becoming more unjust, and better the one that leads it
to becoming juster. He will let everything else go. For we have seen
that this is the most important choice for him in life and death. He
must go to Hades adamantly holding to this opinion so that he won't be 619 a
daunted by wealth and such evils there, and rush into tyrannies and
other such deeds by which he would work many irreparable evils, and
himself undergo still greater suffering; but rather he will know how al-
ways to choose the life between such extremes and flee the excesses in
either direction in this life, so far as is possible, and in all of the next
life. For in this way a human being becomes happiest. b
"And the messenger from that place then also reported that the
spokesman said the following: 'Even for the man who comes forward
last, if he chooses intelligently and lives earnestly, a life to content him
[ 301 ]
SOCRATES THEREPUBLIC
619 b is laid up, not a bad one. Let die one who begins not be careless about
"He said that when the spokesman had said this the man who had
drawn the first lot came forward and immediately chose the greatest
tyranny, and, due to folly and gluttony, chose without having con-
c sidered everything adequately; and it escaped his notice that eating his
own children and other evils were fated to be a part of that life. When
he considered it at his leisure, he beat his breast and lamented the
choice, not abiding by the spokesman's forewarning. For he didn't
blame himself for the evils but chance, demons, and anything rather
than himself He was one of those who had come from heaven, having
lived in an orderly regime in his former life, participating in virtue by
d habit, without philosophy. And, it may be said, not the least number of
those who were caught in such circumstances came from heaven, be-
cause they were unpracticed in labors. But most of those who came
from the earth, because they themselves had labored and had seen the
labors of others, weren't in a rush to make their choices. On just this
account, and due to the chance of the lot, there was an exchange of
evils and goods for most of the souls. However, if a man, when he
comes to the life here, always philosophizes in a healthy way and the
e lot for his choice does not fall out among the last, it's likely, on the
basis of what is reported from there, that he will not only be happy
here but also that he will journey from this world to the other and
back again not by the underground, rough road but by the smooth
one, through the heavens.
"He said that this was a sight surely worth seeing: how each of the
620 a several souls chose a life. For it was pitiable, laughable, and wonderful
to see. For the most part the choice was made according to the habit-
uation of their former life. He said he saw a soul that once belonged to
Orpheus choosing a life of a swan, out of hatred for womankind; due to
his death at their hands, he wasn't willing to be bom, generated in a
woman. He saw Thamyras' soul choosing the life of a nightingale. And
he also saw a swan changing to the choice of a human life; other
musical animals did the same thing. The soul that got the twentieth lot
b chose the life of a lion; it was the soul of Ajax, son of Telamon, who
c them. After this soul he saw that of Epeius, son of Panopeus, going into
the nature of an artisan woman. And far out among the last he saw the
[ 302 ]
chance Odysseus' soul had drawn the last lot of all and went to choose;
from memory of its former labors it had recovered from love of honor;
it went around for a long time looking for the life of a private man who
minds his own business; and with effort it found one lying somewhere^
neglected by the others. It said when it saw this life that it would have d
done the same even if it had drawn the first lot, and was delighted to
choose it. And from the other beasts, similarly some went into human
lives and into one another — the unjust changing into savage ones, the
just into tame ones, and there were all kinds of mixtures.
"When all the souls had chosen lives, in the same order as the lots
they had drawn, they went forward to Lachesis. And she sent with each
the demon he had chosen as a guardian of the life and a fulfiller of what e
was chosen. The demon first led the soul to Clotho— under her hand as
it turned the whirling spindle— thus ratifying the fate it had drawn and
chosen. After touching her, he next led it to the spinning of Atropos,
thus making the threads irreversible.^* And from there, without
turning around, they went under Necessity's throne. And, having come 621 a
out through it, when the others had also come through, all made their
way through terrible stifling heat to the plain of Lethe. ^^ For it was
barren of trees and all that naturally grows on earth. Then they made
their camp, for evening was coming on, by the river of Carelessness
whose water no vessel can contain. Now it was a necessity for all to
drink a certain measure of the water, but those who were not saved by
prudence drank more than the measure. As he drank, each forgot
everything. And when they had gone to sleep and it was midnight, b
there came thunder and an earthquake; and they were suddenly carried
from there, each in a different way, up to their birth, shooting like
stars.20 But he himself was prevented from drinking the water.
However, in what way and how he came into his body, he did not
know; but, all of a sudden, he recovered his sight and saw that it was
morning and he was lying on the pyre.
"And thus, Glaucon, a tale was saved and not lost;2i ^nd it
could save us, if we were persuaded by it, and we shall make a good c
crossing of the river of Lethe and not defile our soul. But if we are per-
suaded by me, holding that soul is immortal and capable of bearing all
evils and all goods, we shall always keep to the upper road and practice
justice with prudence in every way so that we shall be friends to our-
selves and the gods, both while we remain here and when we reap the
rewards for it like the victors who go about gathering in the prizes. And d
r 303 ]
INTERPRETIVE ESSAY
INTERPRETIVE ESSAY
The Republic is the true Apology of Socrates, for only in the Republic
does he give an adequate treatment of the theme which was forced on
him by Athens' accusation against him. That theme is the relationship
of the philosopher to the political community.
the gods which the city believed in and of corrupting the youth. These
charges do not relate simply to the man Socrates who happens to be a
philosopher but are meant to be a condemnation of the philosophic ac-
tivity itself— and not on behalf simply of the city of Athens, but on
behalf of the political community as such. From the city's point of
view, there seems to be something about the thought and way of life of
the philosopher which calls into question the city's gods, who are the
protectors of its laws, and which hence makes him a bad citizen, or
rather no citizen at all. Such a man's presence in the city and his asso-
ciation with the most promising young men make him a subversive.
Socrates is unjust not only because he breaks Athens' laws but also be-
cause he apparently does not accept those fundamental beliefs which
make civil society possible.
[ 307 ]
THE REPUBLIC
rates' trial was the crisis of philosophy, and its life was at stake. And
contrary to what modem men might be inclined to believe, it is not
simply clear that philosophy is salutary, or even harmless, for the city.
Socrates indicates this by the fact that he is at pains in the Apology to
distinguish himself from other philosophers. He seems to agree that it
is somewhat questionable whether a city which wants its sons to care
for it should permit them to consort with philosophers.
The city sees only the apparent atheism of the philosopher and his
effect on the young; the poet Aristophanes, who ridiculed Socrates in
the Clouds and paved the way for his later official accusation, shows'
why the philosopher is subversive. He depicts Socrates as a man "who
has investigated all the things in the air and under the earth and who
makes the weaker argument stronger." The meaning of this charge is
that the philosopher studies nature, particularly the heavens, and there
Socrates must show, then, that the philosopher is just and that it is
he, not the poet, who is the one able to treat of political things respon-
sibly. This is not easy to do since it would appear that the philosopher
calls into question the natural character of justice as a virtue and that
his science of being has no special place for man in it. The Apology
does not adequately accomplish this task, since it is a description of Soc-
rates' life directed to a large, hostile audience composed of generally
ignorant jurors sworn to uphold the defective laws of Athens. The
Republic, on the other hand, is a leisurely discussion among cultivated,
friendly men. The Apology, in which Socrates defends himself against
the charge of injustice, makes no attempt to define justice: his accusers
mean by an unjust man one who breaks the laws; and Socrates' justice
is surely not that of a law-abiding man. Only the Republic makes the
attempt to define justice and elaborate the science which can give
ground to such a definition. In it, Socrates— who had argued in the
[ 308 ]
Interpretive Essay
Apology that his only knowledge was ignorance and who had thus ap-
parently admitted his incompetence in political things— presents a teach-
ing about the nature of things political.
philosophers rule as kings, or those now called kings and chiefs gen-
uinely and adequately philosophize . . . there is no rest from ills for
the cities . . . nor, I think, for human kind. . . ." This means that there is
a perfect harmony between philosophy and the city, science and so-
ciety. Socrates has reformed philosophy so that it is now the one thing
most needful for the city; and the philosopher is its greatest benefactor.
We are, however, likely to be misled by this apparent Socratic op-
timism concerning the best case— the regime where philosophers rule.
Careful reading will reveal that this alleged harmony is more of a
paradox than a solution, that it covers a host of tensions which come to
light in the less than perfect cases. Socrates may well have reformed
philosophy so that it was no longer indifferent to politics, but it was
certainly no less subversive of all existing regimes than was the older
philosophy. If philosophers are the natural rulers, they are the rivals of
all the actual rulers; philosophy, rather than being simply useless,
seems to be conspiratorial. Philosophy may very well be harmful to real
regimes, and it is very unlikely that the regime at which it aims can
come into being. In fact, the Republic tacitly admits the truth of the
charges made against Socrates: he is not orthodox in his beliefs about
the gods and sets up new beings, the ideas, which are superior to the
gods; the philosophers he trains will be men who both know the nature
of things in the air and below the earth and are able to speak with con-
summate skill; and he teaches young men to despise Athens because he
teaches them to love a regime in which philosophers are kings. Socrates
denies that he is unjust because of this, but there must be a revolution
in men's understanding of justice for just deeds to be recognized as
such. In all imperfect regimes, his presence is problematic, and he must
behave prudently: he undermines the attachment to the regime and
laws of the city, but he is the salvation of all those in it who wish to live
the good life.
The Republic shows us why Socrates was accused and why there
was good reason to accuse him. Not only does he tell us about the good
regime, but we see his effect on the young men he was said to have cor-
rupted. Socrates, in leading them to a justice which is not Athenian, or
even Greek, but is rather human, precisely because it is rational, shows
the way to the truth about political things and develops the extremely
complex relationship of that truth to civil society. These questions are
most relevant to modern man, although they are perhaps harder for
[ 309 ]
THE REPUBLIC
him to understand than for men of any previous generation. They are
relevant to him because he admits his need for "values" and because
the progress of publicly useful science now threatens him with destruc-
tion; they are harder for him to understand because he has been taught
that "values" cannot be established by reason and that science is simply
salutary for society.
his tastes. Otherwise he would have to give up his way of life. He will
only give as much of himself as is required to regain his freedom. This
situation is a paradigm of the relation of the philosopher to the city.
The difference between the Republic and the Apology is that the threat
of compulsion used in the Republic is only playful while that of the
Athenian law court in the Apology is in deadly earnest. In the Apology
Socrates is condemned to death because a compromise acceptable to
[ 310 ]
Interpretive Essay
the people would have meant his spiritual death; in the Republic,
dealing with a different audience, he emerges as the ruler of a tamed
city which may not understand him but which is at least willing to per-
mit him the unbridled pursuit of philosophy and access to the noble
youth.
recognition that the Athenian procession was no better than that of the
Thracians. Socrates' theory stands above the enthusiasm of national pride
and is somehow beyond mere citizenship. His piety belongs to the city;
his thought does not.
Polemarchus sees him hurrying off and orders a slave to order him
to stay. This little scene prefigures the three-class structure of the good
regime developed in the Republic and outhnes the whole political
problem. Power is in the hands of the gentlemen, who are not philos-
ophers. They can command the services of the many, and their
strength is such that they always hold the philosophers in their grasp.
Therefore it is part of the philosophers' self-interest to come to terms
with them. The question becomes: to what extent can the philosophers
influence the gentlemen? It is this crucial middle class which is the
primary object of the Republic and the education prescribed in it. In
this episode, the first fact is brute force, leading to the recognition that no
matter how reasonable one may be, everything depends upon the peo-
ple's willingness to listen. There is a confrontation here between wisdom,
as represented by Socrates, and power, as represented by Polemarchus
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and his friends. At first the opposition of the two principles is com-
plete, but Adeimantus and Polemarchus try to make Socrates choose to
remain by offering him pleasant occupations if he does so. Glaucon ac-
cepts on behalf of his friend, and Socrates grudgingly gives in to the fait
accomfyli. Hence wisdom and power reach a compromise, and a min-
fature community is formed. This accomplished, they take a vote and
ratify their decision, and a new principle of rule emerges: consent. It is
a mixture of powerless wisdom and unwise power. All political life will
be founded on such compromises, more or less satisfactory, until the
means can be discovered to permit the absolute rule of wisdom. Since
he is forced to become a member of this community, Socrates soon
establishes himself as its ruler by overcoming the other aspirants to the
office, and then he proceeds to found a political regime in which
him.
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tioning the old way would be that as a result a new, superior, way
which Cephalus does not know of might emerge. The ancestral is by its
nature silent about its own foundations; it is an imposing presence that
awes those who might be tempted to look too closely.
The greatest good Cephalus has enjoyed from money is the avoid-
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ance of injustice and impiety. Here for the first time we touch on the
subject which is to become the theme of the Republic. The question of
money seems to lead him to the question of justice. The old man is
afraid of punishment after death, so he does not want to depart owing
debts to men or sacrifices to gods, or having cheated or deceived
anyone. With his money he can pay his debts and offer his sacrifices
and because he possesses money he is not so dependent on others that
he need deceive in order to stay alive. The tales told by the poets about
punishments in another world for injustices committed in this one con-
cerned Cephalus little when he was younger. He was inclined to laugh
them off; accordingly, he worried little about injustices he might be
committing. Only as death and death's perspective approaches does fear
cause him to become concerned about his duties to men and gods. He is
not sure that there are such punishments or even that he had really
done unjust deeds, but prudence counsels a punctilious attention to his
accounts with men and gods. Justice is a matter of self-interest: one
should care about others if there are gods who defend justice.
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to pay one's debts, but everyone is also aware that there are occasions
when one need not and should not do so. Thus, it is impossible, without
contradicting oneself, to say that justice is paying one's debts. One
must seek a noncontradictory definition of justice. Cephalus, too, is
aware that one must sometimes deviate from the principles of justice in
the name of justice, but he has never considered what the consequences
of that fact are. He must adhere to the laws, human and divine, or he
would have to spend his time in finding out what justice is rather than
in doing it. If everyone had to decide whether the laws properly apply
in each case that arises, the political result would be anarchy; and, in-
dividually, a task beyond the capacities and energies of most men
would be imposed on them. For Cephalus the just is identical to the law
of the city, and the law is protected by the gods. The problem of justice
is simply expressed in his view: if there are no gods, there is no reason
to be just or to worry; if there are, we must simply obey their laws, for
that is what they wish. But common sense tells us that laws are not al-
ways conducive to the good of those they are intended to benefit.
Cephalus, however, is content to forget this fact in his sacrifices,
From Cephalus we learn that for most men justice can mean only
law-abidingness, and that rewards and punishments in this life and ttie
next are necessary to insure obedience which does not seem to them
desirable in itself. Cephalus' definition fails because it cannot account
for those instances in which one is admittedly exempted from obeying
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view of justice. As Lessing approvingly put it, "for the ancient Greeks
moral greatness consisted in a love of friends that is as constant as the
hatred of one's enemies is unchanging." Although Socrates finds this
understanding of justice ultimately inadequate, he clearly agrees with
Lessing that it is the formula for gentlemanly and heroic nobility and
higher than most alternatives. It sounds harsh to our ears, for it is far
from the morality of universal love to which we are accustomed, and
we must make great efforts if we are to understand its dignity. That
dignity consists in unswerving loyalty, loyalty to the first, most obvious
attachments a man forms— loyalty to his family and his city. Our ad-
miration for this character is manifest in our horror at the man who is
willing to betray family or friends for gain, out of fear, or even in the
pursuit of an ideal. Such loyalty seems natural, for it springs up in us
with our first appetites and tastes; it is identical with love of our omti. It
does not have the abstract aspect of the love of a humanity which a
man cannot know in its entirety, a love which does not make distinc-
tions among men. It is more powerful because of its exclusiveness; it
stays within the limits of possible human concern.
other groups outside who would like, and may even be compelled, to
take away the good things of the first group. To have a family or a city
that is one's own implies the distinction between insiders and outsiders;
and the outsiders are potential enemies. Justice as helping friends and
harming enemies is peculiarly a political definition of justice, and its
dignity stands or falls with the dignity of political life. Every nation has
wars and must defend itself; it can only do so if it has citizens who care
for it and are willing to kill the citizens of other nations. If the distinc-
tion between friends and enemies, and the inclination to help the for-
mer and harm the latter, were obliterated from the heart and mind of
man, political life would be impossible. This is the necessary political
definition of justice^ and it produces its specific kind of human nobility
expressed in the virtue of the citizen. Socrates does not simply reject it
as he appears to do. The warriors in his best regime, whom he com-
pares to noble dogs, share in the most salient characteristic of noble
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likes it or not. This shift in emphasis implies that the primary concern
of the just man must be something Polemarchus has never considered:
what counts is not so much the disposition to give the good things to
friends, but knowing what those good things are. Justice must be some
kind of knowledge.
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view of justice than for solving the problem of justice's subject matter.
The connection of war and money is obvious; and the kind of good
things Polemarchus means and the sense in which the just citizen is a
warrior emerge more clearly. But, as he does in the other cases, Soc-
rates could easily show that a skilled soldier is a better partner in war
than a just man, and a trained banker a better partner in peacetime
than a just man. Socrates has indicated by the examples he uses that,
for Polemarchus at least, justice is concerned with the acquisition and
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memory of which is lost in the mists of time. But, even worse, his
character is such that he would probably rather work harm than use
ungentlemanly means to a good end. Socrates, as the Republic reveals,
is not averse to lies and is certainly no respecter of private property.
However that may be, the assumption that justice is an art does
lead to serious difficulties, expressed ironically in the notion that the
just man is both useless and a thief. It would seem that arts require par-
ticular subject matters and that they are morally neutral. We are forced
to abandon the assumption, and one might very well ask why it was
made in the first place. We all sense that justice is a disposition, as Ceph-
alus originally suggested, one which every man must possess in addi-
tion to his skill . A doctor must be disposed to heal liis patients as well
as be able to do so; otherwise he might just as well kill them for profit
as cure them. Just why did Socrates turn the conversation in this direc-
tion?
like any of those arts which are always present in every com-
munity— shoemaking, weaving, carpentry, etc. This is what Socrates
meant in the Apology when he told of his quest for wise men. Poets and
statesmen, he found, knew literally nothing, whereas artisans did in-
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Interpretive Essay
that in order to be just in the full sense one must be a philosopher, and
that philosophy is necessary to justice. Philosophy does have a subject
matter which helps in doing good to friends and harm to enemies, for it
alone knows what is good or fitting. And it alone is not neutral, for, by
its very definition, it seeks the whole good. Justice in this way would be
knowledge, would be useful, and would not be able indifferently to pro-
duce opposite results. This is the solution which the argument compels
us to seek. And a community of artisans ruled by philosophers would
be one in which good would be done to friends. This solution, however,
must wait until later, for Polemarchus really has no notion of what
philosophy is, and its discovery is impossible on this level of thought.
The poets and the laws tell Polemarchus the proper place of each thing,
and this is why he sees no difficulty in doing good to friends. His is a
prephilosophic world, and its authorities must be completely dis-
credited before philosophy can even be sought.
But this little change, if it were taken seriously, would have the
profoundest of effects on Polemarchus' life. His first admission that his
friends were those who seemed to him good reflected the way he really
thinks. It is an easygoing outlook, typical of most men. He knows who
friends are. Our friends are those around us, and the insistence that
they must be good is a secondary consideration, one that has an
abstract ring to it. This condition is admitted in speech but has little ef-
fect in deed. And this means that men who loyally serve their friends
are constantly and thoughtlessly doing injustice. This consequence can-
not be avoided simply by making more effort, for Polemarchus' view is
not merely a result of his laziness but a product of his attachment to
family and city. He makes the primitive identification of the good with
his own. He is like his father who wanted Socrates as a friend and in-
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vited him to become a member o£ the family. Men who are outsiders
can become friends only by becoming "naturalized" members of the
family; blood ties are what count. Even the loyalty to the city is under-
stood as an extension of the family. This tendency to see the good in
one's own and to devote oneself to it is one of the most powerful urges
of human nature and the source of great devotion and energy. Once the
distinction between what is good and one's own is made, the principle
of loyalty to family and city is undermined. In order to be just, one
must seek good men wherever they may be, even in nations fighting
one's own nation. If the good must be pursued, then caring for one's
own must be extinguished, or it will make one unjust and impede the
quest for the good. This undermines family and city; and they must at-
tempt to prevent the distinction from even coming to light. Certainly,
Polemarchus would regard the abandonment of his primary loyalties as
the destruction of the purpose and dignity of his life. If, however, he is
to be consistent with the argument, he must make this sacrifice. A man
who wishes to be just must be cosmopolitan.
