gma grube - My Illinois State

I
REPUBLIC
TRANSLATED BY
G.M.A. GRUBE
HACKETT PUBLISHING COMPANY, INC.
INDIANAPOLISICAMBRIDGE
BOOKVII
Book VII begins with another unforgettable image, the allegoty of the Cave, which
fits together with the S u n and Line (517b) and which illustrates the effects of
education on the soul (514~).It leads to a brief but important discussion of
education (518b-519b) in which Socrates makes it clear that the aim ofeducation
is to turn the soul around by changing its desires.
The next topic is the education of the philosopher-kings. (1) Their initial
education is in music and poetty, physical training, and elementaty mathematics
(535~-537b). (2) This is followed by two or three yean of compulsoty physical
training, rather like the militaty service that some countries still require (537b4.(3) Those who are most successful in these studies next receive ten years of
education in mathematical science (537~-d, 522c-531d). (4) Those who are
again most successful receive f u e yean of training in dialectic (537d-540a,
531e-535~). (5) Those who are still most successful receive fifteen years of
practical political traiaing (539e-540~).Finally, (6) those who a re also successful
in practical politics are "compelled to lift up the radiant light of their souls" to
the good itse[f (540a) and are equipped to be philosopher-kings.
The centrality of mathematics in the philosopher? education is somewhat
surprising, as is the restriction of dialectic to mature people who have mastered
science. But the fact that the largest component of this education consists of
practical political training should reassure those who think that philosopherkings would not even begin to know how to rule a city. It is an interesting question
as to why this training must take place before t h q can see the good itse[f:Pluto i
discussion of users, makers, and imitaton in Book X (601d-602b) is surely
relevant to this question, for it suggests that only those who use an entire city (see
428c-d) could know what a good city is.
The city that contains philosopher-kings and the educational institutions necessaty to produce them is the third a n d f n a l stage in Pluto's construction ofthe
kallipolis (535a-536d, 543c-544~).
Next, I said, compare the effect of education and of the lack of it on our
514 nature to an experience like this: lmagine human beings living in an
underground, cavelike dwelling, with an entrance a long way up, which is
both open to the light and as wide as the cave itself. They've been there
since childhood, fixed in the same place, with their necks and legs fettered,
able to see only in front of them, because their bonds prevent them from
turning their heads around. Light is provided by a fire burning far above
and behind them. Also behind them, but on higher ground, there is a path b
stretching between them and the fire. lmagine that along this path a low
wall has been built, like the screen in front of puppeteers above which
they show their puppets.
I'm imagining it.
Then also imagine that there are people along the wall, carrying all
kinds of artifacts that project above it-statues ofpeople and other animals,
c
made out of stone, wood, and every material. And, as you'd expect, some
515
of the carriers are talking, and some are silent.
It's a strange image you're describing, and strange prisoners.
They're like us. Do you suppose, first of all, that these prisoners see
anything of themselves and one apother besides the shadows that the fire
casts on the wall in front of them?
How could they, if they have to keep their heads motionless throughout
life?
b
What about the things being carried along the wall? Isn't the same true
of them?
Of course.
And if they could talk to one another, don't you think they'd suppose
that the names they used applied to the things they see passing before
them?'
They'd have to.
And what if their prison also had an echo from the wall facing them?
Don't you think they'd believe that the shadows passing in front of them
were talking whenever one of the carriers passing along the wall was doing
so?
I certainly do.
c
Then the prisoners would in every way believe that the truth is nothing
other than the shadows of those artifacts.
They must surely believe that.
Consider, then, what deing released from their bonds and cured of their
ignorance would naturally be like if someth~nglike this came to pass. When
one of them was freed and suddenly compelled to stand up, turn his head,
walk, and look up toward the light, he'd be pained and dazzled and unable
d
to see the things whose shadows he'd seen before. What do you think he'd
saj, if we told him that what he'd seen before was inconsequential, but that
1. Reading parionra aurous nomizein onomazein. E.g. they would think that the name
"human being" applied to the shadow of a statue of a human being.
now-because he is a bit closer to the things that are and is turned towards
things that are more-he sees more correctly? Or, to put it another way, if
we pointed to each of the things passing by, asked him what each of them is,
and compelled him to answer, don't you think he'd be at a loss and that he'd
believe that the things he saw earlier were truer than the ones he was now
being shown?
Much truer.
And if someone compelled him to look at the light itself, wouldn't his
eyes hurt, and wouldn't he turn around and flee towards the things he's
e
able to see, believing that they're really clearer than the ones he's being
shown?
H e would.
And if someone dragged him away from there by force, up the rough,
steep path, and didn't let him go until he had dragged him into the
sunlight, wouldn't he be pained and irritated at being treated that way?
516 And when he came into the light, with the sun filling his eyes, wouldn't
he be unable to see a single one of the things now said to be true?
H e would be unable to see them, at least at first.
I suppose, then, that he'd need time to get adjusted before he could see
things in the world above. At first, he'd see shadows most easily,' then
images of men and other things in water, then the things themselves. Of
these, he'd be able to study the things in the sky and the sky itself more
easily at night, looking at the light of the stars and the moon, than during
b the day, looking at the sun and the light of the sun.
Of course.
Finally, I suppose, he'd be able to see the sun, not images of it in water
or some alien place, but the sun itself, in its own place, and be able to
study it.
Necessarily so.
And at this point he would infer and conclude that the sun provides the
seasons and the years, governs everything in the visible world, and is in
some way the cause of all the things that he used to see.
c
It's clear that would be his next step.
What about when he reminds himself of his'first dwelling place, his
fellow prisoners, and what passed for wisdom there? Don't you think that
he'd count himself happy for the change and pity the others?
Certainly.
And if there had been any honors, praises, or prizes among them for
the one who was sharpest at identifying the shadows as they passed by and
who best remembered which usually came earlier, which later, and which
d
simultaneously, and who could thus best divine the future, do you think
that our man would desire these rewards or envy those among the prisoners
who were honored and held power? Instead, wouldn't he feel, with Homer,
that he'd much prefer to "work the earth as a serf to another, one without
possessions,"2 and go through any sufferings, rather than share their
opinions and live as they do?
I suppose he would rather suffer anything than live like that.
e
Consider this too. If this man went down into the cave again and sat
down in his same seat, wouldn't his eyes-coming suddenly out of the
sun like that-be filled with darkness?
They certainly would.
And before his eyes had recovered-and the adjustment would not be
quick-while his vision was still dim, if he had to compete again with the
perpetual prisoners in recognizing the shadows, wouldn't he invite ridi- 517
cule? Wouldn't it be said of him that he'd ieturned from his upward
journey with his eyesight ruined and that it isn't worthwhile even to try to
travel upward? And, as for anyone.who tried to free them and lead them
upward, if they could somehow get their hands on him, wouldn't they kill
him?
They certainly would.
This whole image, Glaucon, must be fitted together with what we said b
before. T h e visible realm should be likened to the prison dwelling, and
the light of the fire inside it to the power of the sun. And if you interpret
the upward journey and the study of things above as the upward journey
of the soul to the intelligible realm, you'll grasp what I hope to convey,
since that is what you wanted to hear about. Whether it's true or not, only
the god knows. But this is how I see it: In the knowable realm, the form
of the good is the last thing to be seen, and it is reached only with difficulty.
Once one has seen it, however, one must conclude that it is the cause of
all that is correct and beautiful in anything, that it produces both light and c
its source in the visible realm, and that in the intelligible realm it controls
and provides truth and understanding, so that anyone who is to act sensibly
in private or public must see it.
I have the same thought, at least as far as I'm able.
Come, then, share with me this thought also: It isn't surprising that the
ones who get to this point are unwilling to occupy themselves with human
affairs and that their souls are always pressing upwards, eager to spend
their time above, for, after all, this is surely what we'd expect, if indeed
things fit the image I described before.
d
It is.
What about what happens when someone turns from divine study to
2. Odyssg 11.489-90. The shade of the dead Achilles speaks these-words to Odysseus, who is visiting Hades. Plato is, therefore, likening the cave dwellers to the dead.
190
SOCRATES/GLAUCON
the evils of human life? D o you think it's surprising, since his sight is still
dim, and he hasn't yet become accustomed to the darkness around him,
that he behaves awkwardly and appears completely ridiculous if he's
compelled, either in the courts or elsewhere, to contend about the shadows
of justice or the statues of which they are the shadows and to dispute
about the way these things are understood by people who have never seen
e
justice itself?
That's not surprising at all.
518 No, it isn't. But anyone with any understanding would remember that
the eyes may be confused in two ways and from two causes, namely, when
they've come from the light into the darkness and when they've come from
the darkness into the light. Realizing that the same applies to the soul,
when someone sees a soul disturbed and unable to see something, he
won't laugh mindlessly, but he'll take into consideration whether it has
come from a brighter life and is dimmed through not having yet become
accustomed to the dark or whether it has come from greater ignorance
into greater light and is dazzled by the increased brilliance. Then he'll
declare the first soul happy in its experience and life, and he'll pity the
b latter-but even ifhe chose to make fun of it, at least he'd be less ridiculous
than if he laughed at a soul that has come from the light above.
What you say is very reasonable.
If that's true, then here's what we must think about these matters:
Education isn't what some people declare it to be, namely, putting h o w l edge into souls that lack it, like putting sight into blind eyes.
c
They do say that.
But our present discussion, on the other hand, shows that the power to
learn is present in everyone's soul and that the instrument with which
each learns is like an eye that cannot be turned around from darkness to
light without turning the whole body. This instrument cannot be turned
around from that which is coming into being without turning the whole
soul until it is able to study that which is and the brightest thing that is,
d namely, the one we call the good. Isn't that right?
Yes.
Then education is the craft concerned with doing this very thing, this
turning around, and with how the soul can most easily and effectively be
made to do it. It isn't the craft of putting sight into the soul. Education
takes for granted that sight is there but that it isn't turned the right way
or looking where it ought to look, and it tries to redirect it appropriately.
So it seems.
Now, it looks as though the other so-called virtues of the soul are akin
to those of the body, for they really aren't there beforehand but are added
e
later by habit and practice. However, the virtue of reason seems to belong
BOOK VII
517d-519e
191
above all to something more divine,3 which never loses its power but is
ejther useful and beneficial or useless and harmful, depending on the way
it is turned. Or have you never noticed this about people who are said to 519
be vicious bdt clever, how keen the vision of their little souls is and how
sharply it distinguishes the things it is turned towards? This shows that its
sight isn't inferior but rather is forced to serve evil ends, so that the sharper
it sees, the more evil it accomplishes.
Absolutely.
However, if a nature of this sort had been hammered at from childhood
and freed from the bonds of kinship with becoming, which have been
fastened to it by feasting, greed, and other such pleasures and which, like
b
leaden weights, pull its vision downwards-if, being rid of these, it turned
to look at true things, then I say that the same soul of the same person
would see these most sharply, just as it now does the things it is presently
turned towards.
Probably so.
And what about the uneducated who have no experience of truth? Isn't
it likely-indeed, doesn't it follow necessarily from what was said beforethat they will never adequately govern a city? But neither would those
who've been allowed to spend their whole lives being educated. T h e
c
former would fail because they don't have a single goal at which all their
actions, public and private, inevitably aim; the latter would fail because
they'd refuse to act, thinking that they had settled while still alive in the
faraway Isles of the B l e ~ s e d . ~
That's true.
It is our task as founders, then, to compel the best natures to reach the
study we said before is the most important, namely, to make the ascent
and see the good. But when they've made it and looked sufficiently, we
d
mustn't allow them to do what they're allowed to do today.
What's that?
T o stay there and refuse to go down again to the prisoners in the cave
and share their labors and honors, whether they are of less worth or of
greater.
Then are we to do them an injustice by making them live a worse life
when they could live a better one?
e
You are forgetting again that it isn't the law's concern to make any one
class in the city outstandingly happy but to contrive to spread happiness
throughout the city by bringing the citizens into harmony with each other
.
3. See 589d, 590d, 611b ff.
4. A place where good people are said to live in eternal happiness, normallj after
death.
;
through persuasion or compulsion and by making them share with each
other the benefits that each class can confer on the c o m m ~ n i t yT. ~h e law
520 produces such people in the city, not in order to allow them to turn in
whatever direction they want, but to make use of them to'bind the city
together.
That's true, I had forgotten.
Observe, then, Glaucon, that we won't be doing an injustice to those
who've become philosophers in our city and that what we'll say to them,
when we compel them to guard and care for the others, will be just. We'll
say: "When people like you come to be in other cities, they're justified in
b not sharing in their city's labors, for they've grown there spontaneously,
against the will of the constitution. And what grows of its own accord and
owes no debt for its upbringing has justice on its side when it isn't keen
to pay anyone for that upbringing. But we've made you kings in our city
and leaders of the swarm, as it were, both for yourselves and for the rest
of the city. You're better and more completely educated than the others
and are better able to share in both types of life.6 Therefore each of you
c
in turn must go down to live in the common dwelling place of the others
and grow accustomed to seeing in the dark. When you are used to it, you'll
see vastly better than the people there. And because you've seen the truth
about fine, just, and good things, you'll know each image for what it is and
also that of which it is the image. Thus, for you and for us, the city will
be governed, not like the majority of cities nowadays, by people who fight
over shadows and struggle against one another in order to rule-as if that
were a great good-but by people who are awake rather than dreaming,'
d for the truth is surely this: A city whose prospective rulers are least eager
to rule must of necessity be most free from civil war, whereas a city with
the opposite kind of rulers is governed in the opposite way."
Absolutely.
Then do you think that those we've nurtured will disobey us and refuse
to share the labors of the city, each in turn, while living the greater part
of their time with one another in the pure realm?
e
It isn't possible, for we'll be giving just orders to just people. Each of
them will certainly go to rule as to something compulsory, however, which
is exactly the opposite ofwhat's done by those who now rule in each city.
This is how it is. If you can find a way of life that's better than ruling for
the prospective rulers, your well-governed city will become a possibility,
I
5. See 420b-421c, 462a-466c.
6. 1.e. the practical life of ruling the city and the theoretical life of studying the good
itself.
7. See 476c-d.
BOOK
vlr
519e-521d
193
for only in it will the truly rich rule-not those who are rich in gold but 521
those who are rich in the wealth that the happy must have, namely, a good
and rational life. But if beggars hungry for private goods go into public
life, thinking that the good is there for the seizing, then the well-governed
city is impossible, for then ruling is something fought over, and this civil
and domestic war destroys these people and the rest of the city as well.
That's very true.
Can you name any life that despises political rule besides that of the b
true philosopher?
No, by god, I can't.
