Socrates - Adeimantus
Such then, I said, are
our principles of theology --some tales are to be told, and others are not to be
told to our disciples from their youth upwards, if we mean them to honour the
gods and their parents, and to value friendship with one another.
Yes; and I think that our
principles are right, he said.
But if they are to be
courageous, must they not learn other lessons besides these, and lessons of such
a kind as will take away the fear of death? Can any man be courageous who has
the fear of death in him?
Certainly not, he said.
And can he be fearless of
death, or will he choose death in battle rather than defeat and slavery, who
believes the world below to be real and terrible?
Impossible.
Then we must assume a
control over the narrators of this class of tales as well as over the others,
and beg them not simply to but rather to commend the world below, intimating to
them that their descriptions are untrue, and will do harm to our future
warriors.
That will be our duty, he
said.
Then, I said, we shall
have to obliterate many obnoxious passages, beginning with the verses,
I would rather he a serf
on the land of a poor and portionless man than rule over all the dead who have
come to nought. We must also expunge the verse, which tells us how Pluto feared,
Lest the mansions grim
and squalid which the gods abhor should he seen both of mortals and immortals.
And again:
O heavens! verily in the
house of Hades there is soul and ghostly form but no mind at all! Again of
Tiresias: --
[To him even after death
did Persephone grant mind,] that he alone should be wise; but the other souls
are flitting shades. Again: --
The soul flying from the
limbs had gone to Hades, lamentng her fate, leaving manhood and youth. Again: --
And the soul, with
shrilling cry, passed like smoke beneath the earth. And, --
As bats in hollow of
mystic cavern, whenever any of the has dropped out of the string and falls from
the rock, fly shrilling and cling to one another, so did they with shrilling cry
hold together as they moved. And we must beg Homer and the other poets not to be
angry if we strike out these and similar passages, not because they are
unpoetical, or unattractive to the popular ear, but because the greater the
poetical charm of them, the less are they meet for the ears of boys and men who
are meant to be free, and who should fear slavery more than death.
Undoubtedly.
Also we shall have to
reject all the terrible and appalling names describe the world below --Cocytus
and Styx, ghosts under the earth, and sapless shades, and any similar words of
which the very mention causes a shudder to pass through the inmost soul of him
who hears them. I do not say that these horrible stories may not have a use of
some kind; but there is a danger that the nerves of our guardians may be
rendered too excitable and effeminate by them.
There is a real danger,
he said.
Then we must have no more
of them.
True.
Another and a nobler
strain must be composed and sung by us.
Clearly.
And shall we proceed to
get rid of the weepings and wailings of famous men?
They will go with the
rest.
But shall we be right in
getting rid of them? Reflect: our principle is that the good man will not
consider death terrible to any other good man who is his comrade.
Yes; that is our
principle.
And therefore he will not
sorrow for his departed friend as though he had suffered anything terrible?
He will not.
Such an one, as we
further maintain, is sufficient for himself and his own happiness, and therefore
is least in need of other men.
True, he said.
And for this reason the
loss of a son or brother, or the deprivation of fortune, is to him of all men
least terrible.
Assuredly.
And therefore he will be
least likely to lament, and will bear with the greatest equanimity any
misfortune of this sort which may befall him.
Yes, he will feel such a
misfortune far less than another.
Then we shall be right in
getting rid of the lamentations of famous men, and making them over to women
(and not even to women who are good for anything), or to men of a baser sort,
that those who are being educated by us to be the defenders of their country may
scorn to do the like.
That will be very right.
Then we will once more
entreat Homer and the other poets not to depict Achilles, who is the son of a
goddess, first lying on his side, then on his back, and then on his face; then
starting up and sailing in a frenzy along the shores of the barren sea; now
taking the sooty ashes in both his hands and pouring them over his head, or
weeping and wailing in the various modes which Homer has delineated. Nor should
he describe Priam the kinsman of the gods as praying and beseeching,
Rolling in the dirt,
calling each man loudly by his name. Still more earnestly will we beg of him at
all events not to introduce the gods lamenting and saying,
Alas! my misery! Alas!
that I bore the harvest to my sorrow. But if he must introduce the gods, at any
rate let him not dare so completely to misrepresent the greatest of the gods, as
to make him say --
O heavens! with my eyes
verily I behold a dear friend of mine chased round and round the city, and my
heart is sorrowful. Or again: --
Woe is me that I am fated
to have Sarpedon, dearest of men to me, subdued at the hands of Patroclus the
son of Menoetius. For if, my sweet Adeimantus, our youth seriously listen to
such unworthy representations of the gods, instead of laughing at them as they
ought, hardly will any of them deem that he himself, being but a man, can be
dishonoured by similar actions; neither will he rebuke any inclination which may
arise in his mind to say and do the like. And instead of having any shame or
self-control, he will be always whining and lamenting on slight occasions.
Yes, he said, that is
most true.
Yes, I replied; but that
surely is what ought not to be, as the argument has just proved to us; and by
that proof we must abide until it is disproved by a better.
It ought not to be.
Neither ought our
guardians to be given to laughter. For a fit of laughter which has been indulged
to excess almost always produces a violent reaction.
So I believe.
Then persons of worth,
even if only mortal men, must not be represented as overcome by laughter, and
still less must such a representation of the gods be allowed.
Still less of the gods,
as you say, he replied.
Then we shall not suffer
such an expression to be used about the gods as that of Homer when he describes
how
Inextinguishable laughter
arose among the blessed gods, when they saw Hephaestus bustling about the
mansion. On your views, we must not admit them.
On my views, if you like
to father them on me; that we must not admit them is certain.
Again, truth should be
highly valued; if, as we were saying, a lie is useless to the gods, and useful
only as a medicine to men, then the use of such medicines should be restricted
to physicians; private individuals have no business with them.
Clearly not, he said.
Then if any one at all is
to have the privilege of lying, the rulers of the State should be the persons;
and they, in their dealings either with enemies or with their own citizens, may
be allowed to lie for the public good. But nobody else should meddle with
anything of the kind; and although the rulers have this privilege, for a private
man to lie to them in return is to be deemed a more heinous fault than for the
patient or the pupil of a gymnasium not to speak the truth about his own bodily
illnesses to the physician or to the trainer, or for a sailor not to tell the
captain what is happening about the ship and the rest of the crew, and how
things are going with himself or his fellow sailors.
Most true, he said.
If, then, the ruler
catches anybody beside himself lying in the State,
Any of the craftsmen,
whether he priest or physician or carpenter. he will punish him for introducing
a practice which is equally subversive and destructive of ship or State.
Most certainly, he said,
if our idea of the State is ever carried out.
In the next place our
youth must be temperate?
Certainly.
Are not the chief
elements of temperance, speaking generally, obedience to commanders and
self-control in sensual pleasures?
True.
Then we shall approve
such language as that of Diomede in Homer,
Friend, sit still and
obey my word, and the verses which follow,
The Greeks marched
breathing prowess,
...in silent awe of their
leaders, and other sentiments of the same kind.
We shall.
What of this line,
O heavy with wine, who
hast the eyes of a dog and the heart of a stag, and of the words which follow?
Would you say that these, or any similar impertinences which private individuals
are supposed to address to their rulers, whether in verse or prose, are well or
ill spoken?
They are ill spoken.
They may very possibly
afford some amusement, but they do not conduce to temperance. And therefore they
are likely to do harm to our young men --you would agree with me there?
Yes.
