Plato's Republic

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Plato's Republic
THE REPUBLIC
by Plato
(360 B.C.)
translated by Benjamin Jowett
THE INTRODUCTION
THE Republic of Plato is the longest of his works with the exception of the Laws, and is certainly
the greatest of them. There are nearer approaches to modern metaphysics in the Philebus and
in the Sophist; the Politicus or Statesman is more ideal; the form and institutions of the State are
more clearly drawn out in the Laws; as works of art, the Symposium and the Protagoras are of
higher excellence. But no other Dialogue of Plato has the same largeness of view and the same
perfection of style; no other shows an equal knowledge of the world, or contains more of those
thoughts which are new as well as old, and not of one age only but of all. Nowhere in Plato is
there a deeper irony or a greater wealth of humor or imagery, or more dramatic power. Nor in
any other of his writings is the attempt made to interweave life and speculation, or to connect
politics with philosophy. The Republic is the centre around which the other Dialogues may be
grouped; here philosophy reaches the highest point to which ancient thinkers ever attained.
Plato among the Greeks, like Bacon among the moderns, was the first who conceived a method
of knowledge, although neither of them always distinguished the bare outline or form from the
substance of truth; and both of them had to be content with an abstraction of science which was
not yet realized. He was the greatest metaphysical genius whom the world has seen; and in
him, more than in any other ancient thinker, the germs of future knowledge are contained. The
sciences of logic and psychology, which have supplied so many instruments of thought to after-
ages, are based upon the analyses of Socrates and Plato. The principles of definition, the law of
contradiction, the fallacy of arguing in a circle, the distinction between the essence and
accidents of a thing or notion, between means and ends, between causes and conditions; also
the division of the mind into the rational, concupiscent, and irascible elements, or of pleasures
and desires into necessary and unnecessary-- these and other great forms of thought are all of
them to be found in the Republic, and were probably first invented by Plato. The greatest of all
logical truths, and the one of which writers on philosophy are most apt to lose sight, the
difference between words and things, has been most strenuously insisted on by him, although
he has not always avoided the confusion of them in his own writings. But he does not bind up
truth in logical formulae,-- logic is still veiled in metaphysics; and the science which he imagines
to "contemplate all truth and all existence" is very unlike the doctrine of the syllogism which
Aristotle claims to have discovered.
Neither must we forget that the Republic is but the third part of a still larger design which was to
have included an ideal history of Athens, as well as a political and physical philosophy. The
fragment of the Critias has given birth to a world-famous fiction, second only in importance to
the tale of Troy and the legend of Arthur; and is said as a fact to have inspired some of the early
navigators of the sixteenth century. This mythical tale, of which the subject was a history of the
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wars of the Athenians against the Island of Atlantis, is supposed to be founded upon an
unfinished poem of Solon, to which it would have stood in the same relation as the writings of
the logographers to the poems of Homer. It would have told of a struggle for Liberty, intended to
represent the conflict of Persia and Hellas. We may judge from the noble commencement of the
Timaeus, from the fragment of the Critias itself, and from the third book of the Laws, in what
manner Plato would have treated this high argument. We can only guess why the great design
was abandoned; perhaps because Plato became sensible of some incongruity in a fictitious
history, or because he had lost his interest in it, or because advancing years forbade the
completion of it; and we may please ourselves with the fancy that had this imaginary narrative
ever been finished, we should have found Plato himself sympathizing with the struggle for
Hellenic independence, singing a hymn of triumph over Marathon and Salamis, perhaps making
the reflection of Herodotus where he contemplates the growth of the Athenian empire--"How
brave a thing is freedom of speech, which has made the Athenians so far exceed every other
state of Hellas in greatness!" or, more probably, attributing the victory to the ancient good order
of Athens and to the favor of Apollo and Athene.
Again, Plato may be regarded as the "captain" ('arhchegoz') or leader of a goodly band of
followers; for in the Republic is to be found the original of Cicero's De Republica, of St.
Augustine's City of God, of the Utopia of Sir Thomas More, and of the numerous other
imaginary States which are framed upon the same model. The extent to which Aristotle or the
Aristotelian school were indebted to him in the Politics has been little recognized, and the
recognition is the more necessary because it is not made by Aristotle himself. The two
philosophers had more in common than they were conscious of; and probably some elements of
Plato remain still undetected in Aristotle. In English philosophy too, many affinities may be
traced, not only in the works of the Cambridge Platonists, but in great original writers like
Berkeley or Coleridge, to Plato and his ideas. That there is a truth higher than experience, of
which the mind bears witness to herself, is a conviction which in our own generation has been
enthusiastically asserted, and is perhaps gaining ground. Of the Greek authors who at the
Renaissance brought a new life into the world Plato has had the greatest influence. The
Republic of Plato is also the first treatise upon education, of which the writings of Milton and
Locke, Rousseau, Jean Paul, and Goethe are the legitimate descendants. Like Dante or
Bunyan, he has a revelation of another life; like Bacon, he is profoundly impressed with the
unity of knowledge; in the early Church he exercised a real influence on theology, and at the
Revival of Literature on politics. Even the fragments of his words when "repeated at second-
hand" have in all ages ravished the hearts of men, who have seen reflected in them their own
higher nature. He is the father of idealism in philosophy, in politics, in literature. And many of the
latest conceptions of modern thinkers and statesmen, such as the unity of knowledge, the reign
of law, and the equality of the sexes, have been anticipated in a dream by him.