But surely it is those who are not lovers of ruling who must rule, for if
they don't, the lovers of it, who are rivals, will fight over it.
Of course.
Then who will you compel to become guardians of the city, if not those
who have the best understandi~gofwhat matters for good government
and who have other honors than political ones, and a better life as well?
No one.
Do you want us to consider now how such people will come to be in
c
our city and how-just as some are said to have gone up from Hades to
the gods-we'll lead them up to the light?
Of course I do.
This isn't, it seems, a matter of spinning a potsherd,8 but of turning a
soul from a day that is a kind of night to the true day-the ascent to what
is, which we say is true philosophy.
Indeed.
Then mustn't we try to discover the subjects that have the power to
d
bring this about?
Of course.
So what subject is it, Glaucon, that draws the soul from the realm of
becoming to the realm of what is? And it occurs to me as I'm speaking
that we said, didn't we, that it is necessary for the prospective rulers to be
athletes in war when they're young?
Yes, we did.
Then the subject we're looking for must also have this characteristic in
addition to the former one.
8. A proverbial expression, referring to a children's game. The players were divided
into two groups. A shell or potsherd, white on one side and black on the other, was
thrown into the space between them to the cry of "night or day" (note the reference to
night and day which follows). According as the white or black fell uppermost, one
group ran away, pursued by the other. The meaning here is much the same as that of
our expression "tossing a coin."
Which one?
It mustn't be useless to warlike men.
If it's at all possible, it mustn't.
Now, prior to this, we educated them in music and poetry and physical
e
training.
We did.
And physical training is concerned with what comes into being and dies,
for it oversees the growth and decay of the body.
Apparently.
So it couldn't be the subject we're looking for.
522 No, it couldn't.
Then, could it be the music and poetry we described before?
But that, if you remember, is just the counterpart of physical training.
It educated the guardians through habits. Its harmonies gave them a
certain harmoniousness, not knowledge; its rhythms gave them a certain
rhythmical quality; and its stories, whether fictional or nearer the truth,
cultivated other habits akin to these. But as for the subject you're looking
b for now, there's nothing like that in music and poetry.
Your reminder is exactly to the point; there's really nothing like that in
music and poetry. But, Glaucon, what is there that does have this? T h e
crafts all seem to be base or mechanical.
How could they be otherwise? But apart from music and poetry, physical
training, and the crafts, what subject is left?
Well, if we can't find anything apart from these, let's consider one of
the subjects that touches all of them.
What sort of thing?
For example, that common thing that every craft, every type of thought,
and
every science uses and that is among the first compulsory subjects for
c
everyone.
What's that?
That inconsequential matter of distinguishing the one, the two, and the
three. In short, I mean number and calculation, for isn't it true that every
craft and science must have a share in that?
They certainly must.
Then so must warfare.
Absolutely.
In the tragedies, at any rate, palamedes9 is always showing up Agamemnon as a totally ridiculous general. Haven't you noticed? H e says that, by
d inventing numbers, he established how many troops there 'were in the
1
L
9. Palamades is a proverbially clever warrior best known for his cunning while serving
under Agamemnon.
Trojan army and counted their ships and everything else-implying that
they were uncounted before and that Agamemnon (if indeed he didn't
know how to count) didn't even know how many feet he had? What kind
of general do you think that made him?
A very strange one, if that's true.
Then won't we set down this subject as compulsory for a warrior, s o
e
that he is able to count and calculate?
More compulsory than anything. If, that is, he's to understand anything
about setting his troops in order or if he's even to be properly human.
Then do you notice the same thing about this subject that I do?
What's that?
That this turns out to be one of the subjects we were looking for that
naturally lead to understanding. But no one uses it correctly, namely, as
something that is really fitted in every way to draw one towards being. 523
What do you mean?
I'll try to make my view clear as follows: I'll distinguish for myself the
things that do or don't lead in the direction we mentioned, and you must
study them along with me and either agree or disagree, and that way we
may come to know more clearly whether things are indeed as I divine.
Point them out.
1'11 point out, then, ifyou can grasp it, that some sense perceptions don't
summon the understanding to look into them, because the judgment of
sense perception is itself adequate, while others encourage it in every way
b
to look into them, because sense perception seems to produce no sound
result.
You're obviously referring to things appearing in the distance and to
trompe l'oeil paintings.
You're not quite getting my meaning.
Then what do you mean?
The ones that don't summon the understanding are all those that don't
go off into opposite perceptions at the same time. But the ones that do go
off in that way I call summonen-whenever sense perception doesn't
c
declare one thing any more than its opposite, no matter whether the object
striking the senses is near at hand or far away. You'll understand my
meaning better if I put it this way: These, we say, are three fingers-the
smallest, the second, and the middle finger.
That's right.
Assume that I'm talking about them as being seen from close by. Now,
this is my question about them.
What?
It's apparent that each of them is equally a finger, and it makes n o
difference in this regard whether the finger is seen to be in the middle or
at either end, whether it is dark or pale, thick or thin, or anything else of
that sort, for in all these cases, an ordinary soul isn't compelled to ask the
understanding what a finger is, since sight doesn't suggest to it that a
finger is at the same time the opposite of a finger.
No, it doesn't.
Therefore, it isn't likely that anything of that sort would summon or
e
awaken the understanding.
No, it isn't.
Butwhat about the bigness and smallness of fingers? Does sight perceive
them adequately? Does it make no difference to it whether the finger is
in the middle or at the end? And is it the same with the sense of touch,
as regards the thick and the thin, the hard and the soft? And do the other
senses reveal such things clearly and adequately? Doesn't each of them
524 rather do the following: T h e sense set over the hard is, in the first place,
of necessity also set over the soft, and it reports to the soul that the same
thing is perceived by it to be both hard and soft?
That's right.
And isn't it necessary that in such cases the soul is puzzled as to what
this sense means by the hard, if it indicates that the same thing is also
soft, or what it means by the light and the heavy, if it indicates that the
heavy is light, or the light, heavy?
Yes, indeed, these are strange reports for the soul to receive, and they
b
do demand to be looked into.
Then it's likely that in such cases the soul, summoning calculation
and understanding, first tries to determine whether each of the things
announced to it is one or two.
Of course.
If it's evidently mo, won't each be evidently distinct and one?
Yes.
Then, if each is one, and both two, the soul will understand that the
two are separate, for it wouldn't understand the inseparable to be two, but
c
rather one.
That's right.
Sight, however, saw the big and small, not as separate, but as mixed up
together. Isn't that so?
Yes.
And in order to get clear about all this, understanding was compelled
to see the big and the small, not as mixed up together, but as separatethe opposite way from sight.
True.
And isn't it from these cases that it first occurs to us to ask what the big
is and what the small is?
Absolutely.
d
I
And, because of this, we called the one the intelligible and the other
the visible.
That's right.
d
This, then, is what I was trying to express before, when I said that some
things summon thought, while others don't. Those that strike the relevant
sense at the same time as their opposites I call summoners, those that
don't do this do not awaken understanding.
Now I understand, and I think you're right.
Well, then, to which of them do number and the one belong?
I don't know.
Reason it out from what was said before. If the one is adequately seen
itself by itself or is so perceived by any of the other senses, then, as we
were saying in the case of fingers, it wouldn't draw the soul towards being.
But if something opposite to it is always seen at the same time, so that
e
nothing is apparently any more one than the opposite of one, then something would be needed to judge the matter. T h e soul would then be
puzzled, would look for an answer, would stir up its understanding, and
would ask what the one itself is. And so this would be among the subjects
that lead the soul and turn it around towards the study of that which is. 525
But surely the sight of the one does possess this characteristic to a
remarkable degree, for we see the same thing to be both one and an
unlimited number at the same time.
Then, if this is true of the one, won't it also be true of all numbers?
Of course.
Now, calculation and arithmetic are wholly concerned with numbers.
That's right.
Then evidently they lead us towards truth.
b
Supernaturally so.
Then they belong, it seems, to the subjects we're seeking. They are
compulsory for warriors because of their orderly ranks and for philosophers because they have to learn to rise up out of becoming and grasp
being, if they are ever to become rational.
That's right.
And our guardian must be both a warrior and a philosopher.
Certainly.
Then it would be appropriate, Glaucon, to legislate this subject for
those who are going to share in the highest offices in the city and to
persuade them to turn to calculation and take it up, not as laymen do, but
staying with it until they reach the study of the natures of the numbers by
c
means of understanding itself, nor like tradesmen and retailers, for the
sake of buying and selling, but for the sake ofwar and for ease in turning
the soul around, away from becoming and towards truth and being.
Well put.
Moreover, it strikes me, now that it has been mentioned, how sophisticated the subject of calculation is and in how many ways it is useful for
d our purposes, provided that one practices it for the sake of knowing rather
than trading.
How is it useful?
In the very way we were talking about. It leads the soul forcibly upward
and compels it to discuss the numbers themselves, never permitting anyone
to propose for discussion numbers attached to visible or tangible bodies.
You know ,what those who are clever in these matters are like: If, in the
course of the argument, someone tries to divide the one itself, they laugh
and won't permit it. If you divide it, they multiply it, taking care that one
e
thing never be found to be many parts rather than one.
That's very true.
Then what do you think would happen, Glaucon, if someone were to
526 ask them: "What kind of numbers are you talking about, in which the one
is as you assume it to be, each one equal to every other, without the least
difference and containing no internal parts?"
I think they'd answer that they are talking about those numbers that can
be grasped only in thought and can't be dealt with in any other way.
Then do you see that it's likely that this subject really is compulsory for
b
us, since it apparently compels the soul to use understanding itself on the
truth itself?
Indeed, it most certainly does do that.
And what about those who are naturally good at calculation or reasoning?
Have you already noticed that they're naturally sharp, so to speak, in all
subjects, and that those who are slow at it, if they're educated and exercised
in it, even if they're benefited in no other way, nonetheless improve and
become generally sharper than they were?
That's true.
Moreover, I don't think you'll easily find subjects that are harder to
learn
or practice than this.
c
No, indeed.
Then, for all these reasons, this subject isn't to be neglected, and the
best natures must be educated in it.
I agree.
Let that, then, be one of our subjects. Second, let's consider whether
the subject that comes next is also appropriate for our purposes.
i n a t subject is that? Do you mean geometry?
That's the very one I had in mind.
Insofar as it pertains to war, it's obviously appropriate, for when it comes
d
to setting up camp, occupying a region, concentrating troops, deploying
them, or with regard to any of the other formations an army adopts in
:
battle or on the march, it makes all the difference whether someone is a
geometer or not.
But, for things like that, even a little geometry-or calculation for that
matter-would suffice. What we need to consider is whether the greater
and more advanced part of it tends to make it easier to see the form of
e
the good. And we say that anything has that tendency if it compels the
soul to turn itself around towards the region in which lies the happiest of
the things that are, the one the soul must see at any cost.
You're right.
Therefore, if geometry compels the soul to study being, it's appropriate,
but if it compels it to study becoming, it's inappropriate.
So we've said, at any rate.
Now, no one with even a little experience of geometry will dispute that 527
this science is entirely the opposite ofwhat is said about it in the accounts
of its practitioners.
How do you mean?
They give ridiculous accounts of it, though they can't help it, for they
speak like practical men, and all their accounts refer to doing things. They
talk of "squaring," "applying," "adding," and the like, whereas the entire
b
subject is pursued for the sake of knowledge.
Absolutely.
And mustn't we also agree on a further point?
What is that?
That their accounts are for the sake of knowing what always is, not what
comes into being and passes away.
That's easy to agree to, for geometry is knowledge of what always is.
Then it draws the soul towards truth and produces philosophic thought
by directing upwards what we now wrongly direct downwards.
As far as anything possibly can.
c
Then as far as we possibly can, we must require those in your fine city
not to neglect geometry in any way, for even its by-products are not
insignificant.
What are they?
T h e ones concerned with war that you mentioned. But we also surely
know that, when it comes to better understanding any subject, there is a
world of difference between someone who has grasped geometry and
someone who hasn't.
Yes, by god, a world of difference.
Then shall we set this down as a second subject for the young?
Let's do so, he said.
And what about astronomy? Shall we make it the third? Or do you
d
disagree?
.
That's fine with me, for a better awareness of the seasons, months, and
years is no less appropriate for a general than for a farmer or navigator.
You amuse me: You're like someone who's afraid that the majority will
think he is prescribing useless subjects. It's no easy task-indeed it's very
difficult-to realize that in every soul there is an instrument that is purified
and rekindled by such subjects when it has been blinded and destroyed
by other ways of life, an instrument that it is more important to preserve
e
than ten thousand eyes, since only with it can the truth be seen. Those
who share your belief that this is so will think you're speaking incredibly
well, while those who've never been aware of it will probably think you're
talking nonsense, since they see no benefit worth mentioning in these
subjects. So decide right now which group you're addressing. O r are your
528 arguments for neither of them but mostly for your own sake-though you
won't begrudge anyone else whatever benefit he's able to get from them?
The latter: I want to speak, question, and answer mostly for my own
sake.
Then let's fall back to our earlier position, for we were wrong just now
about the subject that comes after geometry.
What was our error?
After plane surfaces, we went on to revolving solids before dealing with
solids by themselves. But the right thing to do is to take up the third
b dimension right after the second. And this, I suppose, consists of cubes
and of whatever shares in depth.
You're right, Socrates, but this subject hasn't been developed yet.
There are two reasons for that: First, because no city values it, this
difficult subject is little researched. Second, the researchers need a director, for, without one, they won't discover anything. T o begin with, such a
director is hard to find, and, then, even if he could be found, those who
currently do research in this field would be too arrogant to follow him. If
c
an entire city helped him to supervise it, however, and took the lead in
valuing it, then he would be followed. And, if the subject was consistently
and vigorously pursued, it would soon be developed. Even now, when it
isn't valued and is held in contempt by the majority and is pursued by
researchers who are unable to give an account of its usefulness, nevertheless, in spite of all these handicaps, the force of its charm has caused it to
develop somewhat, so that it wouldn't be surprising if it were further
developed even as things stand.
The subject has outstanding charm. But explain more clearly what yqu
d
were saying just now. The subject that deals with plane surfaces you took
to be geometry.
Yes.
And at first you put astronomy after it, but later you went back on that.
In my haste to go through them all, I've only progressed more slowly.
T h e subject dealing with the dimension of depth was next. But because
it is in a ridiculous state, I passed it by and spoke of astronomy (which
deals with the motion of things having depth) after geometry.
e
That's right.
Let's then put astronomy as the fourth subject, on the assumption that
solid geometry will be available if a city takes it up.
That seems reasonable. And since you reproached me before for praising astronomy in a vulgar manner, I'll now praise it your way, for 1 think
it's clear to everyone that astronomy compels the soul to look upward and 529
leads it from things here to things there.