And then, again, to make
the wisest of men say that nothing in his opinion is more glorious than
When the tables are full
of bread and meat, and the cup-bearer carries round wine which he draws from the
bowl and pours into the cups, is it fit or conducive to temperance for a young
man to hear such words? Or the verse
The saddest of fates is
to die and meet destiny from hunger? What would you say again to the tale of
Zeus, who, while other gods and men were asleep and he the only person awake,
lay devising plans, but forgot them all in a moment through his lust, and was so
completely overcome at the sight of Here that he would not even go into the hut,
but wanted to lie with her on the ground, declaring that he had never been in
such a state of rapture before, even when they first met one another
Without the knowledge of
their parents; or that other tale of how Hephaestus, because of similar goings
on, cast a chain around Ares and Aphrodite?
Indeed, he said, I am
strongly of opinion that they ought not to hear that sort of thing.
But any deeds of
endurance which are done or told by famous men, these they ought to see and
hear; as, for example, what is said in the verses,
He smote his breast, and
thus reproached his heart,
Endure, my heart; far
worse hast thou endured!
Certainly, he said.
In the next place, we
must not let them be receivers of gifts or lovers of money.
Certainly not.
Neither must we sing to
them of
Gifts persuading gods,
and persuading reverend kings. Neither is Phoenix, the tutor of Achilles, to be
approved or deemed to have given his pupil good counsel when he told him that he
should take the gifts of the Greeks and assist them; but that without a gift he
should not lay aside his anger. Neither will we believe or acknowledge Achilles
himself to have been such a lover of money that he took Agamemnon's or that when
he had received payment he restored the dead body of Hector, but that without
payment he was unwilling to do so.
Undoubtedly, he said,
these are not sentiments which can be approved.
Loving Homer as I do, I
hardly like to say that in attributing these feelings to Achilles, or in
believing that they are truly to him, he is guilty of downright impiety. As
little can I believe the narrative of his insolence to Apollo, where he says,
Thou hast wronged me, O
far-darter, most abominable of deities. Verily I would he even with thee, if I
had only the power, or his insubordination to the river-god, on whose divinity
he is ready to lay hands; or his offering to the dead Patroclus of his own hair,
which had been previously dedicated to the other river-god Spercheius, and that
he actually performed this vow; or that he dragged Hector round the tomb of
Patroclus, and slaughtered the captives at the pyre; of all this I cannot
believe that he was guilty, any more than I can allow our citizens to believe
that he, the wise Cheiron's pupil, the son of a goddess and of Peleus who was
the gentlest of men and third in descent from Zeus, was so disordered in his
wits as to be at one time the slave of two seemingly inconsistent passions,
meanness, not untainted by avarice, combined with overweening contempt of gods
and men.
You are quite right, he
replied.
And let us equally refuse
to believe, or allow to be repeated, the tale of Theseus son of Poseidon, or of
Peirithous son of Zeus, going forth as they did to perpetrate a horrid rape; or
of any other hero or son of a god daring to do such impious and dreadful things
as they falsely ascribe to them in our day: and let us further compel the poets
to declare either that these acts were not done by them, or that they were not
the sons of gods; --both in the same breath they shall not be permitted to
affirm. We will not have them trying to persuade our youth that the gods are the
authors of evil, and that heroes are no better than men-sentiments which, as we
were saying, are neither pious nor true, for we have already proved that evil
cannot come from the gods.
Assuredly not.
And further they are
likely to have a bad effect on those who hear them; for everybody will begin to
excuse his own vices when he is convinced that similar wickednesses are always
being perpetrated by --
The kindred of the gods,
the relatives of Zeus, whose ancestral altar, the attar of Zeus, is aloft in air
on the peak of Ida, and who have
the blood of deities yet
flowing in their veins. And therefore let us put an end to such tales, lest they
engender laxity of morals among the young.
By all means, he replied.
But now that we are
determining what classes of subjects are or are not to be spoken of, let us see
whether any have been omitted by us. The manner in which gods and demigods and
heroes and the world below should be treated has been already laid down.
Very true.
And what shall we say
about men? That is clearly the remaining portion of our subject.
Clearly so.
But we are not in a
condition to answer this question at present, my friend.
Why not?
Because, if I am not
mistaken, we shall have to say that about men poets and story-tellers are guilty
of making the gravest misstatements when they tell us that wicked men are often
happy, and the good miserable; and that injustice is profitable when undetected,
but that justice is a man's own loss and another's gain --these things we shall
forbid them to utter, and command them to sing and say the opposite.
To be sure we shall, he
replied.
But if you admit that I
am right in this, then I shall maintain that you have implied the principle for
which we have been all along contending.
I grant the truth of your
inference.
That such things are or
are not to be said about men is a question which we cannot determine until we
have discovered what justice is, and how naturally advantageous to the
possessor, whether he seems to be just or not.
Most true, he said.
Enough of the subjects of
poetry: let us now speak of the style; and when this has been considered, both
matter and manner will have been completely treated.
I do not understand what
you mean, said Adeimantus.
Then I must make you
understand; and perhaps I may be more intelligible if I put the matter in this
way. You are aware, I suppose, that all mythology and poetry is a narration of
events, either past, present, or to come?
Certainly, he replied.
And narration may be
either simple narration, or imitation, or a union of the two?
That again, he said, I do
not quite understand.
I fear that I must be a
ridiculous teacher when I have so much difficulty in making myself apprehended.
Like a bad speaker, therefore, I will not take the whole of the subject, but
will break a piece off in illustration of my meaning. You know the first lines
of the Iliad, in which the poet says that Chryses prayed Agamemnon to release
his daughter, and that Agamemnon flew into a passion with him; whereupon Chryses,
failing of his object, invoked the anger of the God against the Achaeans. Now as
far as these lines,
And he prayed all the
Greeks, but especially the two sons of Atreus, the chiefs of the people, the
poet is speaking in his own person; he never leads us to suppose that he is any
one else. But in what follows he takes the person of Chryses, and then he does
all that he can to make us believe that the speaker is not Homer, but the aged
priest himself. And in this double form he has cast the entire narrative of the
events which occurred at Troy and in Ithaca and throughout the Odyssey.
Yes.
And a narrative it
remains both in the speeches which the poet recites from time to time and in the
intermediate passages?
Quite true.
But when the poet speaks
in the person of another, may we not say that he assimilates his style to that
of the person who, as he informs you, is going to speak?
Certainly.
And this assimilation of
himself to another, either by the use of voice or gesture, is the imitation of
the person whose character he assumes?
Of course.
Then in this case the
narrative of the poet may be said to proceed by way of imitation?
Very true.
Or, if the poet
everywhere appears and never conceals himself, then again the imitation is
dropped, and his poetry becomes simple narration. However, in order that I may
make my meaning quite clear, and that you may no more say, I don't understand,'
I will show how the change might be effected. If Homer had said, 'The priest
came, having his daughter's ransom in his hands, supplicating the Achaeans, and
above all the kings;' and then if, instead of speaking in the person of Chryses,
he had continued in his own person, the words would have been, not imitation,
but simple narration. The passage would have run as follows (I am no poet, and
therefore I drop the metre), 'The priest came and prayed the gods on behalf of
the Greeks that they might capture Troy and return safely home, but begged that
they would give him back his daughter, and take the ransom which he brought, and
respect the God. Thus he spoke, and the other Greeks revered the priest and
assented. But Agamemnon was wroth, and bade him depart and not come again, lest
the staff and chaplets of the God should be of no avail to him --the daughter of
Chryses should not be released, he said --she should grow old with him in Argos.