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Interpretive Essay
timate, and that there is no recourse beyond it, while Socrates insists
that laws are just only to the extent they conform to a standard of
justice superior to the laws and independent of the wishes of the
sovereign.
enemies of the common good. The anger awakened in men by the sight
of indifference or hostility to law is a powerful force in protecting the
law and hence the city, but it can also be the enemy of justice and is
certainly the greatest enemy of philosophy. Thrasymachus, whose art
gives speech to the passions of the city, is its agent in condemning Soc-
rates, and his action in the service of this passion imitates the city's ac-
tion.
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laws, and those laws always happen to reflect its interests. Oligarchies
make laws which favor and protect oligarchy; democracy makes laws
which favor and protect democracy, etc. The regime is the absolute
Socrates does not deny that it is the stronger who rule and
establish the law. He silently accepts the view that all existing regimes
are as Thrasymachus says they are. The two men thus agree that the
character of the ruling group is the core of politics, that the rulers are
the stronger, and that justice is a political phenomenon and must be
embodied in the laws of a city. The issue between them is whether all
rulers, all lawgivers, must be selfish in the way Thrasymachus insists
they are. From this point on the question is the regime — who rules; and
Socrates tries to find a kind of man, a political class, which is both
strong and public-spirited.
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Interpretive Essay
Socrates' good city, where rulers will be trained who are perfectly
public-spirited, so in Thrasymachus' there will be rulers who are per-
fectly selfish; the rulers in both regimes do have in common, however,
the fact that they are knowers. Thrasymachus' regime is as improbable
and opposed to experience as is Socrates'. Rather than defend the
plausible observation that rulers of selfish intention are the source of
law, Thrasymachus encumbers himself with the responsibility for what
amounts to a moral imperative, requiring rulers to be selfish with per-
fect knowledge.
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vention, any man who reflects at all on what kind of life he should
live realizes he cannot rely on the law for guidance. Every man rea-
sonably pursues his own good, and, if there is no common good, he will
properly use the law for his own private satisfaction. This is the lesson
which the individual can well draw from the teaching that law is noth-
ing more than the sovereign's will; and the intelligent tyrant seems to
be the one who has best learned the lesson. The ruler is hence a man
who seeks his own advantage; to do so is almost the only alternative,
since other goals are illusory. If he fails to attain it, he is a failure as a
ruler and a man. Thrasymachus looks at politics from the point of view
of the man who wants to live well and has understood the nature of
justice; it is this perspective which causes him to go beyond Clitophon's
formulation.
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Thus a new art, and a new kind of art, comes to light. This art,
however, contradicts the definition of the arts which has been the basis
of the discussion. The wage-earner's art is not concerned with the
good of the art's object, but rather with the good of the practitioner.
After all, the wage earner does not care for the well-being of money, he
cares for his own well-being. Moreover, there being no pre-established
harmony between the two arts practiced by a man, there is every prob-
ability of there being conflicts between their demands. For example,
what is the doctor to do who is offered a bribe for harming his patient?
His two arts each make rigorous and contradictory claims upon him,
and there is no evident principle for choosing which should be pre-
ferred. Socrates makes this explicit when he tells Glaucon that wagesmust
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Interpretive Essay
comes the slave of the most authoritative voices of his own time and
place, while renouncing the attempt to know, and live according to, the
natural hierarchy of value. He is always torn between the demands of
his art and the needs of the marketplace.
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its objects, as was required of the arts, while giving ample reward to its
practitioner in that it is the perfection of his nature and his greatest
satisfaction. Only in philosophy is there an identity of the concern for
the proper practice of the art and that for one's own advantage. Soc-
rates embodies a solution to the conflicting demands which render
Thrasymachus' life meaningless: Socrates combines in a single way of
life the satisfactions of the lover of knowledge and the lover of gain. All
other lives are essentially self-contradictory. In the philosopher we can
find both the public-spirited ruler and the satisfied man.
Thus Socrates, whose explicit intention was to show that the prac-
titioners of arts— and hence Thrasymachus' rulers— cannot be con-
cerned with their own advantage, has, by the introduction of the wage-
earner's art, tacitly admitted the necessity and legitimacy of that con-
cern. He has only shown that men cannot consistently at the same time
be both rulers in the precise sense defined by Thrasymachus and
seekers of their own advantage, while hinting that philosophy is the
only resolution of the conflict between art or science and self-interest.
As it appears to Thrasymachus, Socrates is madly insisting that a man
spend his life in total dedication to others without any reason for so
doing and in blind indifference to the facts of life. Thrasymachus cannot
defend his position because of his earlier assertions, and he is prevented
by them from making his powerful appeal to men's lust and their re-
spect for knowledge. His definition of justice as the advantage of the
stronger fails, but only because his definition of the ruler is indefensible.
He sees this as a result of having become entangled in Socrates' dishon-
est arguments. And no reader can be satisfied that Thrasymachus' defini-
tion has been refuted or that this discussion has proved that there is
sufficient reason to devote oneself to the common good. The discussion
has only served to heighten the sense of the disproportion between the
private and the public good, to make justice more problematic than
ever.
I .3.34 ]
interpretive Essay
so. Polemarchus says that one must not, in deciding whether to return
it, consider whether it is desirable for oneself or not, in the case of a
friend, but only whether it will do the friend good. Thrasymachus says,
that since the gods do not punish and there is no common good, one
should keep deposits and try to get as much more as possible, the only
consideration being one's own advantage. Glaucon and Adeimantus
who are about to enter the discussion understand quite well what Thra-
symachus is telling them; and Socrates seems to be saying that it is bad
to keep deposits and break faith. This is what draws their attention,
and Socrates makes them anxious to know why he thinks it is bad to be-
come a tyrant. The question of the goodness of justice, the nature of
which they think they know, will be the spur to their quest for the
discovery of its true nature.
Now this would only be convincing if justice were wisdom and if,
therefore, the objects of human action could be gained without taking
them away from others. This is by no means evident. The result of the
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[ 336 ]
Interpretive Essay
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which lends nobihty to their souls, frees them from the goals which ren-
dered Thrasymachus' notion of advantage so ciude and narrow, and
gives them the spiritual substance required for the sublimating ex-
perience of Socratic education.
the means of getting one's way. At best, then, the study of nature ap-
parently leads to indifference to the city and its laws; at worst it leads
to tyranny. This was the suspicion of the Athenian deiiu>s, and it may
very well be the case. Devotion to justice or the opposite is not simply a
question of decency or corruption but one of the truth of things. And if
what Thrasymachus teaches is the truth, the city in self-defense must
suppress that truth.
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Interpretive Essay
The daring and manly Glaucon has seen that Socrates has at best
shown only the necessity of justice and not its desirability. More urbane
than Thrasymachus, he recognizes the power of the reputation of
justice. Therefore he does not himself praise injustice but puts the argu-
ment on its behalf in the mouth of others. He presents his motivation as
a desire to see justice vindicated. Of course, he does not have to sell a
teaching about justice as did Thrasymachus. The contradiction between
the public teaching of injustice and the public necessity for the profes-
sion of justice was inherent in Thrasymachus' situation, and Glaucon's
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situation does not involve him in it. He profits from the lesson of Thra-
symachus' discomfiture; hiding his personal doubts, he is able never-
theless to satisfy his curiosity about the goodness of justice. His very
mode of presenting his discourse is a model of the hypocritical use of
public professions of justice.
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Interpretive Essay
which will cause him to miss the enjoyment of the objects of his desires.
Glaucon presents the political supplement to pre-Socratic natural
philosophy: the city limits men in the pursuit of the good things, but
its only justification for doing so is the need to preserve itself.
other words, superior men are not bound by the contract for they do
not receive any advantage from it. In this perspective, justice is the
simple, unadorned will, following the contract, to avoid injuring other
men, whether this means obeying the laws set down to this end or
equitably correcting the law so as to fulfill its intention. There is, then,
no particular knowledge or ability implied in being just; it is merely the
performance of a difficult task that goes against the grain of one's
desires. Thrasymachus had said that the laws were made for the ad-
vantage of the stronger, meaning by "the stronger" whatever party hap-
pens to hold power. Glaucon implicitly accuses him of holding a con-
ventional view of the stronger. There is a naturally strong man, and for
him to obey the laws would serve the advantage of the conventionally,
or politically, stronger but of the naturally weaker. But, from either
standpoint, the law-abiding man is an innocent, and Glaucon adopts
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[ 342 ]
Interpretive Essay
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will be eternally torn between duty to the city and duty to oneself. In
pretending that they are founders, Glaucon and Adeimantus at once
discover that they must care for justice. In this case at least, the
satisfaction of their desires is identical with the concern for justice.
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Interpretive Essay
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Glaucon rejects the first city because it does not appeal to his
taste: he does not like the food. His manliness always leads him to
make a direct assault on the good as he sees it. He has been promised a
dinner which seems to have been postponed indefinitely. At the first
mention of eating, he looks on the bill of fare with the eye of a hungry
man who has a delicate palate and imagines how he would like to
satisfy his hunger. He finds the simple city does not meet his gastro-
nomic standards; in it food is only nourishment, only for keeping men
alive and healthy. Merely to live and be healthy is the way of sows. Hu-
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Interpretive Essay
man beings require more than life; they demand unnecessary refine-
ments and pleasures. Desire causes him to sharpen his demands on the
city. He may think his is only bodily hunger, but it is a spiritual hunger
which will cause him to transcend this city and lead him toward
another kind of fulfillment. He is getting an unwilling lesson in
austerity, which will aid him in sublimating his hunger. His wishes are
always contradictory, for he always mistakes all of his great longings
for bodily desires but cannot find satisfaction for them thus understood.
His first long speech is another example of this tendency: while assert-
ing the naturalness of perfect self-indulgence, he was at the same time
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essentially struggle, but because man's dual nature is such that the
goods of the soul cannot be brought to light without the body's being
tempted and, therefore, without a tyranny of soul over body.
Here there emerges a new class of men devoted to the art of war,
and in their souls emerges a new principle, spiritedness. The wamors
must be men who like to fight, who are capable of anger, who rush to
the defense of their city and of justice. Spiritedness is a difficult motive
to understand, and its character can only be seen by contrasting it with
desire. Desires are directed to the satisfaction of a need: they express
an incompleteness and yearn for completeness. Hunger, thirst, sexual
desire, etc., are all immediately related to a goal and their meaning is
simple. The goal of spiritedness is much harder to discern. Its simplest
manifestation is anger, and it is not immediately manifest what needs
are fulfilled by anger. Spiritedness seems characterized more by the fact
that it overcomes desire than by any positive goal of its own. Moreover,
the desires related to the body— which are the only ones that have ap-
peared thus far— all have a self-preservative function, whereas spir-
itedness, on the contrary, is characterized by an indifference to life.
It may indeed aid in the preservation of life, but it can just as well place
honor above life. The city may exist for the sake of life, but it needs
men who are willing to die for it.
they are really the first ruling class and introduce the first principle of
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Interpretive Essay
Now there are two classes in the city, and the distinction between
them is a purely natural one: one class is motivated by bodily desire,
the other by spiritedness. The former can be counted on to pursue what
we would call the economic goals. The latter has liberated itself from
the single-minded concern for mere life. But the purposes of this class
are not as yet clear. It seems that it is in the nature of spiritedness to be
in the service of something, just as it is in the nature of soldiers to be in
the service of something. Neither spiritedness nor the class which em-
bodies it can be ends in themselves; their purposes come from outside
of themselves. This class could be understood as a servant of the wage-
earning class, but this would mean that the superior exists for the sake
of the inferior. To understand the dignity of this element in the soul
and in the city requires the discovery of a third and highest class which
spiritedness serves and the end of which is as clear as that of the wage-
earning class. This necessity for a third class is implied in the descrip-
tion of the warriors as noble dogs who guard a flock. Sheep dogs require
shepherds. The warrior class would then be the link between the highest
and lowest class, gaining its meaning from its service to the higher. The
parallel of city and soul would apply in this case too. However that
may be, the city needs defenders, and it also now needs rulers, for its
feverish desires make living together impossible without control.
It is inevitable that the spirited warriors will rule in this city, for
they are strong. In every civil society, there is one group that has the
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greatest strength, and it can and always does set down the laws in the
tenms suitable to it. Whatever the character of this class, the city's way
of life will be detennined by it. This is what Thrasymachus meant
when he said that justice is the advantage of the stronger. The members
of this class do not necessarily possess wisdom or any other element of
virtue. If Socrates and his companions wish to establish a good regime
without having to compromise with mere power, it is this crucial class
they must control and train. They need not preoccupy themselves with
the wage-earning class, for it will be unable to resist the commands of
the warriors. The instrument for controlling the warriors is education
and, therefore, from this point forward education is the central theme
of the Republic. The city's way of life depends on the character and
hence the education of the rulers.
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Interpretive Essay
the good. And this must be so, for otherwise they would not make the
necessary distinction between their flock and those who are likely to at-
tack it. The warrior principle is doing good to friends and harm to ene-
mies. It is true that their love of the known extends their affections
beyond themselves to the city; it partakes of the universalizing or cos-
mopolitan effect of philosophy. But that love ends at the frontier of the
city. They remain the irrational beasts who love those who mistreat
them as well as those who are kind to them. No mention is made of the
fact that dogs do not characteristically love the flocks but the masters to
whom the flock belongs and who teach them and command them to
care for the flock. These dogs as yet have no masters and are therefore
incomplete. The masters whom they will know and hence love are
philosophers and knowers. The dogs' nature opens them to the com-
mand of philosophy but does not make them philosophers.
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have come to his conclusions. The gods do not give evil lots to good
men, or good ones to bad men, nor can they be moved by prayer. Just
men and just deeds are the only ones celebrated. There is nothing in the
poetic universe which would make men think that injustice profits meri
or gods.
over high, and the noble things can be in conflict with the necessary
ones and with each other. In the new theology the higher is not derived
from the lower, and the good is first. Similarly, the gods themselves are
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Interpretive Essay
heavens, but on beliefs about Hades, the home of the dead, which is
generally thought to be beneath the earth. Homer's description of
Hades is repulsive and frightening, and Socrates asserts that men who
believe it cannot be courageous. Here Socrates' critique is completely
negative; he simply says such things must not be said. He does not, as
he did with the gods, tell what must be said. He does not even say that
Hades exists or that there is any life after death. The existence of some
kind of gods seems less questionable than the existence of an afterlife.
Strangely, Socrates insists only that death should not be frightening,
without paying any attention to the salutary effect such fear might
have. Apparently, it is not only the warriors who are liberated from
their terrors about a life to come, but also men like Cephalus. This ter-
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ror caused Cephalus to try to live justly in his old age. But it also made
him unable to participate in this discussion. Socrates is looking for
another way to make men love justice, onp which does not force them
to turn away from this life and to be hostile to reason.
if Achilles is the model, men will not pursue philosophy, that what he
stands for is inimical to the founding of the best city and the practice of
the best way of life. Socrates is engaging in a contest with Homer for the
title of teacher of the Greeks— or of mankind. One of his principal goals
is to put himself in the place of Achilles as the authentic representation
of the best human type. One need only look at their physical descriptions
to recognize that they are polar opposites. Socrates is attempting to work
a fantastic transformation of men's tastes in making the ugly old man
more attractive than the fair youth.
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Interpretive Essay
toward punishment of those who take away one's own. Although anger
causes men to be willing to sacrifice life, it is somehow connected with
preserving those things which make life possible. Now, it is in the
nature of human anger to seek for justification. It is difficult for a man
to be angry when he is convinced that what is taken from him does not
belong to him or that his losses or sufferings are his own fault. Anger
requires something or someone to blame; it attributes responsibility to
what injures, and it is closely allied with the sense of justice and in-
justice. Unfortunately, it is unreasoning and can easily mistake its sense
of injustice for the fact of injustice. It can support reason in legitimate
defense and punishment, but it may also oppose reason, for it is un-
willing to admit anything that calls into question the rightness of its
cause. Anger may be educated to become a very generous passion,
arousing itself at the sight of whatever appears to be injustice; but no
matter what the substance of the charges of injustice it makes, no mat-
ter how selfish the interest it is really protecting, it is always accompa-
nied by the conviction that it is just. Anger is always self-righteous; it is
at the root of moral indignation, but moral indignation is a dangerous
and, although necessary, often unreasonable and even immoral passion.
The tendency of anger is to give the color of reason and morality to
selfishness. This has been revealed by the only character in the dialogue
who has expressed anger; Thrasymachus' anger defends the city's own
against philosophy when philosophy threatens the city's injustice.
Spiritedness is the only element in the city or man which by its very
nature is hostile to philosophy.
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their common source. The real problem treated in these passages is.
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he divides his jurors into two groups, those who had voted for condemna-
tion and those who had voted for acquittal. To the former he speaks di-
rectly and in their oviTi terms. They assume that death is the worst thine
and so he threatens them; they will suffer for what they have done, and
suffer what they most fear. Their anger will not protect them; Socrates*
death will precipitate the worst rather than fend it off. To those who
voted for acquittal he tells consoling myths to the effect that death is
not to be feared. They are gentle men. Although they did not under-
stand him, they were favorably disposed to him. He strengtheiis that
gentleness within them by weakening the fears which would cause them
to hate the cosmopolitanism of the accused man. Thus, imitating the
function of tragedy, Socrates attempts to purge them of the pity and
fear which can lead to fanaticism and enables them to share something
of his oviTi calm without knowing its source. The myths he tells the
jurors who believed him to be innocent are akin to those he wants the
poets to tell the warriors, who are potential jurors. Achilles and Soc-
rates are both superior to the many, in particular in their mastery over
death. But the difference between the mad Achilles and the Socrates
whose death is depicted in the Phaedo is the measure of the difference
between the two sources of that mastery. Socrates' death and the
mysterious power it reveals are the new model of the heroic and must
replace the Achillean one.
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Interpretive Essay
of men and events which are more interesting and more beautiful than
any they know in their own lives; This is what makes poetry so
peculiarly attractive. The poet's hold on men is such that he can con-
ceive a very high opinion of himself and a great sense of superiority
over those whom he moves. But he is much less powerful than he
thinks he is. Precisely because he must make his audience join in the
world he wishes to present to them, he must appeal to its dominant pas-
sions. He cannot force the spectators to listen to him or like and enter
into the lives of men who are repulsive to them. He must appeal to and
flatter the dominant passions of the spectators. Those passions are fear,
pity, and contempt. The spectators want to cry or to laugh. If the poet
is to please, he must satisfy that demand. He is capable of making men
cry or laugh; he can refine the expressions of the passions connected
with tears and laughter; he can even, within limits, change the objects
which move those passions; but he cannot alter the fact that he thrives
on the existence and intensification of those passions. But it is precisely
those passions which Socrates says the warriors must try to overcome.
In the beautiful and exalted figure of Achilles who revolts against Aga-
memnon and grieves over the loss of his friends, they could find
justification for their own temptations and fears. Men believe that in
Achilles they see the reality of human perfection whereas he is only a
distillation of themselves.
Finally, and most important, the poet is unable to imitate the best
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Interpretive Essay
serves that goal. He, therefore, must have sufficient reasons for his
sacrifices; and to him Socrates reveals the positive purpose of the war-
riors' education. The warriors are to be lovers of the beautiful, par-
ticularly of beautiful souls. The products of the fine arts are to be used
to surround them with imitations of the beautiful things; those imita-
tions will give the warriors the habit of seeing beauty in the deeds,
characters, and speeches of virtuous men and hence teach them to love
the virtue whose various aspects they see represented. Imitation must
not flatter the passions, but transform and sublimate them. The severe
moderation of the bodily desires which Socrates has imposed is the
condition of the liberation of the love of the fair and the virtuous. The
needs of the body, if dominant, lead to ugliness, no matter how it is
adorned; for their satisfaction requires discord and vice. The warriors,
prepared by restraint of their desires and habituated to the vision of no-
ble men, will shun Thrasymachus' thieves and tyrants, not as a result of
moral principle but as a matter of taste. The warriors will be more
politically reliable because the eros of the beautiful, a grace and
delicacy of sentiment and action, will temper their pursuit of their self-
interest. Glaucon now sees that eros, properly educated, has a place in
the new order and thus accepts the efforts requisite to that new order.