It may be obvious to everyone except me, but that's not my view about
it.
Then what is your view?
As it's practiced today by those who teach philosophy, it makes the soul
look very much downward.
How do you mean?
In my opinion, your conception of "higher studies" is a good deal too
generous, for if someone were to study something by leaning his head
back and studying ornaments on a ceiling, it looks as though you'd say
he's studying not with his eyes but with his understanding. Perhaps you're
b
right, and I'm foolish, but 1 can't conceive of any subject making the soul
look upward except one concerned with that which is, and that which is
is invisible. If anyone attempts to learn something about sensible things,
whether by gaping upward or squinting downward, I'd claim-since
there's no knowledge of such things-that he never learns anything and
that, even if he studies lying on his back on the ground or floating on it
c
in the sea, his soul is looking not up but down.
You're right to reproach me, and I've been justly punished, but what
did you mean when you said that astronomy must be learned in a different
way from the way in which it is learned at present if it is to be a useful
subject for our purposes?
It's like this: We should consider the decorations in the sky to be
the most beautiful and most exact of visible things, seeing that they're
embroidered on a visible surface. But we should consider their motions
to fall far short of the true ones-motions that are really fast or slow as d
measured in true numbers, that trace out true geometrical figures, that
are all in relation to one another, and that are the true motions of the
things carried along in them. And these, of course, must be grasped by
reason and thought, not by sight. O r do you think otherwise?
Not at all.
Therefore, we should use the embroidery in the sky as a model in the
-
BOOK
study of these other things.'' If someone experienced in geometry were
to come upon plans very carefully drawn and worked out by Daedalus or
some other craftsman or artist, he'd consider them to be very finely
e
executed, but he'd think it ridiculous to examine them seriously in order
530 to find the truth in them about the equal, the double, or any other ratio.
How could it be anything other than ridiculous?
Then don't you think that a real astronomer will feel the same when he
looks at the motions of the stars? He'll believe that the craftsman of the
heavens arranged them and all that's in them in the finest way possible
for such things. But as for the ratio of night to day, of days to a month,
of a month to a year, or of the motions of the stars to any of them or to
each other, don't you think he'll consider it strange to believe that they're
b always the same and never deviate anywhere at all or to try in any sort of
way to grasp the truth about them, since they're connected to body and
visible?
That's my opinion anyway, now that I hear it from you.
Then if, by really taking part in astronomy, we're to make the naturally
intelligent part of the soul useful instead of useless, let's study astronomy
by means of problems, as we do geometry, and leave the things in the sky
c
alone.
The task you're prescribing is a lot harder than anything now attempted
in astronomy.
And I suppose that, if we are to be of any benefit as lawgivers, our
prescriptions for the other subjects will be of the same kind. But have you
any other appropriate subject to suggest?
Not offhand.
Well, there isn't just one form of motion but several. Perhaps a wise
d person could list them all, but there are two that are evident even to us.
What are they?
Besides the one we've discussed, there is also its counterpart.
What's that?
It's likely that, as the eyes fasten on astronomical motions, so the ears
fasten on harmonic ones, and that the sciences of astronomy and harmonics are closely akin. This is what the Pythagoreans" say, Glaucon, and we
agree, don't we?
10. See 510d-51 la.
11. Pythagoras of Samos (sixth century) taught a way of life (see Republic 600b) in
which natural science became a religion. He is credited with discovering the mathematical ratios determining the principal intervals of the musical scale. H e seems to have
been led by this to believe that all natural phenomena are explicable in terms of
numbers. He may have discovered some version of the theorem about right triangles
that bears his name.
rE
!
i
!
*
vir
529d-53 1d
203
We do.
e
Therefore, since the subject is so huge, shouldn't we ask them what
they have to say about harmonic motions and whether there is anything
else besides them, all the while keeping our own goal squarely in view?
What's that?
That those whom we are rearing should never try to learn anything
incomplete, anything that doesn't reach the end that everything should
reach-the end we mentioned just now in the case of astronomy. Or don't
you know that people do something similar in harmonics? Measuring 531
audible consonances and sounds against one another, they labor in vain,
just like present-day astronomers.
Yes, by the gods, and pretty ridiculous they are too. They talk about
something they call a "dense interval" or quartertone'2-putting their ears
to their instruments like someone trying to overhear what the neighbors
are saying. And some say that they hear a tone in between and that it is
the shortest interval by which-they must measure, while others argue
that this tone sounds the same as a quarter tone. Both put ears before b
understanding.
You mean those excellent fellows who torment their strings, torturing
them, and stretching them on pegs. I won't draw out the analogy by
speaking of blows with the plectrum or the accusations or denials and
boastings on the part of the strings; instead I'll cut it short by saying that
these aren't the people I'm talking about. The ones I mean are the ones
we just said we were going to question about harmonics, for they do the
c
same as the astronomers. They seek out the numbers that are to be found
in these audible consonances, but they do not make the ascent to problems.
They don't investigate, for example, which numbers are consonant and
which aren't or what the explanation is of each.
But that would be a superhuman task.
Yet it's useful in the search for the beautiful and the good. But pursued
for any other purpose, it's useless.
Probably so.
Moreover, I take it that, if inquiry into all the subjects we've mentioned
brings out their association and relationship with one another and draws
conclusions about their kinship, it does contribute something to our goal d
and isn't labor in vain, but that otherwise it is in vain.
I, too, divine that this is true. But you're still talking about a very big
task, Socrates.
D o you mean the prelude, or what? Or don't you know that all these
subjects are merely preludes to the song itself that must also be learned?
12. A dense interval is evidently the smallest difference in pitch recognized in ancient
music.
Surely you don't think that people who are clever in these matters are
e
dialecticians.
No, by god, I don't. Although I have met a few exceptions.
But did it ever seem to you that those who can neither give nor follow
an account know anything at all of the things we say they must know?
My answer to that is also no.
532 Then isn't this at last, Glaucon, the song that dialectic sings? It is
intelligible, but it is imitated by the power of sight. We said that sight tries
at last to look at the animals themselves, the stars themselves, and, in the
end, at the sun itself.13 In the same way, whenever someone tries through
argument and apart from all sense perceptions to find the being itself
of each thing and doesn't give up until he grasps the good itself with
b understanding itself, he reaches the end of the intelligible, just as the
other reached the end of the visible.
Absolutely.
And what about this journey? Don't you call it dialectic?
I do.
Then the release from bonds and the turning around from shadows to
statues and the light of the fire and, then, the way up out of the cave to
the sunlight and, there, the continuing inability to look at the animals, the
plants, and the light of the sun, but the newly acquired ability to look at
divine images in water and shadows of the things that are, rather than, as
c
before, merely at shadows of statues thrown by another source of light
that is itself a shadow in relation to the sun-all this business of the crafts
we've mentioned has the power to awaken the best part of the soul and
lead it upward to the study of the best among the things that are, just as,
before, the clearest thing in the body was led to the brightest thing in the
d bodily and visible realm.
I accept that this is so, even though it seems very hard to accept in one
way and hard not to accept in another. All the same, since we'll have to
return to these things often in the future, rather than having to hear them
just once now, let's assume that what you've said is so and turn to the song
itself, discussing it in the same way as we did the prelude. So tell us: what is
the sort of power dialectic has, what forms is it divided into, and what path
does it follow? For these lead at last, it seems, towards that place which is a
e
rest from the road, so to speak, and an end of journeying for the one who
reaches it.
533 You won't be able to follow me any longer, Glaucon, even though there
is no lack of eagerness on my part to lead you, for you would no longer
be seeing an image of what we're describing, but the truth itself. At any
rate, that's how it seems to me. That it is really so is not worth insisting
13. See 516a-b.
on any further. But that there is some such thing to be seen, that is
something we must insist on. Isn't that so?
Of course.
And mustn't we also insist that the power of dialectic could reveal it
only to someone experienced in the subjects we've described and that it
cannot reveal it in any other way?
That too is worth insisting on.
At any rate, no one will dispute it when we say that there is no other b
inquiry that systematically attempts to grasp with respect to each thing
itself what the being of it is, for all the other crafts are concerned with
human opinions and desires, with growing or construction, or with the
care of growing or constructed things. And as for the rest, I mean geometry
and the subjects that follow it, we described them as to some extent
grasping what is, for we saw that, while they do dream about what is, they
are unable to command a waking view of it as long as they make use of
hypotheses that they leave untouched and that they cannot give any account
c
of. What mechanism could possibly turn any agreement into knowledge
when it begins with something unknown and puts together the conclusion
and the steps in between from what is unknown?
None.
Therefore, dialectic is the only inquiry that travels this road, doing away
with hypotheses and proceeding to the first principle itself, so as to be d
secure. And when the eye of the soul is really buried in a sort of barbaric
bog,14 dialectic gently pulls it out and leads it upwards, using the crafts we
described to help it and cooperate with it in turning the soul around.
From force of habit, we've often called these crafts sciences or kinds of
knowledge, but they need another name, clearer than opinion, darker than
knowledge. We called them thought somewhere before.'' But I presume
that we won't dispute about a name when we have so many more important
matters to investigate.
e
Of course not.
It will therefore be enough to call the first section knowledge, the second
thought, the third belief, and the fourth imaging, just as we did before.
The last two together we call opinion, the other two, intellect.16 Opinion is 534
14. See 519a-b.
15. See 511d-e.
16. The reference is to 51 Id-e, but there the first section is called understanding
(noisis) rather than knowledge (epistimt?). However, since we've just been told that
thought (dianoia) is not a kind of knowledge, understandingand knowing have in effect
become identified. It is harder to explain why knowledge and thought are now referred
to jointly as noisis. But presumably it is because that whole section of the line is earlier
referred to as the intelligible (nofton). See 509d-e. To prevent misunderstanding,
therefore, I have translated noisis as 'intellect' here.
concerned with becoming, intellect with being. And as being is to becoming, so intellect is to opinion, and as intellect is to opinion, so knowledge is
to belief and thought to imaging. But as for the ratios between the things
these are set over and the division of either the opinable or the intelligible
section into two, let's pass them by, Glaucon, lest they involve us in arguments many times longer than the ones we've already gone through.
I agree with you about the others in any case, insofar as I'm able to
b follow.
Then, do you call someone who is able to give an account of the being
of each thing dialectical? But insofar as he's unable to give an account of
something, either to himself or to another, do you deny that he has any
understanding of it?
How could I do anything else?
Then the same applies to the good. Unless someone can distinguish in
an account the form of the good from everything else, can survive all
refutation, as if in a battle, striving to judge things not in accordance with
c
opinion but in accordance with being, and can come through all this with
his account still intact, you'll say that he doesn't know the good itself or
any other good. But if he somehow gets hold of some image of it, you'll
say that it's through opinion, not knowledge, for he is dreaming and
asleep throughout his present life, and, before he wakes up here, he will
d arrive in Hades and go to sleep forever.
Yes, by god, I'll certainly say all of that.
Then, as for those children of yours whom you're rearing and educating
in theory, if you ever reared them in fact, I don't think that you'd allow
them to rule in your city or be responsible for the most important things
while they are as irrational as incommensurable lines.
Certainly not.
Then you'll legislate that they are to give most attention to the education
that will enable them to ask and answer questions most knowledgeably?
I'll legislate it along with you.
e
Then do you think that we've placed dialectic at the top of the other
subjects like a coping stone and that no other subject can rightly be placed
above it, but that our account of the subjects that a future ruler must learn
535 has come to an end?
Probably so.
Then it remains for you to deal with the distribution of these subjects,
with the question of to whom we'll assign them and in what way.
That's clearly next.
Do you remember what sort of people we chose in our earlier selection
of rulers?"
17. See 412b ff.
Of course I do.
In the other respects, the same natures have to be chosen: we have to
select the most stable, the most courageous, and as far as possible the
most graceful. In addition, we must look not only for people who have a
noble and tough character but for those who have the natural qualities b
conducive to this education of ours.
Which ones exactly?
They must be keen on the subjects and learn them easily, for people's
souls give up much more easily in hard study than in physical training,
since the pain-being peculiar to them and not shared with their bodyis more their own.
That's true.
We must also look for someone who has got a good memory, is persisc
tent, and is in every way a lover of hard work. How else do you think he'd
be willing to carry out both the requisite bodily labors and also complete
so much study and practice?
Nobody would, unless his nature was in every way a good one.
In any case, the present error, which as we said before explains why
philosophy isn't valued, is that she's taken up by people who are unworthy
of her, for illegitimate students shouldn't be allowed to take her up, but
only legitimate ones.
How so?
In the first place, no student should be lame in his love of hard work, d
really loving one half of it, and hating the other half. This happens when
someone is a lover of physical training, hunting, or any kind of bodily labor
and isn't a lover of learning, listening, or inquiry, but hates the work
involved in them. And someone whose love of hard work tends in the
opposite direction is also lame.
That's very true.
Similarly with regard to truth, won't we say that a soul is maimed if it
hates a voluntary falsehood, cannot endure to have one in itself, and is
greatly angered when it exists in others, but is nonetheless content to accept e
an involuntary falsehood, isn't angry when it is caught being ignorant, and
bears its lack of learning easily, wallowing in it like a pig?'8
Absolutely.
536
And with regard to moderation, courage, high-mindedness, and all the
other parts of virtue, it is also important to distinguish the illegitimate
from the legitimate, for when either a city or an individual doesn't know
how to do this, it unwittingly employs the lame and illegitimate as friends
or rulers for whatever services it wants done.
That's just how it is.
-
18. See 382a ff.
SOCRATES/GLAUCON
So we must be careful in all these matters, for if we bring people who
are sound of limb and mind to so great a subject and training, and educate
them in it, even justice itself won't blame us, and we'll save the city and
its constitution. But if we bring people of a different sort, we'll d o the
opposite, and let loose an even greater flood of ridicule upon philosophy.
And it would be shameful to do that.
It certainly would. But I seem to have done something a bit ridiculous
b
d
I forgot that we were only playing, and so I spoke too vehemently.
But I looked upon philosophy as I spoke, and seeing her undeservedly
besmirched, I seem to have lost my temper and said what I had to say too
earnestly, as if I were angry with those responsible for it.
That certainly wasn't my impression as I listened to you.
But it was mine as I was speaking. In any case, let's not forget that in
our earlier selection we chose older people but that that isn't ~ermittedin
this one, for we mustn't believe ~ o l o n "when he says that as someone
grows older he's able to learn a lot. He can do that even less well than he
Therefore, calculation, geometry, and all the preliminary education
required for dialectic must be offered to the future rulers in childhood,
and not in the shape of compulsory learning either.
e
Because no free person should learn anything like a slave. Forced bodily
labor does no harm to the body, but nothing taught by force stays in the
That's true.