ARGUMENT
The argument of the Republic is the search after Justice, the nature of which is first hinted at by
Cephalus, the just and blameless old man-- then discussed on the basis of proverbial morality
by Socrates and Polemarchus--then caricatured by Thrasymachus and partially explained by
Socrates--reduced to an abstraction by Glaucon and Adeimantus, and having become invisible
in the individual reappears at length in the ideal State which is constructed by Socrates. The
first care of the rulers is to be education, of which an outline is drawn after the old Hellenic
model, providing only for an improved religion and morality, and more simplicity in music and
gymnastic, a manlier strain of poetry, and greater harmony of the individual and the State. We
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are thus led on to the conception of a higher State, in which "no man calls anything his own,"
and in which there is neither "marrying nor giving in marriage," and "kings are philosophers" and
"philosophers are kings;" and there is another and higher education, intellectual as well as moral
and religious, of science as well as of art, and not of youth only but of the whole of life. Such a
State is hardly to be realized in this world and would quickly degenerate. To the perfect ideal
succeeds the government of the soldier and the lover of honor, this again declining into
democracy, and democracy into tyranny, in an imaginary but regular order having not much
resemblance to the actual facts. When "the wheel has come full circle" we do not begin again
with a new period of human life; but we have passed from the best to the worst, and there we
end. The subject is then changed and the old quarrel of poetry and philosophy which had been
more lightly treated in the earlier books of the Republic is now resumed and fought out to a
conclusion. Poetry is discovered to be an imitation thrice removed from the truth, and Homer, as
well as the dramatic poets, having been condemned as an imitator, is sent into banishment
along with them. And the idea of the State is supplemented by the revelation of a future life.
The division into books, like all similar divisions, is probably later than the age of Plato. The
natural divisions are five in number;--( 1) Book I and the first half of Book II down to the
paragraph beginning, "I had always admired the genius of Glaucon and Adeimantus," which is
introductory; the first book containing a refutation of the popular and sophistical notions of
justice, and concluding, like some of the earlier Dialogues, without arriving at any definite result.
To this is appended a restatement of the nature of justice according to common opinion, and an
answer is demanded to the question--What is justice, stripped of appearances? The second
division (2) includes the remainder of the second and the whole of the third and fourth books,
which are mainly occupied with the construction of the first State and the first education. The
third division (3) consists of the fifth, sixth, and seventh books, in which philosophy rather than
justice is the subject of inquiry, and the second State is constructed on principles of communism
and ruled by philosophers, and the contemplation of the idea of good takes the place of the
social and political virtues. In the eighth and ninth books (4) the perversions of States and of the
individuals who correspond to them are reviewed in succession; and the nature of pleasure and
the principle of tyranny are further analyzed in the individual man. The tenth book (5) is the
conclusion of the whole, in which the relations of philosophy to poetry are finally determined,
and the happiness of the citizens in this life, which has now been assured, is crowned by the
vision of another.
Or a more general division into two parts may be adopted; the first (Books I - IV) containing the
description of a State framed generally in accordance with Hellenic notions of religion and
morality, while in the second (Books V - X) the Hellenic State is transformed into an ideal
kingdom of philosophy, of which all other governments are the perversions. These two points of
view are really opposed, and the opposition is only veiled by the genius of Plato. The Republic,
like the Phaedrus, is an imperfect whole; the higher light of philosophy breaks through the
regularity of the Hellenic temple, which at last fades away into the heavens. Whether this
imperfection of structure arises from an enlargement of the plan; or from the imperfect
reconcilement in the writer's own mind of the struggling elements of thought which are now first
brought together by him; or, perhaps, from the composition of the work at different times-- are
questions, like the similar question about the Iliad and the Odyssey, which are worth asking, but
which cannot have a distinct answer. In the age of Plato there was no regular mode of
publication, and an author would have the less scruple in altering or adding to a work which was
known only to a few of his friends. There is no absurdity in supposing that he may have laid his
labors aside for a time, or turned from one work to another; and such interruptions would be
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more likely to occur in the case of a long than of a short writing. In all attempts to determine the
chronological he order of the Platonic writings on internal evidence, this uncertainty about any
single Dialogue being composed at one time is a disturbing element, which must be admitted to
affect longer works, such as the Republic and the Laws, more than shorter ones. But, on the
other hand, the seeming discrepancies of the Republic may only arise out of the discordant
elements which the philosopher has attempted to unite in a single whole, perhaps without being
himself able to recognize the inconsistency which is obvious to us. For there is a judgment of
after ages which few great writers have ever been able to anticipate for themselves. They do
not perceive the want of connection in their own writings, or the gaps in their systems which are
visible enough to those who come after them. In the beginnings of literature and philosophy,
amid the first efforts of thought and language, more inconsistencies occur than now, when the
paths of speculation are well worn and the meaning of words precisely defined. For consistency,
too, is the growth of time; and some of the greatest creations of the human mind have been
wanting in unity. Tried by this test, several of the Platonic Dialogues, according to our modern
ideas, appear to be defective, but the deficiency is no proof that they were composed at
different times or by different hands. And the supposition that the Republic was written
uninterruptedly and by a continuous effort is in some degree confirmed by the numerous
references from one part of the work to another.
The second title, "Concerning Justice," is not the one by which the Republic is quoted, either by
Aristotle or generally in antiquity, and, like the other second titles of the Platonic Dialogues, may
therefore be assumed to be of later date. Morgenstern and others have asked whether the
definition of justice, which is the professed aim, or the construction of the State is the principal
argument of the work. The answer is, that the two blend in one, and are two faces of the same
truth; for justice is the order of the State, and the State is the visible embodiment of justice
under the conditions of human society. The one is the soul and the other is the body, and the
Greek ideal of the State, as of the individual, is a fair mind in a fair body. In Hegelian
phraseology the State is the reality of which justice is the ideal. Or, described in Christian
language, the kingdom of God is within, and yet develops into a Church or external kingdom;
"the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens," is reduced to the proportions of an
earthly building. Or, to use a Platonic image, justice and the State are the warp and the woof
which run through the whole texture. And when the constitution of the State is completed, the
conception of justice is not dismissed, but reappears under the same or different names
throughout the work, both as the inner law of the individual soul, and finally as the principle of
rewards and punishments in another life. The virtues are based on justice, of which common
honesty in buying and selling is the shadow, and justice is based on the idea of good, which is
the harmony of the world, and is reflected both in the institutions of States and in motions of the
heavenly bodies. The Timaeus, which takes up the political rather than the ethical side of the
Republic, and is chiefly occupied with hypotheses concerning the outward world, yet contains
many indications that the same law is supposed to reign over the State, over nature, and over
man.
Too much, however, has been made of this question both in ancient and in modern times.