In attempting to grasp what Socrates is trying to achieve here, it is
again most helpful to turn to Shakespeare's poetry. The wise Prospero,
who must rule unwise men in his little island city of the Tempest, uses
three kinds of motivations to insure their political good conduct. The
slavish Caliban can be motivated only by pinches and blows. The cov-
etous Alfonso and his cohorts are, like Cephalus, restrained by the
equivalents of conscience and the fear of divine punishment. But
Prospero's favorites, to whom he intends to hand over his rule, are
lovers of the beautiful who need no harsher constraints. Ferdinand and
Miranda are each struck with wonder at the aspect of the other's
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asserts that the possession of virtue assures victory; technical skill and
chance play no role. This is an unwarranted assertion, as any experience
of life will show. But it is not entirely implausible within the context of
this city. It will soon become evident that these warriors will do little if
any fighting outside the city, that the city will have little foreign policy,
and that their function is much more to control the vices of the desiring
or wage-earning class. Therefore the control of the warriors' predatary
inclinations and the encouragement of their dedication to the common
good is more important than their fighting skill. But, still, Socrates'
whole treatment of the good city seems to neglect the problems in-
volved in getting and keeping the things which make the good city
possible. This neglect, however, is deliberate, and recognizing it makes
one aware of the problem of the good city and the good life— that is,
that there is a tension between the activities necessary to preserve life
and those necessary to live it well. The satisfaction of the body's de-
mands, which is the pre-condition of living any kind of good life at all,
can easily become an end in itself. Socrates directs his attention ex-
clusively to the perfection of the soul, as though its demands were in
perfect harmony with those of the body, for the difficulty posed by the
body is made clear and precise only by acting as though it did not exist,
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Interpretive Essay
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their desires for these things are least likely to find it to their advantage
to be seditious and break the laws. In the city of sows, the harmony of
public and private interest was insured by the simplicity of desire,
natural plenty, and the skill of the arts. Once desire has been eman-
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Interpretive Essay
the first part, all the members of the city, and particularly the warriors,
were bom from the earth and educated and equipped prior to emerging
from it. If the citizens believe the tale, they will have a blood tie to the
country; their relationship to it will have the same immediacy as does
their relationship to the family. Loyalty to a particular city always
seems somehow questionable: why affection for these men rather than
any or all others? The tale makes them brothers and relates them to this
particular patch of land. It identifies city and regime with country,
which is the object of the most primitive political loyalty; it gives the
motherland life and the principles of^he city body. Short of a universal
state, nothing but such a tale can make a natural connection of the in-
dividual to one of the many existing cities. Moreover, in this way, the
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regime itself is lent the color of naturalness. The fact that regimes re-
quire human institution, as other natural things do not, calls their
naturalness into question. But here the very functions which the regime
has educated the citizens to fulfill are attributed to nature; the citizens
grow into their political roles as acorns grow into oaks. Each might
have wondered why he should be devoted to his particular specialty to
the exclusion of all others; but now they see that the equipment of their
arts belongs to them in the same way their bodies do. This regime is al-
so vulnerable because it conquered or stole the land in which it is
established; this imperfect beginning gives ground for later men to
argue the right of the stronger in their own interest. This tale provides
for that eventuality by concealing the unjust origin of this regime
(which we have seen) by a just account of its origin. On the basis of the
lie, the citizens can in all good faith and conscience take pride in the
justice of their regime, and malcontents have no Justification for
rebellion. Such are the advantages of autochthony.
The second part of the lie gives divine sanction to the natural
hierarchy of human talents and virtues while enabling the regime to
combine the political advantages of this hierarchy with those of
mobility. In the Socratic view, political justice requires that unequal
men receive unequal honors and unequal shares in ruling. This is both
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Interpretive Essay
are means of seeing the various metals, they will have at least some
counterpoise to their self-love. The lie implies that the city must have
some wise ruler who can distinguish the qualities of souls, but here that
is not underlined, and the emphasis is on preparing the citizens to ac-
cept both a stability and a movement which go against their grain. The
first part of the lie differs from the second in that the former attempts
to make the conventional attachment to the city and its regime seem
natural, while the latter must provide a conventional support for
natural differences which men have reason to want to forget. This is
why, in the second part of the lie, a god must be invoked.
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calculation to make men loyal to it. The difference between the two
views can be reduced to a difference concerning the importance of
moderation, both for the preservation of civil society and for the full
development of individual men's natures. The noble lie is designed to
give men grounds for resisting, in the name of the common good, their
powerful desires. The great thinkers of the Enlightenment did not deny
that such lies are necessary to induce men to sacrifice their desires and
to care for the common good. They were no more hopeful than Soc-
rates concerning most men's natural capacity to overcome their
inclinations and devote themselves to the public welfare. What they in-
sisted was that it was possible to build a civil society in which men did
not have to care for the common good, in which desire would be chan-
neled rather than controlled. A civil society which provided security
and some prospect of each man's acquiring those possessions he most
wishes would be both a more simple and more .sure solution than any
Utopian attempt to make men abandon their selfish wishes. Such a civil
society could count on men's rational adhesion, for it would be an in-
strument in procuring their own good as they see it. Therefore modera-
tion of the appetites would be not only unnecessary but undesirable, for
it would render a man more independent of the regime whose purpose
it is to satisfy the appetites.
ing life, but it is very difficult to attain, and men need all the help they
can get if they are to succeed in attaining it. The civil society proposed
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Interpretive Essay
of life which the city would defend. He was content with the city of
sows; nothing that has come afterward in the construction of the good
city has given him back the personal satisfaction he experienced there.
He has the capacity for self-restraint, a certain austerity not shared by
Glaucon. But this is in the name of that comfortable existence which
too much desire would destroy. Now, in making the life of the guar-
dians so hard, Socrates has taken away Adeimantus' motive for having
allowed them to be trained so severely. Adeimantus, following the pro-
cedure he and Glaucon adopted in their attacks on justice, puts his ob-
jection in the mouth of another. The anonymous accuser asserts that
Socrates is not making the guardians happy, and Adeimantus asks Soc-
rates to make an apology to the charge. He joins Thrasymachus in bring-
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within it. Looking at it from the city's point of view, one can see the
advantage of its possessing such a group of totally dedicated public serv-
ants. But this only postpones discussing the problem of the individ-
ual's relation to the city, which has already been postponed by the
decision to see justice in a city first, and renders it more acute. Socrates
treats the city as though it were an organism, as though there could be a
happy city without happy men.
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Interpretive Essay
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soft, rich cities. Furthermore, in order to prevent the alHed city from
becoming all-powerful, it will foment civil discord within it, siding
with the poor, although the guardians' city does not believe the poor
have justice on their side. In this way the city can live as though it had
no neighbors and devote itself to whatever way of life it deems best. In
relation to its neighbors, the city is not motivated by considerations of
justice but by those of preservation. Justice has to do with the domestic
life of the city and cannot be extended beyond its borders. This is a
point to be considered when examining the analogy between city and
man: justice is supposed to be the same in both, so one would expect
that a man should behave toward other men as does a city toward other
cities.
fection must consist in its being the only city in which the rulers rule
for the advantage of the ruled and hence of the weaker— the exact op-
posite of Thrasymachus' description of rulers, but in accord with Soc-
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Interpretive Essay
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Interpretive Essay
are the parts of a city and that a soul's virtues are the same as those of a
city. They easily distinguish desire and reason as separate parts of the
soul. Then, as might be expected, the crucial part and the one most
difficult to determine is spiritedness. Is it separate or does it belong to
one of the two other classes? Glaucon gives an obvious answer and one
that accords with his own experience; it belongs to the desiring part.
He is probably most angry when he does not get what he wants; surely
his specific form of spiritedness leads him off to war in pursuit of
satisfaction of desire for pleasure and victory. Socrates responds with an
example in which spiritedness purportedly overcomes desire. Spirited-
ness is ambiguous: it may support or oppose bodily desire, or it may even
itself be a kind of desire. But Socrates goes much further. He tries to make
spiritedness look like a loyal ally of reason, as it were, reason's army,
which forces the desires along the path of reason's commands. Socrates
acts as though it were only in the cases of the most perverse kind of man
that spiritedness opposes reason. Hence the soul is a unity in diversity
and is strictly parallel to the city. The analogy to the auxiliary class in the
city makes it plausible to assert that spiritedness is reason's companion
and of a distinctly higher order than the desires.
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376 ]
Interpretive Essay
his own. It can also produce the angry, petulant man who flies into a
fury at what opposes his desires. And, most interesting of all, it can
result in the morally indignant man who punishes his own desires as
well as those of others. But in the case of the soul this punishment of
offending desires is more harmful than in the city. The soul in which
reason is most developed will— like Leontius' eyes— desire to see all
kinds of things which the citizen is forbidden to see; it will abound with
thoughts usually connected with selfishness, lust, and vice. Such a soul
will be like that banished poetry which contained images of vice as well
as of virtue. Spiritedness, in the form of anger and shame, will oppose
reason's desiring. This is why the austere, moral Adeimantus is much
more opposed to philosophy than is the victory-loving, erotic Glaucon.
Thus, spiritedness, which protected the city's health, stands in the way
of the development of the soul's theoretical capacities and hence its
health. Socrates in this passage abstracts from all other aspects of spirited-
ness and focuses solely on one of its functions— the control of desire. In
so doing he makes explicit its political advantages and hints at the threat
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it poses to philosophy. The harmony of the parts of the soul is most ques-
tionable.
Socrates concludes that the soul has the same parts as the city and
will be perfected by the same virtues. Thus the discussion of justice
should be at an end; and Socrates does indeed try to turn to the discus-
sion of injustice, which must be discerned if it is to be compared to
justice. But, he will not be permitted to continue in that direction, for
his interlocutors are not yet persuaded that it is desirable to be a mem-
ber of this city, and want to know more about it. The identification of
the good of the soul with that of the city has not been convincing to
them. This is understandable, since it is purely formal to assert that a
just soul is one in which each of its parts does its own work when one
does not know the nature of those parts or precisely what their work is.
It cannot be assumed merely that they exactly parallel the parts of the
Nothing as yet has indicated that the man who has a healthy soul
will be identical with the citizen of the regime which has been establish-
ed. Is the wise man, who makes full use of the powers of his reason,
the same as the prudent statesman, who issues commands to the war-
riors and the artisans? Is his courage that of the warrior who holds the
belief that what is good for the city is good for him, and is thus willing
to die on the battlefield? Is his moderation that of an obedient subject,
or that of a ruler who cares for the citizens and wishes to rule them for
their good? And does his justice consist in doing some work which the
city prescribes to him and is useful to it? Affirmative answers to all or
any of these questions seem highly improbable. Glaucon's real ques-
tion, however, was whether his happiness depended on being a good
citizen, a law-abiding man. Socrates tries to give the impression that
there is a harmony between the justice of the city and that of man by
never suggesting that there might not be.
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Interpretive Essay
the just man— in the sense of the man with a healthy soul— would liot
want to be a good citizen in the good city. It would also seem that he
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give a mythical account of his life (as he did in the Apology) but must
explain himself as he really is. This city claims to be the greatest good
for men, to call for the highest loyalty, to satisfy the human potential.
Now it must be expanded to see if it can include Socrates. This is the
crucial test, for, if the highest activity of the city is identical to the
highest activity of man, there is no justification for going beyond the
city, for rebellion in heart or deed. The status of the city depends on
this attempt.
380 ]
Interpretive Essay
the private life. If he is right, he can show that Aristophanes did not
understand the city because he did not understand philosophy, and he
did not understand philosophy because he did not understand that
philosophy could grasp the human things and particularly the city. The
Republic is the first book of political philosophy, and attempts to show
that4>hilosophy can shed light on human things as no other discipline
can. Socrates is the founder of the city in speech and, hence, of po-
litical philosophy. In Book V he tries to show the superiority of the
philosopher to the comic poet in deed; he does so by producing a com-
edy which is more fantastic, more innovative, more comic, and more
profound than any work of Aristophanes. Socrates with an air of ut-
most seriousness undertakes absurd considerations; in this he is already
comic. If what he appears to teach seriously is impossible, as Avill prove
to be the case, Socrates' comedy Avill be akin to the Ecclesiazusae. In
that play the women of Athens try to institute what is just but
politically impossible, and thereby they create ridiculous situations; Soc-
rates surpasses them by radicalizing their proposals. If the perfection
of the city cannot comprehend the perfection of the soul, the city will
look ugly in comparison to the soul's beauty and be a proper subject of
comedy; its pretensions will be ludicrous. Such a comedy will be a di-
vine comedy, one calling for a more divine laughter. Only philosophy
could produce it, for, as Socrates will explain, only philosophy has the
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on their moderation. But does it make sense to say that it is only con-
vention which prohibits the pubHc association of naked men and wom-
en? Nakedness is forbidden because it encourages Hcentiousness, be-
cause civilized men need some mastery over their sexual appetites.
Public nakedness is permissible where sexual desire is not likely to be
aroused by it. Men can be naked together because it is relatively easy to
desexualize their relations with one another; but the preservation of the
city requires the mutual attraction of men and women. The city can
forbid homosexual relations, and shame and habit can make the very
notion inconceivable to them. But it cannot forbid heterosexual rela-
tions, and men and women could hardly be expected to be above at-
[ 3«2 ]
Interpretive Essay
Why then does Socrates insist on the same training for men and
women? Women had hardly been mentioned in the first four books.
Why not let the men run the city and leave the women at home? Two
reasons may be suggested, one political, the other trans-political. In the
first place, neglect of the virtue of women may be said to be another
Spartan error. Men need women and can easily be controlled by them.
The character of the women in a society has a great deal to do with the
character of the men; for when the men are young, the women have a
great deal to do with their rearing, and when they are older, they must
please the women. In particular, women have a more powerful attach-
ment to the home and the children than do men. They are involved
with the private things which are likely to oppose the city. They
characteristically do not like to send their sons off to war. Further, wom-
en have much to do with men's desire to possess money. Women's
favor can be won by gifts, and they have a taste for adornment and
public display. Women play a great role in the corruption of regimes,
as will be shown in Books VIII and IX. If half the city is not educated
to the city's virtues, the city will not subsist. This is a city without
homes, and the women have more to overcome if they are to accept it,
for their natures lead them to love the private things most and draw the
men to a similar love. They must share the men's tastes, or they will
resist the changes in the family Socrates is about to propose.
with battle, is not the whole of human nature, although it may appear
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so to the men. The female represents gentleness, and the complete soul
must embrace both principles. Pheidippides, in the Clouds, and Calli-
cles, in the Gorgias, think of Socrates as unmanly, a pale-faced individ-
ual who sits around and gossips rather than engaging in the activities
of real men. In the Theaetetus Socrates compares himself to a kind of
woman, a midwife; and in the Symposium he recounts that he learned
the secrets of his erotic science from a woman. Just as a city needs the
female, so does the soul, but perhaps in a more fundamental way. Full
humanity is a discrete mixture of masculinity and femininity. When
talking about warrior-guardians the feminine could be forgotten; but
this latest discussion is a harbinger of the philosopher-guardians.
Having successfully met the first wave — the same education and
way of life for women as for men, Socrates and Glaucon prepare to face
the second— the community of women and children. In the discussion
of this proposal there is less emphasis on the comic element; the prob-
lems touched on here have been themes of tragedy — Antigone and
Oedipus come most immediately to mind— as well as comedy. Socrates
and Glaucon agree to postpone the question of the possibility of this
institution— that is, according to the procedure they have adopted, the
question of whether it is natural— in favor of first describing it and its
advantages.
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Interpretive Essay
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the prohibition against incest that it even removes desire where objects
of satisfaction are closest at hand; it is accepted without question and
hardly needs to be taught. The crime of Oedipus and his tragedy, the
archetype of tragedy, concerns this prohibition. When asked about the
problem, Socrates treats it as though he were speaking of regulations no
more controversial than those concerning rivers and harbors. He thus
justifies the accusation of Aristophanes: he is the enemy of the family
[ 386 ]
Interpretive Essay
interests related to the body and do not express the truth about nature,
they are enormously respectable. Men hold strongly to them, and it
seems very important that they be maintained. These beliefs fetter
men's minds; they are the conventions which veil nature.
To put the matter more simply: only in a city such as Socrates and
his companions have constructed will no obloquy be attached to Soc-
rates' deplorable neglect of his family and his indifference to the labor
necessary to making a comfortable living. This city, which is constructed
in response to Aristophanes' charge that Socrates had to break the law
in order to feed and clothe himself and in order to replenish his society
of male companions, will take care of him, and his children will be tal-
ented youths of the kind he sought out in Athens. In all other cities Soc-
rates must be morally suspect as a poor husband and father. Socrates has
the strength to endure this opprobrium; if he were seriously concerned
about it, he would fetter his mind in trying to avoid it. In the passage
under consideration, then, we see the conditions of philosophy and what
must be sacrificed to it. As yet the citizens of this city have no sufficient rea-
son to make these sacrifices. But if philosophy is desirable, so are these ef-
forts to conquer everything that attaches one to particularity. Socrates can
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that the true poet must be both tragedian and comedian, implying that
the true poet is the philosopher. Here he shows that the man who has
both gifts must use them to oppose the ways the vulgar tragic and com-
ic poets use them; he must treat the tragic lightly and the comic
seriously, hence reversing their usual roles. The man who is able to do
this is already a philosopher. In both cases, it is shame which must be
opposed; for shame is the wall built by convention which stands be-
tween the mind and the light. The ordinary poetry appeals to that
shame, accepting its edicts as law, while philosophic poetry overcomes
it. Shame, in both the case of nakedness and that of incest, is
spiritedness' means of controlling eros for the sake of preservation and
the city. The effect of that shame is pervasive and subtle, making the
thinkable appear unthinkable. The mind requires heroic efforts in
order to become aware of the distortions of its vision caused by shame and
to overcome them.
among the members of a family, so the relations among the Greek cities
are to become like the relations which prevail among the parties in a
city and the relations between Greeks and non-Greeks are to become
like the relations of Greek cities. Thus there is a general reduction of
hostility along the line (without expectation that it can be done away
with altogether), and even the barbarians profit from the change. In this
way, all men are brought closer to one another by extending the senti-
ments connected with love of one's own to all of humanity: fellow
citizens are to be brothers, Greeks are to be fellow citizens, and bar-
barians are to be Greeks. At this point Socrates accepts the Greek, or
conventional, distinction between Greek and barbarian. One should
not, however, assume that he is limited by this horizon; he is speaking
to Glaucon who is subject to such limitations. Later, when Glaucon has
learned more, Socrates asserts that this good city can be either Greek or
barbarian. This discussion of the relation among cities mixes conven-
tion with nature in the intention of bringing men closer together and
removing the obstacles which prevent the recognition of a common hu-
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Interpretive Essay
The eager Glaucon finally insists that Socrates must stop trying to
avoid the question. Socrates must tell whether the regime is possible.
Glaucon, however, no longer means by possible what had earlier been
meant. He wants to know how the regime will come into being; he is
interested only in its actualization. He thus abandons the standard
which he set in his first speech about justice, that is, nature. What he
wanted then was a proof that justice is good according to nature and
not merely according to convention or human agreement; justice was to
be shown to conduce to human happiness in the same way health does.
This standard was maintained in the discussion of the desirability of
assigning the same way of life to women as to men. By showing that
women's natures are the same as men's and supporting this proof with
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Unless the philosophers rule as Icings or those now called longs and
chiefs genuinely and adequately philosophize, and political power
and philosophy coincide in the same place, while the many natures
now making their way to either apart from the other are by neces-
sity excluded, there is no rest from ills for the cities, my dear
Glaucon, nor I think for human kind, nor will the regime we have
now described in speech ever come forth from nature, insofar as
possible, and see the light of the sun.
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statesman must know what man is and his relation to the other beings.
In asserting that philosophers should rule, Socrates formulates a
view of the relation between wisdom and power opposed to that of the
Enlightenment. Beginning from the common assumption that
knowledge of the ends of man and civil society is necessary to civil so-
ciety, or that wisdom should rule, the two teachings differ as to whether
the rule of wisdom requires that the wise rule. The thinkers of the
Enlightenment teach that wisdom can rule without philosophers having
to take political power; that is, they teach that the dissemination of
knowledge will inevitably lead to the establishment of good regimes.
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Socrates teaches that wisdom and political power are distinct. Their
coming together can only be due to the coincidence that a man who is
wise happens also to be a ruler, thus uniting the two things; nothing in
their two natures leads the one to the other. Political power serves the
passions or desires of the members of a city, and a multitude cannot
philosophize. It may use the results of science or philosophy, but it will
use them to its own ends and will thereby distort them. Moreover, the
wise man by himself is more of a threat to a regime than a helper. In-
tellectual progress is not the same as political progress, and, because
there is not a simple harmony between the works of the mind and the
works of the city, the philosopher without power must remain in an
uneasy relationship with the city and its beliefs. Enlightenment en-
dangers philosophy because it tempts philosophers to sacrifice their
quest for the truth in favor of attempting to edify the public; in an
"enlightened" world, philosophy risks being made a tool of unwise and
even tyrannical regimes, thus giving those regimes the color of reason
and losing its function as the standard for criticism of them. Enlighten-
ment also endangers the city by publicly calling into question its untrue
but essential beliefs. If philosophers cannot rule, philosophy must be
disproportionate to the city. This means that its truths must remain
fundamentally private, and that the philosopher, for his own good and
that of the city, must hide himself. He must adapt his public teachings
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examples; as knowing beings we care only for the universals. The ideas
give reality to the universals and hence make it possible to explain the
fact that man possesses knowledge. The ideas are the being of things.