Then don't use force to train the children in these subjects; use play
instead. That way you'll also see better what each of them is naturally
That seems reasonable.
Do you remember that we stated that the children were to be led into
war on horseback as observers and that, wherever it is safe to do so, they
should be brought close and taste blood, like ~uppies?
b
In all these things-in labors, studies, and fears-the ones who always
show the greatest aptitude are to be inscribed on a list.
At what age?
When they're released from compulsory physical training, for during
19. Athenian statesman, lawgiver, and poet (c. 640-560).
BOOK V l l
536a-538a
that period, whether it's two or three years, young people are incapable of
doing anything else, since weariness and sleep are enemies of learning.
At the same time, how they fare in this physical training is itself an
And after that, that is to say, from the age of twenty, those who are
chosen will also receive more honors than the others. Moreover, the
subjects they learned in no particular order as children they must now
bring together to form a unified vision of their kinship both with one
another and with the nature of that which is.
At any rate, only learning of that sort holds firm in those who receive
Well, then, you'll have to look out for the ones who most of all have this
ability in them and who also remain steadfast in their studies, in war, and
in the other activities laid down by law. And after they have reached their
thirtieth year, you'll select them in turn from among those chosen earlier
and assign them yet greater honors. Then you'll have to test them by
means of the power of dialectic, to discover which of them can relinquish
his eyes and other senses, going on with the help of truth to that which
by itself is. And this is a task that requires great care.
U'hat's the main reason for that?
c
d
Those who practice it are filled with lawlessness.
Why isn't it surprising? And why should I be sympathetic?
Because it's like the case of a child brought up surrounded by much
wealth and many flatterers in a great and numerous family, who finds out,
when he has become a man, that he isn't the child of his professed parents 538
and that he can't discover his real ones. Can you divine what the attitude
of someone like that would be to the flatterers, on the one hand, and to
his supposed parents, on the other, before he knew about his parentage,
and what it would be when he found out? O r would you rather hear what
I divine about it?
I'd rather hear your views.
BOOK
Well, then, I divine that during the time that he didn't know the truth,
he'd honor his father, mother, and the rest of his supposed family more
h than he would the flatterers, that he'd pay greater attention to their needs,
be less likely to treat them lawlessly in word or deed, and be more likely
to obey them than the flatterers in any matters of importance.
Probably so.
U%en he became aware of the truth, however, his honor and enthusiasm
would lessen for his family and increase for the flatterers, he'd obey the
latter far more than before, begin to live in the way that they did, and keep
company with them openly, and, unless he was very decent by nature, he'd
c
eventually care nothing for that father of his or any of the rest of his
supposed family.
All this would probably happen as you say, but in what way is it an
image of those who take up arguments?
As follows. We hold from childhood certain convictions about just and
fine things; we're brought up with them as with our parents, we obey and
honor them.
Indeed, we do.
There are other ways of living, however, opposite to these and full of
d
pleasures, that flatter the soul and attract it to themselves but which don't
persuade sensible people, who continue to honor and obey the convictions
of their fathers.
That's right.
And then a questioner comes along and asks someone of this sort,
"What is the fine?" And, when he answers what he has heard from the
traditional lawgiver, the argument refutes him, and by refuting him often
and in many places shakes him from his convictions, and makes him
believe that the fine is no more fine than shameful, and the same with the
just, the good, and the things he honored most. What do you think his
e
attitude will be then to honoring and obeying his earlier convictions?
Of necessity he won't honor or obey them in the same way.
Then, when he no longer honors and obeys those convictions and can't
discover the true ones, will he be likely to adopt any other way of life than
539 that which flatters him?
No, he won't.
And so, I suppose, from being law-abiding he becomes lawless.
Inevitably.
Then, as I asked before, isn't it only to be expected that this is what
happens to those who take up arguments in this way, and don't they
therefore deserve a lot of sympathy?
Yes, and they deserve pity too.
Then, if you don't want your thirty-year-olds to be objects of such pity,
I
t
i
t
,
vrr
538a-540a
21 1
you'll have to be extremely careful about how you introduce them to
arguments.
That's right.
And isn't it one jasting precaution not to let them taste arguments while
they're young? I don't suppose that it has escaped your notice that, when
young people get their first taste of arguments, they misuse it by treating b
it as a kind of game of contradiction. They imitate those who've refuted
them by refuting others themselves, and, like puppies, they enjoy dragging
and tearing those around them with their arguments.
They're excessively fond of it.
Then, when they've refuted many and been refuted by them in turn,
they forcefully and quickly fall into disbelieving what they believed before.
And, as a result, they themselves and the whole ofphilosophy are discredc
ited in the eyes of others.
That's very true.
But an older person won't want to take part in such madness. Eie'll
imitate someone who is willing to engage in discussion in order to look
for the truth, rather than someone who plays at contradiction for sport.
He'll be more sensible himself and will bring honor rather than discredit
to the philosophical way of life.
d
That's right.
And when we said before that those allowed to take part in arguments
should be orderly and steady by nature, not as nowadays, when even
the unfit are allowed to engage in them-wasn't all that also said as a
precaution?
Of course.
Then if someone continuously, strenuously, and exclusively devotes
himself to participation in arguments, exercising himself in them just as
he did in the bodily physical training, which is their counterpart, would
that be enough?
D o you mean six years or four?
e
It doesn't matter. Make it five. And after that, you must make them go
down into the cave again, and compel them to take command in matters
of war and occupy the other offices suitable for young people, so that they
won't be inferior to the others in experience. But in these, too, they must
be tested to see whether they'll remain steadfast when they're pulled this
way and that or shift their ground.
540
How much time do you allow for that?
Fifteen years. Then, at the age of fifty, those who've survived the tests
and been successful both in practical matters and in the sciences must be
led to the goal and compelled to lift up the radiant light of their souls to
what itself provides light for everything. And once they've seen the good
itself, they must each in turn put the city, its citizens, and themselves in
order, using it as their model. Each of them will spend most of his time
with philosophy, but, when his turn comes, he must labor in politics and
rule for the city's sake, not as if he were doing something fine, but rather
something that has to be done. Then, having educated others like himself
to take his place as guardians of the city, he will depart for the Isles of the
Blessed and dwell there. And, if the Pythia agrees, the city will publicly
c establish memorials and sacrifices to him as a daimon, but if not, then as
a happy and divine human being.
Like a sculptor,20Socrates, you've produced ruling men that are completely fine.
And ruling women, too, Glaucon, for you mustn't think that what I've
said applies any more to men than it does to women who are born with
the appropriate natures.
That's right, if indeed they are to share everything equally with the
men, as we said they should.
Then, do you agree that the things we've said about the city and its
d
constitution aren't altogether wishful thinking, that it's hard for them to
come about, but not impossible? And do you also agree that they can come
about only in the way we indicated, namely, when one or more true
philosophers come to power in a city, who despise present honors, thinking
them slavish and worthless, and who prize what is right and the honors
e that come from it above everything, and regard justice as the most important and most essential thing, serving it and increasing it as they set their
city in order?
How will they do that?
They'll send everyone in the city who is over ten years old into the
541 country. Then they'll take possession of the children, who are now free
from the ethos of their parents, and bring them up in their own customs
and laws, which are the ones we've described. This is the quickest and
easiest way for the city and constitution we've discussed to be established,
become happy, and bring most benefit to the people among whom it's
established.
That's by far the quickest and easiest way. And in my opinion, Socrates,
b you've described well how it would come into being, if it ever did.
Then, isn't that enough about this city and the man who is like it? Surely
it is clear what sort of man we'll say he has to be.
It is clear, he said. And as for your question, I think that we have reached
the end of this topic.
b
20. See 361d.
BOOKVIII
The description of the kallipolis and of the man whose character resembles itthe philosopher-king-is now complete, and Socrates returns to the argument
ittterrupted at the beginning of Book V. He describes four individual character
o ~ e and
s thefour types of cotistitutions that result when people who possess them
rule in a city (544d-5454. H e presents these as four stages in the increasing
corruption or decline ofthe kallipolis, and he aplains, by appeal to the mathenzatical myth of the geometrical tzumber (546a-4, why the kallipolis will decline.
Howmer, embedded in the myth is the serious philosophical suggestion that the
kallipolis will &cline because the philosopher-kings have to rely on senseperception
in putting their eugenics poliq into practice (546b-c).
Thejirst ofthe bad cities Socrates describes is a timocraq. I t is ruled by people
whose souls are themselz-les ruled by the spirited part of their soul, in which the
desirefor honor, victories, andgood reputatiott are located (5506). I t is thesecondbest city to the kallipolis. The third-best city is an oligarchy. It is ruled Ity people
whose souls are ruled by their necessaty appetites (554~).Thefourth-best city is
a democracy. It is ruled Ity people whose souls are ruled by unnecessaty appetites
(561~-6). The worst city of all is a granny. It is ruled Ity someone whose soul
is ruled by its lawless atzd unnecessaty appetites (571~).
Well, then, Glaucon, we've agreed to the following: If a city is to achieve
the height of good government, wives must be in common, children and 543
all their education must be in common, their way of life, whether in peace
or war, must be in common, and their kings must be those among,them
who have proved to be best, both in philosophy and in warfare.
We have agreed to that, he said.
Moreover, we also agreed that, as soon as the rulers are established,
they will lead the soldiers and settle them in the kind of dwellings we b
described, which are in no way private but common to all. And we also
agreed, if you remember, what kind of possessions they will have.
I remember that we thbught that none of them should acquire any of
the things that the other rulers now do but that, as athletes of war and
guardians, they should receive their yearly upkeep from the other citizens
/
I
The main arguttretrt of the Republic is now complete. Ifence Socrates is in a
position to discuss the kind ofpoet91 about hitman beings that is pernritted in the
kallipolis, a discussion that had to be postponed in Book III (392a-c). Giretr the
inipovtntrce Socrates attributes to music and poetry attdpl~~ysical
training (424b425a) amld the inrportance of Homer and I-lesiod in Greek edtictrtion, the retltnr
to this topic is hnrdly arz anticlimax. It is rather the ltzolnetit at which the fzern
philosoplij-based education colfrotlts the traditional edttcatioti based on poetty.
Central to this discussiolz is a new account of mimesis, or imitation, based ow
the ttletaplg~sicaltheories introduced in Books V-VII. Earlier irr Book III, iilnitati011 was sowiethitig a person did by inipersonating a character in a poettz (3944'
fj:); nom ilnitatioli is sonzething a poem or a pailztilzg does.
Sormtes' critiqite ofpoetry is extremel~subtle. The quesiion otz mkiclz itfocuses
is rvlzetlier rvhat ofre needs to k11ow in order to be a good poet qualijies one as a
teacher of rit~ue.Socrates argues that it does not. A n imitator, iti Pluto j. 1rem
tcch~zicalsense, is sonieotie mhoseproducts are third from the truth (597e), becaitse
they iwzitate tlie sorts ofthings the crajisttlan makes, mkich are tlietnselves 01141
inzitations of mhat the philosopher-king would make (596e-597e). Hence, if
poetry is thitdfronr the tntth, it too mill be imitative, and the poet will be an
imitator. But Socrates argues that the poet is an i?tzitatorm
ir this sense (598d607a), amid consequent41 he does not men haze true beliefabout zirtue. Makers
have true belieftkrouglz associating with users, mlzo alone have knomledge. Bzlt
inzitators don't sen haue ihe kitid of insight that makers do; thql have only
opinion-sottictimes true, solneiilnes false-nothing ttiore. Hence they are not
reliable teachers ofvirtrie and, because of their distrtr(litlg irq4uence merr on good
people, shoilld not be admitted into the kallipolis. Socrates' ban on ittzitative
poety is not final, hor~mer.f i e allomsfor the possibility tkat sottieolie nriglrt be
able to constnict a defense ofpoetry tkat wo111d change his ntitzd (607b-6086).
Hazing cotnpleted his account of poetry, Socrates trims to tlre topic of tlre
ittinzoeality of tlie soul and to the prmiousb excluded consequences ofjitstice
atid itljitstice (6096-6124. H e argues, in pari Iy llPPwl to the M y t h ofEr, that
tlregood consequence$ ofj~tsticeboth in this life and in the nextjzr olttmeiglr those
of iujitstice. TIzis cottipktes his argunietrt that justice belo~igsin the best of the
three classes ofgoods tkat Glaiicon distitzgrlisked at the begitzning of Book I/,
since it is choicewortl~~
both fnr its own sake u~iti.forits conseqrtelzces.
Indeed, I said, our city has many features that assure me that we were 595
entirely right in founding it as we did, and, when I say this, I'm especially
thinking of poetry.
What about it in particular? Glaucon said.
That we didn't admit any that is imitative. Now that we have distinguished the separate parts of the soul, it is even clearer, I think, that such
poetry should be altogether excluded.
b
What do you mean?
Between ourselves-for you won't denounce me to the tragic poets or
any of the other imitative ones-all such poetry is likely to distort the
thought of anyone who hears it, unless he has the knowledge ofwhat it is
really like, as a drug to counteract it.
What exactly do you have in mind in saying this?
I'll tell you, even though the love and respect I've had for Homer since
I was a child make me hesitate to speak, for he seems to have been the
first teacher and leader of all theGe fine tragedians. All the same, no one
is to be honored or valued more than the truth. So, as I say, it must be
c
told.
That's right.
Listen then, or, rather, answer.
Ask and I will.
Could you tell me what imitation in general is? I don't entirely understand what sort of thing imitations are trying to be.
Is it likely, then, that I'll understand?
That wouldn't be so strange, for people with bad eyesight often see
things before those whose eyesight is keener.
596
That's so, but even if something occurred to me, I wouldn't be eager
to talk about it in front of you. So I'd rather that you did the looking.
Do you want us to begin our examination, then, by adopting our usual
procedure? As you know, we customarily hypothesize a single form in
connection with each of the many things to which we apply the same
name.' O r don't you understand?
I do.
Then let's now take any of the rnanys you like. For example, there are
many beds and tables.
b
Of course.
But there are only two forms of such furniture, one of the bed and one
of the table.
Yes.
Arid don't we also customarily say that their makers look towards the
1. See 475e ff., 507a-b, and 476c
11.
29.
4
appropriate form in making the beds or tables we use, and similarly in the
other cases? Surely no craftsman makes the form itself. How could he?
There's no way he could.
Well, then, see what you'd call this craftsman?
c
Which one?
The one who makes all the things that all the other kinds of craftsmen
severally make.
That's a clever and wonderful fellow you're talking about.