And then he told him to go away and not to provoke him, if he intended to get
home unscathed. And the old man went away in fear and silence, and, when he had
left the camp, he called upon Apollo by his many names, reminding him of
everything which he had done pleasing to him, whether in building his temples,
or in offering sacrifice, and praying that his good deeds might be returned to
him, and that the Achaeans might expiate his tears by the arrows of the god,'
--and so on. In this way the whole becomes simple narrative.
I understand, he said.
Or you may suppose the
opposite case --that the intermediate passages are omitted, and the dialogue
only left.
That also, he said, I
understand; you mean, for example, as in tragedy.
You have conceived my
meaning perfectly; and if I mistake not, what you failed to apprehend before is
now made clear to you, that poetry and mythology are, in some cases, wholly
imitative --instances of this are supplied by tragedy and comedy; there is
likewise the opposite style, in which the my poet is the only speaker --of this
the dithyramb affords the best example; and the combination of both is found in
epic, and in several other styles of poetry. Do I take you with me?
Yes, he said; I see now
what you meant.
I will ask you to
remember also what I began by saying, that we had done with the subject and
might proceed to the style.
Yes, I remember.
In saying this, I
intended to imply that we must come to an understanding about the mimetic art,
--whether the poets, in narrating their stories, are to be allowed by us to
imitate, and if so, whether in whole or in part, and if the latter, in what
parts; or should all imitation be prohibited?
You mean, I suspect, to
ask whether tragedy and comedy shall be admitted into our State?
Yes, I said; but there
may be more than this in question: I really do not know as yet, but whither the
argument may blow, thither we go.
And go we will, he said.
Then, Adeimantus, let me
ask you whether our guardians ought to be imitators; or rather, has not this
question been decided by the rule already laid down that one man can only do one
thing well, and not many; and that if he attempt many, he will altogether fall
of gaining much reputation in any?
Certainly.
And this is equally true
of imitation; no one man can imitate many things as well as he would imitate a
single one?
He cannot.
Then the same person will
hardly be able to play a serious part in life, and at the same time to be an
imitator and imitate many other parts as well; for even when two species of
imitation are nearly allied, the same persons cannot succeed in both, as, for
example, the writers of tragedy and comedy --did you not just now call them
imitations?
Yes, I did; and you are
right in thinking that the same persons cannot succeed in both.
Any more than they can be
rhapsodists and actors at once?
True.
Neither are comic and
tragic actors the same; yet all these things are but imitations.
They are so.
And human nature,
Adeimantus, appears to have been coined into yet smaller pieces, and to be as
incapable of imitating many things well, as of performing well the actions of
which the imitations are copies.
Quite true, he replied.
If then we adhere to our
original notion and bear in mind that our guardians, setting aside every other
business, are to dedicate themselves wholly to the maintenance of freedom in the
State, making this their craft, and engaging in no work which does not bear on
this end, they ought not to practise or imitate anything else; if they imitate
at all, they should imitate from youth upward only those characters which are
suitable to their profession --the courageous, temperate, holy, free, and the
like; but they should not depict or be skilful at imitating any kind of
illiberality or baseness, lest from imitation they should come to be what they
imitate. Did you never observe how imitations, beginning in early youth and
continuing far into life, at length grow into habits and become a second nature,
affecting body, voice, and mind?
Yes, certainly, he said.
Then, I said, we will not
allow those for whom we profess a care and of whom we say that they ought to be
good men, to imitate a woman, whether young or old, quarrelling with her
husband, or striving and vaunting against the gods in conceit of her happiness,
or when she is in affliction, or sorrow, or weeping; and certainly not one who
is in sickness, love, or labour.
Very right, he said.
Neither must they
represent slaves, male or female, performing the offices of slaves?
They must not.
And surely not bad men,
whether cowards or any others, who do the reverse of what we have just been
prescribing, who scold or mock or revile one another in drink or out of in drink
or, or who in any other manner sin against themselves and their neighbours in
word or deed, as the manner of such is. Neither should they be trained to
imitate the action or speech of men or women who are mad or bad; for madness,
like vice, is to be known but not to be practised or imitated.
Very true, he replied.
Neither may they imitate
smiths or other artificers, or oarsmen, or boatswains, or the like?
How can they, he said,
when they are not allowed to apply their minds to the callings of any of these?
Nor may they imitate the
neighing of horses, the bellowing of bulls, the murmur of rivers and roll of the
ocean, thunder, and all that sort of thing?
Nay, he said, if madness
be forbidden, neither may they copy the behaviour of madmen.
You mean, I said, if I
understand you aright, that there is one sort of narrative style which may be
employed by a truly good man when he has anything to say, and that another sort
will be used by a man of an opposite character and education.
And which are these two
sorts? he asked.
Suppose, I answered, that
a just and good man in the course of a narration comes on some saying or action
of another good man, --I should imagine that he will like to personate him, and
will not be ashamed of this sort of imitation: he will be most ready to play the
part of the good man when he is acting firmly and wisely; in a less degree when
he is overtaken by illness or love or drink, or has met with any other disaster.
But when he comes to a character which is unworthy of him, he will not make a
study of that; he will disdain such a person, and will assume his likeness, if
at all, for a moment only when he is performing some good action; at other times
he will be ashamed to play a part which he has never practised, nor will he like
to fashion and frame himself after the baser models; he feels the employment of
such an art, unless in jest, to be beneath him, and his mind revolts at it.
So I should expect, he
replied.
Then he will adopt a mode
of narration such as we have illustrated out of Homer, that is to say, his style
will be both imitative and narrative; but there will be very little of the
former, and a great deal of the latter. Do you agree?
Certainly, he said; that
is the model which such a speaker must necessarily take.
But there is another sort
of character who will narrate anything, and, the worse lie is, the more
unscrupulous he will be; nothing will be too bad for him: and he will be ready
to imitate anything, not as a joke, but in right good earnest, and before a
large company. As I was just now saying, he will attempt to represent the roll
of thunder, the noise of wind and hall, or the creaking of wheels, and pulleys,
and the various sounds of flutes; pipes, trumpets, and all sorts of instruments:
he will bark like a dog, bleat like a sheep, or crow like a cock; his entire art
will consist in imitation of voice and gesture, and there will be very little
narration.
That, he said, will be
his mode of speaking.
These, then, are the two
kinds of style?
Yes.
And you would agree with
me in saying that one of them is simple and has but slight changes; and if the
harmony and rhythm are also chosen for their simplicity, the result is that the
speaker, if hc speaks correctly, is always pretty much the same in style, and he
will keep within the limits of a single harmony (for the changes are not great),
and in like manner he will make use of nearly the same rhythm?
That is quite true, he
said.
Whereas the other
requires all sorts of harmonies and all sorts of rhythms, if the music and the
style are to correspond, because the style has all sorts of changes.
That is also perfectly
true, he replied.
And do not the two
styles, or the mixture of the two, comprehend all poetry, and every form of
expression in words? No one can say anything except in one or other of them or
in both together.
They include all, he
said.
And shall we receive into
our State all the three styles, or one only of the two unmixed styles? or would
you include the mixed?
I should prefer only to
admit the pure imitator of virtue.
Yes, I said, Adeimantus,
but the mixed style is also very charming: and indeed the pantomimic, which is
the opposite of the one chosen by you, is the most popular style with children
and their attendants, and with the world in general.
I do not deny it.
But I suppose you would
argue that such a style is unsuitable to our State, in which human nature is not
twofold or manifold, for one man plays one part only?
Yes; quite unsuitable.
And this is the reason
why in our State, and in our State only, we shall find a shoemaker to be a
shoemaker and not a pilot also, and a husbandman to be a husbandman and not a
dicast also, and a soldier a soldier and not a trader also, and the same
throughout?
True, he said.