They constitute an account of the first causes of things which also does
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Interpretive Essay
who are like the philosophers, Glaucon chooses the example of those
who love theatrical spectacles. Poetry itself deals in images of par-
ticular things; and it uses its images to give added significance to one's
particular attachments, beautifying one's country, one's loves, one's
aspirations. In the beginning of the discussion Thrasymachus, the
rhetorician, was refuted because he made the error of saying that a
thing is that which it is like. And the discussion of imitation in Book
III addressed this same question. It is a theme which runs throughout
the Republic. Poetry, in its most common usage, adorns the particular
and renders it more attractive, hence making it more difficult to trans-
cend. It does so because it must appeal to audiences of men who cannot
and do not wish to make that transcendence. It is thus an opponent of
philosophy.
questionable whether the virtues of the philosopher are quite the same
as those of the citizen. One has only to consider the case of the
philosopher's love of truth, which Socrates assimilates to the warriors'
truthfulness. It is obvious that a man can love the truth without telling
it and can also regularly tell what he understands to be the truth
without any love for or questing after the real truth. Similarly, the
philosopher's courage and moderation are not the same as those of the
simple citizen. The philosopher is courageous because his constant pre-
occupation with the eternal makes him somewhat oblivious to life, and
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not because he is' obedient to the city's rules about what is fearful and
what not. And he is moderate because he has an immoderate love of
the truth, not because he restrains his desires. Most important of all
Socrates indicates that the philosopher is just only by shoMdng that
there are certain kinds of things he is likely to abstain from. This is the
same procedure Socrates adopted in Book IV when he tried to prove
that a man with a healthy soul will be just, and he admitted there that
this is only a crude test. Thus the philosopher is likely to be indifferent
to money because it plays only a small role in helping him acquire what
he cares for, but there is nothing here that indicates he has a disposition
to render unto others what is due to them. Moreover, there is also noth-
ing in his nature which would attach him to the city. Socrates hints at
this by repeating a catalogue of the philosopher's virtues several times;
the virtues listed change slightly in the course of these repetitions. The
most significant change is that justice is finally omitted (cf. 487a and
494b). The silent lesson would seem to be that it is indeed possible to
possess intellectual virtue without what later came to be called moral
virtue.
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philosophy, or of the soul, provide a second polar star for the guidance
of human conduct. This tempers the unmitigated pursuit of the goods
connected with the body and the city which characterizes the tradition
begun by Machiavelli and Hobbes; and it adds a sublimity to the ac-
count of the virtues which is also lacking in the later thought. Still, this
leaves the virtues of the warrior class in a kind of limbo. They are
asked to live and die for the city. They are asked to have more virtues
than their self-preservation would demand, yet they are not
philosophers. What, then, is the status of their virtues? Socrates seems
to deny the existence of the independent moral virtues. These are the
virtues presented by Aristotle as ends in themselves, pursued only be-
cause they are noble. Socrates presents instead two kinds of virtues, one
low and one high, but both mercenary in the sense that they are pur-
sued for the sake of some reward. The warrior's virtue is somewhere
between them. Virtue, if pursued for other reasons, is no longer what
we mean by true virtue; the great tradition stretching from Aristotle to
Kant is evidence for that. But virtue pursued for its own sake is without
ground and has a tincture of folly. This is the Socratic teaching. Moral
virtue is a halfway house, partaking of the grandeur et misere of its
two sources.
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Socrates begins his apology with an image, the first of several that
are to come. These images constitute a kind of Socratic poetry and
serve to counterbalance the powerful attack Socrates has made on
poetry. Just as we learned that the poets know the human passions,
here we learn that they are in possession of one of the most powerful
tools for leading men to the truth. The intellect does not perceive the
ideas directly; it knows of their existence only through particulars. Man
must reason about the things he perceives in order to know their
causes. Without a full and profound experience of the phenomena, the
intellect is a void. Images are the food of the mind; and poetry can
make the most fruitful images. In poetry one can find representations
of man which are richer and more typical than any experiences of men
that one is likely to have. The poetic images should be used as
geometers use representations of circles — to understand something of
which the particular circle is only an imperfect image. Poetry charac-
teristically causes men to forget that its images are only images, that is,
like the circle drawn in the sand which is not the circle; but it need not
always be abused in this way. The image Socrates presents to Adeiman-
tus has a double function: it tells him a lovely tale which charms him
into a more favorable disposition toward philosophy; and it causes him
to think about the meaning of the image. Adeimantus must see how the
image applies to philosophy as he knows it, and in what respects the
image differs from the reality it indicates. Thus he is beginning to think
about philosophy, and in a way he is philosophizing.
treated as an end in itself. The true pilot is not interested in fighting for
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his proper position and is excluded. In this image, the sailors are akin to
the warrior class without rulers; the chiefs of that class remain preoc-
cupied with the human world, unaware that a good sailing requires
knowledge of mathematics and astronomy, that is, of the cosmos as a
whole. This knowledge appears irrelevant to their concerns, and the
true pilot is ridiculed. The philosopher, who, contrary to the indica-
tions of the Apology, must know nature, and particularly the nature of
the heavens, is as necessary to the city as a pilot is to a ship. He is
merely misunderstood, and the people are misled. His knowledge is not
described here as something desirable in itself for him, but it is ac-
quired for the sake of the city; it is like the pilot's or the doctor's art.
He is ready and fit to serve if only the ship's owner can perceive how
necessary he is. The philosopher's situation might well be compared to
that of Gulliver in Lilliput. He is too big and too different to be trusted,
too much beyond the temptations of the small ambitious men to be
their tool; but if the Lilliputians could have maintained their faith in
him, they would have both profited and become more just. This ex-
planation of the philosopher's lack of reputation also serves as a de-
fense against the accusation that he pries into the secrets of the heavens
and Hades, not by denying that he does but by insisting on the value to
the city of his doing so.
to adopt the current practices of the city. It is not, as is often said, the
sophists who corrupt the young. The sophists, Socrates says, are-harm-
less men who are only servants of the city's passions. The true soph-
ist, the true educator, is the public assembly— the sovereign body of
the people; it forms the tastes of the young by its thunderous expressions
of approval and disapproval. It is almost impossible for a noble youth
to resist the city's praise and blame and the prospects it offers him. The
man who undertakes to teach the truth to such a youth faces many
difficulties. The youth himself is disinclined to renounce the charms
which draw him. And, if the teacher succeeds in influencing him, the
unruly sailors will persecute the teacher who is robbing them of a great
prop of their power. First the teacher will be intimidated by threats;
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Having argued that the charges against philosophy are unjust, Soc-
rates now proceeds to suggest that the people could accept the rule of
philosophers. It is altogether a difficult business to bring city and
philosopher together, but in these passages the problem appears prin-
cipally to be to persuade the people to overcome their anger. And Soc-
rates' defense seems to persuade at least one man who is vitally con-
nected with the people— Thrasymachus. In any event Socrates now an-
nounces that Thrasymachus has just become his friend. Perhaps this is
because Thrasymachus now believes that Socrates is no longer a threat
to the city; perhaps it is because he now sees that his rhetoric has a
place in Socrates' enterprise for which philosophy alone does not
suffice. Socrates has tamed the lion and can now use him in the taming
of the people. And Socrates, with Thrasymachus' help, will succeed in
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Interpretive Essay
doing in the dream of the Republic what he could not do in the real sit-
uation of the Apology. If he cannot persuade the people directly,
perhaps his philosophic rhetoric, which we see in the course of this
dialogue, can persuade the political rhetorician who will in turn per-
suade the people. The problem is to overcome the people's moral in-
dignation at what appears to be a threat to their own. Socrates insists
that the people will ultimately be gentle; but in doing so, he mentions
so many obstacles which stand in the way of that gentleness that he un-
dermines his case. He argues that there is a possibility that the people
will not be angered by an attempt to transform their lives and put them
under the absolute rule of philosophers who will take their property
away. His arguments only serve to underline the great improbability,
not to say impossibility, of the consummation of the project.
Glaucon insists that Socrates tell more of the idea of the good, and
again takes his brother's place in the discussion. He was the first to ask
for an account of justice in terms of the good, and his eroticism impels
him to possess the good things. Socrates formulates his account of the
good in such a way as to appeal to Glaucon's interest and passion.
Glaucon is informed of a good which makes questionable all the good
things of which he spoke in his original attack on justice, and the at-
tainment of which requires a way of life very different from the tyrant's
way of life. Socrates leads Glaucon toward the apprehension of the
good by means of the things which Glaucon knows and of which he has
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already spoken. He agrees that all action is directed toward the attain-
ment of some good and that none of the things he desires is unam-
biguously good. There are many good things, but none of them are the
good. The discussion at the end of Book V concluded that where there
is a many to which we give a name, there must also be a one which is
the cause of the particulars that constitute that many, which is the thing
in itself without qualification. Hence there must be a good in itself, an
idea of the good in which the good things participate. A man does not
desire those things, but desires the good, which is somehow in them but
is not them. The good, however, must also be a super idea, an idea of
ideas, for the other ideas, for example, justice, man, beauty, are also
good. Therefore these other ideas, the many ideas, are participations in
the one idea of the good. Since the ideas are, the good, then, is the
source of being, but beyond being, in the sense that it exists in a way
different from the other beings. The good is the transcendent principle
of the whole, the cause of the being of things and of the apprehension
of being, uniting knower and knov^Ti, the lover of the good and the good
things. As experienced by man, the good is an overpowering combina-
tion of pleasure and knowledge.
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Interpretive Essay
soul to the city. The divided line described the soul's progress from its
lowest level of cognition, imagination, to trust, thought, and finally in-
tellection, its highest level. But now Socrates makes clear that this is
not a simple movement depending only on talent and effort. There are
powerful forces that stand in the way of the philosophic quest. The
discovery of that quest has the character of a liberation from bondage.
In the most moving of all his many images, Socrates compares our sit-
uation to that of prisoners in a cave. We are surrounded by darkness,
our only access to ourselves and the world coming from the observation
of shadows on the wall. But, although there is darkness, there is
also a light in the cave; the pale shadows we possess are made
possible by that light. Moreover, a few human beings can emerge from
the cave. Our lives are a combination of ugliness and sublime
possibility. The Enlightenment, taken literally, believed that the light
could be brought into the cave and the shadows dispelled; men, in that
view, could live in perfect light. This Socrates denies; the philosopher
does not bring light to the cave, he escapes into the light and can lead a
few to it; he is a guide, not a torchbearer. The attempt to illuminate the
cave is self-defeating: a part of man craves the shadows. The light
would be dimmed and distorted; it would not provide real clarity with-
in the cave. And, at the same time, those who have the urge to ascend
to the light would be discouraged from the endeavor by the myth, ap-
parently based on reason, that there is no other light to which they can
ascend. Thus the only source of liberation and inspiration vvould disap-
pear from the cave. The Enlightenment teaches that the cave can be
transformed; Socrates teaches that it must be transcended and that this
transcendence can be accomplished only by a few.
Only by constant reference back to the divided line can one un-
derstand the cave. In what sense does the cave represent the human sit-
uation with respect to education? The prisoners are said to be in bonds
and forced to look at images of images— shadows on the wall of the
cave. The lowest level of the line belongs to shadows and reflections,
and the faculty which apprehends them is called imagination. This is
the level of distorted and unclear images, and the faculty related to
them is completely unreliable. To judge of images one must compare
them to the things of which they are images. These latter are the things
of which we have a natural consciousness — ^plants, animals, artifacts;
etc.— the various manys of which we become aware through the senses.
The faculty which apprehends them may be called trust, and it is the
beginning point of knowledge We do not have sufficient knowledge of
these things, nor can we explain how we know of them or how we are
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sure of their existence, but they are our entry into reality, the hints
which lead us toward the causes or the ideas; the higher levels of the
line are devoted to the explanation of these phenomena. Our awareness
of them is not perfectly sure, but a universal doubt of them would lead
us into a void; it would leave us with nothing. It is called trust precisely
because it resists doubt of the existence of what it apprehends. Knowl-
edge or philosophy is the clarification and articulation of this natural con-
sciousness. Imagination is no beginning point for knowledge because it
cannot distinguish between what is merely a shadow, a distortion
caused by the idiosyncrasies of our mental vision or those of the
reflecting medium, and what is an accurate reflection of the objects.
Only the awareness that an image is an image makes it possible to
judge its true character, and in order to have that awareness imagina-
tion must be aided by the faculty of trust.
But who regularly believes that images are real things; who
mistakes reflections for what is reflected? Why does Socrates insist that
our situation is that of men who mistake images for realities? It would seem
more sensible to say that we take objects too seriously, that we do not
recognize the importance and superior reality of the causes or first prin-
ciples. How can it be said that we are bound to the lowest level of the line?
The answer seems to be that the cave is the city and that our attachment to
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teach a man how to sow a field well or how to build a house well, but it
cannot tell him whether he will reap what he has sown or live in what
he has built. Science is indifferent to the fate of individuals. Those for
whom this is intolerable need a supplement to reason; they must turn to
the Delphic oracle, to the divine, in order to satisfy themselves. Thus
our love of our own ties us to the cave, and that powerful passion must
be overcome in order to move upward on the line of knowledge. And
he who does must leave his kin, be regarded as a traitor by them, forego
the rewards offered to the man who joins in their self-deception, and
run the risks of punishment prescribed by their laws. These are the
bonds which tie us to the cave and its images. To break them requires
rare passion and courage, for the lion in our souls, spiritedness, guards
the gates of the dungeon.
The divided line and the cave teach that there are two fatal
temptations of the mind. The first is that of the men who insist on the
significance of the images in the cave and constitute themselves as their
defenders and hence the accusers of the philosophers. They are often
men of very high intelligence who are forced to hate reason by their un-
willingness to renounce the charm and significance of their particular
experiences and those of their people. They are enemies of whatever
leads in the direction of universality, of anything that would tend to
break down the heterogeneity, the particularity and distinctiveness, of
the ways to which they are attached. Their dominant trait is piety,
which frequently turns into fanaticism. These men are among the
leaders of peoples and are protectors of the people's beliefs. This account
of their nature acts as a corrective of the view that the people can easily
be persuaded to accept philosophers as kings.
The other great temptation is that of those who are too easily
liberated and do not learn in the cave what must be learned about man
and the soul. These men dwell on the third level of the line and are best
represented by the mathematicians. They escape to a world of univer-
sality and are charmed by the competence of their reason to order and
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explain that world. The homogeneity of numbers which can apply to all
things permits them to reduce all the particularities in the world to uni-
ties. They tend to forget the questionableness of their own beginnings
or principles and the natural heterogeneity of the different kinds of
things; they are forgetful of qualitative differences and, hence, of the
ideas. As the pious men were hostile to the ideas because the ideas
threatened the heterogeneity of their world, these competent men are
hostile to the ideas because they threaten the homogeneity of their
world. Such were the early philosophers who while watching the sky
fell into holes, the men ridiculed by Aristophanes because their
science could not understand man, the only being who understands.
These two temptations are aided by two of man's most noble arts:
poetry and mathematics. Both of these arts are necessary and useful,
but both tend to emancipate themselves from philosophy and re-
enforce the hostility to it. In order to resist these temptations, a man's
reason must be both daring and moderate. Socrates, in his reform of
philosophy, showed the way in which these virtues must be combined.
A man must be daring in his quest for the first causes of all things and
in his refusal to accept the sacred opinions of the cave. But he must be
moderate and not look directly at the sun for fear of being blinded and
losing the distinctions among the various kinds of things. He must look
at the reflection of the sun and the things it illuminates; that is, he
must not try to apprehend being directly but must try to discern it in
the opinions about the various kinds of beings. Dialectic, the art of
friendly conversation, as practiced by Socrates, is this combination of
daring and moderation.
In the account of the cave given here, a man is liberated from his
bonds not by his own efforts but by a teacher who compels him to turn
to the light. The actual mode of this turning is represented in the action
of the Republic. Old Cephalus has opinions about justice; in the
investigation of justice, one does not begin by trying to look at justice,
or by constructing definitions, but by examining these opinions about
it. Cephalus holds two contradictory opinions about justice, but both
seem necessary for his understanding of justice. One is thus forced to
seek for another and more adequate opinion which can comprehend
the phenomena covered by the contradictory opinions. The thoughtful
observer recognizes that the opinions of the men in the cave are self-
contradictory and thus meaningless as they stand. But their very con-
tradiction points beyond them to more intelligible opinions and to ob-
jects which do not admit of such ambiguity. The many contradictory
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of interest.
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did not undermine the laws of the city, and in which there was no claim
that went beyond the city limits. This was to be a city without limits.
But now it is evident that in the decisive respect the city is not natural:
it cannot comprehend the highest activity of man. We modem men are
accustomed to insist that almost every claim against civil society is
valid, but Socrates denies this. There is only one claim the dignity of
which is greater than that of the city; only at this point do the limits of
the city become clear.
In the light of the splendor of the soul's yearning after the whole,
the city looks very ugly. This is the true comedy— taking the city with
infinite seriousness, beautifying it with every artifice, making it a
veritable Callipolis, and then finding that compared to the soul which
was supposed to be like it, it is a thing to be despised. This fair city, the
goal of so many aspirations, now looks like a cave, and its happy
citizens like prisoners; it is comparable to the Hades of which Achilles
complained, and the attachment to it is a species of folly. From the
point of view of the city, the philosopher looks ridiculous; but from the
point of view of the whole, the citizen looks ridiculous. Socrates asks
which of the two cpntexts is the more authoritative. Aristophanes' com-
edy is the human comedy, Socrates' the divine.
Only the philosophers can provide the city with an end that can
direct its actions. The ordinary statesmen serve the city and seek to
provide for its preservation, which is only a condition of action, not an
end. Only knowledge seems to have the character of an end in itself.
But the philosopher has nothing to do with the city. The practical vir-
tues can only be justified if they are understood to be the means to the
theoretical virtues. But the city cannot consider itself a means to
philosophy. This union of philosophy and the city is a shotgun wed-
ding. The citizens would not be slaves to the philosophers' well-being,
considering themselves means to an end in which they do not partake;
and the philosopher, although he too needs preservation, can arrange
that in less burdensome fashion than ruling.
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Socrates has proved in the course of the dialogue that all cities
need the rule of wisdom and that wisdom means knowledge of the true
whole or the first causes. He has shown that only the philosopher is
concerned with such knowledge and hence is potentially the only true
ruler. But he has not shown that such knowledge is possible, that any
man can actually convert himself from a lover of wisdom into a wise
man by knowing everything there is to know. This is also a condition of
the city's possibility. Just as Socrates has overstated the case for the
possibility of the city's accepting wisdom, he overstates the case for the
possibility of a man's becoming wise. He seems to say that the
philosophers will complete their labors and come to know the idea of
the good. But it is doubtful whether the mind's eye can look directly at
the good without being dazzled any more than the body's eye can look
directly at the sun without being dazzled. Philosophy, as Socrates
usually teaches, has the character of an unfinished and unfinishable
quest. If this is true, it means that the philosopher cannot rule because
he does not know what he would need to know in order to rule. He is
the good citizen because he is seeking to acquire what the city most
needs, but he has not yet succeeded in acquiring it, so that both he and
the city are incomplete. Further, the philosopher has less time to rule
than would a wise man, because his urgent business is unfinished. Both
the philosopher's ignorance and his lack of available free time caused
by that ignorance militate against his being able to rule.
The final condition for the actualization of the best regime is that
those who have compelled the philosophers to become kings must
abandon their city, lands, and children, leaving no one over ten years of
age in the city, so that an entirely new formation of the soul can be giv-
en to the children. Socrates blandly announces this condition as
though the renunciation of all they live for by the whole citizen body
were easy to accomplish. And it would have to be a voluntary renun-
ciation because the philosophers have not yet educated a defense force
with which to compel the people. The perfect city is revealed to be a
perfect impossibility.