Wait a minute, and you'll have even more reason to say that, for this
same craftsman is able to make, not only all kinds of furniture, but all
plants that grow from the earth, all animals (including himself), the earth
itself, the heavens, the gods, all the things in the heavens and in Hades
beneath the earth.
d
He'd be amazingly clever!
You don't believe me? Tell me, do you think that there's no way any
craftsman could make all these things, or that in one way he could and
in another he couldn't? Don't you see that there is a way in which you
yourself could make all of them?
What way is that?
It isn't hard: You could do it quickly and in lots of places, especially
if you were willing to carry a mirror with you, for that's the quickest way
of all. With it you can quickly make the sun, the things in the heavens,
the earth, yourself, the other animals, manufactured items, plants, and
e
everything else mentioned just now.
Yes, I could make them appear, but I couldn't make the things themselves as they truly are.
Well put! You've extracted the point that's crucial to the argument. I
suppose that the painter too belongs to this class of maker^,^ doesn't he?
Of course.
But I suppose you'll say that he doesn't truly make the things he makes.
Yet, in a certain way, the painter does make a bed, doesn't he?
Yes, he makes the appearance of one.
What about the carpenter? Didn't you just say that he doesn't make
597 the form-which is our term for the being3 of a bed-but only a bed?
Yes, I did say that.
Now, if he doesn't make the being of a bed, he isn't making that which
2. Throughout the following passage, Plato takes advantage of the fact that the Greek
word poiein means both "to make" generally and also "to compose poetry." Indeed,
the word poittts means both "poetn and "maker," so that to class the poet (and the
painter) as "makersn is much more natural in Greek than it is in English.
3. See 507b n. 24.
is, but something which is like that which is, but is not it. So, if someone
were to say that the work of a carpenter or any other craftsman is completely
that which is, wouldn't he risk saying what isn't true?4
That, at least, would be the opinion of those who busy themselves with
arguments of this sort.
Then let's not be surprised if the carpenter's bed, too, turns out to be
a somewhat dark affair in comparison to the true one.
All right.
Then, do you want us to try to discover what an imitator is by reference
to these same examples?
I do, if you do.
We get, then, these three kinds of beds. The first is in nature a bed,
and I suppose we'd say that a god makes it, or does someone else make
it?
No one else, I suppose.
.
T h e second is the work of ;carpenter.
Yes.
And the third is the one the painter makes. Isn't that so?
It is.
Then the painter, carpenter, and god correspond to three kinds of bed?
Yes, three.
Now, the god, either because he didn't want to or because it was
necessary for him not to do so, didn't make more than one bed in nature,
but only one, the very one that is the being of a bed. Two or more of these
have not been made by the god and never will be.
Why is that?
Because, if he made only two, then again one would come to light whose
form they in turn would both possess, and that would be the one that is
the being of a bed and not the other two.'
That's right.
T h e god knew this, I think, and wishing to be the real maker of the
truly real bed and not just a maker of a bed, he made it to be one in nature,
Probably so.
D o you want us to call him its natural maker or something like that?
It would be right to do so, at any rate, since he is by nature the maker
of this and everything else.
b
'
4. This sentence is best understood as follows: "If the carpenter doesn't make the
being of e.g. a bed, he isn't making that which a bed is, but something which, though
it is like what a bed is, isn't the same as what a bed is. So if someone were to say that
the work of a carpenter or other craftsman is completely that which it is (e.g. a bed),
wouldn't he risk saying what isn't true?"
5. Here Socrates uses the principle given at 596a.
c
d
268
SOCRATES
GLAUCON
What about a carpenter? Isn't he the maker of a bed?
Yes.
And is a painter also a craftsman and maker of such things?
Not at all.
Then what do you think he does do to a bed?
He imitates it. H e is an imitator ofwhat the others make. That, in my
view, is the most reasonable thing to call him.
e
All right. Then wouldn't you call someone whose product is third from
the natural one an imitator?'
I most certainly would.
Then this will also be true of a tragedian, if indeed he is an imitator.
He is by nature third from the king and the truth, as are all other imitators.
It looks that way.
We're agreed about imitators, then. Now, tell me this about a painter.
Do you think he tries in each case to imitate the thing itself in nature or
598 the works of craftsmen?
The works of craftsmen.
As they are or as they appear? You must be clear about that.
How do you mean?
Like this. If you look at a bed from the side or the front or from
anywhere else is it a different bed each time? O r does it only appear
different, without being at all different? And is that also the case with
other things?
That's the way it is-it appears different without being so.
Then consider this very point: What does painting do in each case?
b Does it imitate that which is as it is, or does it imitate that which appears
as it appears? Is it an imitation of appearances or of truth?
Of appearances.
Then imitation is far removed from the truth, for it touches only a small
part of each thing and a part that is itself only an image. And that, it seems,
is why it can produce everything. For example, we say that a painter can
paint a cobbler, a carpenter, or any other craftsman, even though he knows
nothing about these crafts. Nevertheless, if he is a good painter and
c
displays his painting of a carpenter at a distance, he can deceive children
and foolish people into thinking that it is truly a carpenter.
Of course.
Then this, I suppose, is what we must bear in mind in all these cases.
Hence, whenever someone tells us that he has met a person who knows
all the crafts as well as all the other things that anyone else knows and that
his knowledge of any subject is more exact than any of theirs is, we must
6. See 587c n. 10.
i
b
1
'
soon n 597d-599d
269
assume that we're talking to a simple-minded fellow who has apparently d
encountered some sort of magician or imitator and been deceived into
thinking him omniscient and that the reason he has been deceived is that
he himself can't distinguish between knowledge, ignorance, and imitation.
That's absolutely true.
Then, we must consider tragedy and its leader, Homer. T h e reason is
this: We hear some people say that poets know all crafts, all human affairs
concerned with virtue and vice, and all about the gods as well. They say e
that if a good poet produces fine poetry, he must have knowledge of the
things he writes about, or else he wouldn't be able to produce it at all.
Hence, we have to look to see whether those who tell us this have encountered these imitators and have been so deceived by them that they don't
realize that their works are at the third remove from that which is and are
easily produced without knowledge of the truth (since they are only images, 599
not things that are), or whethe: there is something in what these people
say, and good poets really do have knowledge of the things most people
think they write so well about.
We certainly must look into it.
Do you think that someone who could make both the thing imitated
and its image would allow himself to be serious about making images and
put this at the forefront of his life as the best thing to do?
b
No, I don't.
I suppose that, if he truly had knowledge of the things he imitates, he'd
be much more serious about actions than about imitations of them, would
try to leave behind many fine deeds as memorials to himself, and would
be more eager to be the subject of a eulogy than the author of one.
I suppose so, for these things certainly aren't equally valuable or equally
beneficial either.
Then let's not demand an account of any of these professions from
Homer or the other poets. Let's not ask whether any of them is a doctor
rather than an imitator of what doctors say, or whether any poet of the old c
or new school has made anyone healthy as Asclepius did, or whether he
has left any students of medicine behind as Asclepius did his sons. And
let's not ask them about the other crafts either. Let's pass over all that.
But about the most important and most beautiful things of which Homer
undertakes to speak-warfare, generalship, city government, and people's
education-about these it is fair to question him, asking him this: "Homer,
if you're not third from the truth about virtue, the sort of craftsman of d
images that we defined an imitator to be, but if you're even second and
capable of knowing what ways of life make people better in private or in
public, then tell us which cities are better governed because of you, as
Sparta is because of Lycurgus, and as many others-big and small-are
because of many other men? What city gives you credit for being a good
lawgiver who benefited it, as Italy and Sicily do to Charondas,' and as we
do to Solon? Who gives such credit to you?" Will he be able to name one?
I suppose not, for not even the Homeridae8 make that claim for him.
Well, then, is any war in Homer's time remembered that was won
600 because of his generalship and advice?
None.
Or, as befits a wise man, are many inventions and useful devices in the
crafts or sciences attributed to Homer, as they are to Thales of Miletus
and Anacharsis the ~ c y t h i a n ? ~
There's nothing of that kind at all.
Then, if there's nothing of a public nature, are we told that, when
Homer was alive, he was a leader in the education of certain people who
took pleasure in associating with him in private and that he passed on a
b Homeric way of life to those who came after him, just as Pythagoras did?
Pythagoras is particularly loved for this, and even today his followers are
conspicuous for what they call the Pythagorean way of life.
Again, we're told nothing of this kind about Homer. If the stories about
him are true, Socrates, his companion, C r e ~ ~ h y l u sseems
, ' ~ to have been
an even more ridiculous example of education than his name suggests, for
they tell us that while Homer was alive, Creophylus completely neglected
c
him.
They do tell us that. But, Glaucon, if Homer had really been able to
educate people and make them better, if he'd known about these things
and not merely about how to imitate them, wouldn't he have had many
companions and been loved and honored by them? Protagoras of Abdera,
Prodicus of Ceos," and a great many others are able to convince anyone
who associates with them in private that he wouldn't be able to manage
e
7. Charondas probably l i ~ e din the sixth c e n t u q B.C. and gave laws to Catane and
other cities in ltaly and Sicily.
8. T h e Homeridae were the rhapsodes and poets who recited and expounded Homer
throughout the Greek world.
9. Thales of iMiletus, on the lonian coast of Asia Minor, is the first philosopher we
know of in ancient Greece. H e seems to have regarded water as the fundamental
pinciple of all things and is said to have predicted the solar eclipse of 585 B.C.
Ancharsis, who lived around 600 B.C. and is often included among the Seven Sages,
is credited with beginning Greek geometry and with being able to calculate the distance
of ships at sea.
10. Creophylus is said to have been an epic poet from Chios. His name comes from
two words, kreas, meaning "meat," and phylon, meaning "race" or "kind." A modern
equivalent, with parallel comic overtones, would be "meathead."
11. Protagoras and Prodicus were two of the most famous fifth-century sophists.
his household or city unless they themselves supervise his education, and
they are so intensely loved because of this wisdom of theirs that their d
disciples do everything but carry them around on their shoulders. So do
you suppose that, if Homer had been able to benefit people and make
them more virtuous, his companions would have allowed either him or
Hesiod to wander around as rhapsodes? Instead, wouldn't they have clung
tighter to them than to gold and compelled them to live with them in their
homes, or, if they failed to persuade them to do so, wouldn't they have
followed them wherever they went until they had received sufficient edue
cation?
It seems to me, Socrates, that what you say is entirely true.
Then shall we conclude that all poetic imitators, beginning with Homer,
imitate images of virtue and all the other things they write about and have
no grasp of the truth? As we were saying just now, a painter, though he
knows nothing about cobblery, can make what seems to be a cobbler to
those who know as little about ifas he does and who judge things by their 601
colors and shapes.
That's right.
And in the same way, I suppose we'll say that a poetic imitator uses
words and phrases to paint colored pictures of each of the crafts. He
himself knows nothing about them, but he imitates them in such a way
that others, as ignorant as he, who judge by words, will think he speaks
extremely well about cobblery or generalship or anything else whatever,
provided-so great is the natural charm of these things-that he speaks
with meter, rhythm, and harmony, for if you strip a poet's works of their
musical colorings and take them by themselves, I think you know what b
they look like. You've surely seen them.
I certainly have.
Don't they resemble the faces of young boys who are neither fine nor
beautiful after the bloom of youth has left them?
Absolutely.
Now, consider this. We say that a maker of an image-an imitatorknows nothing about that which is but only about its appearance. Isn't that
so?
C
Yes.
Then let's not leave the discussion of this point halfivay, hut examine
it fully.
Go ahead.
Don't we say that a painter paints reins and a mouth-bit?
Yes.
And that a cobbler and a metal-worker makes them?
Of course.
272
SOCRATES/GLAUCON
Then, does a painter know how the reins and mouth-bit have to be? O r
is it the case that even a cobbler and metal-worker who make them don't
know this, but only someone who knows how to use them, namely, a
horseman?
That's absolutely true.
And won't we say that the same holds for everything?
What?
d
That for each thing there are these three crafts, one that uses it, one
that makes it, and one that imitates it?
Yes.
Then aren't the virtue or excellence, the beauty and correctness of each
manufactured item, living creature, and action related to nothing but the
use for which each is made or naturally adapted?
They are.
It's wholly necessary, therefore, that a user of each thing has most
experience of it and that he tell a maker which of his products performs
well or badly in actual use. A flute-player, for example, tells a flute-maker
about the flutes that respond well in actual playing and prescribes what
e
kind of flutes he is to make, while the maker follows his instructions.
Of course.
Then doesn't the one who knows give instructions about good and bad
flutes, and doesn't the other rely on him in making them?
Yes.
Therefore, a maker-through associating with and having to listen to
the one who knows-has right opinion about whether something he makes
602 is fine or bad, but the one who knows is the user.
That's right.
Does an imitator have knowledge of whether the things he makes are
fine or right through having made use of them, or does he have right
opinion about them through having to consort with the one who knows
and being told how he is to paint them?
Neither.
Therefore an imitator has neither knowledge nor right opinion about
whether the things he makes are fine or bad.
Apparently not.
Then a poetic imitator is an accomplished fellow when .it comes to
wisdom about the subjects of his poetry!
Hardly.
Nonetheless, he'll go on imitating, even though he doesn't know the
good or bad qualities of anything, but what he'll imitate, it seems, is what
6
appears fine or beautiful to the majority of people who know nothing.
Of course.
I
BOOK
x 601c-603a
It seems, then, that we're fairly well agreed that an imitator has no
worthwhile knowledge of the things he imitates, that imitation is a kind of
game and not something to be taken seriously, and that all the tragic poets,
whether they write in iambics or hexameters, are as imitative as they could
I
I
:
i
I
:
I
I
from the truth, or what?
I
And on which of a person's parts does it exert its power?
What do you mean?
This: Something looked at from close at hand doesn't seem to be the
same size as it does when it is looked at from a distance.
!
i
1
!
And something looks crooked when seen in water and straight when
seen out of it, while something else looks both concave and convex because
our eyes are deceived by its colers, and every other similar sort ofconfusion
is clearly present in our soul. And it is because they exploit this weakness
in our nature that trompe lheil painting, conjuring, and other forms of
trickery have powers that are little short of magical.
i
I
II
d
And don't measuring, counting, and weighing give us most welcome
assistance in these cases, so that we aren't ruled by something's looking
bigger, smaller, more numerous, or heavier, but by calculation, measurement, or weighing?
And calculating, measuring, and weighing are the work of the rational
But when this part has measured and has indicated that some things
are larger or smaller or the same size as others, the opposite appears to it
at the same time.
And didn't we say that it is impossible for the same thing to believe
opposites about the same thing at the same time?''
We did, and we were right to say it.