And therefore when any
one of these pantomimic gentlemen, who are so clever that they can imitate
anything, comes to us, and makes a proposal to exhibit himself and his poetry,
we will fall down and worship him as a sweet and holy and wonderful being; but
we must also inform him that in our State such as he are not permitted to exist;
the law will not allow them. And so when we have anointed him with myrrh, and
set a garland of wool upon his head, we shall send him away to another city. For
we mean to employ for our souls' health the rougher and severer poet or
story-teller, who will imitate the style of the virtuous only, and will follow
those models which we prescribed at first when we began the education of our
soldiers.
We certainly will, he
said, if we have the power.
Then now, my friend, I
said, that part of music or literary education which relates to the story or
myth may be considered to be finished; for the matter and manner have both been
discussed.
I think so too, he said.
Next in order will follow
melody and song.
That is obvious.
Every one can see already
what we ought to say about them, if we are to be consistent with ourselves.
SOCRATES - GLAUCON
I fear, said Glaucon,
laughing, that the words 'every one' hardly includes me, for I cannot at the
moment say what they should be; though I may guess.
At any rate you can tell
that a song or ode has three parts --the words, the melody, and the rhythm; that
degree of knowledge I may presuppose?
Yes, he said; so much as
that you may.
And as for the words,
there surely be no difference words between words which are and which are not
set to music; both will conform to the same laws, and these have been already
determined by us?
Yes.
And the melody and rhythm
will depend upon the words?
Certainly.
We were saying, when we
spoke of the subject-matter, that we had no need of lamentations and strains of
sorrow?
True.
And which are the
harmonies expressive of sorrow? You are musical, and can tell me.
The harmonies which you
mean are the mixed or tenor Lydian, and the full-toned or bass Lydian, and such
like.
These then, I said, must
be banished; even to women who have a character to maintain they are of no use,
and much less to men. Certainly.
In the next place,
drunkenness and softness and indolence are utterly unbecoming the character of
our guardians.
Utterly unbecoming.
And which are the soft or
drinking harmonies?
The Ionian, he replied,
and the Lydian; they are termed 'relaxed.'
Well, and are these of
any military use?
Quite the reverse, he
replied; and if so the Dorian and the Phrygian are the only ones which you have
left.
I answered: Of the
harmonies I know nothing, but I want to have one warlike, to sound the note or
accent which a brave man utters in the hour of danger and stern resolve, or when
his cause is failing, and he is going to wounds or death or is overtaken by some
other evil, and at every such crisis meets the blows of fortune with firm step
and a determination to endure; and another to be used by him in times of peace
and freedom of action, when there is no pressure of necessity, and he is seeking
to persuade God by prayer, or man by instruction and admonition, or on the other
hand, when he is expressing his willingness to yield to persuasion or entreaty
or admonition, and which represents him when by prudent conduct he has attained
his end, not carried away by his success, but acting moderately and wisely under
the circumstances, and acquiescing in the event. These two harmonies I ask you
to leave; the strain of necessity and the strain of freedom, the strain of the
unfortunate and the strain of the fortunate, the strain of courage, and the
strain of temperance; these, I say, leave.
And these, he replied,
are the Dorian and Phrygian harmonies of which I was just now speaking.
Then, I said, if these
and these only are to be used in our songs and melodies, we shall not want
multiplicity of notes or a panharmonic scale?
I suppose not.
Then we shall not
maintain the artificers of lyres with three corners and complex scales, or the
makers of any other many-stringed curiously-harmonised instruments?
Certainly not.
But what do you say to
flute-makers and flute-players? Would you admit them into our State when you
reflect that in this composite use of harmony the flute is worse than all the
stringed instruments put together; even the panharmonic music is only an
imitation of the flute?
Clearly not.
There remain then only
the lyre and the harp for use in the city, and the shepherds may have a pipe in
the country.
That is surely the
conclusion to be drawn from the argument.
The preferring of Apollo
and his instruments to Marsyas and his instruments is not at all strange, I
said.
Not at all, he replied.
And so, by the dog of
Egypt, we have been unconsciously purging the State, which not long ago we
termed luxurious.
And we have done wisely,
he replied.
Then let us now finish
the purgation, I said. Next in order to harmonies, rhythms will naturally
follow, and they should be subject to the same rules, for we ought not to seek
out complex systems of metre, or metres of every kind, but rather to discover
what rhythms are the expressions of a courageous and harmonious life; and when
we have found them, we shall adapt the foot and the melody to words having a
like spirit, not the words to the foot and melody. To say what these rhythms are
will be your duty --you must teach me them, as you have already taught me the
harmonies.
But, indeed, he replied,
I cannot tell you. I only know that there are some three principles of rhythm
out of which metrical systems are framed, just as in sounds there are four notes
out of which all the harmonies are composed; that is an observation which I have
made. But of what sort of lives they are severally the imitations I am unable to
say.
Then, I said, we must
take Damon into our counsels; and he will tell us what rhythms are expressive of
meanness, or insolence, or fury, or other unworthiness, and what are to be
reserved for the expression of opposite feelings. And I think that I have an
indistinct recollection of his mentioning a complex Cretic rhythm; also a
dactylic or heroic, and he arranged them in some manner which I do not quite
understand, making the rhythms equal in the rise and fall of the foot, long and
short alternating; and, unless I am mistaken, he spoke of an iambic as well as
of a trochaic rhythm, and assigned to them short and long quantities. Also in
some cases he appeared to praise or censure the movement of the foot quite as
much as the rhythm; or perhaps a combination of the two; for I am not certain
what he meant. These matters, however, as I was saying, had better be referred
to Damon himself, for the analysis of the subject would be difficult, you know.
Rather so, I should say.
But there is no
difficulty in seeing that grace or the absence of grace is an effect of good or
bad rhythm.
None at all.
And also that good and
bad rhythm naturally assimilate to a good and bad style; and that harmony and
discord in like manner follow style; for our principle is that rhythm and
harmony are regulated by the words, and not the words by them.
Just so, he said, they
should follow the words.
And will not the words
and the character of the style depend on the temper of the soul?
Yes.
And everything else on
the style?
Yes.
Then beauty of style and
harmony and grace and good rhythm depend on simplicity, --I mean the true
simplicity of a rightly and nobly ordered mind and character, not that other
simplicity which is only an euphemism for folly?
Very true, he replied.
And if our youth are to
do their work in life, must they not make these graces and harmonies their
perpetual aim?
They must.
And surely the art of the
painter and every other creative and constructive art are full of them,
--weaving, embroidery, architecture, and every kind of manufacture; also nature,
animal and vegetable, --in all of them there is grace or the absence of grace.
And ugliness and discord and inharmonious motion are nearly allied to ill words
and ill nature, as grace and harmony are the twin sisters of goodness and virtue
and bear their likeness.
That is quite true, he
said.
But shall our
superintendence go no further, and are the poets only to be required by us to
express the image of the good in their works, on pain, if they do anything else,
of expulsion from our State? Or is the same control to be extended to other
artists, and are they also to be prohibited from exhibiting the opposite forms
of vice and intemperance and meanness and indecency in sculpture and building
and the other creative arts; and is he who cannot conform to this rule of ours
to be prevented from practising his art in our State, lest the taste of our
citizens be corrupted by him? We would not have our guardians grow up amid
images of moral deformity, as in some noxious pasture, and there browse and feed
upon many a baneful herb and flower day by day, little by little, until they
silently gather a festering mass of corruption in their own soul. Let our
artists rather be those who are gifted to discern the true nature of the
beautiful and graceful; then will our youth dwell in a land of health, amid fair
sights and sounds, and receive the good in everything; and beauty, the effluence
of fair works, shall flow into the eye and ear, like a health-giving breeze from
a purer region, and insensibly draw the soul from earliest years into likeness
and sympathy with the beauty of reason.