What then was the use of spending so much time and effort on a
city that is impossible? Precisely to show its impossibility. This was not
just any city, but one constructed to meet all the demands of justice. Its
impossibility demonstrates the impossibility of the actualization of a
just regime and hence moderates the moral indignation a man might
experience at the sight of less-than-perfect regimes. The extreme spirit
of reform or revolution loses its ground if its end is questionable. If the
infinite longing for justice on earth is merely a dream or a prayer, the
shedding of blood in its name turns from idealism into criminality. The
revolutions of Communism or Fascism are made in the name of perfect
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All of Western man's aspirations to justice and the good life are
given expression and fulfillment in Socrates' proposals for a city. This
is a regime where men's faculties are not denied their exercise by
poverty, birth, or sex, where the accidental attachments of family and
city do not limit a man's understanding and pursuit of the good; it is a
regime, finally, where wise, public-spirited men rule for the common
good. But this regime can only be achieved at the sacrifice of other
treasured things to which we are less reasonably, but perhaps more
powerfully, inclined. These are property, family, and the city of one's
birth— all the things a man can love as his own; they exist everywhere
and existed long before the emergence of philosophy. Not only do these
things constitute the charm of life for most men, they also provide the
occasion for the acquisition and the exercise of most of the virtues
which can give ordinary men dignity. If reason requires Socrates' city,
love of family and friends, patriotism, and even heroism demand the old-
er kind of city. Man's dual nature makes it impossible to solve the
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Interpretive Essay
problem posed by the two kinds of goods. Every decent regime is some
kind of iineasy compromise between them. Socrates' scheme, in a spirit
of comedy, proposes the triumph of the side which represents the soul,
the side to which the best kind of man can be almost totally devoted,
the only rational side. The non-barbaric society is defined by openness
to this part of man's longing; this openness to philosophy is the very
definition of civilization and carries with it a tendency to wish for the
actualization of the regime of the philosopher-kings. It is the light in
the cave which Socrates and those near him fought to preserve when its
infancy was so severely threatened. But to forget the other side of
man— to neglect the irony of Socrates' proposals— is also a fatal error.
The cosmopolitan communistic society of egalitarian man is a distor-
tion of man and the city which is more terrible than barbarism. In act-
ing as though the eternal tension between body and soul has been over-
come by history, a society is constituted which satisfies neither body
nor soul. Such a society creates one universal cave illuminated by an ar-
tificial light, for men have not made the sacrifices necessary to the at-
tainment of true cosmopolitanism but have been robbed of those at-
tachments which can give them depth. The thinkers of the Enlighten-
ment, culminating in Marx, preserved Socrates' ultimate goals but
forgot his insistence that nature made them impossible for men at large.
Only by distorting or narrowing man's horizon can the permanent
duality in his nature be overcome.
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positive good, and his justice has the character of love. He must always
carry on a contest with the city for the affections of its sons. Although
he has a duty to the city, he is always at war with it.
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lives of men. The healthy soul is the standard for the judgment of
regimes and the key to understanding them; the healthy regime is the
one that allows for the development of healthy souls. Such a political
science is more akin to medicine than to mathematics. Political science
must be evaluative; just as a doctor must know what a healthy body is,
a political scientist must know what a healthy regime is. Such a political
science provides a much richer and more comprehensive framework
than that provided by our contemporary political science with its over-
simplified dichotomies, democratic versus totalitarian or developed
versus underdeveloped. These represent a pale reminiscence of the
Socratic approach, impoverished both because we rely too much on the
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cause it was wise and just, and that it cannot be improved upon. Thus
he makes them moderate without being closed to reason, as respect for
what is truly ancestral would make them.
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as rulers men who care for the common good. The cities' ranks seeni to
correspond to their capacity to meet these conditions. Only aristocracy
meets them fiiUy, but timocracy comes closest to so doing. Sparta, the
model of the timocratic regime, is a republic with a long history of
stability and is able to defend its liberty courageously and skillfully. Al-
though the rulers secretly lust for money, their love of honor protects
their devotion to the public, and they are too ashamed to sacrifice their
duty to acquisition. Moreover, if their courage is not that of the
educated auxiliaries who are convinced that death is nothing terrible,
and if they are somewhat too savage, it is undeniable that they can fight
very well.
Next in order comes the oligarchic regime, which has neither the
perfect rulers of the aristocratic regime nor the love of honor, and
hence the courage, of the timocratic regime. The oligarchs turn all of
the city's resources to their private gain and are both unwilling and
unable to fight. But their continence and sobriety in acquiring and
keeping property lend to the regime a certain stability. Because it lacks
even the stability of oligarchy, democracy comes fourth. The democrats
are incapable of ruling themselves, so they must choose leaders. These
demogogues despoil the rich for their own profit while trying to satisfy
the demands of the poor. Finally, the city's property is wasted.
Democracy is essentially a transitional regime because its principle,
freedom, does not encourage the respect for law requisite to the main-
tenance of a regime. It prepares the way for tyranny, admitted by all to
be the worst of regimes, the regime in which the ruler exploits the city
simply for his personal benefit.
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Interpretive Essay
This treatment of the regimes contrasts strongly with the way Soc-
rates treats the men who are supposed to be like them. The man in
each case seems to be a member, not of the city he resembles, but of a
democratic city and does not share the character of the city in which
he lives. (Even the democratic man is not the poor, lean citizen
described by Socrates when he spoke of the democratic city.) The
various kinds of soul can apparently reach their fulfillment on their
ov^Ti in a democratic city; they are not encouraged by it, nor are they
hindered by it. Socrates describes democracy as a general store stocked
with all kinds of regimes; he follows his own suggestion and goes to that
store when he wants to select the various kinds of men. Athens is where
one has to live in order to know the range of human possibilities. The
only type he cannot find there is the tyrant actualizing his potential, but
there is a young man present in the discussion who might well like to be
one. The change from one kind of man to the next and lower kind is
understood by Socrates as a failure of education within the family. It is
in each case a superior father who is unable to make his son like him-
self. And here, as opposed to the discussion of the regimes, the
changes in the crucial instances are in part caused by what might be
called problems of foreign policy. The cities were isolated, and their
difficulties arose out of the relations of the parts within them. But the
aristocratic and timocratic men have difficulties in their relations with
the city, and because of the unsatisfactory character of those relations,
the sons reject the fathers' ways of life in favor of ways which are more
suited to success in the city. Thus they become inferior men. Socrates
appears to be teaching that the fatal error consists in taking the city too
seriously and adapting to its demands, thus that men need not be like
the regimes, that the regimes need not be the primary fact of their lives,
particularly if they live in a democracy.
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the list of regimes the central one is oligarchy, for in its pursuit of
money, it incarnates the concern of the real city. The private desires
which money represents and can fulfill and which are at a tension with
public spirit become more and more dominant as one goes down the
slope of the regimes. Socrates indicates that because a city is a composite
of many kinds of men, of whom very few are capable of love of
knowledge, no city can avoid the fiindamental compromise vidth private
property.
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Interpretive Essay
But this is only a partial account, for among the objects that the
disorganized democrat pursues, on the same level as flute-playing and
dieting, is philosophy. To him it is not a serious occupation, but
democracy is nevertheless the only one of the practicable regimes in
which philosophy makes an appearance. Democracy is merely indif-
ferent to philosophy, while the other regimes are positively hostile to it.
The moral or fiscal austerity of timocracy and oligarchy preclude the
leisure necessary to philosophy and condemn the thought produced by
it; at the same time, life in these regimes is too organized for philoso-
phy to be able to escape unnoticed for long. And the tyrant is
frightened by the wise and free-minded. Philosophy is among the un-
necessary desires and hence finds its home in democracy. Timocracy,
the best practicable regime, is the regime furthest removed from
philosophy; paradoxically, Socrates the citizen praises timocracy, while
Socrates the philosopher desires democracy. He is actually engaged in a
defense of democracy against its enemies, the potential tyrants and the
lovers of Sparta, not because he can be dedicated to democracy but pre-
cisely because it does not demand dedication. After showing the impos-
sibility, and perhaps the undesir ability, of a regime to which he could be
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Interpretive Essay
sure, he has been prepared for the choice by the beautiful images of the
philosophic life in_Book Vll and by the moral indignation evoked by
the decay of political life depicted in Book VIII. But, although all men
readily admit that to live under a tyranny is the worst of political fates,
they are not so ready to admit that the tyrant is the unhappiest of men,
precisely because he has succeeded in winning the struggle for those
scarce goods which reputedly make a man happy. It is to this problem
that Socrates addresses himself in Book IX.
powerful of the desires, an infinite longing which consumes all other at-
tachments in its heat. It, too, however, is ambiguous. Up to this point
the Republic has continuously attacked eros when it has not overlooked
it. It is hard to imagine that its author is also the author of the Sympo-
sium and the Phaedrus. But it must be observed that the eros attacked
is the lust for other bodies, and that this is done in the name of both
politics and philosophy. Politics seems to be hostile to any form of ex-
treme eroticism, but what about philosophy? It is clear in Books VI
and VII that love of wisdom is a form of eros, and that the hostility to
eros is limited to the kind which precludes the development of
philosophic eros. The political and philosophic critiques of eros are
therefore not in total harmony. If the radically incomplete discussion of
the soul in the Republic were to be made comprehensive, it would have
to be enlarged to provide an adequate account of eros. (For example, in
Book IX it becomes clear that the spirited and rational parts of the soul
have their specific desires; desire is not limited to the lowest part which
has been called the desiring part.) The present interpretation of eros
does serve the purpose of moderating Glaucon's passion, which is both
anti-political and anti-philosophic. But the obvious incompleteness of
this understanding of eros leads to an awareness of a hidden kinship be-
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tween the tyrant and the philosopher. There are certain kinds of things
(for example, incest) which a gentleman is not even willing to think
about, let alone do. Sometimes against his will such things find expression
in his dreams. The tyrant is willing both to think about them and to do
them when wide awake. The philosopher, as we have seen in the Repub-
lic, is at least willing to think about them, and they hold none of the pe-
culiar horror for him that they do for the gentleman. This is because both
tyrant and philosopher depreciate law or convention (nomos) in their
quest for nature (physis). Eros is nature's demonic voice. The tyrant and
the philosopher are united in their sense of their radical incompleteness
and their longing for wholeness, in their passion and in their singlemind-
edness. They are the truly dedicated men.
The potential tyrant, if saved from corruption, may also very well
be the potential philosopher. The young man drawn to tyranny, like the
philosopher, is allowed to flourish only in the democracy. Socrates, by
curing Glaucon of his lust for tyrannic pleasures, can indulge his own
lust for beautiful souls while at the same time acting the part of the
good citizen who defends his city's regime. The democracy satisfies
everything: it lets Socrates be a philosopher, at least until he is seventy;
it provides him with students by allowing the emergence of unnecessary
and unlawful desires; and by permitting him to convert those possessed
by these desires to philosophy, it gives him the opportunity to show
that he loves his country.
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Interpretive Essay
Since the time when Glaucon first asked for a comparison of the
lives of the just and unjust men, the action of the Republic has steadily
moved toward it. The question has changed en route, for the compari-
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son is now between the philosopher and the tyrant; this would not have
satisfied Glaucon at the beginning, nor does it prove the superiority of
justice over injustice, unless justice is philosophy and injustice tyranny.
But such a comparison does cast light on the original problem; al-
though the just man on the rack is not proved to be happy, it is clear
that happiness does not depend on anything tyranny can acquire. Glau-
con's notion of the good things has been altered by the marvelous
things he has experienced in this conversation. Previously he thought
that both just and unjust man desired the same things; now he sees the
possibility of a life— the life of Socrates— which is self-sufficient and
happy. The needfulness of tyranny has become questionable, and Glau-
con will never again be able to pose the problem as he once did. Hap-
piness is not connected with the exploitation of other human beings.
Socrates makes an image of the soul for Glaucon's benefit; the desiring
part is compared to a many-headed beast, the spirited part to a lion,
and the rational part to a man. Socrates thus explains that the laws
which impose moderation are not made in the interest of an exploiter
but in the interest of the soul as opposed to the body, of reason as op-
posed to desire. This would, of course, hold true only in the best
regime, but Glaucon himself is now able to say that that makes no dif-
ference. Previously it had appeared that one must found a city and live
within it to be a complete man, but now it appears that a man can be
happy on his own. The good city exists only in speech and is a pattern
in the sky for those who want to live well; justice is obedience to the
laws of that regime. At last man can break from the earthly city, and
Glaucon has gained an inner freedom from its claims and its charms.
difficult to see why we should return to this topic after the lengthy
discussion of it in Book HI. That treatment, however, dealt only with
the uses and disadvantages of poetry in the education of the warriors,
men who needed courage and the salutary tales which would encourage
it. Homer is the teacher of the Greeks, and his title to that role must be
examined. In the earlier discussion. Homer's hero, Achilles, was the
theme; in this discussion. Homer himself is the theme. The light tone
adopted by Socrates here, the ease with which he apparently dismisses
poetry, must not cause one to forget that he is taking it very seriously
indeed. Poetry is the opponent, and there is an ancient quarrel between
it and philosophy. Homer is read or listened to by all the Greeks; he
speaks of all things in their interrelations, and he tells of the gods.
Homer and the other great poets constitute the respectable tribunal
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Interpretive Essay
The other themes of Book X help to clarify the grounds for this
final consideration of poetry. The immortality of the soul and the
rewards of justice are also discussed, particularly the rewards after
death. Moreover, Book X culminates in a poetic myth; after appearing
to reject poetry, Socrates uses it to describe the cosmos and the fate of
man, the broadest possible objects of human discourse. Poetry is
necessary to Socrates' project of reforming Glaucon, but it must be a
new kind of poetry, one which can sustain Glaucon in a life of moral
virtue and respect for philosophy. It is not, then, that poetry must be
entirely banished but that it must be reformed. Book X begins with a
criticism of Homeric poetry and ends with an example of Socratic
The text for Republic, Book X, is Odyssey, Book XI, the account
of Odysseus' visit to the dead. The difference between Odysseus' ex-
periences among the dead and those of Er is an indication of what Soc-
rates is trying to teach. Er found rewards and punishments for just and
unjust souls; but, more important, he also found an order of the
universe which makes this world intelligible and provides a ground for
the contemplative life. At the source of all things, Er saw that soul is
the iirst principle of the cosmic order; hence the proper study of the
universe is the study of the soul. What is best in man is not in conflict
but in harmony with the nature of things. The myth of Er is only a tale,
just as is Odysseus' descent to Hades; there is small likelihood that Soc-
crates believed in the survival of the individual soul. But this tale is a
poetic reflection of the view which makes philosophy possible just as it
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is indicated that Homer's tale reflects the view connected with an au-
tonomous poetry. Men need poetry, but the kind of poetry which
nourishes their souls makes all the difference in their understanding of
their nonpoetic lives. Socrates outlines a new kind of poetry which
leads beyond itself, which does not present man's only alternatives as
tragic or comic, which supports the philosophic life. He gives the prin-
"The difference between the mirror held to nature and the product of
the imitative sophist is parallel to the difference between the lowest level of the
divided line— where things are seen reflected in water or on smooth surfaces
— and the wall of the cave — where the prisoners see the reflections of arti-
facts, only some of which have natural models. The prisoners' problem is
ascending toward truth. The cause of their errors is connected with this mix-
ture of natural and man-made things. In this discussion of poetry Socrates
elaborates that problem and reveals the essential character of the cave.
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Interpretive Essay
also must tell about the gods and the afterlife. This does not constitute
the difference between the old poetry and the new; the gods are the
center, not to say the essence, of both. The real quarrel between Soc-
rates and Homer concerns the way in which one, finds out about the
gods, or the view of the whole which causes a poet to present the gods
in one way rather than another. Socrates' criticism of Homeric poetry
is really a study of the principles of his theogony or theology, a study of
the nature of the Homeric gods.
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that he was neglected and abandoned in his own lifetime. It. therefore
follows that Homer is not a reliable teacher of the most important hu-
man things. The tacit assumption of the argument is that it is better to
be a doer than a knower, or that knowledge is only tested in action— in
benefits to other men.
sive, interrelating the various arts and their products. Both Homer and
Socrates in some way possess this kind of knowledge; they both have a
view of the whole. Homer produces a product as the artisans do, but
that product is distinguished from the artisans' products in that it
reflects a view of the whole, and its maker is by his very nature a man
who must reflect on the whole.
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Interpretive Essay
soning serves to point up the way in which Homer differs from the ar-
tisans and the men of action and is like Socrates. They are both devoted
to the most comprehensive understanding of things. The real question,
then, is what is the source and status of the view of the whole which in-
forms Homer's works?
idea, for example, of a bed. (The ideas were in this context understood
not as eternal but as the product of art, thus constituting a world in
which artisans or makers, rather than knowers, are the highest human
beings.) A human craftsman looks to the idea of a bed and makes a
bed. And the painter or poet looks to the bed made by the human
craftsman and makes an image of a bed. He is thus an imitator of an
imitator and his products have very little reality. Now, however, Soc-
rates abandons the reference to the ideas and their maker, and no
longer asserts that the craftsman look to ideas in their making. He
substitutes a common-sense notion for all of this. The craftsman is in-
deed dependent, however, not on an idea but on the command of the
man who uses his products. The poet is still at the bottom, but now
there is a human being at the top who practices what Socrates calls the
user's art. The horseman, who knows the equipment necessary to using
a horse well, can tell the artisans what he needs and give them their im-
pulse without knowing their arts; he is more important than they are,
and the end of their activity is his activity. The user's art comes closer
to poetry and philosophy in that it, too, deals with the relations of
things and is not restricted to any single art. The broadest such art
would be the one that treats of happiness— the legislator's art. The
legislator organizes the whole city with a view to the good life— the end
of all action— and the various arts ultimately are guided by the role
their products play in that life. The horseman who told the sad-
dlemaker and the blacksmith what he needed, is, in turn, told by the
general what is needed from the cavalry; and the general, finally, is told
by the statesmen or the legislator what the army must do. Only the
legislator oversees the whole; and by looking to the legislator, the ar-
tisans know what the purpose or end of their products is. There is no
idea which the legislator can look to and imitate mechanically; his art
comprises wisdom entire. The user's art is political science, of which
Socrates is the founder. To follow out the image of the Republic, the
sheep are guarded by dogs who are obedient to shepherds who are in
the service of owners: the people are guarded by warriors who are obe-
dient to guardians who are ultimately obedient to philosophers or who
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river, the terrifying storm or the sacred cow. To know these things we
must separate what belongs to them naturally from what opinion adds
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Interpretive Essay
tragic. But the poets do not show, and perhaps do not believe in, the
possibility of a noncontradictory life lived by a man who is neither
comic nor tragic. They water man's laughter and his pity without giving
him a counterpoise; hence they justify laughter and pity as ultimate
responses to the human situation. Pity, in particular, is a passion con-
nected with one's own possible sufferings; it sees the losses suffered by
even the noblest of men and recognizes how threatened are the things
for which a man lives. Pity, grown great, ends in terror caused by the
misery of man's existence. The man overwhelmed by pity and fear is
the rnan least of all able to forget himself and his own, and hence the
things that will protect him and give his life meaning. Most of all, he
looks to the laws and the gods, and his pity can well make him a
fanatic. The natural passions of men which Homer knows and appeals
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to are those that most attach a man to convention and hence to bondage
in the cave. And the Homeric gods are such as to encourage and satisfy
the pitying part of man's soul.
poetry. Socrates banishes poetry once more, but this time offers it a
return if it can learn to argue, to justify itself before the bar of philoso-
phy. He points the Way to Aristotle's understanding of tragedy as a
purgation of the passions of pity and fear rather than their satisfaction.
Such tragedy would prepare a man to be reasonable and moderate after
having purged those terrible passions; it would pay due attention to
man's necessary love of his own, but would temper it in such a way as
to allow him some freedom from it. Thus tragedy would neither give
way to these passions nor deny their existence. It would then be an im-
portant part of the education of decent, unfanatic men. Poetry will
return, but only after having learned to subordinate itself, to mitigate
its unguided tendencies toward indulgence and fanaticism. When the
poets depict the gods they must no longer look to laughter and pity but
to the ideas.
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Interpretive Essay
cause they are now more favorably disposed to justice; Socrates must
do so because the dialogue has not sufficiently demonstrated that
citizen virtue is choiceworthy for itself, and Glaucon and Adeimantus
are not capable of philosophic virtue.
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well or ill in his next thousand-year sojourn among the dead; the cor-
rect choice of a life depends on knowledge of the soul, not on the prac-
tice of moral virtue. Those who have been rewarded for moral virtue in
the afterlife are less well prepared than are those who have been pun-
ished to make the proper choice of life. We see a decent man, one like
Cephalus, who has just come from his rewards, choose a tyrant's life;
for only law and convention had kept him in bounds in his earlier life,
and his real view of happiness led him to envy tyrants. He has learned
nothing in the afterlife; there is apparently no philosophy in the after-
life for those who did not practice it on earth; the soul is not perfected
by the separation from the body. For all men other than the
philosopher, there is a constant change of fortune from happiness to
misery and back. The myth attributes full responsibility to men for
what happens to them and thus teaches that there is no sin but
ignorance.