There is a stage of criticism in which all works, whether of nature or of art, are referred to
design. Now in ancient writings, and indeed in literature generally, there remains often a large
element which was not comprehended in the original design. For the plan grows under the
author's hand; new thoughts occur to him in the act of writing; he has not worked out the
argument to the end before he begins. The reader who seeks to find some one idea under
which the whole may be conceived, must necessarily seize on the vaguest and most general.
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Thus Stallbaum, who is dissatisfied with the ordinary explanations of the argument of the
Republic, imagines himself to have found the true argument "in the representation of human life
in a State perfected by justice and governed according to the idea of good." There may be some
use in such general descriptions, but they can hardly be said to express the design of the writer.
The truth is, that we may as well speak of many designs as of one; nor need anything be
excluded from the plan of a great work to which the mind is naturally led by the association of
ideas, and which does not interfere with the general purpose. What kind or degree of unity is to
be sought after in a building, in the plastic arts, in poetry, in prose, is a problem which has to be
determined relatively to the subject-matter. To Plato himself, the inquiry "what was the intention
of the writer," or "what was the principal argument of the Republic" would have been hardly
intelligible, and therefore had better be at once dismissed.
Is not the Republic the vehicle of three or four great truths which, to Plato's own mind, are most
naturally represented in the form of the State? Just as in the Jewish prophets the reign of
Messiah, or "the day of the Lord," or the suffering Servant or people of God, or the "Sun of
righteousness with healing in his wings" only convey, to us at least, their great spiritual ideals,
so through the Greek State Plato reveals to us his own thoughts about divine perfection, which
is the idea of good--like the sun in the visible world;--about human perfection, which is justice--
about education beginning in youth and continuing in later years-- about poets and sophists and
tyrants who are the false teachers and evil rulers of mankind--about "the world" which is the
embodiment of them--about a kingdom which exists nowhere upon earth but is laid up in
heaven to be the pattern and rule of human life. No such inspired creation is at unity with itself,
any more than the clouds of heaven when the sun pierces through them. Every shade of light
and dark, of truth, and of fiction which is the veil of truth, is allowable in a work of philosophical
imagination. It is not all on the same plane; it easily passes from ideas to myths and fancies,
from facts to figures of speech. It is not prose but poetry, at least a great part of it, and ought not
to be judged by the rules of logic or the probabilities of history. The writer is not fashioning his
ideas into an artistic whole; they take possession of him and are too much for him. We have no
need therefore to discuss whether a State such as Plato has conceived is practicable or not, or
whether the outward form or the inward life came first into the mind of the writer. For the
practicability of his ideas has nothing to do with their truth; and the highest thoughts to which he
attains may be truly said to bear the greatest "marks of design"--justice more than the external
frame-work of the State, the idea of good more than justice. The great science of dialectic or the
organization of ideas has no real content; but is only a type of the method or spirit in which the
higher knowledge is to be pursued by the spectator of all time and all existence. It is in the fifth,
sixth, and seventh books that Plato reaches the "summit of speculation," and these, although
they fail to satisfy the requirements of a modern thinker, may therefore be regarded as the most
important, as they are also the most original, portions of the work.
It is not necessary to discuss at length a minor question which has been raised by Boeckh,
respecting the imaginary date at which the conversation was held (the year 411 B. C. which is
proposed by him will do as well as any other); for a writer of fiction, and especially a writer who,
like Plato, is notoriously careless of chronology, only aims at general probability. Whether all the
persons mentioned in the Republic could ever have met at any one time is not a difficulty which
would have occurred to an Athenian reading the work forty years later, or to Plato himself at the
time of writing (any more than to Shakespeare respecting one of his own dramas); and need not
greatly trouble us now. Yet this may be a question having no answer "which is still worth
asking," because the investigation shows that we can not argue historically from the dates in
Plato; it would be useless therefore to waste time in inventing far-fetched reconcilements of
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them in order avoid chronological difficulties, such, for example, as the conjecture of C. F.
Hermann, that Glaucon and Adeimantus are not the brothers but the uncles of Plato, or the
fancy of Stallbaum that Plato intentionally left anachronisms indicating the dates at which some
of his Dialogues were written.
CHARACTERS
The principal characters in the Republic are Cephalus, Polemarchus, Thrasymachus, Socrates,
Glaucon, and Adeimantus. Cephalus appears in the introduction only, Polemarchus drops at the
end of the first argument, and Thrasymachus is reduced to silence at the close of the first book.
The main discussion is carried on by Socrates, Glaucon, and Adeimantus. Among the company
are Lysias (the orator) and Euthydemus, the sons of Cephalus and brothers of Polemarchus, an
unknown Charmantides--these are mute auditors; also there is Cleitophon, who once interrupts,
where, as in the Dialogue which bears his name, he appears as the friend and ally of
Thrasymachus.
Cephalus, the patriarch of house, has been appropriately engaged in offering a sacrifice. He is
the pattern of an old man who has almost done with life, and is at peace with himself and with
all mankind. He feels that he is drawing nearer to the world below, and seems to linger around
the memory of the past. He is eager that Socrates should come to visit him, fond of the poetry of
the last generation, happy in the consciousness of a well-spent life, glad at having escaped from
the tyranny of youthful lusts. His love of conversation, his affection, his indifference to riches,
even his garrulity, are interesting traits of character. He is not one of those who have nothing to
say, because their whole mind has been absorbed in making money. Yet he acknowledges that
riches have the advantage of placing men above the temptation to dishonesty or falsehood. The
respectful attention shown to him by Socrates, whose love of conversation, no less than the
mission imposed upon him by the Oracle, leads him to ask questions of all men, young and old
alike, should also be noted. Who better suited to raise the question of justice than Cephalus,
whose life might seem to be the expression of it? The moderation with which old age is pictured
by Cephalus as a very tolerable portion of existence is characteristic, not only of him, but of
Greek feeling generally, and contrasts with the exaggeration of Cicero in the De Senectute. The
evening of life is described by Plato in the most expressive manner, yet with the fewest possible
touches. As Cicero remarks (Ep. ad Attic. iv. 16), the aged Cephalus would have been out of
place in the discussion which follows, and which he could neither have understood nor taken
part in without a violation of dramatic propriety.