Then the part of the soul that forms a belief contrary to the measurements couldn't be the same as the part that believes in accord with them. 603
12. See 436b-c.
I
j
~
I
BOOK
b
c
d
e
Now, the part that puts its trust in measurement and calculation is the
best part of the soul.
Of course.
Therefore, the part that opposes it is one of the inferior parts in us.
Necessarily.
This, then, is what I wanted to get agreement about when I said that
painting and imitation as a whole produce work that is far from the truth,
namely, that imitation really consorts with a part of us that is far from
reason, and the result of their being friends and companions is'neither
sound nor true.
That's absolutely right.
Then imitation is an inferior thing that consorts with another inferior
thing to produce an inferior offspring.
So it seems.
Does this apply only to the imitations we see, or does it also apply to
the ones we hear-the ones we call poetry?
It probably applies to poetry as well.
However, we mustn't rely solely on a mere probability based on the
analogy with painting; instead, we must go directly to the part of our
thought with which poetic imitations consort and see whether it is inferior
or something to be taken seriously.
Yes, we must.
Then let's set about it as follows. We say that imitative poetry imitates
human beings acting voluntarily or under compulsion, who believe that,
as a result of these actions, they are doing either well or badly and who
experience either pleasure or pain in all this. Does it imitate anything apart
from this?
Nothing.
Then is a person of one mind in all these circumstances? Or, just as he
was at war with himself in matters of sight and held opposite beliefs about
the same thing at the same time, does he also fight with himself and engage
in civil war with himself in matters of action? But there is really no need
for us to reach agreement on this question now, for I remember that we
already came to an adequate conclusion about all these things in our
earlier arguments, when we said that our soul is full of a myriad of such
oppositions at the same time.I3
And rightly so.
It was right, but I think we omitted some things then that we must now
discuss.
What are they?
13. See 439c ff.
x 603a-604d
275
We also mentioned somewhere before14 that, if a decent man happens
to lose his son or some other prized possession, he'll bear it more easily
than the other sorts of people.
Certainly.
But now let's consider this. Will he not grieve at all, or, if that's
impossible, will he be somehow measured in his response to pain?
T h e latter is closer to the truth.
Now, tell me this about him: Will he fight his pain and put up more
resistance to it when his equals can see him or when he's alone by himself
in solitude?
He'll fight it far more when he's being seen.
But when he's alone I suppose he'll venture to say and do lots of things
that he'd be ashamed to be heard saying or seen doing.
That's right.
And isn't it reason and law that tells him to resist his pain, while his
experience of it tells him to Sve in?
True.
And when there are two opposite inclinations in a person in relation to
the same thing at the same time, we say that he must also have two parts.
Of course.
Isn't one part ready to obey the law wherever it leads him?
How so?
T h e law says, doesn't it, that it is best to keep as quiet as possible in
misfortunes and not get excited about them? First, it isn't clear whether
such things will turn out to be good or bad in the end; second, it doesn't
make the future any better to take them hard; third, human affairs aren't
worth taking very seriously; and, finally, grief prevents the very thing we
most need in such circumstances from coming into play as quickly as
possible.
What are you referring to?
Deliberation. We must accept what has happened as we would the fall
of the dice, and then arrange our affairs in whatever way reason determines
to be best. Ure mustn't hug the hurt part and spend our time weeping and
wailing like children when they trip. Instead, we should always accustom
our souls to turn as quickly as possible to healing the disease and putting
the disaster right, replacing lamentation with cure.
That would be the best way to deal with misfortune, at any rate.
Accordingly, we say that it is the best part of us that is willing to follow
this rational calculation.
Clearly.
14. See 387d-e.
Then won't we also say that the part that leads us to dwell on our
misfortunes and to lamentation, and that can never get enough of these
things, is irrational, idle, and a friend of cowardice?
We certainly will.
Now, this excitable character admits of many multicolored imitations.
But a rational and quiet character, which always remains pretty well the
e
same, is neither easy to imitate nor easy to understand when imitated,
especially not by a crowd consisting ofall sorts ofpeople gathered together
at a theater festival, for the experience being imitated is alien to them.
605 Absolutely.
Clearly, then, an imitative poet isn't by nature related to the part of the
soul that rules in such a character,15 and, if he's to attain a good reputation
with the majority of people, his cleverness isn't directed to pleasing it.
Instead, he's related to the excitable and multicolored character, since it
is easy to imitate.
Clearly.
Therefore, we'd be right to take him and put him beside a painter as
his counterpart. Like a painter, he produces work that is inferior with
respect to truth and that appeals to a part of the soul that is similarly
b inferior rather than to the best part. So we were right not to admit him
into a city that is to be well-governed, for he arouses, nourishes, and
strengthens this part of the soul and so destroys the rational one, in
just the way that someone destroys the better sort of citizens when he
strengthens the vicious ones and surrenders the city to them. Similarly,
we'll say that an imitative poet puts a bad constitution in the soul of each
individual by making images 'that are far removed from the truth and by
gratifying the irrational part, which cannot distinguish the large and the
small but believes that the same things are large at one time and small at
another.
That's right.
However, we haven't yet brought the most serious charge against imitation, namely, that with a few rare exceptions it is able to corrupt even
decent people, for that's surely an altogether terrible thing.
It certainly is, if indeed it can do that.
Listen, then, and consider whether it can or not. When even the best
of us hear Homer or some other tragedian imitating one of the heroes
sorrowing and making a long lamenting speech or singing and beating his
d breast, you know that we enjoy it, give ourselves up to following it, sympathize with the hero, take his sufferings seriously, and praise as a good poet
the one who affects us most in this way.
15. See 437d ff.
Of course we do.
But when one of us suffers a private loss, you realize that the opposite
happens. We pride ourselves if we are able to keep quiet and master our
grief, for we think that this is the manly thing to do and that the behavior
we praised before is womanish.
I do realize that.
Then are we right to praise it? Is it right to look at someone behaving
in a way that we would consider unworthy and shameful and to enjoy and
praise it rather than being disgusted by it?
No, by god, that doesn't seem reasonable.
No, at least not if you look at it in the following way.
How?
If you reflect, first, that the part of the soul that is forcibly controlled in
our private misfortunes and that hungers for the satisfaction of weeping
and wailing, because it desirg these things by nature, is the very part that
receives satisfaction and enjoyment from poets, and, second, that the part
of ourselves that is best by nature, since it hasn't been adequately educated
either by reason or habit, relaxes its guard over the lamenting part when
it is watching the sufferings of somebody else. T h e reason it does SO is
this: It thinks that there is no shame involved for it in praising and pitying
another man who, in spite of his claim to goodness, grieves excessively.
Indeed, it thinks that there is a definite gain involved in doing so, namely,
pleasure. And it wouldn't want to be deprived of that by despising the
whole poem. I suppose that only a few are able to figure out that enjoyment
of other people's sufferings is necessarily transferred to our own and that
the pitying part, if it is nourished and strengthened on the sufferings of
others, won't be easily held in check when we ourselves suffer.
That's very true.
And doesn't the same argument apply to what provokes laughter? If
there are any jokes that you yourself would be ashamed to tell but that
you very much enjoy hearing and don't detest as something evil in comic
plays or in private, aren't you doing the same thing as in the case ofwhat
provokes pity? T h e part of you that wanted to tell the jokes and that was
held back by your reason, for fear of being thought a buffoon, you then
release, not realizing that, by making it strong in this way, you will be led
into becoming a figure of fun where your own affairs are concerned.
Yes, indeed.
And in the case of sex, anger, and all the desires, pleasures, and pains
that we say accompany all our actions, poetic imitation has the very same
effect on us. It nurtures and waters them and establishes them as rulers
in us when they ought to wither and be ruled, for that way we'll become
better and happier rather than worse and more wretched.
I can't disagree with you.
And so, Glaucon, when you happen to meet those who praise Homer
and say that he's the poet who educated Greece, that it's worth taking
up his works in order to learn how to manage and educate people, and
that one should arrange one's whole life in accordance with his teachings,
you should welcome these people and treat them as friends, since they're
607 as good as they're capable of being, and you should agree that Homer is
the most poetic of the tragedians and the first among them. But you
should also know that hymns to the gods and eulogies to good people are
the only poetry we can admit into our city. If you admit the pleasuregiving Muse, whether in lyric or epic poetry, pleasure and pain will be
kings in your city instead of law or the thing that everyone has always
believed to be best, namely, reason.
That's absolutely true.
Then let this be our defense-now that we've returned to the topic of
b poetry-that, in view of its nature, we had reason to banish it from the
city earlier, for our argument compelled us to do so. But in case we are
charged with a certain harshness and lack of sophistication, let's also tell
poetry that there is an ancient quarrel between it and philosophy, which
is evidenced by such expressions as "the dog yelping and shrieking at its
master," "great in the empty eloquence of fools," "the mob of wise men
that has mastered zeus,"I6 and "the subtle thinkers, beggars all."" Nonec
theless, if the poetry that aims at pleasure and imitation has any argument
to bring forward that proves it ought to have a place in a well-governed
city, we at least would be glad to admit it, for we are well aware of the
charm it exercises. But, be that as it may, to betray what one believes to
be the truth is impious. What about you, Glaucon, don't you feel the
charm of the pleasure-giving Muse, especially when you study her through
d
the eyes of Homer?
Very much so.
Therefore, isn't it just that such poetry should return from exile when
it has successfully defended itself, whether in lyric or any other meter?
Certainly.
Then we'll allow its defenders, who aren't poets themselves but lovers
of poetry, to speak in prose on its behalf and to show that it not only gives
e
16. Reading to^nDia sopho'n orhlos krato'n. The phrase would apply to such philosophers
as Thales, who might seem to have replaced Zeus with natural forces.
17. Philosophers, such as Xenophanes and E~Ieraclitus,attacked Homer and Hesiod
for their immoral tales about the gods. Poets, such as Aristophanes in his Clouds,
attacked philosophers for subverting traditional ethical and religious values. But the
sources of these particular quotations are unknown.
pleasure but is beneficial both to constitutions and to human life. Indeed,
we'll listen to them graciously, for we'd certainly profit if poetry were
shown to be not only pleasant but also beneficial.
How could we fail to profit?
However, if such a defense isn't made, we'll behave like people who
have fallen in love with someone but who force themselves to stay away
from him, because they realize that their passion isn't beneficial. In the
same way, because the love of this sort of poetry has been implanted in
us by the upbringing we have received under our fine constitutions, we
are well disposed to any proof that it is the best and truest thing. But if it
isn't able to produce such a defense, then, whenever we listen to it, we'll
repeat the argument we have just now put forward like an incantation so
as to preserve ourselves from slipping back into that childish passion for
poetry which the majority of people have. And we'll go on chanting that
such poetry is not to be taken seriously or treated as a serious undertaking
with some kind of hold on the truth, but that anyone who is anxious about
the constitution within him must be careful when he hears it and must
continue to believe what we have said about it.
I completely agree.
Yes, for the struggle to be good rather than bad is important, Glaucon,
much more important than people think. Therefore, we mustn't be
tempted by honor, money, rule, or even poetry into neglecting justice and
the rest of virtue.
After what we've said, I agree with you, and so, I think, would anyone
else.
And yet we haven't discussed the greatest rewards and prizes that have
been proposed for virtue.
They must be inconceivably great, if they're greater than those you've
already mentioned.
Could anything really great come to pass in a short time? And isn't the
time from childhood to old age short when compared to the whole of time?
It's a mere nothing.
Well, do you think that an immortal thing should be seriously concerned
with that short period rather than with the whole of time?
I suppose not, but what exactly do you mean by this?
Haven't you realized that our soul is immortal and never destroyed?
He looked at me with wonder and said: No, by god, I haven't. Are you
really in a position to assert that?
I'd be wrong not to, I said, and so would you, for it isn't difficult.
It is for me, so I'd be glad to hear from you what's not difficult about
it.
Listen, then.
BOOK
Just speak, and I will.
Do you talk about good and bad?
I do.
And do you think about them the same way I do?
e
What way is that?
The bad is entirely coterminous with what destroys and corrupts, and
the good is what preserves and benefits.
I do.
And do you say that there is a good and a bad for everything? For
example, ophthalmia for the eyes, sickness for the whole body, blight for
609 grain, rot for wood, rust for iron or bronze. In other words, is there, as I
say, a natural badness and sickness for pretty well everything?
There is.
And when one of these attaches itself to something, doesn't it make the
thing in question bad, and in the end, doesn't it disintegrate it and destroy
it wholly?
Of course.
Therefore, the evil that is natural to each thing and the bad that is
peculiar to it destroy it. However, if they don't destroy it, nothing else will,
for the good would never destroy anything, nor would anything neither
b good nor bad.
How could they?
Then, if we discover something that has an evil that makes it bad but
isn't able to disintegrate and destroy it, can't we infer that it is naturally
incapable of being destroyed?
Probably so.
Well, what about the soul? Isn't there something that makes it bad?
Certainly, all the things we were mentioning: Injustice, licentiousness,
cowardice, and lack of learning.
c
Does any of these disintegrate and destroy the soul? Keep your wits
about you, and let's not be deceived into thinking that, when an unjust and
foolish person is caught, he has been destroyed by injustice, which is evil
in a soul. Let's think about it this way instead: Just as the body is worn out,
destroyed, and brought to the point where it is a body no longer by disease,
which is evil in a body, so all the things we mentioned just now reach the
point at which they cease to be what they are through their own peculiar
d evil, which attaches itself to them and is present in them. Isn't that so?
Yes.
Then look at the soul in the same way. Do injustice and the other vices
that exist in a soul-by their very presence in it and by attaching themselves
to it-corrupt it and make it waste away until, having brought it to the
point of death, they separate it from the body?
x
608d-610e
28 1
That's not at all what they do.
But surely it's unreasonable to suppose that a thing is destroyed by the
badness proper to something else when it is not destroyed by its own?
That is unreasonable.
Keep in mind, Glaucon, that we don't think that a body is destroyed by
the badness of food, whether it is staleness, rottenness, oi- anything else.
But if the badness of the food happens to implant in the body an evil
proper to a body, we'll say that the body was destroyed by its own evil,
namely, disease. But, since the body is one thing and food another, we'll
never judge that the body is destroyed by the badness of food, unless it
implants in it the body's own natural and peculiar evil.
That's absolutely right.
By the same argument, if the body's evil doesn't cause an evil in the
soul that is proper to the soul, we'll never judge that the soul, in the
absence of its own peculiar cvil, is destroyed by the evil of something else.
We'd never accept that atythingis destroyed by an evil proper to something
else.
That's also reasonable.