There can be no nobler
training than that, he replied.
And therefore, I said,
Glaucon, musical training is a more potent instrument than any other, because
rhythm and harmony find their way into the inward places of the soul, on which
they mightily fasten, imparting grace, and making the soul of him who is rightly
educated graceful, or of him who is ill-educated ungraceful; and also because he
who has received this true education of the inner being will most shrewdly
perceive omissions or faults in art and nature, and with a true taste, while he
praises and rejoices over and receives into his soul the good, and becomes noble
and good, he will justly blame and hate the bad, now in the days of his youth,
even before he is able to know the reason why; and when reason comes he will
recognise and salute the friend with whom his education has made him long
familiar.
Yes, he said, I quite
agree with you in thinking that our youth should be trained in music and on the
grounds which you mention.
Just as in learning to
read, I said, we were satisfied when we knew the letters of the alphabet, which
are very few, in all their recurring sizes and combinations; not slighting them
as unimportant whether they occupy a space large or small, but everywhere eager
to make them out; and not thinking ourselves perfect in the art of reading until
we recognise them wherever they are found:
True --
Or, as we recognise the
reflection of letters in the water, or in a mirror, only when we know the
letters themselves; the same art and study giving us the knowledge of both:
Exactly --
Even so, as I maintain,
neither we nor our guardians, whom we have to educate, can ever become musical
until we and they know the essential forms, in all their combinations, and can
recognise them and their images wherever they are found, not slighting them
either in small things or great, but believing them all to be within the sphere
of one art and study.
Most assuredly.
And when a beautiful soul
harmonises with a beautiful form, and the two are cast in one mould, that will
be the fairest of sights to him who has an eye to see it?
The fairest indeed.
And the fairest is also
the loveliest?
That may be assumed.
And the man who has the
spirit of harmony will be most in love with the loveliest; but he will not love
him who is of an inharmonious soul?
That is true, he replied,
if the deficiency be in his soul; but if there be any merely bodily defect in
another he will be patient of it, and will love all the same.
I perceive, I said, that
you have or have had experiences of this sort, and I agree. But let me ask you
another question: Has excess of pleasure any affinity to temperance?
How can that be? he
replied; pleasure deprives a man of the use of his faculties quite as much as
pain.
Or any affinity to virtue
in general?
None whatever.
Any affinity to
wantonness and intemperance?
Yes, the greatest.
And is there any greater
or keener pleasure than that of sensual love?
No, nor a madder.
Whereas true love is a
love of beauty and order --temperate and harmonious?
Quite true, he said.
Then no intemperance or
madness should be allowed to approach true love?
Certainly not.
Then mad or intemperate
pleasure must never be allowed to come near the lover and his beloved; neither
of them can have any part in it if their love is of the right sort?
No, indeed, Socrates, it
must never come near them.
Then I suppose that in
the city which we are founding you would make a law to the effect that a friend
should use no other familiarity to his love than a father would use to his son,
and then only for a noble purpose, and he must first have the other's consent;
and this rule is to limit him in all his intercourse, and he is never to be seen
going further, or, if he exceeds, he is to be deemed guilty of coarseness and
bad taste.
I quite agree, he said.
Thus much of music, which
makes a fair ending; for what should be the end of music if not the love of
beauty?
I agree, he said.
After music comes
gymnastic, in which our youth are next to be trained.
Certainly.
Gymnastic as well as
music should begin in early years; the training in it should be careful and
should continue through life. Now my belief is, --and this is a matter upon
which I should like to have your opinion in confirmation of my own, but my own
belief is, --not that the good body by any bodily excellence improves the soul,
but, on the contrary, that the good soul, by her own excellence, improves the
body as far as this may be possible. What do you say?
Yes, I agree.
Then, to the mind when
adequately trained, we shall be right in handing over the more particular care
of the body; and in order to avoid prolixity we will now only give the general
outlines of the subject.
Very good.
That they must abstain
from intoxication has been already remarked by us; for of all persons a guardian
should be the last to get drunk and not know where in the world he is.
Yes, he said; that a
guardian should require another guardian to take care of him is ridiculous
indeed.
But next, what shall we
say of their food; for the men are in training for the great contest of all
--are they not?
Yes, he said.
And will the habit of
body of our ordinary athletes be suited to them?
Why not?
I am afraid, I said, that
a habit of body such as they have is but a sleepy sort of thing, and rather
perilous to health. Do you not observe that these athletes sleep away their
lives, and are liable to most dangerous illnesses if they depart, in ever so
slight a degree, from their customary regimen?
Yes, I do.
Then, I said, a finer
sort of training will be required for our warrior athletes, who are to be like
wakeful dogs, and to see and hear with the utmost keenness; amid the many
changes of water and also of food, of summer heat and winter cold, which they
will have to endure when on a campaign, they must not be liable to break down in
health.
That is my view.
The really excellent
gymnastic is twin sister of that simple music which we were just now describing.
How so?
Why, I conceive that
there is a gymnastic which, like our music, is simple and good; and especially
the military gymnastic.
What do you mean?
My meaning may be learned
from Homer; he, you know, feeds his heroes at their feasts, when they are
campaigning, on soldiers' fare; they have no fish, although they are on the
shores of the Hellespont, and they are not allowed boiled meats but only roast,
which is the food most convenient for soldiers, requiring only that they should
light a fire, and not involving the trouble of carrying about pots and pans.
True.
And I can hardly be
mistaken in saying that sweet sauces are nowhere mentioned in Homer. In
proscribing them, however, he is not singular; all professional athletes are
well aware that a man who is to be in good condition should take nothing of the
kind.
Yes, he said; and knowing
this, they are quite right in not taking them.
Then you would not
approve of Syracusan dinners, and the refinements of Sicilian cookery?
I think not.
Nor, if a man is to be in
condition, would you allow him to have a Corinthian girl as his fair friend?
Certainly not.
Neither would you approve
of the delicacies, as they are thought, of Athenian confectionery?
Certainly not.
All such feeding and
living may be rightly compared by us to melody and song composed in the
panharmonic style, and in all the rhythms. Exactly.
There complexity
engendered license, and here disease; whereas simplicity in music was the parent
of temperance in the soul; and simplicity in gymnastic of health in the body.
Most true, he said.
But when intemperance and
disease multiply in a State, halls of justice and medicine are always being
opened; and the arts of the doctor and the lawyer give themselves airs, finding
how keen is the interest which not only the slaves but the freemen of a city
take about them.
Of course.
And yet what greater
proof can there be of a bad and disgraceful state of education than this, that
not only artisans and the meaner sort of people need the skill of first-rate
physicians and judges, but also those who would profess to have had a liberal
education? Is it not disgraceful, and a great sign of want of good-breeding,
that a man should have to go abroad for his law and physic because he has none
of his own at home, and must therefore surrender himself into the hands of other
men whom he makes lords and judges over him?
Of all things, he said,
the most disgraceful.
Would you say 'most,' I
replied, when you consider that there is a further stage of the evil in which a
man is not only a life-long litigant, passing all his days in the courts, either
as plaintiff or defendant, but is actually led by his bad taste to pride himself
on his litigiousness; he imagines that he is a master in dishonesty; able to
take every crooked turn, and wriggle into and out of every hole, bending like a
withy and getting out of the way of justice: and all for what? --in order to
gain small points not worth mentioning, he not knowing that so to order his life
as to be able to do without a napping judge is a far higher and nobler sort of
thing. Is not that still more disgraceful?