The key to Er's account of his visit to the other world is the ab-
sence of Achilles. He says that Ajax was the twentieth soul he saw. Ajax
was the twentieth shade seen by Odysseus on his voyage to Hades; one
of the shades which accompanied Ajax and the one with which Odysseus
spoke just prior to speaking with Ajax was that of Achilles, who at that
point made his complaint about Hades quoted at the beginning of Book
III. Er makes no mention of whom he saw with Ajax. Achilles no longer
exists, alive or dead, in the new poetry or the new Socratic world. Cor-
respondingly, the wise voyager Odysseus gains higher status. All he
needed was to be cured of love of honor (a form of spiritedness), and he
could live the obscure but happy life of Socrates. In this Socrates also gets
his inspiration from Homer, and thus he lets us know that there may be
another side to Homer's poetry than that which the tradition had
popularized. At all events, the teaching of the myth is a strictly human
one-man in this life, without being other worldly — can attain self-
sufficient happiness in the exercise of his natural powers and only in
this way will he partake of eternity to the extent a human being can do
so. Otherwise stated, only the philosopher has no need of the myth.
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NOTES
NOTES
Book I
The polis is the city, the community of men sharing a way of life and
governing themselves, waging war and preserving the peace. ]The polis is the
natural social group, containing all that is necessary for the development and
exercise of the human powers.p'oday polis is usually translated as "city-state";
this is done because it is recognized that a polis is not a state in the modem
sense (for example, state as distinguished from society), and that the character
of ancient political life was radically different from our own. However, to
translate polis as "city-state" implies that our notion of state is somehow con-
tained in that of the polis, although only half-consciously. Hencejthe ancient
understanding of political things is taken as an imperfect prefiguration of the
modem one rather than as an alternative to it — ^an alternative alien and not
adequately known to us.^In this edition it will always be rendered "city," on
the assumption that the phenomena the polis comprises can be comprehended
by comparing the various uses of the woi-d. Moreover, it should be borne in
mind that words like "statesman" and "citizen" are based on the root polis.
[The citizen {polites) is literally "one who belongs to the city," and the states-
man (politikos) is "one who knows the things of the city."|Politics (politika)
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is merely "what has to do with the city." Thus, there is a unity of terminblogv
which reflects the unity of hfe in the city./
Now the polis is given its character and its pecuHar way of hfe is estab-
lished by the organization of the city's diverse elements. The central political
concern is the proper organization of a city, and the politeia is that organiza-
tion. The politeia can largely be identified with the class of citizens who rule
for they impress their way on the city and are the source of the laws. The
politeia is, as it were, the soul of the city; ]the politeia is related to the individ-
uals who compose the city as form is to matter\The best English term for
translating it is "regime," as in "the old regime." The book which describes the
best political life is appropriately entitled "the regime," the only true or the
best regime, just as the book of all books is entitled simply the Bible, the book.
Such an approach to the political problem is characteristically Platonic, and
an attempt to recover the Greek understanding of human things requires a
consideration of the sense in which the politeia is the single most important
political fact and the cause of men's characters and ways of life. The
use of this word should, therefore, be followed attentively throughout this
book. [Cf. Leo Strauss, Natural Rifiht and Hislorij (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1953), pp. 135-139; and Harry V. Jaffa, "Aristotle," in
Strauss and Cropsey, eds.. History of Political Philosophy, (Chicago: Rand
McNally, 1963), pp. 65-68.]
2. On the Just is a subtitle which may have been added by later editors.
It is not mentioned by Aristotle in his account of the Republic in the Politics
(1261a ff.).
3. The Piraeus is the port of Athens, situated some six miles from the
city. As the center of Athenian commerce, it was the place to find all the
diversity and disorder that come from foreign lands. It was, therefore, the ap-
propriate place in which to consider outlandish ways of life. Furthermore, it
was a center of the democratic party. Sometime after the supposed date of the
action of this dialogue (probably around 411 b.c), in 404 b.c, the Piraeus
was the stronghold of the resistance against the despotic group of men, known as
the "Thirty Tyrants," who ruled Athens after its defeat by Sparta in the Pelo-
ponnesian War. In that resistance, the family of Cephalus, especially Lysias
(cf 328b and note 7), played a leading role. Polemarchus was executed by the
tyrants. Socrates was suspected of sympathy with and influence over the
leaders of the tyranny because several had been among his companions. In the
Apology (32c-d) he makes a point of showing his disagreement with this
oligarchy, and the grounds of that disagreement. But his position in relation to
the democracy remains ambiguous. The conversation in the Republic takes
place in the shadow of the "Thirty." They had much to do with the execution,
not only of Polemarchus, but also, indirectly, of Socrates; and the dialogue
treats, at least in part, of the tyrannical ambitions of Socrates' companions.
The men who gather here in happy days for a theoretical conversation are
soon to fall on evil ones in the practice of politics. The problems of that prac-
tice, which are later to be revealed in deed, are here discussed. This is the
drama of the Republic, without which its teaching cannot be understood. This
[ 44'> ]
Notes / Book I
friendly association often men with whom Socrates talks in the Piraeus will be
replaced by a committee often men who brutally rule there in the name of the
"Thirty" and put the host of this meeting to death. The participants discuss
the best regime but are to experience the worst.
4. Ariston was Plato's father, and Glaucon and Adeimantus were his
brothers (cf. 368a).
assembly to announce that the sovereign authority had passed a law or decree.
It is the expression with which the laws begin, "It is resolved by [literally, 'it
seems to'] the Athenian people. . . ."
8. A man who taught rhetoric, the art of political and legal persuasion,
and who earned his living from his teaching.
10. There is a short dialogue that bears his name. It is the natural in-
troduction to the Republic in that it discusses Socrates' way of teaching virtue,
particularly justice, and compares it with that of Thrasymachus. Lysias plays
an important role in the dialogue.
11. Cephalus was not an Athenian citizen but a metic, that is, an alien
who is allowed to settle in Athens and who pays taxes but enjoys no civil
rights. He was originally from Syracuse.
12. The expression means that the man is about to pass into the other
world; he is at that stage of old age when he can be said to stand on the thresh-
old of Hades (cf. Iliad, XXII, 60, XXIV, 487; Odyssey, XV, 246). In the
Iliad, it occurs both times in the mouth of the wretched Priam.
14. The Greek word is anthropos, the generic word for a member of the
human species. The word for a male human being is arier. This is an important
distinction in Greek and allows for considerable subtlety in the use of the
terms. On the first level, anthropos is clearly the lower term; it signifies the
mere participation in the minimal qualities of the species, whereas an aner is
distinctly a real man, one who has developed his male humanity and can par-
ticipate in the highest functions of a man, politics, and war. But, on a second
level, the full or final end of humanity may transcend mere maleness and
include activities different from, and contrary to, those of the real man [cf.
Callicles' attack on the philosophers from the point of view of manliness
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{GoTgias, 484c ff.)!- I" this sense, anthropos would be the deeper and more
meaningful term. In Book V Socrates suggests that the best regime, and
implicitly the best human being, is a combination of male and female. Unfor-
tunately no term in English adequately translates arier; and the word "man"
cannot be reserved for it since "man" must often be added where it does not
exist in Greek (for example, "the good man" is in Greek merely "the good").
Anthropos will regularly be translated as "human being."
16. "The many" is a translation of hoi polloi and implies all that the lat-
ter term means to us. It is frequently translated by "the mass," "the mob," and
other such terms which are appropriate in the extent to which they indicate
the class to which Plato refers. For Plato, however, the fact of number — the
simple fact that this class contains the majority of men — is of decisive impor-
tance. The great number of men share common traits, and, when they dom-
inate, they necessarily lend a certain character to the regime. Politically the
expression is used in contrast to the one and the few. Ultimately it reflects the
theoretical problem of "the one and the many." Every time it is used, it is
meant to call up a cluster of meanings.
17. The Greek word is mythos; first meaning no rnore than "a speech"
(as in Homer), it comes to mean "a story," very often one connected with
religious traditions. The poets are the makers of the im/thoi; the meaning and
reliability of mijthoi is an important question in Plato. The term will always be
translated thus.
18. This is the first "time one of the words in the family of dikaiosyne,
"justice," is used in the dialogue. It arises, as it were, accidentally during a
discussion of other questions. Justice gradually becomes the problem of the
dialogue, to the exclusion of other questions; hence the traditional subtitle of
the book. On the Just. Dikaiosyne is justice, the virtue; dikaion is what is just
or right, the thing or act to which the virtue is related.
[ 442 ]
Notes / Book I
nuance of difference which should be preserved. Something that has been said
can be good without being fine or noble, just as fine or noble speedi is not
necessarily good or true. Our idiom does not reveal this difference, but it
does not follow therefore that the distinction is not relevant to Socratic
thought. The kalon is a crucial and ambiguous term in classical moral thought
altogether, and we have no precise equivalent for it. It means, in the &st
place, fair or beautiful, and expresses nobUity when qualifying speech or deed.
It is always rendered as fine, fair or beautiful; in the formula under discussion,
it is almost always rendered as fine. This may often sound strange to our ears,
but it is well to maintain the distinction in the hope of becoming aware of a
subtlety in Socrates' style, a subtlety based on a forgotten moral viewpoint.
The passage to which this note refers is a case in point. For a precise discus-
sion of the difference in the Platonic usages of these terms, cf. Seth Benardete,
"The Right, the True, and the Beautiful" [Glotta, XLI (1963), pp. 54-62].
21. The word for "sacrifices" is identical with the generic term for the
"sacred." This is the very last word concerning Cephalus. He is introduced to,
and removed from, the dialogue in the atmosphere of ancestral piety which he
represents and by which his situation in this life and the next is protected.
22. The Greek word is techne, from which the English words
"technical" and "technique" are derived. It does not mean art in the present-
day sense, but rather in the older sense implied, for example, by the word ar-
tisan. It means a discipline operating on the basis of principles that can be
taught. It is, hence, not opposed to science but allied with it, and in Plato the
terms "art" and "science" are often indistinguishable; an art is always a model
of what is rational and intelligible.
23. The term is derived from the word koinon, which means "common"
or "public." All the words for partner or partnership used by Socrates in this
context are drawn from this root; the last, a few lines farther on, is koinonia
which is a classic term for a political community. "Contracts," used by
Polemarchus, implies relations having primarily to do with money. Socrates,
in introducing the broader term, indicates that the proper context for the solu-
tion of the problem of justice is the political community.
25. The Greek word is logos which most simply means "speech" and is
derived from the verb "to speak." It can also mean story, discourse, argument,
[ 443 ]
IHE REPUBLIC
and reason; it is speech and what speech implies — ^human reason as expressed
in speech. At this stage in the discussion begins the first reflection on that ac-
tivity of discussion in which the interlocutors find themselves engaged. In this
edition the word will always be translated as "speech" or "argument," except
in a few instances where it must be rendered as "reason."
28. Bias and Pittacus were among the semilegendary "Seven Wise
Men." Many wise sayings are attributed to them. Simonides, the source of
Polemarchus' definition of justice, was a poet, aptly described by Lessing as
"the Greek Voltaire."
30. There was a popular belief in antiquity that if a wolf sees a man first,
the man is struck speechless.
31. Cf. Ap.olo<s,y, 38b. This whole scene is a parody of judicial pro-
cedure, in which the defendant proposes his own punishment in opposition to
the accuser. The rhetorician plays the accuser, and thereby shows how his
skills can be of use (cf. Aristophanes, Clouds). Plato, contrary to the im-
pression Aristophanes wishes to give, presents Socrates as innocent of judicial
rhetoric; rather it is his opponent who knows that powerful and dangerous art.
[ 444 ]
Notes / Book I
cellence. The first use of the word oecurred at 327c and prefigur^ THrasym^-
chus' argument that the stronger should rule and are the standards for justice.
34. In modem times the word sycophant has come to mean only a "flat-
terer," especially of the sort who surround kings and tyrants. This meaning is
not entirely alien to the Greek sense, but it is at a certain remove from the
primary meaning. The sycophants were men who made accusations against
Athenian citizens, acting, as it were, as public prosecutors. They were black-
mailers; any charge they might make could cause difficulty and, at the least,
would be expensive. They distorted the meaning of men's acts and statements,
and Socrates, accused of making the worse argument appear the better, could
be compared to them. He was trying to cause trouble and make his in-
terlocutors look bad before the public. The sycophants were flatterers of the
tyrant public opinion, since their charges usually had to do with alleged crimes
against civil society, and since the juries were chosen by lot from the citizen
body at large.
35. This is another legal term in a scene that is a sort of nriock accusation
of Socrates. The word implies any crime of malicious damage or fraud.
36. The term used is poneros, one which has strong moral overtones,
implying something worthless or vicious. The exact translation would be
"villainous," and the word has precisely the same history as the English word
villain — originally it refers to someone who works. The use of the term in this
context prepares for a technical or scientific treatment of virtue and vice. Just
as the body's vice is corrected by the art of medicine, the soul's vice is cor-
rected by the art of politics. The word was translated as "bad" in the discus-
sion at 334c-e.
38. "Kidnappers" here means those who capture men and sell them into
slavery. "Housebreakers" are those who break through the mud or plaster
walls of the Athenian homes in order to enter.
39. An attendant in the public bathhouses who brought water and soap
and performed some of the offices of a barber. These were proverbially vulgar
men and great talkers.
40. This expression refers to the way a nurse feeds a balky child by put-
ting food into its mouth. Thrasymachus becomes the nurse Socrates needs (cf.
343a).
41. The Greek word is idion which in its simplest sense means "private"
as opposed to public or common (cf. 333a, note 23). It can also mean the indi-
vidual, as opposed to the general, or the peculiar character of a thing. The op-
position between private and public is an important theme in the Republic
and, in some respects, it is the core of the problem of justice. The private is
usually of distinctly lower status than the public; but there are occasions when
[ 445 ]
THE REPUBLlGi^
43. The word used — dikastai — is the one used for members of the
Athenian juries. This is another reference to the mock trial of Socrates. Here
Socrates suggests another form of rhetoric that would assure his triumph over
his accuser and do away with his dependence on popular judgment.
44. The Greek word for innocence, euetheia, is composed from words
meaning "good habits"; the word for corruption, kakoetheia, is composed
from words meaning "bad habits." Hence Socrates' transition here is very
direct, if not entirely obvious.
Book II
1. This is the first occurrence in the Republic of the famed Platonic word
eidos; it gives its name to what is known as the "theory of ideas or forms,"
Plato's teaching about the first or most fundamental beings. The meaning of
this teaching has always been a subject of controversy. This is another case
where an attempt to follow Plato's use of the word from its casual common-
sense meaning to its highest theoretical meaning is a precondition of learning,
because that highest sense is only a distillation of what is implied in the casual
use of the word.
Etymologically, eidos is derived from the verb "to see" and means, in the
first instance, "the appearance of a thing" — how it looks, the visible charac-
teristics that distinguish it from everything else. In the present passage, it
means "a sort of thing," a "class"; the connection of this sense with the former
one is obvious. The word form will be reserved for eidos throughout this
translation.
2. The Greek word is doxa derived from the word meaning "to seem."
This is the classic word for "opinion," as opposed to "knowledge." Its sense is
sometimes extended to mean "reputation"; for doxa means what is popularly
held and is based upon the appearance or seeming of things, as opposed to
their reality. Hence, although "opinion" and "reputation" are not pejorative
terms in themselves, their relation to mere seeming calls them into question;
Plato constantly plays upon this ambiguity. In this context Glaucon and Adei-
mantus insist on the distinction between opinion or seeming and being, and be-
tween the few who are capable of freeing themselves from opinion and the many
who are not.
3. The Greek word for "law" is nomos. It can also be translated a«; "con-
vention." (A law is not necessarily what is passed by an assembly; it can be an
ancestral practice which governs a group of men. In this sense nomos can be
understood as the opposite of physis, "nature.")
r aa6 1
Notes / Book II
9. Odyssey, XIX, 109-113. After the second line Adeimantus drops the
following line: "Lording over many strong men." Line 114 reads: "All as a
result of his good leadership; and the people prosper (live in virtue) under
him."
10. Musaeus is a semimythical singer and seer from the heroic times.
His poetry is said to have dealt with cosmological themes. He is sometimes
alleged to have been the son of Orpheus. By his son, Adeimantus may mean
Eumolpus, who, among other things, was reputed to have instituted the Eleu-
sinian Mysteries, one of the central Athenian religious observances. His de-
scendants were the Eleusinian priests. If it is indeed Eiunolpus who is meant,
Adeimantus is implicitly criticizing the official Athenian understanding of
the future life.
11. The expression for prose is composed from words meaning "to
speak privately" and could also mean what one says in private. Almost all
public speech was written in verse, and Herodotus (443 b.c.) is the first prose
writer any of whose works we possess in their entirety. The fact that poetry by
nature is addressed to men in large groups is an essential element in Plato's
analysis of it. Prose has a naturalness and frankness connected with its private
character, and this should provide a basis for reflection on Plato's choice of
prose for the presentation of his own thought.
14. The Greek for initiation, telete, means a "making perfect" and is
very close to the word Adeimantus has just used for death, teleiite.
17. Archilochus lived at the end of the eighth and beginning of the sev-
enth centuries b.c. He was a lyric poet, famed for his bitter lampoons. Of his
works only fragments remain. Apparently the fox epitomized cunning and
[ 447 ]
THE REPUBLIC
19. Heroes were the great warrior chieftains of the first ages. They were
regarded as divine because they were directly descended from the gods and be-
cause they performed superhuman deeds. Some of them were held to be the
founders or the ancestors of the founders of the great citiei. The citizens were
thus descendants of the heroes who provided the link between the cities and
the gods.
21. This curious expression occurs only once elsewhere in Plato (at
Philebus, 36d). It can mean "that well-known man"; or it could imply that
Socrates jokingly calls Glaucon and Adeimantus the sons of Thrasymachus, as
Adam suggests.
26. The superlative of the word for necessity here can be construed to
mean: (1) this city is composed of the fewest elements possible; (2) this
city is most oppressed by necessity, or is most necessitous; or (3) this city is
the proper one, the one most needed.
27. The word is himation and means a specific sort of loose-fitting outer
robe usually worn over undergarments. It was an oblong piece of cloth thrown
over the left shoulder and fastened over or under the right. It is familiarly seen
on Greek statues.
28. The word for "market" is a^ora. The agora was the central meeting
place in the city and the haunt of Socrates, according to his own account.
30. The Greek meal was eaten in a reclining posture; usually the individ-
uals would support themselves on one elbow. For this purpose the well-to-do
Athenian had special low couches with cushions.
31. Or "truthful."
[ 448 ]
Notes I Book 11
fought the great land battles in close combat. He is contrasted with light-
armed and moimted soldiers who were used to aimoy the enemy on the flanks.
The capacity to provide oneself with and use Such arms was a test for citizen-
ship in limited democratic regimes, like that of 411 b.c. in Athens. From the
point of view of wealth and military skill, this distinguished a man firom the
majority, who were either light-armed soldiers or sailors. Heavy-armed com-
bat was underctooa to be the most important kind, from the point of view of
strategy and as an occasion for the expression of virtue. The Iliad is a hymn
to this kind of soldier; in Socrates' time the Spartan was the model of the
hoplite.
33. The word here is thymos, and it expresses one of the most important
notions in the book. Thymos is the principle or seat of anger or rage. It might
well be translated by that pregnant word "heart," which mirrors the complex-
ity of the Greek. It will always be translated as "spirit" or "spiritedness." Its
use should be carefully watched.
35. This expression is composed of the words kalos and agathos, the for-
mer meaning "fair," "fine," or "noble," and the latter "good." It is the for-
mula for what we would call "the gentleman." Whenever feasible, kaloskagathos
will be translated as "gentleman."
37. The word is poiein from which the word "poet" is drawn. It means
"to make" and is the characteristic expression for the activity of the poet.
Poetry is just one form of making, but it is the most revealing kind of making,
and the poet becomes the maker. In English usage it is impossible to translate
it consistently as "making," and so "writing" and "composing" have also been
used when necessary. It should be remembered that the word is always poiein;
for the notion that a thing has been made, and made by the poet, is often part'
of Plato's meaning. The ancient interpretation of the poet as a maker contrasts
with the modem view that the poet is a creator.
[ 449 ]
THE R E P U B L I e
40. The Greek word aischron is the opposite of kalon, which is always
rendered as "fine," "fair," or "noble." It means "base," "ugly," or "shame-
fiil."
42. Hephaestus gave his mother a throne containing hidden chains £is a
means of avenging himself for being rejected by her. There was a play by
Epicharmus on this theme.