His "son and heir" Polemarchus has the frankness and impetuousness of youth; he is for
detaining Socrates by force in the opening scene, and will not "let him off" on the subject of
women and children. Like Cephalus, he is limited in his point of view, and represents the
proverbial stage of morality which has rules of life rather than principles; and he quotes
Simonides as his father had quoted Pindar. But after this he has no more to say; the answers
which he makes are only elicited from him by the dialectic of Socrates. He has not yet
experienced the influence of the Sophists like Glaucon and Adeimantus, nor is he sensible of
the necessity of refuting them; he belongs to the pre-Socratic or pre-dialectical age. He is
incapable of arguing, and is bewildered by Socrates to such a degree that he does not know
what he is saying. He is made to admit that justice is a thief, and that the virtues follow the
analogy of the arts. From his brother Lysias we learn that he fell a victim to the Thirty Tyrants,
but no allusion is here made to his fate, nor to the circumstance that Cephalus and his family
were of Syracusan origin, and had migrated from Thurii to Athens.
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The "Chalcedonian giant," Thrasymachus, of whom we have already heard in the Phaedrus, is
the personification of the Sophists, according to Plato's conception of them, in some of their
worst characteristics. He is vain and blustering, refusing to discourse unless he is paid, fond of
making an oration, and hoping thereby to escape the inevitable Socrates; but a mere child in
argument, and unable to foresee that the next "move" (to use a Platonic expression) will "shut
him up." He has reached the stage of framing general notions, and in this respect is in advance
of Cephalus and Polemarchus. But he is incapable of defending them in a discussion, and
vainly tries to cover his confusion in banter and insolence. Whether such doctrines as are
attributed to him by Plato were really held either by him or by any other Sophist is uncertain; in
the infancy of philosophy serious errors about morality might easily grow up-- they are certainly
put into the mouths of speakers in Thucydides; but we are concerned at present with Plato's
description of him, and not with the historical reality. The inequality of the contest adds greatly
to the humor of the scene. The pompous and empty Sophist is utterly helpless in the hands of
the great master of dialectic, who knows how to touch all the springs of vanity and weakness in
him. He is greatly irritated by the irony of Socrates, but his noisy and imbecile rage only lays him
more and more open to the thrusts of his assailant. His determination to cram down their
throats, or put "bodily into their souls" his own words, elicits a cry of horror from Socrates. The
state of his temper is quite as worthy of remark as the process of the argument. Nothing is more
amusing than his complete submission when he has been once thoroughly beaten. At first he
seems to continue the discussion with reluctance, but soon with apparent good-will, and he
even testifies his interest at a later stage by one or two occasional remarks. When attacked by
Glaucon he is humorously protected by Socrates "as one who has never been his enemy and is
now his friend." From Cicero and Quintilian and from Aristotle's Rhetoric we learn that the
Sophist whom Plato has made so ridiculous was a man of note whose writings were preserved
in later ages. The play on his name which was made by his contemporary Herodicus, "thou wast
ever bold in battle," seems to show that the description of him is not devoid of verisimilitude.
When Thrasymachus has been silenced, the two principal respondents, Glaucon and
Adeimantus, appear on the scene: here, as in Greek tragedy, three actors are introduced. At
first sight the two sons of Ariston may seem to wear a family likeness, like the two friends
Simmias and Cebes in the Phaedo. But on a nearer examination of them the similarity vanishes,
and they are seen to be distinct characters. Glaucon is the impetuous youth who can "just never
have enough of fechting" (cf. the character of him in Xen. Mem. iii. 6); the man of pleasure who
is acquainted with the mysteries of love; the "juvenis qui gaudet canibus," and who improves the
breed of animals; the lover of art and music who has all the experiences of youthful life. He is
full of quickness and penetration, piercing easily below the clumsy platitudes of Thrasymachus
to the real difficulty; he turns out to the light the seamy side of human life, and yet does not lose
faith in the just and true. It is Glaucon who seizes what may be termed the ludicrous relation of
the philosopher to the world, to whom a state of simplicity is "a city of pigs," who is always
prepared with a jest when the argument offers him an opportunity, and who is ever ready to
second the humor of Socrates and to appreciate the ridiculous, whether in the connoisseurs of
music, or in the lovers of theatricals, or in the fantastic behavior of the citizens of democracy.
His weaknesses are several times alluded to by Socrates, who, however, will not allow him to
be attacked by his brother Adeimantus. He is a soldier, and, like Adeimantus, has been
distinguished at the battle of Megara.
The character of Adeimantus is deeper and graver, and the profounder objections are
commonly put into his mouth. Glaucon is more demonstrative, and generally opens the game.
Adeimantus pursues the argument further. Glaucon has more of the liveliness and quick
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sympathy of youth; Adeimantus has the maturer judgment of a grown-up man of the world. In
the second book, when Glaucon insists that justice and injustice shall be considered without
regard to their consequences, Adeimantus remarks that they are regarded by mankind in
general only for the sake of their consequences; and in a similar vein of reflection he urges at
the beginning of the fourth book that Socrates falls in making his citizens happy, and is
answered that happiness is not the first but the second thing, not the direct aim but the indirect
consequence of the good government of a State. In the discussion about religion and
mythology, Adeimantus is the respondent, but Glaucon breaks in with a slight jest, and carries
on the conversation in a lighter tone about music and gymnastic to the end of the book. It is
Adeimantus again who volunteers the criticism of common sense on the Socratic method of
argument, and who refuses to let Socrates pass lightly over the question of women and
children. It is Adeimantus who is the respondent in the more argumentative, as Glaucon in the
lighter and more imaginative portions of the Dialogue. For example, throughout the greater part
of the sixth book, the causes of the corruption of philosophy and the conception of the idea of
good are discussed with Adeimantus. Then Glaucon resumes his place of principal respondent;
but he has a difficulty in apprehending the higher education of Socrates, and makes some false
hits in the course of the discussion. Once more Adeimantus returns with the allusion to his
brother Glaucon whom he compares to the contentious State; in the next book he is again
superseded, and Glaucon continues to the end.