Yes, he said, that is
still more disgraceful.
Well, I said, and to
require the help of medicine, not when a wound has to be cured, or on occasion
of an epidemic, but just because, by indolence and a habit of life such as we
have been describing, men fill themselves with waters and winds, as if their
bodies were a marsh, compelling the ingenious sons of Asclepius to find more
names for diseases, such as flatulence and catarrh; is not this, too, a
disgrace?
Yes, he said, they do
certainly give very strange and newfangled names to diseases.
Yes, I said, and I do not
believe that there were any such diseases in the days of Asclepius; and this I
infer from the circumstance that the hero Eurypylus, after he has been wounded
in Homer, drinks a posset of Pramnian wine well besprinkled with barley-meal and
grated cheese, which are certainly inflammatory, and yet the sons of Asclepius
who were at the Trojan war do not blame the damsel who gives him the drink, or
rebuke Patroclus, who is treating his case.
Well, he said, that was
surely an extraordinary drink to be given to a person in his condition.
Not so extraordinary, I
replied, if you bear in mind that in former days, as is commonly said, before
the time of Herodicus, the guild of Asclepius did not practise our present
system of medicine, which may be said to educate diseases. But Herodicus, being
a trainer, and himself of a sickly constitution, by a combination of training
and doctoring found out a way of torturing first and chiefly himself, and
secondly the rest of the world.
How was that? he said.
By the invention of
lingering death; for he had a mortal disease which he perpetually tended, and as
recovery was out of the question, he passed his entire life as a valetudinarian;
he could do nothing but attend upon himself, and he was in constant torment
whenever he departed in anything from his usual regimen, and so dying hard, by
the help of science he struggled on to old age.
A rare reward of his
skill!
Yes, I said; a reward
which a man might fairly expect who never understood that, if Asclepius did not
instruct his descendants in valetudinarian arts, the omission arose, not from
ignorance or inexperience of such a branch of medicine, but because he knew that
in all well-ordered states every individual has an occupation to which he must
attend, and has therefore no leisure to spend in continually being ill. This we
remark in the case of the artisan, but, ludicrously enough, do not apply the
same rule to people of the richer sort.
How do you mean? he said.
I mean this: When a
carpenter is ill he asks the physician for a rough and ready cure; an emetic or
a purge or a cautery or the knife, --these are his remedies. And if some one
prescribes for him a course of dietetics, and tells him that he must swathe and
swaddle his head, and all that sort of thing, he replies at once that he has no
time to be ill, and that he sees no good in a life which is spent in nursing his
disease to the neglect of his customary employment; and therefore bidding
good-bye to this sort of physician, he resumes his ordinary habits, and either
gets well and lives and does his business, or, if his constitution falls, he
dies and has no more trouble.
Yes, he said, and a man
in his condition of life ought to use the art of medicine thus far only.
Has he not, I said, an
occupation; and what profit would there be in his life if he were deprived of
his occupation?
Quite true, he said.
But with the rich man
this is otherwise; of him we do not say that he has any specially appointed work
which he must perform, if he would live.
He is generally supposed
to have nothing to do.
Then you never heard of
the saying of Phocylides, that as soon as a man has a livelihood he should
practise virtue?
Nay, he said, I think
that he had better begin somewhat sooner.
Let us not have a dispute
with him about this, I said; but rather ask ourselves: Is the practice of virtue
obligatory on the rich man, or can he live without it? And if obligatory on him,
then let us raise a further question, whether this dieting of disorders which is
an impediment to the application of the mind t in carpentering and the
mechanical arts, does not equally stand in the way of the sentiment of
Phocylides?
Of that, he replied,
there can be no doubt; such excessive care of the body, when carried beyond the
rules of gymnastic, is most inimical to the practice of virtue.
Yes, indeed, I replied,
and equally incompatible with the management of a house, an army, or an office
of state; and, what is most important of all, irreconcilable with any kind of
study or thought or self-reflection --there is a constant suspicion that
headache and giddiness are to be ascribed to philosophy, and hence all
practising or making trial of virtue in the higher sense is absolutely stopped;
for a man is always fancying that he is being made ill, and is in constant
anxiety about the state of his body.
Yes, likely enough.
And therefore our politic
Asclepius may be supposed to have exhibited the power of his art only to persons
who, being generally of healthy constitution and habits of life, had a definite
ailment; such as these he cured by purges and operations, and bade them live as
usual, herein consulting the interests of the State; but bodies which disease
had penetrated through and through he would not have attempted to cure by
gradual processes of evacuation and infusion: he did not want to lengthen out
good-for-nothing lives, or to have weak fathers begetting weaker sons; --if a
man was not able to live in the ordinary way he had no business to cure him; for
such a cure would have been of no use either to himself, or to the State.
Then, he said, you regard
Asclepius as a statesman.
Clearly; and his
character is further illustrated by his sons. Note that they were heroes in the
days of old and practised the medicines of which I am speaking at the siege of
Troy: You will remember how, when Pandarus wounded Menelaus, they
Sucked the blood out of
the wound, and sprinkled soothing remedies, but they never prescribed what the
patient was afterwards to eat or drink in the case of Menelaus, any more than in
the case of Eurypylus; the remedies, as they conceived, were enough to heal any
man who before he was wounded was healthy and regular in habits; and even though
he did happen to drink a posset of Pramnian wine, he might get well all the
same. But they would have nothing to do with unhealthy and intemperate subjects,
whose lives were of no use either to themselves or others; the art of medicine
was not designed for their good, and though they were as rich as Midas, the sons
of Asclepius would have declined to attend them.
They were very acute
persons, those sons of Asclepius.
Naturally so, I replied.
Nevertheless, the tragedians and Pindar disobeying our behests, although they
acknowledge that Asclepius was the son of Apollo, say also that he was bribed
into healing a rich man who was at the point of death, and for this reason he
was struck by lightning. But we, in accordance with the principle already
affirmed by us, will not believe them when they tell us both; --if he was the
son of a god, we maintain that hd was not avaricious; or, if he was avaricious
he was not the son of a god.
All that, Socrates, is
excellent; but I should like to put a question to you: Ought there not to be
good physicians in a State, and are not the best those who have treated the
greatest number of constitutions good and bad? and are not the best judges in
like manner those who are acquainted with all sorts of moral natures?
Yes, I said, I too would
have good judges and good physicians. But do you know whom I think good?
Will you tell me?
I will, if I can. Let me
however note that in the same question you join two things which are not the
same.
How so? he asked.
Why, I said, you join
physicians and judges. Now the most skilful physicians are those who, from their
youth upwards, have combined with the knowledge of their art the greatest
experience of disease; they had better not be robust in health, and should have
had all manner of diseases in their own persons. For the body, as I conceive, is
not the instrument with which they cure the body; in that case we could not
allow them ever to be or to have been sickly; but they cure the body with the
mind, and the mind which has become and is sick can cure nothing.
That is very true, he
said.
But with the judge it is
otherwise; since he governs mind by mind; he ought not therefore to have been
trained among vicious minds, and to have associated with them from youth
upwards, and to have gone through the whole calendar of crime, only in order
that he may quickly infer the crimes of others as he might their bodily diseases
from his own self-consciousness; the honourable mind which is to form a healthy
judgment should have had no experience or contamination of evil habits when
young. And this is the reason why in youth good men often appear to be simple,
and are easily practised upon by the dishonest, because they have no examples of
what evil is in their own souls.
Yes, he said, they are
far too apt to be deceived.