Then let's either refute our argument and show that we were wrong,
or, as long as it remains unrefuted, let's never say that the soul is destroyed
by a fever or any other disease or by killing either, for that matter, not
even if the body is cut up into tiny pieces. We mustn't say that the soul is
even close to being destroyed by these things until someone shows us that
these conditions of the body make the soul more unjust and more impious.
When something has the evil proper to something else in it, but its own
peculiar evil is absent, we won't allow anyone to say that it is destroyed,
no matter whether it is a soul or anything else whatever.
And you may be sure that no one will ever prove that the souls of the
dying are made more unjust by death.
But if anyone dares to come to grips with our argument, in order to
woid having to agree that our souls are immortal, and says that a dying
Ian does become more vicious and unjust, we'll reply that, ifwhat he says
is true, then injustice must be as deadly to unjust people as a disease, and
those who catch it must die of it because of its own deadly nature, with
the worst cases dying quickly and the less serious dying more slowly. As
things now stand, however, it isn't like that at all. Unjust people do indeed
die of injustice, but at the hands of others who inflict the death penalty
on them.
By god, if injustice were actually fatal to those who contracted it, it
wouldn't seem so terrible, for it would be an escape from their troubles.
But I rather think that it's clearly the opposite, something that kills other
people if it can, while, on top of making the unjust themselves lively, it
282
GLAUCON/SOCRA
I ES
even brings them out at night. Hence it's very far from being deadly to its
possessors.
You're right, for if the soul's own evil and badness isn't enough to kill
and destroy it, an evil appointed for the destruction of something else will
hardly kill it. Indeed, it won't kill anything at all except the very thing it
is appointed to destroj.
"Hardly" is right, or so it seems.
Now, if the soul isn't destroyed by a single evil, whether its own or
something else's, then clearly it must always be. And if it always is, it is
611 immortal.
Necessarily so.
So be it. And if it is so, then you realize that there would always be the
same souls, for they couldn't be made fewer if none is destroyed, and they
couldn't be made more numerous either. Ifanything immortal is increased,
you know that the increase would have to come from the mortal, and then
everything would end up being immortal.
That's true.
Then we mustn't think such a thing, for the argument doesn't allow it,
nor must we think that the soul in its truest nature is full of multicolored
b variety and unlikeness or that it differs with itself.
What do you mean?
It isn't easy for anything composed of many parts to be immortal if it
isn't put together in the finest way, yet this is how the soul now appeared
to us.
It probably isn't easy.
Yet our recent argument and others as well compel us to believe that
the soul is immortal. But to see the soul as it is in truth, we must not study
it as it is while it is maimed by its association with the body and other
evils-which is what we were doing earlier-but as it is in its pure state,
c
that's how we should study the soul, thoroughly and by means of logical
reasoning. We'll then find that it is a much finer thing than we thought
and that we can see justice and injustice as well as all the other things
we've discussed far more clearly. What we've said about the soul is true
of it as it appears at present. But the condition in which we've studied it
is like that of the sea god Glaucus, whose primary nature can't easily be
d made out by those who catch glimpses of him. Some of the original parts
have been broken off, others have been crushed, and his whole body has
been maimed by the waves and by the shells, seaweeds, and stones that
have attached themselves to him, so that he looks more like a wild animal
than his natural self. The soul, too, is in a similar condition when we study
it, beset by many evils. That, ~ l a u c o n :is why we have to look somewhere
else in order to discover its true nature.
UOOK
x 610e-612d
283
T o where?
T o its philosophy, or love of wisdom. We must realize what it grasps
and longs to have intercourse with, because it is akin to the divine and
immortal and what always is, and we must realize what it would become
if it followed this longing with its whole being, and if the resulting effort
lifted it out of the sea in which it now dwells, and if the many stones and
shells (those which have grown all over it in a wild, earthy, and stony
profusion because it feasts at those so-called happy feastings on earth)
were hammered off it.I8 Then we'd see what its true nature is and be able
to determine whether it has many parts or just one and whether or in what
manner it is put together. But we've already given a decent account, I
think, of what its condition is and what parts it has when it is immersed
in human life.
We certainly have.
And haven't we cleared a t a y the various other objections to our argument without having to invoke the rewards and reputations of justice, as
you said Homer and Hesiod did?" And haven't we found that justice itself
is the best thing for the soul itself, and that the soul-whether it has the
d just
ring of Gyges or even it together with the cap of ~ a d e s ~ ~ - s h o u ldo
things?
We have. That's absolutely true.
Then can there now be any objection, Glaucon, if in addition we return
to justice and the rest of virtue both the kind and quantity of wages that
they obtain for the soul from human beings and gods, whether in this life
or the next?
None whatever.
Then will you give me back what you borrowed from me during the
discussion?
What are you referring to in particular?
I granted your request that a just person should seem unjust and an
unjust one just, for you said that, even if it would be impossible for these
things to remain hidden from both gods and humans, still, this had to be
granted for the sake of argument, so that justice itself could be judged in
relation to injustice itself. Don't you remember that?
It would be wrong of me not to.
Well, then, since they've now been judged, I ask that the reputation
justice in fact has among gods and humans be returned to it and that we
18. See 519 ff.
19. See 357-367e.
20. T h e ring of Gyges is discussed at 359d-360a. T h e cap o f Hades also made its
wearer invisible.
agree that it does indeed have such a reputation and is entitled to carry
off the prizes it gains for someone by making him seem just. It is already
clear that it gives good things to anyone who is just and that it doesn't
deceive those who really possess it.
e
That's a fair request.
Then won't you first grant that it doesn't escape the notice of the gods
at least as to which of the two is just and which isn't?
We will.
Then if neither of them escapes the gods' notice, one would be loved
by the gods and the other hated, as we agreed at the beginning."
That's right.
And won't we also agree that everything that comes to someone who is
loved by gods, insofar as it comes from the gods themselves, is the best
613 possible, unless it is the inevitable punishment for some mistake he made
in a former life?
Certainly.
Then we must suppose that the same is true of a just person who falls
into poverty or disease or some other apparent evil, namely, that this will
end well for him, either during his lifetime or afterwards, for the gods
never neglect anyone who eagerly wishes to become just and who makes
himself as much like a god as a human can by adopting a virtuous way of
b life.
It makes sense that such a person not be neglected by anyone who is
like him.
And mustn't we suppose that the opposite is true of an unjust person?
Definitely.
Then these are some of the prizes that a just person, but not an unjust
one, receives from the gods.
That's certainly my opinion.
What about from human beings? What does a just person get from
them? Or, if we're to tell the truth, isn't this what happens? Aren't clever
but unjust people like runners who run well for the first part of the course
but not for the second? They leap away sharply at first, but they become
ridiculous by the end and go off uncrowned, with their ears drooping on
their shoulders like those of exhausted dogs, while true runners, on the
other hand, get to the end, collect the prizes, and are crowned. And isn't
c
it also generally true of just people that, towards the end of each course
of action, association, or life, they enjoy a good reputation and collect the
prizes from other human beings?
Of course.
21. See 363 ff.
Then will you allow me to say all the things about them that you yourself
said about unjust people? I'll say that it is just people who, when they're
old enough, rule in their own cities (if they happen to want ruling office) d
and that it is they who marry whomever they want and give their children
in marriage to whomever they want. Indeed, all the things that you said
about unjust people I now say about just ones.22As for unjust people, the
majority of them, even if they escape detection when they're young, are
caught by the end of the race and are ridiculed. And by the time they get
old, they've become wretched, for they are insulted by foreigners and
citizens, beaten with whips, and made to suffer those punishments, such
as racking and burning, which you rightly described as crude.23 Imagine
c
that I've said that they suffer all such things, and see whether you'll allow
me to say it.
Of course I will. What you say is right.
Then these are the prizes, yages, and gifts that a just person receives
from gods and humans while he is alive and that are added to the good
things that justice itself provides.
614
Yes, and they're very fine and secure ones too.
Yet they're nothing in either number or size compared to those that
await just and unjust people after death. And these things must also be
heard, if both are to receive in full what they are owed by the argument.
Then tell us about them, for there aren't many things that would be
b
more pleasant to hear.
It isn't, however, a tale of Alcinous that 1'11 tell you but that of a brave
Pamphylian man called Er, the son of Armenias, who once died in a war.24
When the rest of the dead were picked up ten days later, they were already
putrefying, but when he was picked up, his corpse was still quite fresh.
H e was taken home, and preparations were made for his funeral. But on
the twelfth day, when he was already laid on the funeral pyre, he revived
and, having done so, told what he had seen in the world beyond. H e said
that, after his soul had left him, it travelled together with many others until
22. See especially 361e-362c.
23. See 361d.
24. Books 9-1 1 of the Odyssq~were traditionally referred to as .4lkinou apologor, the
tales of Alcinous. Included among them in Book 11 is the story of Odysseus' descent
into Hades. Since the word translated by "brave" is alkimou, which is lery similar to
illkinou, some sort of pun seems to be involved here. T h e following is one attractive
possibility, but there are no doubt others as well.Alkinou might be taken as a compound
of alki (strength) + nous (understanding) and alkiinou as a compound of alkf + Mousa
(a Muse). Socrates would then be saying something like: It isn't a tale that shows
strength of understanding that I'm going to tell but one that shows the strength of the
h h s e of storytelling. See 509d n. 25 for another pun involving nous.
they came to a marvellous place, where there were two adjacent openings
in the earth, and opposite and above them two others in the heavens, and
between them judges sat. These, having rendered their judgment, ordered
the just to go upwards into the heavens through the door on the right,
with signs of the judgment attached to their chests, and the unjust to travel
downward through the opening on the left, with signs of all their deeds
d on their backs. When Er himself came forward, they told him that he was
to be a messenger to human beings about the things that were there, and
that he was to listen to and look at everything in the place. H e said that
he saw souls departing after judgment through one of the openings in the
heavens and one in the earth, while through the other two souls were
arriving. From the door in the earth souls came up covered with dust and
dirt and from the door in the heavens souls came down pure. And the
e souls who were arriving all the time seemed to have been on long journeys,
so that they went gladly to the meadow, like a crowd going to a festival,
and camped there. Those who knew each other exchanged greetings, and
those who come up from the earth asked those who came down from the
heavens about the things there and were in turn questioned by them about
the things below. And so they told their stories to one another, the former
615 weeping as they recalled all they had suffered and seen on their journey
below the earth, which lasted a thousand years, while the latter, who had
come from heaven, told about how well they had fared and about the
inconceivably fine and beautiful sights they had seen. There was much to
tell, Glaucon, and it took a long time, but the main point was this: For
each in turn of the unjust things they had done and for each in turn of
the people they had wronged, they paid the penalty ten times over, once
in every century of their journey. Since a century is roughly the length of
b a human life, this means that they paid a tenfold penalty for each injustice.
If, for example, some of them had caused many deaths by betraying
cities or armies and reducing them to slavery or by participating in other
wrongdoing, they had to suffer ten times the pain they had caused to each
individual. But if they had done good deeds and had become just and
pious, they were rewarded according to the same scale. H e said some
other things about the stillborn and those who had lived for only a short
time, but they're not worth recounting. And he also spoke of even greater
c
rewards or penalties for piety or impiety towards gods or parents and for
murder with one's own hands.
For example, he said he was there when someone asked another where
the great Ardiaius was. (This Ardiaius was said to have been tyrant in
some city in Pamphylia a thousand years before and to have killed his aged
father and older brother and committed many other impious deeds as
d well.) And he said that the one who was asked responded: "He hasn't
c
arrived here yet and never will, for this too was one of the terrible sights
we saw. When we came near the opening on our way out, after all our
sufferings were over, we suddenly. saw him together with some others,
pretty well all of whom were tyrants (although there were also some private
individuals among them who had committed great crimes). They thought
that they were ready to go up, but the opening wouldn't let them through,
for it roared whenever one of these incurably wicked people or anyone
else who hadn't paid a sufficient penalty tried to go up. And there were
savage men, all fiery to look at, who were standing by, and when they
heard the roar, they grabbed some of these criminals and led them away,
but they bound the feet, hands, and head of Ardiaius and the others, threw
them down, and flayed them. Then they dragged them out of the way,
lacerating them on thorn bushes, and telling every passer-by that they
were to be thrown into Tartarus," and explaining why they were being
treated in this way." And he said that of their many fears the greatest each
one of them had was that the r6ar would be heard as he came up and that
everyone was immensely relieved when silence greeted him. Such, then,
were the penalties and punishments and the rewards corresponding to
them.
Each group spent seven days in the meadow, and on the eighth they
had to get up and go on a journey. On the fourth day of that journey, they
came to a place where they could look down from above on a straight
column of light that stretched over the whole of heaven and earth,16 more
like a rainbow than anything else, but brighter and more pure. After
another day, they came to the light itself, and there, in the middle of the
light,'' they saw the extremities of its bonds stretching from the heavens,
for the light binds the heavens like the cables girding a trireme and holds
its entire revolution together. From the extremities hangs the spindle of
Necessity, by means of which all the revolutions are turned. Its stem and
hook are of adamant, whereas in its whorlZBadamant is mixed with other
kinds of material. The nature of the whorl was this: Its shape was like that
of an ordinary whorl, but, from what Er said, we must understand its
structure as follows. It was as if one big whorl had been made hollow by
being thoroughly scooped out, with another smaller whorl closely fitted
into. it, like nested boxes, and there was a third whorl inside the second,
25. Tartarus is the lowest part of Hades, the pit of hell.
26. dia paritos tolr ortranou kaigts tetamenon is usually translated as "stretched through
the whole of heaven and earth." But "stretched over the whole of heaven and earth"
is equally acceptable grammatically and gives a better overall sense. See 617b n. 29.
27. 1.e. in the middle of the circle of light.