Thus in a succession of characters Plato represents the successive stages of morality,

beginning with the Athenian gentleman of the olden time, who is followed by the practical man
of that day regulating his life by proverbs and saws; to him succeeds the wild generalization of
the Sophists, and lastly come the young disciples of the great teacher, who know the sophistical
arguments but will not be convinced by them, and desire to go deeper into the nature of things.
These too, like Cephalus, Polemarchus, Thrasymachus, are clearly distinguished from one
another. Neither in the Republic, nor in any other Dialogue of Plato, is a single character
repeated.
The delineation of Socrates in the Republic is not wholly consistent. In the first book we have
more of the real Socrates, such as he is depicted in the Memorabilia of Xenophon, in the
earliest Dialogues of Plato, and in the Apology. He is ironical, provoking, questioning, the old
enemy of the Sophists, ready to put on the mask of Silenus as well as to argue seriously. But in
the sixth book his enmity towards the Sophists abates; he acknowledges that they are the
representatives rather than the corrupters of the world. He also becomes more dogmatic and
constructive, passing beyond the range either of the political or the speculative ideas of the real
Socrates. In one passage Plato himself seems to intimate that the time had now come for
Socrates, who had passed his whole life in philosophy, to give his own opinion and not to be
always repeating the notions of other men. There is no evidence that either the idea of good or
the conception of a perfect State were comprehended in the Socratic teaching, though he
certainly dwelt on the nature of the universal and of final causes (cp. Xen. Mem. i. 4; Phaedo
97); and a deep thinker like him in his thirty or forty years of public teaching, could hardly have
falled to touch on the nature of family relations, for which there is also some positive evidence in
the Memorabilia (Mem. i. 2, 51 foll.) The Socratic method is nominally retained; and every
inference is either put into the mouth of the respondent or represented as the common
discovery of him and Socrates. But any one can see that this is a mere form, of which the
affectation grows wearisome as the work advances. The method of inquiry has passed into a
method of teaching in which by the help of interlocutors the same thesis is looked at from
various points of view.
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The nature of the process is truly characterized by Glaucon, when he describes himself as a
companion who is not good for much in an investigation, but can see what he is shown, and
may, perhaps, give the answer to a question more fluently than another.
Neither can we be absolutely certain that, Socrates himself taught the immortality of the soul,
which is unknown to his disciple Glaucon in the Republic; nor is there any reason to suppose
that he used myths or revelations of another world as a vehicle of instruction, or that he would
have banished poetry or have denounced the Greek mythology. His favorite oath is retained,
and a slight mention is made of the daemonium, or internal sign, which is alluded to by Socrates
as a phenomenon peculiar to himself. A real element of Socratic teaching, which is more
prominent in the Republic than in any of the other Dialogues of Plato, is the use of example and
illustration ('taphorhtika auto prhospherhontez'): "Let us apply the test of common instances."
"You," says Adeimantus, ironically, in the sixth book, "are so unaccustomed to speak in
images." And this use of examples or images, though truly Socratic in origin, is enlarged by the
genius of Plato into the form of an allegory or parable, which embodies in the concrete what has
been already described, or is about to be described, in the abstract. Thus the figure of the cave
in Book VII is a recapitulation of the divisions of knowledge in Book VI. The composite animal in
Book IX is an allegory of the parts of the soul. The noble captain and the ship and the true pilot
in Book VI are a figure of the relation of the people to the philosophers in the State which has
been described. Other figures, such as the dog in the second, third, and fourth books, or the
marriage of the portionless maiden in the sixth book, or the drones and wasps in the eighth and
ninth books, also form links of connection in long passages, or are used to recall previous
discussions.
Plato is most true to the character of his master when he describes him as "not of this world."
And with this representation of him the ideal State and the other paradoxes of the Republic are
quite in accordance, though they can not be shown to have been speculations of Socrates. To
him, as to other great teachers both philosophical and religious, when they looked upward, the
world seemed to be the embodiment of error and evil. The common sense of mankind has
revolted against this view, or has only partially admitted it. And even in Socrates himself the
sterner judgment of the multitude at times passes into a sort of ironical pity or love. Men in
general are incapable of philosophy, and are therefore at enmity with the philosopher; but their
misunderstanding of him is unavoidable: for they have never seen him as he truly is in his own
image; they are only acquainted with artificial systems possessing no native force of
truth--words which admit of many applications. Their leaders have nothing to measure with, and
are therefore ignorant of their own stature. But they are to be pitied or laughed at, not to be
quarrelled with; they mean well with their nostrums, if they could only learn that they are cutting
off a Hydra's head. This moderation towards those who are in error is one of the most
characteristic features of Socrates in the Republic. In all the different representations of
Socrates, whether of Xenophon or Plato, and the differences of the earlier or later Dialogues, he
always retains the character of the unwearied and disinterested seeker after truth, without which
he would have ceased to be Socrates.
Leaving the characters we may now analyze the contents of the Republic, and then proceed to
consider (1) The general aspects of this Hellenic ideal of the State, (2) The modern lights in
which the thoughts of Plato may be read.
BOOK I
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SOCRATES - GLAUCON
I WENT down yesterday to the Piraeus with Glaucon the son of Ariston, that I might offer up my
prayers to the goddess; and also because I wanted to see in what manner they would celebrate
the festival, which was a new thing. I was delighted with the procession of the inhabitants; but
that of the Thracians was equally, if not more, beautiful. When we had finished our prayers and
viewed the spectacle, we turned in the direction of the city; and at that instant Polemarchus the
son of Cephalus chanced to catch sight of us from a distance as we were starting on our way
home, and told his servant to run and bid us wait for him. The servant took hold of me by the
cloak behind, and said: Polemarchus desires you to wait.
I turned round, and asked him where his master was.
There he is, said the youth, coming after you, if you will only wait.
Certainly we will, said Glaucon; and in a few minutes Polemarchus appeared, and with him
Adeimantus, Glaucon's brother, Niceratus the son of Nicias, and several others who had been
at the procession.
SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS - GLAUCON - ADEIMANTUS
Polemarchus said to me: I perceive, Socrates, that you and our companion are already on your
way to the city.
You are not far wrong, I said.
But do you see, he rejoined, how many we are?