46. Iliad, XXIV, 527-532. This is a literal translation of the passage £is
it stands in Homer;
Two jars stand on Zeus' threshold of gifts Zeus gives, one of bad
ones, the other of good. To whom 2ieus, who delights in thvinder,
gives a mixture, at one time he happens on evil, at another good.
But to whom he gives the harmful, he is spitefully treated and
evil misery drives him over the divine earth.
Socrates makes several small changes which are untranslatable, but he main-
tains the meter in his speech. The Homeric Greek would also admit of the
following translation of the first two lines: "Two jars of evil gifts stand on
Zeus' threshold and another of good ones. ..."
47. This line is not found in Homer but resembles Iliad, IV, 84, in
which Zeus is called the dispenser of war.
51. Another formula of the political assembly (cf 328b, note 6).
52. Odyssey, XVII, 485. This citation occurs in a passage in which this
characteristic of the gods is invoked to protect Odysseus. And the line that
follows is:
53. For Proteus, cf. Odyssey, IV, 456-458. For Thetis, cf. Sophocles'
Troilus, fragment 548; and Pindar, Nejnean, IV, 60.
55. Demons are gods of lower rank, as it were, links between gods and
men. Often the men of the golden age prior to the Trojan War were treated as
such deities. They can become identified with personal geniuses. They are one
step above heroes. Socrates' voice or daimonion is "a kind of demonic thing"
(cf 496c, and Apology, 31d, 27d-e).
[ 450 ]
57. The choruses for the tragedies and comedies were part of tKe public
charge and, at Athens, were usually paid for and trained by rich citizens, who
did so as part of their civic responsibility and as a mode of display.
Book III
9. The word is epieikes, meaning "fair" or "decent man," the one who
does what's fit. Epieikeia became the term used for equity in law. It is prac-
tically a synonym for the quality of gentlemanliness.
10. Iliad, XXIV, 10-12. 1 have translated Homer's text. Plato substitutes
"sailing" or "navigating" for "roaming," "on" for "along," and adds
"unharvested." This apparently is a parody, but the text may be corrupt.
17. 346a, note 41. Here the ruler, the public man, is compared to a
doctor. Art, or knowledge, gives the title to rule; the private man, in principle,
is the man who does not know.
18. This formula brings to mind Swift's Houyhnhnms, who do not say the
thing which is not.
19. Here Socrates abruptly introduces a single ruler who guards against
lying.
21. The word is sophrosyne, and its primary sense means what we
mean by "temperance" — the control over the bodily pleasures. But it gains a
broader sense and gradually, in this work, comes to apply to a control of cer-
tain pleasures of the soul that we would hardly designate as temperance. The
word "moderation" covers both senses, although not so decisively as "temper-
ance" in the first instance. In order to maintain the unity of the two notions
as Socrates develops them, moderation will be used throughout. Sophrosyne
[ 451 ]
THE REPUBLIC
is one of the four cardinal virtues— the others are wisdom, courage, and
justice.
23. The first Hne is Jliad, III, 8, with the words "in silence" dropped; the
second is IV, 431.
25. Odyssey, IX, 8-10. Odysseus, at the court of the Phaeacians, says in
this passage that among the "finest of all things" is a whole people in harmony
listening to a singer.
26. Odyssey, XII, 342. This is not, as might appear, Odysseus speaking,
but Eurylochus, urging the companions of Odysseus to eat the Sun's cattle.
Punishment is instant, and all die.
27. Zeus' wakefulness and plans are in Iliad, II, 1—4. His forgetfolness is
in XIV, 294— 351. The last words are a quote, not from Zeus, but firom Homer
speaking of Zeus (XIV, 296).
30. The source of this passage is unknown. Cf. Euripides, Medea, 964,
"Gifl:s and speech persuade gods."
31. The word is metrion, derived from the word meaning "measure."
The term is frequently equivalent to sophrosyrie, but for the sake of making
the reader able to follow the latter word, "sensible" will be used for metrion
where "measure" cannot be properly used in English.
37. The word for "prose writer" here is lo<iopoios — literally, a "maker of
speeches." It is usually applied to chroniclers and historians, or at Athens to
those who write speeches for the use of others in court.
38. The word is lexis, which can also mean simply "a speech" but fre-
quently means "manner or style of speech" or "diction in poetry." The word is
related to logos.
39. Socrates does not mention the very first things in the Iliad (I, 1—11),
the invocation to the goddess and Homer's claim that she tells the story. Soc-
rates treats the poem as a fabrication of Homer, as not having a divine origin.
He is thus able to blame Homer without impiety. Homer becomes an in-
novator instead of a spokesman of the gods. Socrates' intention is akin to that
of certain schools of Biblical criticism.
41. Eponyms, those names given to gods or heroes from places, deeds,
or characteristics.
43. The word is erds, which is "sexual passion" or "love." It can some-
[ 452 ]
Notes / Book in
sented as the erotic man par excellence; it is that which must be overcome.
For a somewhat different evaluation of eros, the Symposium and the Phae-
drus should be consulted.
44. The word, translated here as "harmonic mode," and in what suc-
ceeds as simply "mode," is harmonia. "Rhythm" and harmonia are defined as
follows in Laws, 664e: ". . . rhythm is the name given to the order of the mo-
tion, while, as for sound, the mixture of high and low would receive the name
harmonia." A harmonia is simply a scale, and the various scales constitute the
different modes Socrates speaks of. Its simplest sense is that implied in the
present context — the use of variations of pitch in speaking. Rhythm applies
both to music and words and is equivalent to the meter and the accentuation
of music following upon it.
45. The word is themis, which is "law" or "right," but it has a certain di-
vine connotation lacking in the word nomos.
47. There are several myths about the satyr Marsyas and the flute. The
story apparently referred to here is the one concerning the contest between
Apollo and Marsyas, the former playing the cither and the latter the flute. The
Muses judged Apollo the winner. He then proceeded to skin Marsyas alive.
48. The various meters are compounded of feet based on the three basic
proportions: the 2/2 or equal, as in the dactyl ""■""" , spondee -, and an-
apest^"""; the 3^, as in the cretic""""; and the 2/1, as in the iamb"" ~
and trochee ~ "" . The four forms of sound are apparently the notes of the
tetrachord, but the exact sense is unsure, as is the case with all the technical
details in this passage and the one that succeeds it. Socrates assumes these
detaik to be a part of the common knowledge of anyone liberally educated in
music. This is shown by the way in which he addresses himself to Glaucon,
who knows it all but for whom the technical knowledge has no visible relation to
any human or political experience.
50. The Greek is diairesis. This is the word used for the activity of
discerning the forms or classes to which things belong. It is the fundamental
task of dialectic to define things according to the natural divisions existing in
the world; diairesis is the way of discovering such definitions. Cf. Sophist,
267d.
51. In this passage Socrates speaks in the terms of common sense, es-
chevvin" the language of the specialists. He translates, as it were, the ter-
minology into everyday speech, but his usage is apparently quite precise.
[ 453 ]
THE REPUBLIC
The enoplion (armored or fit for war) foot was apparently a cretic ~^-V
The heroic is apparently a foot that could be composed of either a dactyl
(-^^) or a spondee ( — ) because they both have the same value and the sec-
ond member of the foot could be made of either two shorts or one long. "Up
and down" refers to arsis and thesis.
"The tempo of the foot" refers to the time. The speed vnth which the
verse is read or sung causes it to produce different effects.
53. The same word is used by Thrasymachus (348c) to describe the just
man. There it was rendered as "innocence." Here Socrates uses it in its literal
and etymologically precise sense. The word suffered the same alterations in
sense in Greek as did the word "innocent" in English.
54. Sons of Asclepius. Originally the term meant the family of Asclepius
(the founder of medicine), for whom medicine was a family trade. It gradually
began to be used for the priests of his cult, and generally all healers, who were
his sons by adoption, as it were.
56. The word for "prize" is practically the same as that for "old age"
(geras and genis).
57. The Phocylides passage is only available in fragmentary form, but its
sense may very well have been of this sort: "make a living first, then worry
about virtue." Socrates makes this into an exhortation to virtue.
59. Iliad, IV, 218—219. In this case it is Machaon alone who treats
Menelaus. In the last half of the line Socrates drops a word found in Homer.
Homer's text reads: "In his knowledge he sprinkled gentle salves on the
wound." The half-line as Socrates renders it is to be found in the mouth of
Eurypylus as he tells of the treatment he wants (XI, 830); this is the same
Eurypylus whom Socrates substitutes for Machaon at 405e (cf note 55). In
these two citations, Socrates deliberately changes Homer's emphasis so as to
minimize the attention necessary to the bodies of even heroes, as well as the
amount of knowledge required for a true art of medicine. Abstraction from the
needs of the body is the condition of the actualization of this best regime.
Another such condition is a simplicity and isolation that make the develofH
ment of the arts highly unlikely. Glaucon raises this question in the immediate
sequel.
[ 454 ]
JSotes I book iV
63. A hater of speech or reason. Cf. Laches, i88c, and Phaedo, 89d fiF.
64. The word is dogma drawn from the word dofcei'n, "to seem," hence
meaning "an opinion" but usually an authoritative opinion, a decree of tfie
assembly, the opinion or consensus of the rulers of the people. The word Here
has both senses; it means "an opinion" and "a public agreement or law."
65. The word is gennaion which is, primarily, "noble" in the sense of
"nobly bom" or "well bred" (cf 375a and 409c).
67. The word is pheme. In its first sense it is an oracle or any saying
from a mysterious and obscure source. It gradually becomes what men say
about such a thing; it is a "report" or a "rumor," and finally a "tradition."
68. The syssitia was a Cretan and Spartan institution. The men always
had all meals together.
Book IV
1. This is the Greek word which means "a speech in defense in a trial."
This is a trial; Socrates is accused. The facts that Socrates was a man who
finally really was accused, who presented an apology in a court, and who was
put to death play an important role in this drama. All uses of the word
apology in the Republic refer to this event and cast light on it. Socrates'
outlandish way of life and the consequences of his thought somehow injure the
men and the regimes in existing cities; and from the various instances in which
he is forced to make an apology, one can piece together the true reasons for
Socrates', and hence the philosopher's, conflict with the city. This is a valuable
supplement to the dialogue. Apology; and every use of the word casts an omi-
nous shadow. For this reason the word is merely transliterated in this edition.
[ 455 ]
THE REPUBLIC
10. Eidos.
11. The shrine at Delphi belonged to Apollo ; Socrates leaves the prac-
tices of piety to the oldest of the traditional sources; this is the only thing the
philosopher-foimder does not institute. In the temple, where the oracles were
given, there was a golden globe, which was supposed to be the center or the
navel of the earth.
12. Wisdom is here identified with the capacity of the poUtical coun-
selor. The word euboulos reflects the deliberation in public coimcil (cf.
348d). It was an epithet of several gods.
16. That is, the courage of a citizen, the courage necessary to a city. Soc-
rates leaves open the possibility that there is a higher form of courage which
is radically different from that expressed in the willingness to die at the law's
command. Courage, simply, without the qualification political, cannot be
based on this form of opinion. It consists precisely in the willingness to ques-
tion opinions, even the most authoritative ones.
18. The Greek sentence has a double sense: (a) stretching through every
member of the whole city; (b) stretching through every note in the scale.
21. Eidos.
[ 456 ]
22. The Greek word is methodos, which ineans the vray- one takes, a pur-
suit, a search, and the manner of that search. "Method" has taken on too rigid
a sense in modem science to be used as an accurate translation.
24. The difiierent stocks of men and the particular political talents con-
nected with them, as formed by the climates of the north, the center, and the
south, are constant themes of political thought, beginning with Herodotus
Plato, and Aristotle, and continuing through Montesquieu.
26. Eidos.
29. Athens was connected to the Piraeus by two walls, and there was a
third which r£ui to Phalerum. This made a system of enclosed fortified spaces.
The two walls leading to the Piraeus were called the North Wall and the Mid-
dle Wall.
30. The word for executioner is one that means literally "he who belongs
to the people." It is curious to note that the man who kills for the people is the
one awarded the generic name.
31. It is not clear whether the passage refers to spirit or the man with
spirit. If the latter is the case, "he" should be substituted for "it" throughout
the speech.
32. Cf 390d.
35. The last words of this sentence, beginning with "to that which. . . /'
are based on the reading of inferior manuscripts. The reading of all the best
manuscripts yields no tolerable sense, and the passage may be corrupt.
Book V
2. Eidos.
3. 423e.
5. Literally, "to smelt ore in order to get gold." It is proverbial for some-
[ 457 ]
one who goes off on a wild goose chase, forgetting the business at hand, in
the hope of making a great profit.
6. Another name for Nemesis who punishes the immoderate and ar-
rogant. This name for Nemesis probably stems from Adrastus, ancient king of
Argos, who established an altar to her. Aeschylus is the first author in the ex-
tant Greek literature to mention Adrasteia ('The wise prostrate themselves
before Adrasteia," Frometheus, 36). The name of the goddess, the poet
brought to mind here, and this context (which is an implicit attack on all exist-
ing cities and their most sacred laws) call to mind Adrastus, who led the attack
of the Seven Against Thebes. All were killed save Adrastus, who made his
escape on a winged black horse.
9. Wrestling schools for the young prior to the age when they could fre-
quent the gymnasium (cf. 452d and note 11). These schools were among Soc-
rates' haunts (cf. Charmides, 153a).
10. The formula for justice (cf. 433a fE). If he is referring to comic poets
they could not mind their own business while being serious.
In Letter VII (342a ff.) Plato describes the requisites for the attainment
of knowledge of a thing. There are three; name (for example, circle); defini-
tion (for example, "that in a plane which is everywhere equidistant from the
extremities to the center"); representation or image (for example, the circle
[ 458 ]
i-ium^ I uuurk V
Socrates uses the emphatically masculine aner (cf. 329c, note 14) at
the beginning of the sentence. It is the male who laughs at womanliness; Soc-
rates defends the human being. Poetry is tacidy identified with manliness and
hence with the city and the political. The limitations of manliness begin to
emerge in this passage. The male, the warrior who defends the city, is not open
to philosophy and is only incompletely human.
17. This could also be translated "the female song," as in the "female
drama" at 451a. (Cf. also 365e, note 18.)
18. The marriage of Zeus and Hera was known as the "Sacred Mar-
riage," and it was celebrated in many Greek cities including Athens. They were,
of course, brother and sister.
19, A place where lambs, kids, and calves were raised. This whole
passage compares the mating and procreation of men to those of animals. The
sacred marriages apparently take their standard, not from the gods, but from
the beasts,
22. The Greek word for "ruler" is archon. In- Athens the holders of the
chief offices were called "archons,"
[ 459 ]
own," "what belongs to one's own household." It is the same word used. by
Thrasymachus in describing justice as "someone else's good" (343c), and this
passage refers to that one. In the good city everything is one's own, part of
one's household, so there can be no interest for one group to oppress another
any more than a normal father is interested in oppressing his children. This
tacitly admits that Thrasymachus' characterization of justice applies to exist-
ing cities.
27. Pedagogue — a man who took children back and forth from school, a
sort of supervisor. Among the Athenians he was usually a slave.
30. Those who live in the golden age celebrated by Hesiod {Works and
Days, 109-120).
31. Socrates alters Hesiod's text: he uses "they become" instead of "they
are called," and "endowed with speech" instead of "mortal." This passage is
correctly cited in Cratylus, 397e.
32. The Greek words for "being at war" and "enemy" are polemein and
polemios.
33. The word used here, which means to punish or chasten, is sophroni-
zein. Literally, this is "to make moderate"; punishment in this way would be
a form of education.
34. The majority of manuscripts have a reading that would mean "my
(military) campaign."
35. The third wave in a series coming in to shore was traditionally sup-
[ 4«<> 1
natural for some men to be philosophers and for some men to be kings; but it
is not natural for kings to become philosophers or philosophers kings. This is
why Plato, cannot be characterized as an "optimist."
38. The greater Dionysia, the festival in honor of the god Dionysus, was
held in the spring for six days, three days of which were devoted to the presen-
tation of comedies and tragedies. There were celebrations in the outlying
villages aroimd Attica as well as in the city of Athens itself.
They taught that every power must be understood in relation to its end; a
power only exists in relation to its end — it is never itself an end. Hence the
word might best be rendered "potentiality."
And hit him and did not hit him with a rock and not a rock.
The solution is: a eunuch who did not see well saw a bat perched on a reed and
threw a pumice stone at him which missed. (The Greek word bole can mean
either throwing, or hitting the mark.)
41. The word nomima, which usually means "the customary or lawful,"
is a derivative of nomos. Here popular, unsure opinion is identified with the
opinion supported by civil society.
42. Cf 432d.
Book VI
[ 461 ]
"" '. 4. The god of ridicule or fault-finding, a being who is all blame, akin to
such gods as Nike and Eros.
10. The reference is to the chorus employed in tragedy and comedy. Soc-
rates treats the characteristics of the soul as though they were the actors in
the dramatic poems produced by the city for the public festivals, and acts as
though he were their trainer or director.
12. The precise meaning of this expression is not certainly known, but
there are two stories that might explain it.
(a) After Odysseus and Diomede stole the Palladium from Troy one night,
Odysseus, in order to have the glory of the achievement for himself, attempted
to kill Diomede. Diomede saw the shadow of Odysseus' sword in the light of
the moon and turned on him. He bound Odysseus' hands and drove him to the
Greek camp ahead of him, covering his back with blows from the flat of his
sword.
(b) There was a Thracian named Diomede whose daughters were prostitutes.
He forced the strangers who came to him to have intercourse with them, and
then killed the strangers (cf Aristophanes, Ecclesiazusae, 1029). The Aris-
tophanes passage indicates that the latter story is the one referred to here.
13. There is a series of puns here on the genitive of the Greek word
nous, "mind" or "intelligence" (cf. 614b and note 13). Seth Benardete sug-
gests that this clause be translated: ". . . with pretentions and conceits of
naughts fraught with thoughtlessness."
[ 462 ]
Notes/ HOOK VI
"bathed" (lehimenou) are practically the same, and the phrase forms a little
jingle.
17. The accent in this word is on the care of ills, perhaps on the over-
attentiveness to them (cf. 407b).
18. Da/?jJon/on— "of or belonging to a demon" (cf 382e, note 55). For
Socrates' daimonion see Apology, 3 Id; Theaetetus, 151a; Theages, 128e;
Xenophon, Memorabilia, i, 4.
20. Heracleitus, according to Aristotle, said: ". . . every day the sun is
new" (Aristotle, Meteorologica, ii, 2.9).
21. These are terms used in the art of rhetoric; in the sentence which
begins, "For they never saw. . . ," there is a parody of these forms in a little
jingle that cannot be rendered in English.
22. Euripides, Hippolytus, 102. "I nod her a distant greeting because I
am pure."
23. The word for "obey" means "to listen to"; here the Scholiast
remarks that now the city will "listen instead of being listened to." This con-
stitutes an additional condition to the possibility of the good city that had not
previously been mentioned; for this reason some scholars have been led to al-
ter the passage, but it points to an important difficulty (cf 473c-d).
24. The word is dynasteia, derived from the word meaning "power." It
is used here in contrast to kingship, which implies a legitimate exercise of
political rule. Dynasteia is a chiefdom, free from any of the limitations or ad-
vantages of legitimacy. It is classed by Aristotle with tyranny or unlimited
democracy, regimes without laws in which the sovereign can do as it wishes
{Politics, 1242b). In 473d the word translated by chief was dynastes. (Cf.
Laws, 680a— b, where the regime of the Cyclopes is called a dynasteia.)
25. Or, "their arguments are always ad hominem." Literally, "about hu-
man beings."
29. Cf 341b.
30. Our word "narcotic" comes from the root of the Greek word (cf
Meno, 80b).
31. In the preceding passage the word for "interest," tokos, also means
"offspring." Hence there is an urbane play on money and reproduction, natural
and conventional. Aristotle explains the double sense of tokos as follows:
[ 463 ]
the offspring are like the parents, so tokos breeds currency from
currency. And in this way it is of the kinds of moneymaking the
most contrary to nature. {Politics, 1258b.)
33. The Greek means, literally, "to say something good" or "to use
words of good omen." It is primarily a word appropriate to religious observ-
ance; its opposite is, literally, "blasphemy," and that is what is to be avoided.
It is better to say nothing, rather than to use unpropitious expressions.
34. The Greek word means "age," and it gets the sense "dignity" be-
cause of the honor or right belonging to age.