Therefore, I said, the
judge should not be young; he should have learned to know evil, not from his own
soul, but from late and long observation of the nature of evil in others:
knowledge should be his guide, not personal experience.
Yes, he said, that is the
ideal of a judge.
Yes, I replied, and he
will be a good man (which is my answer to your question); for he is good who has
a good soul. But the cunning and suspicious nature of which we spoke, --he who
has committed many crimes, and fancies himself to be a master in wickedness,
when he is amongst his fellows, is wonderful in the precautions which he takes,
because he judges of them by himself: but when he gets into the company of men
of virtue, who have the experience of age, he appears to be a fool again, owing
to his unseasonable suspicions; he cannot recognise an honest man, because he
has no pattern of honesty in himself; at the same time, as the bad are more
numerous than the good, and he meets with them oftener, he thinks himself, and
is by others thought to be, rather wise than foolish.
Most true, he said.
Then the good and wise
judge whom we are seeking is not this man, but the other; for vice cannot know
virtue too, but a virtuous nature, educated by time, will acquire a knowledge
both of virtue and vice: the virtuous, and not the vicious, man has wisdom --in
my opinion.
And in mine also.
This is the sort of
medicine, and this is the sort of law, which you sanction in your State. They
will minister to better natures, giving health both of soul and of body; but
those who are diseased in their bodies they will leave to die, and the corrupt
and incurable souls they will put an end to themselves.
That is clearly the best
thing both for the patients and for the State.
And thus our youth,
having been educated only in that simple music which, as we said, inspires
temperance, will be reluctant to go to law.
Clearly.
And the musician, who,
keeping to the same track, is content to practise the simple gymnastic, will
have nothing to do with medicine unless in some extreme case.
That I quite believe.
The very exercises and
tolls which he undergoes are intended to stimulate the spirited element of his
nature, and not to increase his strength; he will not, like common athletes, use
exercise and regimen to develop his muscles.
Very right, he said.
Neither are the two arts
of music and gymnastic really designed, as is often supposed, the one for the
training of the soul, the other fir the training of the body.
What then is the real
object of them?
I believe, I said, that
the teachers of both have in view chiefly the improvement of the soul.
How can that be? he
asked.
Did you never observe, I
said, the effect on the mind itself of exclusive devotion to gymnastic, or the
opposite effect of an exclusive devotion to music?
In what way shown? he
said.
The one producing a
temper of hardness and ferocity, the other of softness and effeminacy, I
replied.
Yes, he said, I am quite
aware that the mere athlete becomes too much of a savage, and that the mere
musician is melted and softened beyond what is good for him.
Yet surely, I said, this
ferocity only comes from spirit, which, if rightly educated, would give courage,
but, if too much intensified, is liable to become hard and brutal.
That I quite think.
On the other hand the
philosopher will have the quality of gentleness. And this also, when too much
indulged, will turn to softness, but, if educated rightly, will be gentle and
moderate.
True.
And in our opinion the
guardians ought to have both these qualities?
Assuredly.
And both should be in
harmony?
Beyond question.
And the harmonious soul
is both temperate and courageous?
Yes.
And the inharmonious is
cowardly and boorish?
Very true.
And, when a man allows
music to play upon him and to pour into his soul through the funnel of his ears
those sweet and soft and melancholy airs of which we were just now speaking, and
his whole life is passed in warbling and the delights of song; in the first
stage of the process the passion or spirit which is in him is tempered like
iron, and made useful, instead of brittle and useless. But, if he carries on the
softening and soothing process, in the next stage he begins to melt and waste,
until he has wasted away his spirit and cut out the sinews of his soul; and he
becomes a feeble warrior.
Very true.
If the element of spirit
is naturally weak in him the change is speedily accomplished, but if he have a
good deal, then the power of music weakening the spirit renders him excitable;
--on the least provocation he flames up at once, and is speedily extinguished;
instead of having spirit he grows irritable and passionate and is quite
impracticable.
Exactly.
And so in gymnastics, if
a man takes violent exercise and is a great feeder, and the reverse of a great
student of music and philosophy, at first the high condition of his body fills
him with pride and spirit, and lie becomes twice the man that he was.
Certainly.
And what happens? if he
do nothing else, and holds no con-a verse with the Muses, does not even that
intelligence which there may be in him, having no taste of any sort of learning
or enquiry or thought or culture, grow feeble and dull and blind, his mind never
waking up or receiving nourishment, and his senses not being purged of their
mists?
True, he said.
And he ends by becoming a
hater of philosophy, uncivilized, never using the weapon of persuasion, --he is
like a wild beast, all violence and fierceness, and knows no other way of
dealing; and he lives in all ignorance and evil conditions, and has no sense of
propriety and grace.
That is quite true, he
said.
And as there are two
principles of human nature, one the spirited and the other the philosophical,
some God, as I should say, has given mankind two arts answering to them (and
only indirectly to the soul and body), in order that these two principles (like
the strings of an instrument) may be relaxed or drawn tighter until they are
duly harmonised.
That appears to be the
intention.
And he who mingles music
with gymnastic in the fairest proportions, and best attempers them to the soul,
may be rightly called the true musician and harmonist in a far higher sense than
the tuner of the strings.
You are quite right,
Socrates.
And such a presiding
genius will be always required in our State if the government is to last.
Yes, he will be
absolutely necessary.
Such, then, are our
principles of nurture and education: Where would be the use of going into
further details about the dances of our citizens, or about their hunting and
coursing, their gymnastic and equestrian contests? For these all follow the
general principle, and having found that, we shall have no difficulty in
discovering them.
I dare say that there
will be no difficulty.
Very good, I said; then
what is the next question? Must we not ask who are to be rulers and who
subjects?
Certainly.
There can be no doubt
that the elder must rule the younger.
Clearly.
And that the best of
these must rule.
That is also clear.
Now, are not the best
husbandmen those who are most devoted to husbandry?
Yes.
And as we are to have the
best of guardians for our city, must they not be those who have most the
character of guardians?
Yes.
And to this end they
ought to be wise and efficient, and to have a special care of the State?
True.
And a man will be most
likely to care about that which he loves?
To be sure.
And he will be most
likely to love that which he regards as having the same interests with himself,
and that of which the good or evil fortune is supposed by him at any time most
to affect his own?
Very true, he replied.
Then there must be a
selection. Let us note among the guardians those who in their whole life show
the greatest eagerness to do what is for the good of their country, and the
greatest repugnance to do what is against her interests.
Those are the right men.
And they will have to be
watched at every age, in order that we may see whether they preserve their
resolution, and never, under the influence either of force or enchantment,
forget or cast off their sense of duty to the State.
How cast off? he said.
I will explain to you, I
replied. A resolution may go out of a man's mind either with his will or against
his will; with his will when he gets rid of a falsehood and learns better,
against his will whenever he is deprived of a truth.
I understand, he said,
the willing loss of a resolution; the meaning of the unwilling I have yet to
learn.
Why, I said, do you not
see that men are unwillingly deprived of good, and willingly of evil? Is not to
have lost the truth an evil, and to possess the truth a good? and you would
agree that to conceive things as they are is to possess the truth?
Yes, he replied; I agree
with you in thinking that mankind are deprived of truth against their will.
And is not this
involuntary deprivation caused either by theft, or force, or enchantment?
Still, he replied, I do
not understand you.
I fear that I must have
been talking darkly, like the tragedians. I only mean that some men are changed
by persuasion and that others forget; argument steals away the hearts of one
class, and time of the other; and this I call theft. Now you understand me?
Yes.
Those again who are
forced are those whom the violence of some pain or grief compels to change their
opinion.
I understand, he said,
and you are quite right.