Of course.
And are you stronger than all these? for if not, you will have to remain where you are.
May there not be the alternative, I said, that we may persuade you to let us go?
But can you persuade us, if we refuse to listen to you? he said.
Certainly not, replied Glaucon.
Then we are not going to listen; of that you may be assured.
Adeimantus added: Has no one told you of the torch-race on horseback in honour of the
goddess which will take place in the evening?
With horses! I replied: That is a novelty. Will horsemen carry torches and pass them one to
another during the race?
Yes, said Polemarchus, and not only so, but a festival will he celebrated at night, which you
certainly ought to see. Let us rise soon after supper and see this festival; there will be a
gathering of young men, and we will have a good talk. Stay then, and do not be perverse.
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Glaucon said: I suppose, since you insist, that we must.
Very good, I replied.
GLAUCON - CEPHALUS - SOCRATES
Accordingly we went with Polemarchus to his house; and there we found his brothers Lysias
and Euthydemus, and with them Thrasymachus the Chalcedonian, Charmantides the Paeanian,
and Cleitophon the son of Aristonymus. There too was Cephalus the father of Polemarchus,
whom I had not seen for a long time, and I thought him very much aged. He was seated on a
cushioned chair, and had a garland on his head, for he had been sacrificing in the court; and
there were some other chairs in the room arranged in a semicircle, upon which we sat down by
him. He saluted me eagerly, and then he said:--
You don't come to see me, Socrates, as often as you ought: If I were still able to go and see you
I would not ask you to come to me. But at my age I can hardly get to the city, and therefore you
should come oftener to the Piraeus. For let me tell you, that the more the pleasures of the body
fade away, the greater to me is the pleasure and charm of conversation. Do not then deny my
request, but make our house your resort and keep company with these young men; we are old
friends, and you will be quite at home with us.
I replied: There is nothing which for my part I like better, Cephalus, than conversing with aged
men; for I regard them as travellers who have gone a journey which I too may have to go, and
of whom I ought to enquire, whether the way is smooth and easy, or rugged and difficult. And
this is a question which I should like to ask of you who have arrived at that time which the poets
call the `threshold of old age'--Is life harder towards the end, or what report do you give of it?
I will tell you, Socrates, he said, what my own feeling is. Men of my age flock together; we are
birds of a feather, as the old proverb says; and at our meetings the tale of my acquaintance
commonly is--I cannot eat, I cannot drink; the pleasures of youth and love are fled away: there
was a good time once, but now that is gone, and life is no longer life. Some complain of the
slights which are put upon them by relations, and they will tell you sadly of how many evils their
old age is the cause. But to me, Socrates, these complainers seem to blame that which is not
really in fault. For if old age were the cause, I too being old, and every other old man, would
have felt as they do. But this is not my own experience, nor that of others whom I have known.
How well I remember the aged poet Sophocles, when in answer to the question, How does love
suit with age, Sophocles,--are you still the man you were? Peace, he replied; most gladly have I
escaped the thing of which you speak; I feel as if I had escaped from a mad and furious master.
His words have often occurred to my mind since, and they seem as good to me now as at the
time when he uttered them. For certainly old age has a great sense of calm and freedom; when
the passions relax their hold, then, as Sophocles says, we are freed from the grasp not of one
mad master only, but of many. The truth is, Socrates, that these regrets, and also the
complaints about relations, are to be attributed to the same cause, which is not old age, but
men's characters and tempers; for he who is of a calm and happy nature will hardly feel the
pressure of age, but to him who is of an opposite disposition youth and age are equally a
burden.
I listened in admiration, and wanting to draw him out, that he might go on--Yes, Cephalus, I
said: but I rather suspect that people in general are not convinced by you when you speak thus;
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they think that old age sits lightly upon you, not because of your happy disposition, but because
you are rich, and wealth is well known to be a great comforter.
You are right, he replied; they are not convinced: and there is something in what they say; not,
however, so much as they imagine. I might answer them as Themistocles answered the
Seriphian who was abusing him and saying that he was famous, not for his own merits but
because he was an Athenian: Ìf you had been a native of my country or I of yours, neither of us
would have been famous.' And to those who are not rich and are impatient of old age, the same
reply may be made; for to the good poor man old age cannot be a light burden, nor can a bad
rich man ever have peace with himself.
May I ask, Cephalus, whether your fortune was for the most part inherited or acquired by you?
Acquired! Socrates; do you want to know how much I acquired? In the art of making money I
have been midway between my father and grandfather: for my grandfather, whose name I bear,
doubled and trebled the value of his patrimony, that which he inherited being much what I
possess now; but my father Lysanias reduced the property below what it is at present: and I
shall be satisfied if I leave to these my sons not less but a little more than I received.
That was why I asked you the question, I replied, because I see that you are indifferent about
money, which is a characteristic rather of those who have inherited their fortunes than of those
who have acquired them; the makers of fortunes have a second love of money as a creation of
their own, resembling the affection of authors for their own poems, or of parents for their
children, besides that natural love of it for the sake of use and profit which is common to them
and all men. And hence they are very bad company, for they can talk about nothing but the
praises of wealth. That is true, he said.
Yes, that is very true, but may I ask another question? What do you consider to be the greatest
blessing which you have reaped from your wealth?
One, he said, of which I could not expect easily to convince others. For let me tell you,
Socrates, that when a man thinks himself to be near death, fears and cares enter into his mind
which he never had before; the tales of a world below and the punishment which is exacted
there of deeds done here were once a laughing matter to him, but now he is tormented with the
thought that they may be true: either from the weakness of age, or because he is now drawing
nearer to that other place, he has a clearer view of these things; suspicions and alarms crowd
thickly upon him, and he begins to reflect and consider what wrongs he has done to others. And
when he finds that the sum of his transgressions is great he will many a time like a child start up
in his sleep for fear, and he is filled with dark forebodings. But to him who is conscious of no sin,
sweet hope, as Pindar charmingly says, is the kind nurse of his age:
Hope, he says, cherishes the soul of him who lives in justice and holiness and is the nurse of his
age and the companion of his journey;--hope which is mightiest to sway the restless soul of
man.