28. A whorl (sphondulon) is the weight that twirls a spindle.
and so on, making eight whorls altogether, lying inside one another, with
their rims appearing as circles from above, while from the back they formed
one continuous whorl around the spindle, which was driven through the
e
center of the eighth. The first or outside whorl had the widest circular
rim; that of the sixth was second in width; the fourth was third; the eighth
was fourth; the seventh was fifth; the fifth was sixth; the third was seventh;
and the second was eighth. T h e rim of the largest was spangled; that of
the seventh was brightest; that of the eighth took its color from the
seventh's shining on it; the second and fifth were about equal in brightness,
617 more yellow than the others; the third was the whitest in color; the fourth
was rather red; and the sixth was second in whiteness. T h e whole spindle
turned at the same speed, but, as it turned, the inner spheres gently
revolved in a direction opposite to that of the whole. Of these inner
spheres, the eighth was the fastest; second came the seventh, sixth, and
b fifth, all at the same speed; it seemed to them that the fourth was third in
its speed of revolution; the fourth, third; and the second, fifth.2y he
spindle itself turned on the lap of Necessity. And up above on each of the
rims of the circles stood a Siren, who accompanied its revolution, uttering
a single sound, one single note. And the concord of the eight notes
produced a single harmony. And there were three other beings sitting at
equal distances from one another, each on a throne. These were the Fates,
the daughters of Necessity: Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos. They were
c
dressed in white, with garlands on their heads, and they sang to the music
of the Sirens. Lachesis sang of the past, Clotho of the present, and Atropos
of the future. With her right hand, Clotho touched the outer circumference
29. Plato's description of the light and the spindle is difficult. H e compares the light
to hypozomata, the ropes that bind a trireme together. These ropes seem to have girded
the trireme from stem to stern and to have entered it at both places. Within the trireme,
they were connected to some sort of twisting device that allowed them to be tightened
when the water caused them to stretch and become slack. T h e spindle of Necessity
seems to be just such a twisting device. Hence, the extremities of the light's bonds
must enter into the universe, just as the hypozomata enter the trireme, and the spindle
must be attached to these extremities, so that its spinning tightens the light and holds
the universe together. T h e light is thus like two rainbows around the universe (or the
whorl of the spindle) whose ends enter the universe and are attached to the spindle.
T h e upper half of the whorl of the spindle consists of concentric hemispheres that fit
into one another, with their lips or rims fitting together in a single plane. T h e outer
hemisphere is that of the iixed stars; the second is the orbit of Saturn; the third, of
Jupiter; the fourth, of Mars; the fifth, of Mercury; the sixth, of Venus; the seventh, of
the sun; and the eighth, of the moon. T h e earth is in the center. T h e hemispheres are
transparent, and the widths of their rims are the distances of the heavenly bodies from
one another. T h e most convincing discussion is J. S. Morrison, "Parmenides and Er."
TheJournal oJHe1lenic Studies (1955) 75: 59-68.
of the spindle and helped it turn, but left off doing so from time to time;
Atropos did the same to the inner ones; and Lachesis helped both motions
in turn, one with one hand and one with the other.
d
When the souls arrived at the light, they had to go to Lachesis right
away. There a Speaker arranged them in order, took from the lap of
Lachesis a number of lots and a number of models of lives, mounted a
high pulpit, and spoke to them: "Here is the message of Lachesis, the
maiden daughter of Necessity: 'Ephemeral souls, this is the beginning of
another cycle that will end in death. Your daimon or guardian spirit will
not be assigned to you by lot; you will choose him. T h e one who has the
first lot will be the first to choose a life to which he will then be bound by
e
necessity. Virtue knows no master; each will possess it to a greater or less
degree, depending on whether he values or disdains it. T h e responsibility
lies with the one who makes the choice; the god has none."' When he had
said this, the Speaker threw the lots among all of them, and each-with
the exception of Er, who wasn't allowed to choose-picked up the one
that fell next to him. And the lot made it clear to the one who picked it
up where in the order he would get to make his choice. After that, the
models of lives were placed on the ground before them. There were far
more of them than there were souls present, and they were of all kinds, 618
for the lives of animals were there, as well as all kinds of human lives.
There were tyrannies among them, some of which lasted throughout life,
while others ended halfway through in poverty, exile, and beggary. There
were lives of famous men, some of whom were famous for the beauty of
their appearance, others for their strength or athletic prowess, others still
for their high birth and the virtue or excellence of their ancestors. And
there were also lives of men who weren't famous for any of these things. b
And the same for lives of women. But the arrangement of the soul was
not included in the model because the soul is inevitably altered by the
different lives it chooses. But all the other things were there, mixed with
each other and with wealth, poverty, sickness, health, and the states
intermediate to them.
Now, it seems that it is here, Glaucon, that a human being faces the
greatest danger of all. And because of this, each of us must neglect all
other subjects and be most concerned to seek out and learn those that will c
enable him to distinguish the good life from the bad and always to make
the best choice possible in every situation. He should think over all the
things we have mentioned and how they jointly and severally determine
what the virtuous life is like. That way he will know what the good and
bad effects of beauty are when it is mixed with wealth, poverty, and a
particular state of the soul. H e will know the effects of high or low birth, d
private life or ruling office, physical strength or weakness, ease or difficulty
290
SOCRATES
in learning, and all the things that are either naturally part of the soul or
are acquired, and he will know what they achieve when mixed with one
another. And from all this he will be able, by considering the nature of
the soul, to reason out which life is better and which worse and to choose
accordingly, calling a life worse if it leads the soul to become more unjust,
better if it leads the soul to become more just, and ignoring everything
e
else: We have seen that this is the best way to choose, whether in life or
death. Hence, we must go down to Hades holding with adamantine
determination to the belief that this is so, lest we be dazzled there by
619 wealth and other such evils, rush into a tyranny or some other similar
course of action, do irreparable evils, and suffer even worse ones. And we
must always know how to choose the mean in such lives and how to avoid
either of the extremes, as far as possible, both in this life and in all those
b beyond it. This is the way that a human being becomes happiest.
Then our messenger from the other world reported that the Speaker
spoke as follows: "There is a satisfactory life rather than a bad one available
even for the one who comes last, provided that he chooses it rationally
and lives it seriously. Therefore, let not the first be careless in his choice
nor the last discouraged."
H e said that when the Speaker had told them this, the one who came
up first chose the greatest tyranny. In his folly and greed he chose it
without adequate examination and didn't notice that, among other evils,
he was fated to eat his own children as a part of it. When he examined at
c
leisure, the life he had chosen, however, he beat his breast and bemoaned
his choice. And, ignoring the warning of the Speaker, he blamed chance,
daimons, or guardian spirits, and everything else for these evils but himself.
He was one of those who had come down from heaven, having lived his
previous life under an orderly constitution, where he had participated in
virtue through habit and without philosophy. Broadly speaking, indeed,
d most of those who were caught out in this way were souls who had come
down from heaven and who were untrained in suffering as a result. T h e
majority of those who had come up from the earth, on the other hand,
having suffered themselves and seen others suffer, were in no rush to
make their choices. Because of this and because of the chance of the
lottery, there was an interchange of goods and evils for most of the souls.
However, if someone pursues philosophy in a sound manner when he
comes to live here on earth and if the lottery doesn't make him one of the
last to choose, then, given what Er has reported about the next world, it
e
looks as though not only will he be happy here, but his journey from here
to there and back again won't be along the rough underground path, but
along the smooth heavenly one.
Er said that the way in which the souls chose their lives was a sight
worth seeing, since it was pitiful, funny, and surprising to watch. For the 620
most part, their choice depended upon the character of their former life.
For example, he said that he saw the soul that had once belonged to
O ~ - ~ h echoosing
u s ~ ~ a swan's life, because he hated the female sex because
of his death at their hands, and so was unwilling to have a woman conceive
and give birth to him. Er saw the soul of ~ h a m y r i s ~choosing
'
the life of
a nightingale, a swan choosing to change over to a human life, and other
musical animals doing the same thing. T h e twentieth soul chose the life
of a lion. This was the soul of Ajax, son of el am on.'^ H e avoided human
b
life because he remembered the judgment about the armor. T h e next soul
was that of Agamemnon, whose sufferings also had made him hate the
~ ~ been
human race, so he changed to the life of an eagle. ~ t a l a n t ahad
assigned a place near the middle, and when she saw great honors being
given to a male athlete, she chose his life, unable to pass them by. After
her, he saw the soul of Epei;s, the son of Panopeus, taking on the nature
of a c r a f t ~ w o m a nAnd
. ~ ~ very close to last, he saw the soul of the ridiculous
c
Thersites clothing itself as a monkey.35Now, it chanced that the soul of
Odysseus got to make its choice last of all, and since memory of its former
sufferings had relieved its love of honor, it went around for a long time,
looking for the life of a private individual who did his own work, and with
difficulty it found one lying off somewhere neglected by the others. H e
chose it gladly and said that he'd have made the same choice even if he'd
been first. Still other souls changed from animals into human beings, or d
from one kind of animal into another, with unjust people changing into
wild animals, and just people into tame ones, and all sorts of mixtures
occurred.
30. See 364e n. 10. According to one myth, Orpheus was killed and dismembered by
Thracian women or Maenads.
3 1. Thamyris was a legendary poet and singer, who boasted that he could defeat the
Muses in a song contest. For this they blinded him and took away his voice. He is
mentioned at Iliad 2.596-600.
32. Ajax is a great Homeric hero. He thought that he deserved to be awarded the
armor of the dead Achilles, but instead it went to Odysseus. Ajax was maddened by
this injustice and finally killed himself because of the terrible things he had done while
mad. See Sophocles, Ajar.
33. Atalanta was a mythical huntress, who would marry only a man who could beat
her at running. In most versions of the myth, losers were killed. Melanion received
three golden apples from Aphrodite, which he dropped one by one during his race with
Atalanta. She stopped to pick them up, and he won the race.
34. Epeius is mentioned at Odyssg~8.493 as the man who helped Athena make the
Trojan Horse.
35. Thersites is an ordinary soldier who criticizes Agamemnon at Iliad 2.21 1-277.
Odysseus beats him for his presumption and is widely approved for doing so.
After all the souls had chosen their lives, they went forward to Lachesis
in the same order in which they had made their choices, and she assigned
to each the daimon it had chosen as guardian of its life and fulfiller of its
choice. This daimon first led the soul under the hand of Clotho as it
e
turned the revolving spindle to confirm the fate that the lottery and its
own choice had given it. After receiving her touch, he led the soul to the
spinning of Atropos, to make what had been spun irreversible. Then,
without turning around, they went from there under the throne of Necessity and, when all of them had passed through, they travelled to the Plain
621 of Forgetfulness in burning, choking, terrible heat, for it was empty of
trees and earthly vegetation. And there, beside the River of Unheeding,
whose water no vessel can hold, they camped, for night was coming on.
All of them had to drink a certain measure of this water, but those who
weren't saved by reason drank more than that, and as each of them drank,
he forgot eveything and went to sleep. But around midnight there was a
b clap of thunder and an earthquake, and they were suddenly carried away
from there, this way and that, up to their births, like shooting stars. Er
himself was forbidden to drink from the water. All the same, he didn't
know how he had come back to his body, except that waking up suddenly
he saw himself lying on the pyre at dawn.
And so, Glaucon, his story wasn't lost but preserved, and it would save
us, if we were persuaded by it, for we would then make a good crossing
of the River of Forgetfulness, and our souls wouldn't be defiled. But if
c
we are persuaded by me, we'll believe that the soul is immortal and able
to endure every evil and every good, and we'll always hold to the upward
path, practicing justice with reason in every way. That way we'll be friends
both to ourselves and to the gods while we remain here on earth and
d afterwards-like victors in the games who go around collecting their
prizes-we'll receive our rewards. Hence, both in this life and on the
thousand-year journey we've described, we'll do well and be happy.
ACCOUNT, ARGUMENT, DlSCUSSION (logos):
328d [conversation], 331d, 334a, d,
335a, 336b, e, 337e, 338d, 339d, 340d,
e, 341a, b, c [sense], 342b [sense],
343a, 344d, 345b, 348 a [replies], d
[mentioning], 349a, 351a, b [position],
352b [words], d, 353d [said], e, 354b,
357a, 358c, 359b, 360d, 361b, d, 362d,
e, 363c [stories], e, 364b, c, 365d, 366e
[conversations], 367b [theoretical argument], e [theoretical argument], 368b
[words], c, 369a [theory], c [theory],
376d, e, 376e [stories, story], 377e
[story], 378a [stories], e [stories], 380a,
381a, 382a [word], b [words], c [words],
e [word], 383a [words], 388e, 389a, d
[theory], 390a [words], 392a [story], c
[stories], 394d, e, 395b, 396a [word], e
[story], 398b [stories], d [words], 399d,
400a [words], c, d [words], 403c, 408d
[question], 411d, 413b, 414d [words],
42 1a, 425b [written], 43 la [expression],
435d, 436b, 437d [word], 439a [word],
440a [proves], b, d, 442a [stories], c
[reason], 445c, 449c, 450a, b, c, 451b,
c, 452d, 453a, c, d, 457c, e, 465e,
472a, e [theoretical model], 473a [theory], e [statement], 474a, 475a [word,
argument], c, 476a, b, 484a, 485a,
487b, c [words], e, 490d, 492d [words],
e [rule], 493d, 494e [reason], 497c
[theory], 498a, d, 499a, d, 500b [arguing], c, 501e [theory], 503a, 507a, b
[words], 509d, 510c, d [claims], 51 Ib,
518c, 522a [stories], 525d, 527a, 528a,
c, 529d, 531e, 532a, 533c, 534a [ratios,
arguments], b, c, d [theory], 538c, d,
539a, b, d 543c, 544a, b, 545b, c, 548b,
c, 549b, 550a, 554d, 560b-561b
[words], 563a [word], 564c [theory],
565e [story], 571b [reason], d, 576b,
578c, 581a, 582a-e, 584a, 586d, 588b
[words], d, 589d, 591a, 592a [theory],
596e, 597a, 599b, 601a [word], 603d,
607b, c, 608a, 6lOa, c, 611a, b, 612a, c,
614a, 617d [message]. See also REASON
(logos)
AESCHYLUS:361b,
362a, 380a, 383a, b,
550c, 563b
ANGER. See SPIRIT
328d, 329c,
359c, 390c, 429d, 430b, e, 431b, c, d,
437b, d, e, 438a, 439d, 440a, b, 485d,
493b, 533b, 548b, 554a, b, d, 555a,
558d, 559b, c, e, 560a, d, 561a, c,
571a, b, 572b, c, e, 573a, b, d, e, 575d,
578a, 579e, 580d, e, 581a, 586d, 587b
APPETITE, DESIRE (eprthumia):
APPETITIVE PART OF THE SOUL (epithutnili-
439d, e, 440e, 441a, 442a, 475b,
516d, 550b, 553c, 571e, 580e, 606d.
See also APPETITE, SPIRITED PART, RAkon):
TIONAL PART
ARCHILOCHUS:
365~
ARGUMENT. See ACCOUNT
ARISTOCRACT, ARISTOCRATIC PERSON:
338d, 445d, 544e, 545c, 547c, 587d.
See also DEMOCRACY, OLIGARCHY, PHILOSOPHY, TYRANNY
ASCLEPIUS: 40%-408c,
ASTRONOMY:
599~
527c, 528d-531a, 531b
BAD, FORM OF THE:
BEAUTIFUL.
476a
See fine
519a, 525b, c, 526e,
533b [growing], 534a, 546c [births]
BEING (ousia): 329e [wealthy], 330b
[wealth], d [wealth], 359a [essence],
361b [substantial wealth], 372b [reBECOMING (genesis):