And you would also
acknowledge that the enchanted are those who change their minds either under the
softer influence of pleasure, or the sterner influence of fear?
Yes, he said; everything
that deceives may be said to enchant.
Therefore, as I was just
now saying, we must enquire who are the best guardians of their own conviction
that what they think the interest of the State is to be the rule of their lives.
We must watch them from their youth upwards, and make them perform actions in
which they are most likely to forget or to be deceived, and he who remembers and
is not deceived is to be selected, and he who falls in the trial is to be
rejected. That will be the way?
Yes.
And there should also be
toils and pains and conflicts prescribed for them, in which they will be made to
give further proof of the same qualities.
Very right, he replied.
And then, I said, we must
try them with enchantments that is the third sort of test --and see what will be
their behaviour: like those who take colts amid noise and tumult to see if they
are of a timid nature, so must we take our youth amid terrors of some kind, and
again pass them into pleasures, and prove them more thoroughly than gold is
proved in the furnace, that we may discover whether they are armed against all
enchantments, and of a noble bearing always, good guardians of themselves and of
the music which they have learned, and retaining under all circumstances a
rhythmical and harmonious nature, such as will be most serviceable to the
individual and to the State. And he who at every age, as boy and youth and in
mature life, has come out of the trial victorious and pure, shall be appointed a
ruler and guardian of the State; he shall be honoured in life and death, and
shall receive sepulture and other memorials of honour, the greatest that we have
to give. But him who fails, we must reject. I am inclined to think that this is
the sort of way in which our rulers and guardians should be chosen and
appointed. I speak generally, and not with any pretension to exactness.
And, speaking generally,
I agree with you, he said.
And perhaps the word
'guardian' in the fullest sense ought to be applied to this higher class only
who preserve us against foreign enemies and maintain peace among our citizens at
home, that the one may not have the will, or the others the power, to harm us.
The young men whom we before called guardians may be more properly designated
auxiliaries and supporters of the principles of the rulers.
I agree with you, he
said.
How then may we devise
one of those needful falsehoods of which we lately spoke --just one royal lie
which may deceive the rulers, if that be possible, and at any rate the rest of
the city?
What sort of lie? he
said.
Nothing new, I replied;
only an old Phoenician tale of what has often occurred before now in other
places, (as the poets say, and have made the world believe,) though not in our
time, and I do not know whether such an event could ever happen again, or could
now even be made probable, if it did.
How your words seem to
hesitate on your lips!
You will not wonder, I
replied, at my hesitation when you have heard.
Speak, he said, and fear
not.
Well then, I will speak,
although I really know not how to look you in the face, or in what words to
utter the audacious fiction, which I propose to communicate gradually, first to
the rulers, then to the soldiers, and lastly to the people. They are to be told
that their youth was a dream, and the education and training which they received
from us, an appearance only; in reality during all that time they were being
formed and fed in the womb of the earth, where they themselves and their arms
and appurtenances were manufactured; when they were completed, the earth, their
mother, sent them up; and so, their country being their mother and also their
nurse, they are bound to advise for her good, and to defend her against attacks,
and her citizens they are to regard as children of the earth and their own
brothers.
You had good reason, he
said, to be ashamed of the lie which you were going to tell.
True, I replied, but
there is more coming; I have only told you half. Citizens, we shall say to them
in our tale, you are brothers, yet God has framed you differently. Some of you
have the power of command, and in the composition of these he has mingled gold,
wherefore also they have the greatest honour; others he has made of silver, to
be auxillaries; others again who are to be husbandmen and craftsmen he has
composed of brass and iron; and the species will generally be preserved in the
children. But as all are of the same original stock, a golden parent will
sometimes have a silver son, or a silver parent a golden son. And God proclaims
as a first principle to the rulers, and above all else, that there is nothing
which should so anxiously guard, or of which they are to be such good guardians,
as of the purity of the race. They should observe what elements mingle in their
off spring; for if the son of a golden or silver parent has an admixture of
brass and iron, then nature orders a transposition of ranks, and the eye of the
ruler must not be pitiful towards the child because he has to descend in the
scale and become a husbandman or artisan, just as there may be sons of artisans
who having an admixture of gold or silver in them are raised to honour, and
become guardians or auxiliaries. For an oracle says that when a man of brass or
iron guards the State, it will be destroyed. Such is the tale; is there any
possibility of making our citizens believe in it?
Not in the present
generation, he replied; there is no way of accomplishing this; but their sons
may be made to believe in the tale, and their sons' sons, and posterity after
them.
I see the difficulty, I
replied; yet the fostering of such a belief will make them care more for the
city and for one another. Enough, however, of the fiction, which may now fly
abroad upon the wings of rumour, while we arm our earth-born heroes, and lead
them forth under the command of their rulers. Let them look round and select a
spot whence they can best suppress insurrection, if any prove refractory within,
and also defend themselves against enemies, who like wolves may come down on the
fold from without; there let them encamp, and when they have encamped, let them
sacrifice to the proper Gods and prepare their dwellings.
Just so, he said.
And their dwellings must
be such as will shield them against the cold of winter and the heat of summer.
I suppose that you mean
houses, he replied.
Yes, I said; but they
must be the houses of soldiers, and not of shop-keepers.
What is the difference?
he said.
That I will endeavour to
explain, I replied. To keep watchdogs, who, from want of discipline or hunger,
or some evil habit, or evil habit or other, would turn upon the sheep and worry
them, and behave not like dogs but wolves, would be a foul and monstrous thing
in a shepherd?
Truly monstrous, he said.
And therefore every care
must be taken that our auxiliaries, being stronger than our citizens, may not
grow to be too much for them and become savage tyrants instead of friends and
allies?
Yes, great care should be
taken.
And would not a really
good education furnish the best safeguard?
But they are
well-educated already, he replied.
I cannot be so confident,
my dear Glaucon, I said; I am much certain that they ought to be, and that true
education, whatever that may be, will have the greatest tendency to civilize and
humanize them in their relations to one another, and to those who are under
their protection.
Very true, he replied.
And not only their
education, but their habitations, and all that belongs to them, should be such
as will neither impair their virtue as guardians, nor tempt them to prey upon
the other citizens. Any man of sense must acknowledge that.
He must.
Then let us consider what
will be their way of life, if they are to realize our idea of them. In the first
place, none of them should have any property of his own beyond what is
absolutely necessary; neither should they have a private house or store closed
against any one who has a mind to enter; their provisions should be only such as
are required by trained warriors, who are men of temperance and courage; they
should agree to receive from the citizens a fixed rate of pay, enough to meet
the expenses of the year and no more; and they will go and live together like
soldiers in a camp. Gold and silver we will tell them that they have from God;
the diviner metal is within them, and they have therefore no need of the dross
which is current among men, and ought not to pollute the divine by any such
earthly admixture; for that commoner metal has been the source of many unholy
deeds, but their own is undefiled. And they alone of all the citizens may not
touch or handle silver or gold, or be under the same roof with them, or wear
them, or drink from them. And this will be their salvation, and they will be the
saviours of the State. But should they ever acquire homes or lands or moneys of
their own, they will become housekeepers and husbandmen instead of guardians,
enemies and tyrants instead of allies of the other citizens; hating and being
hated, plotting and being plotted against, they will pass their whole life in
much greater terror of internal than of external enemies, and the hour of ruin,
both to themselves and to the rest of the State, will be at hand. For all which
reasons may we not say that thus shall our State be ordered, and that these
shall be the regulations appointed by us for guardians concerning their houses
and all other matters? other
Yes, said Glaucon.
Book
3: The Arts in Education