How admirable are his words! And the great blessing of riches, I do not say to every man, but to
a good man, is, that he has had no occasion to deceive or to defraud others, either intentionally
or unintentionally; and when he departs to the world below he is not in any apprehension about
offerings due to the gods or debts which he owes to men. Now to this peace of mind the
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possession of wealth greatly contributes; and therefore I say, that, setting one thing against
another, of the many advantages which wealth has to give, to a man of sense this is in my
opinion the greatest.
Well said, Cephalus, I replied; but as concerning justice, what is it?-- to speak the truth and to
pay your debts--no more than this? And even to this are there not exceptions? Suppose that a
friend when in his right mind has deposited arms with me and he asks for them when he is not
in his right mind, ought I to give them back to him? No one would say that I ought or that I
should be right in doing so, any more than they would say that I ought always to speak the truth
to one who is in his condition.
You are quite right, he replied.
But then, I said, speaking the truth and paying your debts is not a correct definition of justice.
CEPHALUS - SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS
Quite correct, Socrates, if Simonides is to be believed, said Polemarchus interposing.
I fear, said Cephalus, that I must go now, for I have to look after the sacrifices, and I hand over
the argument to Polemarchus and the company.
Is not Polemarchus your heir? I said.
To be sure, he answered, and went away laughing to the sacrifices.
SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS
Tell me then, O thou heir of the argument, what did Simonides say, and according to you truly
say, about justice?
He said that the repayment of a debt is just, and in saying so he appears to me to be right.
I should be sorry to doubt the word of such a wise and inspired man, but his meaning, though
probably clear to you, is the reverse of clear to me. For he certainly does not mean, as we were
now saying that I ought to return a return a deposit of arms or of anything else to one who asks
for it when he is not in his right senses; and yet a deposit cannot be denied to be a debt.
True.
Then when the person who asks me is not in his right mind I am by no means to make the
return?
Certainly not.
When Simonides said that the repayment of a debt was justice, he did not mean to include that
case?
Certainly not; for he thinks that a friend ought always to do good to a friend and never evil.
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You mean that the return of a deposit of gold which is to the injury of the receiver, if the two
parties are friends, is not the repayment of a debt,--that is what you would imagine him to say?
Yes.
And are enemies also to receive what we owe to them?
To be sure, he said, they are to receive what we owe them, and an enemy, as I take it, owes to
an enemy that which is due or proper to him-- that is to say, evil.
Simonides, then, after the manner of poets, would seem to have spoken darkly of the nature of
justice; for he really meant to say that justice is the giving to each man what is proper to him,
and this he termed a debt.
That must have been his meaning, he said.
By heaven! I replied; and if we asked him what due or proper thing is given by medicine, and to
whom, what answer do you think that he would make to us?
He would surely reply that medicine gives drugs and meat and drink to human bodies.
And what due or proper thing is given by cookery, and to what?
Seasoning to food.
And what is that which justice gives, and to whom?
If, Socrates, we are to be guided at all by the analogy of the preceding instances, then justice is
the art which gives good to friends and evil to enemies.
That is his meaning then?
I think so.
And who is best able to do good to his friends and evil to his enemies in time of sickness?
The physician.
Or when they are on a voyage, amid the perils of the sea?
The pilot.
And in what sort of actions or with a view to what result is the just man most able to do harm to
his enemy and good to his friends?
In going to war against the one and in making alliances with the other.
But when a man is well, my dear Polemarchus, there is no need of a physician?
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No.
And he who is not on a voyage has no need of a pilot?
No.
Then in time of peace justice will be of no use?
I am very far from thinking so.
You think that justice may be of use in peace as well as in war?
Yes.
Like husbandry for the acquisition of corn?
Yes.
Or like shoemaking for the acquisition of shoes,--that is what you mean?
Yes.
And what similar use or power of acquisition has justice in time of peace?
In contracts, Socrates, justice is of use.
And by contracts you mean partnerships?
Exactly.
But is the just man or the skilful player a more useful and better partner at a game of draughts?
The skilful player.
And in the laying of bricks and stones is the just man a more useful or better partner than the
builder?
Quite the reverse.
Then in what sort of partnership is the just man a better partner than the harp-player, as in
playing the harp the harp-player is certainly a better partner than the just man?
In a money partnership.
Yes, Polemarchus, but surely not in the use of money; for you do not want a just man to be your
counsellor the purchase or sale of a horse; a man who is knowing about horses would be better
for that, would he not?
Certainly.
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And when you want to buy a ship, the shipwright or the pilot would be better?
True.
Then what is that joint use of silver or gold in which the just man is to be preferred?
When you want a deposit to be kept safely.
You mean when money is not wanted, but allowed to lie?
Precisely.
That is to say, justice is useful when money is useless?
That is the inference.
And when you want to keep a pruning-hook safe, then justice is useful to the individual and to
the state; but when you want to use it, then the art of the vine-dresser?
Clearly.
And when you want to keep a shield or a lyre, and not to use them, you would say that justice is
useful; but when you want to use them, then the art of the soldier or of the musician?
Certainly.
And so of all the other things;--justice is useful when they are useless, and useless when they
are useful?
Then justice is not good for much. But let us consider this further point: Is not he who can best
strike a blow in a boxing match or in any kind of fighting best able to ward off a blow?
Certainly.
And he who is most skilful in preventing or escaping from a disease is best able to create one?
True.
And he is the best guard of a camp who is best able to steal a march upon the enemy?
Certainly.
Then he who is a good keeper of anything is also a good thief?
That, I suppose, is to be inferred.
Then if the just man is good at keeping money, he is good at stealing it.
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That is implied in the argument.
Then after all the just man has turned out to be a thief. And this is a lesson which I suspect you
must have learnt out of Homer; for he, speaking of Autolycus, the maternal grandfather of
Odysseus, who is a favourite of his, affirms that
He was excellent above all men in theft and perjury.
And so, you and Homer and Simonides are agreed that justice is an art of theft; to be practised
however `for the good of friends and for the harm of enemies,'--that was what you were saying?
No, certainly not that, though I do not now know what I did say; but I still stand by the latter
words.