35. The genitive forrri of the word for visible, horatou, is, in the Greek
orthography, very close to that for heaven, ouranou. The last syllable of
ouranou is identical with the genitive of the word for intelligence (nous),
which is the root of the word for intelligible {noeton). (Cf. 494d and note 13;
614b and note 13). There is, hence, a play on the words for heaven" and visi-
ble; and, in addition, the question is raised, on the basis of the words, as to the
relation of the heavens to the intelligible world (cf. 528e ff.). According to
CratyUis (396c), the astronomers say that oiiranos received its name from in-
telligence, and rightly so.
37. An hypothesis is, literally, "a placing under," and should perhaps be
rendered as "supposition" (cf. Meno, 86 ff., and Phaedo, 99d ff.).
38. Or, another possible rendering: ". . . the beginning which is the
whole."
39. The word is eikasia, derived from the verb meaning "to make an
image." "Imagination" was chosen in order to preserve its relation to "image"
(eikon), which plays such an important role in the Republic and on all levels
of the divided line. The importance of this faculty would be obscured if this
connection were not obvious. For the best discussion of eikasia, and of the
divided line as a whole, cf. Jacob Klein, A Commentary on Plato's Meno (Uni-
versity of North Carolina Press, 1965), pp. 115 ff.
telligible
eton)
The ma
{ta
Forms (eide)
Intellection {noesis)
The in
(to no
thematical objects
mathematjca)
Thought (dianoia)
visible
oraton)
Things
Trust (pistis)
The
(to h
Images (eikones)
Imagination (eikasia)
[ 464 ]
The second and third sections are equal (Klein, p. 119, note 27). The
way it is stated, it is impossible to know whether the highest or lowest is larger.
Book VU
1. It is not certain whether the Greek was "these things going by . . ." or
"these things present. ..." An alternative manuscript reading would make the
sentence: ", . . they would hold that these things that they see are the beings."
4. A happy place where good men live forever. In some accounts they
went there before dying, in others afterward.
5. "To go to" can have the sense of "to woo," which is obviously also in-
tended in this context.
6. The reference is not clear. There are several tales of men who died
and later became gods; notable among them were Heracles, Pollux, and Ascle-
pius.
white. Twirling the shell is equivalent to tossing a coin (cf. Phaedrus, 241b).
vious movement from right to left (the strophe), or the song they sing while
performing their movement.
10. Palamedes was a hero of the Trojan War and was supposed to have
invented the alphabet, numbers, lighthouses, and many other useful things. He
does not appear in Homer, but Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides each
wrote tragedies about him, none of which are extant.
13. Socrates gives a name to the city: the Greek is Callipolis. There were
towns of that name (cf Herodotus, VII, 154).
[ 465 ]
THE REPUBLIC
16. "Discovered" in this context probably means that the problems had
not been adequately formulated and that decisive ones had not yet been
solved. Socrates indicates that in his time solid geometry was in a state similar
to that of plane geometry prior to Pythagoras.
17. Cf. Aristophanes, Clouds, 170-173, where the same term is used.
18. The word is demiurge, meaning "a man who practices an art for the
public." In the exalted sense of this passage, he becomes the craftsman of the
cosmos of the Timaeus and the later tradition. Its original humble sense is not
to be forgotten.
20. A technical term in music, here probably meaning notes the inter-
vals of which are so small as to be almost inaudible; condensed or combined
notes. The word in its original sense refers to cloth which has tightly woven
threads.
23. The Greek (hodos) means "a way" or "a path" (cf. 532e). None of
the arts has a way of treating being as such, but each sees it in a particular
perspective; their particular ways are appropriate only to their particular sub-
ject matters. Hence some other discipline is needed, the sole business of which
is the study of being.
25. In all but one of the manuscripts there follows a sentence of which
there are several versions, none wholly intelligible. Hence I have left it out of
the translation. Its point is apparently that if the clarity of the name mirrors
the clarity of the soul in the particular faculty, Glaucon will be content.
31. The word for "demon" is daimoh and that for "happy" is eu-
daim'on, "possessing a good demon."
[ 4^^^^ ]
BookVIII
1. For "dynasty," cf. 499c, note 24. It is not certain what is meant by
"purchased kingships," but of. Aristotle, Politics, 1273a.
The number clearly has much to do with the Pythagorean triangle whose
sides were 3, 4, 5, and which reflects one of the greatest discoveries and prob-
lems of ancient science (cf. Aristotle, Politics, 1316a; and 534d, note 26).
The surface reason for the number's appearance here is to relate the cos-
mic principles of science to this perfect regime, to establish a harmony be-
tween the knowledge of nattn-e and of politics. In this way the highest human
things would not be merely the playthings of chance, and there could be per-
fect technical control over the conditions of decent political life. The riddle-
some character of the nvimber's presentation may well reflect on the reality of
that harmony and hence on the naturalness and possibility of this regime,
which is supposed to be both possible and according to nature.
This regime was predicated on the emergence of rulers who are knowers
or artisans in the precise sense first insisted on by Thrasymachus and later
adopted by Socrates. Their highest function was to insure the reproduction of
the species, the replenishment of their own numbers. If human reproduction
cannot be controlled, if there is no science of eugenics combined with the power
to use it well, chance rules human affairs, and regimes must lower their stand-
ards and rely on more ordinary rulers. The best regime is the regime of artisans
who are able to live according to nature because they have mastery over chance.
To this end communism was instituted, women were treated like men, and
the family was abolished. The guardians were turned into a herd like a herd of
cattle which can be used by a breeder, and all the ordinarily cherished human
ways of loving and reproducing were suppressed by the rulers' marriage regu-
lations and manipulations. The perfect artisans rule animals in order to reduce
the disproportion that is always present in human herds, as opposed to brutish
ones, between nature and convention, between the good and one's own. The
nuptial number represents this science of eugenics, and the failure of the re-
gime indicates the failure of its project. This conclusion is supported by the
corruption of the son of the aristocratic father (549c ff.) which is meant to be
the parallel to the corruption of the aristocratic city. The son falls from his fa-
ther's way of life because of a disharmony between the mother and the father.
To see this in another light one might well look to Aristophanes' char-
[ 467 ]
THE REPUBLIC
but he needs food and clothing. So he must steal to keep alive. And he needs
philosophic companions; but his is an all-male society which carmot reproduce
itself; therefore he must, as it were, steal the city's sons away from its concerns
in order to recruit them for his society. Aristophanes shows that the city will
not tolerate such a lawbreaker in its midst. Socrates respor^ds in the Republic
by asserting that if the philosopher adopts Aristophanes' two proposals in the
Ecclesiazusae— the equality of women and total communism — he can con-
struct a regime in which his philosophic life will not be in contradiction with
his political life. This city will feed and clothe him. And in it womeft will give
birth to children who are to be philosophers and not members of a family or
citizens in the usual sense of the word; natural animal reproduction will replen-
ish the philosophers' society which represents the natural human way of life,
thus producing a harmony between the two senses of nature and showing that
the tension between city and philosophers is neither natural nor necessary. Soc-
rates with a science of eugenics could, by means of bodily procreation, have
children who were potential philosophers and would no longer be forced to
abandon his own in quest of good men; body and soul, city and philosopher,
would work together. The failure to achieve control over births signals an even
more comic failure of Socrates than that ridiculed in the Clouds. It is in this
way that he proved his superiority to Aristophanes.
9. The Greek is tirnema, allied to the word for honor (cf. 545b, note
3) . The connection between the two notions is valuing. This term makes the
transition from timocracy to oligarchy more pointed.
10. Penes, a poor man in the sense that he must work for his living.
12. This expression can have the technical sense of "loss of civic rights."
13. The great king was the ruler of the Persian empire, and these were
luxurious signs of his office.
17. The heroes, divine beings, were present but not seen.
[ 468 ]
Notes / Book IX
19. The words for "embassy" and "older man" have a common root (cf.
509b, note 34).
21. The passage alludes to the Eleusinian Mysteries, the sacred and se-
cret initiations that took place in Attica. The language here has a religous
solemnity. The first days of this festival were devoted to purifications, and
then there was a spectacular torchlight procession leading the god lacchus
(Dionysus) from Athens back to Eleusis where the initiations took place. This
calls to mind the all-but-forgotten torch race promised at 328a.
24. We do not possess the play from which this quote comes, nor do we
know anything of its context. It is possible that the phrase was not in a play
but was said by Aeschylus in his defense when accused of revealing the secrets
of the Mysteries. This would be an appropriate context for Socrates to use an
25. The proverb was "like mistress, like dog," with the ambiguity that
dog was taken in the sense of servant. Socrates takes it literally.
28. Iliad, XVI, 776, XVIII, 26; Odyssey, XXIV, 40. (Cf. Herodotus, I,
59-60.)
Book IX
[ 469 ]
THE REPUBLIC
clause would read: ". . , the opinions that act as judges . . ." or ". . . the opin-
ions that pronounce sentences. . . ."
6. This is a pim on the name Ariston and the word "best" (ariston).
[Zeus was worshipped, as were the other gods, under various aspects; he was
thus given special names {Eponyms) drawn from places or attributes (cf. 394a
and note 4)]. Cf. Philebm, 66d; Charmides, 167a; Laws, 692a; Letter, VII,
340a.
"Not at all."
"Or does the being of what is never the same participate more in
10. Socrates is turning the difference between the tyrant's pleasure and
the king's into a solid figure so that it can be perceived (cf. Laws, 894a) . The
first step is the "line," derived from the distance between the two pleasures.
The line is paradoxically called a "plane" because its length is a number (9)
formed of two elements (3 x 3), which could represent length and width.
Square numbers were technically called "plane numbers." Then the "plane
line" is squared and cubed and results in a solid, the number of which is 729.
Why Socrates chooses the values he does, or why he uses multiplication rather
than addition, or why a solid must be produced are all unclear, unless he wish-
es to make the result as large as possible in this prototypical attempt to math-
ematize human things.
12. The Chimaera was a lion in front, a dragon behind, and a she-goat in the
middle. Scylla had a woman's face and breasts, six dogs' heads, a dragon's tail,
and snakes for hair. Plato elsewhere (Phaedrus, 229d) mentions Pegasus and
Gorgons as members of this class of beings.
[ 470 ]
Notes / Book X
Book X
3. Thales and Anacharsis were among the classic Seven Wise Men (cf.
335e-336d, and notes 28 and 29). Anacharsis was said to have invented the
anchor and the potter s wheel. Thales' knowledge of mathematics inade him
able to calculate eclipses and discover the solstices, among other things. For
the point of this passage, cf. Aristotle Politics, 1259a, and Theaetetus,
174a ff.
7. These are all presumably quotes from poets attacking philosophy and
philosophers, but we do not know their sources.
8. The words "justice" and "injustice" are plural in the Greek text,
implying that there are a plurality of forms.
10. It, like Gyges' ring, made one invisible. Athena used it to hide from
Ares (Iliad, V, 844). (Cf Aristophanes, Acharnians, 390.)
11. This apparently refers to a race where the runners ran to one end of a
straight racecourse, turned, and came back. They start fast but tire in the stretch.
12. This proverbial expression gets its image from those animals that let
their ears droop when tired or dispirited.
(rt) the word for "story" is apologon which is very close to apology. The four
books of the Odyssey (IX— XII) in which Odysseus tells Alcinous, King of the
Phaeacians, of his adventures were traditionally known as The Story of Alci-
nous. In this part of the Odyssey the descent to Hades is recounted. Moreover,
"A story of Alcinous" became a proverbial expression for a long-winded tale.
(b) The word for "strong" is alkiniou, differing only by the measure of an ni in-
stead of an n from the genitive form of the king's name used here, Alkinou. In
itself this is a play on sounds; but, further, if one were to translate the root
words of the name, the sentence would read: "... a story of a man not strong
of mind, but strong. . . ." (Cf. 494 and note 13; 509d and note 35.)
15. Er has reached the extremes of the cosmos, and he sees there the
structure of the heavens. The whorls represent the spheres of the fixed stars,
the planets, the sun, and the moon. The motions of these whorls account for
[ 471 ]
THE REPUBLIC
the visible movements of those bodies; their color, brightness, and distance
from each other are accoimted for by the description of the lips of the whorls.
Hence the whole is organized rationally and is knowable; and in this way the
particular fates of individuals gain significance by their connection with the
cosmic necessities.
16. They are the Fates (Moirai): Lachesis (dispenser of lots) holds sway
over the past; Clotho (spinner), the present; and Atropos (inevitable or un-
tumable), the future.
17. Orpheus and Thamyras were both singers who ended badly. Or-
pheus, after losing Eurydice, was torn apart by Thracian women; Thamyras
was deprived of his sight and his power of song by the Muses whom he
rivalled. The unhappy fates of Ajax and Agamemnon are recounted by
Sophocles and Aeschylus. [Plutarch remarks, (Quaestiones conviviales, IX,
5.3, 1740e-f) that Ajax is the twentieth here because he was the twentieth
soul encountered by Odysseus in Hades (Odyssey, XI, 543).] Atalanta's story
has several versions, some with happy endings, others with unhappy endings.
At all events, she was an Artemis-like woman, a hunter and runner, beautiful
and chaste, although she finally married. Epeius was the builder of the Trojan
Horse. For Thersites, cf. Ilkid, II, 212 ff.
18. The Greek words for "threads" and "irreversible" call to mind the
etymological senses of Clotho and Atropos, respectively (cf. 617c, note 16)
20. The last words (from "to . . .") form a line of iambic verse.
22. This means both "to have success in action" and "to do what is
good." It is Plato's favored salutation. (Cf. Letters, III, 315a-b.)
[ 472 ]
INDEX
INDEX
This index has been constructed in accordance with the purposes of the translation. No
modern categories ahen to Plato's thought have been introduced, and wherever possible
categories have been keyed to specific Greek words.
Only the text of the Republic has been indexed. The references are to the stand-
ard Platonic pagination — that of the first printed edition of Plato's works published by
Stephanus in the sixteenth century — ^which appears at the side of the printed text. This
enables the reader to find passages cited in secondary works with ease.
The index is divided into four parts: (1) an index of names, (2) an index of
subjects, (3) an index cataloguing the appearances of all the personages in the dialogue,
except for Socrates who is ubiquitous, and (4) an index cataloguing the formulae of
familiar address, for those who are interested in following their usage. The index of
names and the catalogues of the dramatis p>ersonae and formulae of familiar address at-
tempt to be complete, as do all those entries in the subject index marked with asterisk s.
A dash between two page citations (for example, 331a— 333d) indicates either
a high frequency in the occurence of a term or a thematic treatment of a given topic in
that passage.
It should be noted that it is impossible to make the lines of this translation ac-
cord perfectly with those of the Stephanus edition. Therefore, occasionally there may
be a slight imprecision in the index's references to the translation. In such a case, the
reader may find, for example, that the word the index tells him is at-439d is actually
in the last line of 439c.
No attempt has been made to index the terms having to do with 'Taeing," re-
lated to the word einai, "to be," for they occur too frequently. The thematic discussions
of being occur at 475d-479d and 506d— 518d. The terms which occur most frequently
and their usual translations are: to on, "that which is"; ta onta, "the things which
are"; to eiruii, 'Tjeing"; ousiu, "substance" or "being."
[ 475 ]
THE REPUBLIC
INDEX OF NAMES
Abderite, 600c
Adrasteia, 451a
563c
Agamemnon,383a,390e,392e,393e,522d,
620b
Aglaion, 439e
Ajax, 468d, 620b
Alcinous, 614b
Anacharsis, 600a
Aphrodite, 390c
Apollo, 383b, 391a, 394a, 399e, 408b,
427b, 509c
Arcadia, 565d
Archilochus, 365c
Ardiaeus, 615e-615e
Ares, 390c
Argos, 381d, 393e
Ariston, 327a, 368a, 427c, 580b
Aristonymus, 328b
Armenius, 614b
Asclepiads, 405d, 406a
Asclepius, 405d, 406c, 407c, 407e, 408b,
599c
Atalanta, 620b
Athena, 379e
Athenian, 330a
Atreus, 393a
Atropos, 617c, 620e
Attic, 404d
Autolycus, 334b
Bendis, 354a
Bias, 335e
Creophylos, 600b
Cretans, 452c, 544c, 575d
Croesus, 566c
Cronos, 378a
Daedalus, 529e
Damon, 400b, 400c, 424c
Delphi, 427b
Diomede, 389e, 493d
Dionysia, 475d
Dorian, 399a
Egypt, 436a
Epeius, 620c
Er, 614b
Eryphyle, 590a
Euripides, 568a
Eurypylus, 405e, 408a
Fates, 617c
Glaucus, 6 lid
Greece, 606e
544d
Gyges, 359d, 612b
Hector, 391b
Helen, 586c
Hellespont, 404c
Heracleitus, 498b
Heracles, 337a
Hennus, 566c
Herodicus, 406a
Homeridae, 599e
Hydra, 426e
[ 476 ]
Index of Subjects
606c
Common, community, partnership, koi-
non, 333a-333d, 335e, 343d, 351d,
352c, 362b, 369o-371c, 416e, 424a,
442c, 449o-449d. 450a, 450c, 451d-
451e. 453a, 457a-457d, 460b, 461a,
461e, 462b-^62c, 464a-464d, 466c-
466e, 470e, 486b, 492b, 520a, 556c,
589b, 607a, 611c
•Compact, 359a-359b
"Couchmaker, 597a-597d
•Dithyramb, 394c
"Drama, 451c
THE REPUBLIC
lil-U'tjA. Ul i_»t**y/c-t^l-o
K/*^
555b, 609b
494c
"Horse, hippos; horsemanship, 328a,
333c, 335b-335c 342c, 352d-352e,
359d, 375a, 396b, 412b, 413d, 452c,
459b, 467e, 537a, 563c, 601c
"Housebuilding, oikodomike, 333b, 346d,
[ 481 ]
Ignorance {cont'd)
572c
Intellect, see Intelligence
Intelligence, intellect or mind, nous;
the highest rational faculty (cf.
Thought), 431c, 490b, 494d, 506c,
508c-^08d, Slid, 517c, 531b, 534b,
549d, 585b, 586d, 591c, 619b
"Irony, 337a
608a
•Lyric, 379a
[-482 ]
numx uf juuftiotii
425d
Marriage, gamos, 362b, 363a, 383b,
423e, 458e-^59a, 459d-460a, 461a,
468c, 495e, 546d, 613d
•Medicine, iatrike, 332e-332e, 333e,
340d-340e, 341e-342d, 346a-^46d,
349e-350a, 360e, 373d, 389b-389d,
405a, 405c-408e, 409e, 410b, 426a-
426b, 438e, 454d, 455e, 459c, 489c,
515c, 564c, 567c, 599c, 604d
Mind, see Intelligence
•Moderation, sophrosyne, 364a, 389d-
390a, 391c, 395c, 399b-399c, 399e,
401a, 402c, 402e-^03a, 404e, 410a,
410e, 416d, 423a, 427e, 430d-432a,
433b, 433d, 435b, 442c-442d, 443e,
471a, 485e, 487a, 490c, 491b, 500d,
•Moneymaker, cftreniatts(es,330b-330c,
341c, 342d, 345d, 357c, 397e, 415e,
434b-^34c, 441a, 498a, 547b, 547d,
5506-551a, 552a, 553c, 555a, 555e,
[ 483 ]
535e
•Pilot, kyberrietes, 332e, 333c, 341o-
34 Id, 342d-342e, 346a-346b, 360e,
389c, 397e, 488b, 488d-488e, 489b-
489c, 55Ic, 573d, 590d, 591e
• Pity, eleos, 337a, 4 15c, 5 16c, 518b, 539a,
[ 484 ]
H/uiex u/ ouu/tiut'O
I Rhetoric, 548a
i 565d
461b
•Self-sufficient, autarkes, 369b, 387d
•Serious, spoudaios, used almost as a
synonyin for the quality of a gentle-
man; it signifies a man of worth or
character, 333e, 336e, 387e, 388d,
396d, 397a, 405a, 423d, 452c, 452e,
485e, 519d,>529e, 536c, 545e, 549d,
599a-599b, 602b, 603c, 604c, 605d,
608a, 608d
Sex (cf. Love), 329a, 329c, 360b, 360c,
372b, 389e, 390c, 39 Id, 402e-403c,
404d, 423e, 424b, 426b, 436a, 443a,
449d, 454d, 458c, 459a-459b, 459d,
460b-461e, 468b-468c, 490b,
496a, 502d, 520b, 546a-546d, 559c,
560b, 571d, 573d, 574V^74c, 580e,
586b, 603b, 606d
•Shadows, skia, 432c, 509e, 510e, 515a-
515d, 516a, 516e, 517d, 520c, 523b,
532b-532c, 583b, 586b, 602d
"Shepherd, poimen; sheep, 343a, 345c—
601c
•Soldier's art, hopliti]^, 333d
Song, 398c-402a, 404d, 411a, 424b-
[ 485 ]