Well, there is another question: By friends and enemies do we mean those who are so really, or
only in seeming?
Surely, he said, a man may be expected to love those whom he thinks good, and to hate those
whom he thinks evil.
Yes, but do not persons often err about good and evil: many who are not good seem to be so,
and conversely?
That is true.
Then to them the good will be enemies and the evil will be their friends? True.
And in that case they will be right in doing good to the evil and evil to the good?
Clearly.
But the good are just and would not do an injustice?
True.
Then according to your argument it is just to injure those who do no wrong?
Nay, Socrates; the doctrine is immoral.
Then I suppose that we ought to do good to the just and harm to the unjust?
I like that better.
But see the consequence:--Many a man who is ignorant of human nature has friends who are
bad friends, and in that case he ought to do harm to them; and he has good enemies whom he
ought to benefit; but, if so, we shall be saying the very opposite of that which we affirmed to be
the meaning of Simonides.
Very true, he said: and I think that we had better correct an error into which we seem to have
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fallen in the use of the words `friend' and ènemy.'
What was the error, Polemarchus? I asked.
We assumed that he is a friend who seems to be or who is thought good.
And how is the error to be corrected?
We should rather say that he is a friend who is, as well as seems, good; and that he who seems
only, and is not good, only seems to be and is not a friend; and of an enemy the same may be
said.
You would argue that the good are our friends and the bad our enemies?
Yes.
And instead of saying simply as we did at first, that it is just to do good to our friends and harm
to our enemies, we should further say: It is just to do good to our friends when they are good
and harm to our enemies when they are evil?
Yes, that appears to me to be the truth.
But ought the just to injure any one at all?
Undoubtedly he ought to injure those who are both wicked and his enemies.
When horses are injured, are they improved or deteriorated?
The latter.
Deteriorated, that is to say, in the good qualities of horses, not of dogs?
Yes, of horses.
And dogs are deteriorated in the good qualities of dogs, and not of horses?
Of course.
And will not men who are injured be deteriorated in that which is the proper virtue of man?
Certainly.
And that human virtue is justice?
To be sure.
Then men who are injured are of necessity made unjust?
That is the result.

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But can the musician by his art make men unmusical?
Certainly not.
Or the horseman by his art make them bad horsemen?
Impossible.
And can the just by justice make men unjust, or speaking general can the good by virtue make
them bad?
Assuredly not.
Any more than heat can produce cold?
It cannot.
Or drought moisture?
Clearly not.
Nor can the good harm any one?
Impossible.
And the just is the good?
Certainly.
Then to injure a friend or any one else is not the act of a just man, but of the opposite, who is
the unjust?
I think that what you say is quite true, Socrates.
Then if a man says that justice consists in the repayment of debts, and that good is the debt
which a man owes to his friends, and evil the debt which he owes to his enemies,--to say this is
not wise; for it is not true, if, as has been clearly shown, the injuring of another can be in no
case just.
I agree with you, said Polemarchus.
Then you and I are prepared to take up arms against any one who attributes such a saying to
Simonides or Bias or Pittacus, or any other wise man or seer?
I am quite ready to do battle at your side, he said.
Shall I tell you whose I believe the saying to be?
Whose?
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I believe that Periander or Perdiccas or Xerxes or Ismenias the Theban, or some other rich and
mighty man, who had a great opinion of his own power, was the first to say that justice is `doing
good to your friends and harm to your enemies.'
Most true, he said.
Yes, I said; but if this definition of justice also breaks down, what other can be offered?
Several times in the course of the discussion Thrasymachus had made an attempt to get the
argument into his own hands, and had been put down by the rest of the company, who wanted
to hear the end. But when Polemarchus and I had done speaking and there was a pause, he
could no longer hold his peace; and, gathering himself up, he came at us like a wild beast,
seeking to devour us. We were quite panic-stricken at the sight of him.
SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS - THRASYMACHUS
He roared out to the whole company: What folly. Socrates, has taken possession of you all?
And why, sillybillies, do you knock under to one another? I say that if you want really to know
what justice is, you should not only ask but answer, and you should not seek honour to yourself
from the refutation of an opponent, but have your own answer; for there is many a one who can
ask and cannot answer. And now I will not have you say that justice is duty or advantage or
profit or gain or interest, for this sort of nonsense will not do for me; I must have clearness and
accuracy.
I was panic-stricken at his words, and could not look at him without trembling. Indeed I believe
that if I had not fixed my eye upon him, I should have been struck dumb: but when I saw his fury
rising, I looked at him first, and was therefore able to reply to him.
Thrasymachus, I said, with a quiver, don't be hard upon us. Polemarchus and I may have been
guilty of a little mistake in the argument, but I can assure you that the error was not intentional.
If we were seeking for a piece of gold, you would not imagine that we were `knocking under to
one another,' and so losing our chance of finding it. And why, when we are seeking for justice, a
thing more precious than many pieces of gold, do you say that we are weakly yielding to one
another and not doing our utmost to get at the truth? Nay, my good friend, we are most willing
and anxious to do so, but the fact is that we cannot. And if so, you people who know all things
should pity us and not be angry with us.
How characteristic of Socrates! he replied, with a bitter laugh;-- that's your ironical style! Did I
not foresee--have I not already told you, that whatever he was asked he would refuse to
answer, and try irony or any other shuffle, in order that he might avoid answering?
You are a philosopher, Thrasymachus, I replied, and well know that if you ask a person what
numbers make up twelve, taking care to prohibit him whom you ask from answering twice six, or
three times four, or six times two, or four times three, `for this sort of nonsense will not do for
me,'--then obviously, that is your way of putting the question, no one can answer you. But
suppose that he were to retort, `Thrasymachus, what do you mean? If one of these numbers
which you interdict be the true answer to the question, am I falsely to say some other number
which is not the right one?--is that your meaning?' --How would you answer him?
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Just as if the two cases were at all alike! he said.
Why should they not be? I replied; and even if they are not, but only appear to be so to the
person who is asked, ought he not to say what he thinks, whether you and I forbid him or not?
I presume then that you are going to make one of the interdicted answers?
I dare say that I may, notwithstanding the danger, if upon reflection I approve of any of them.
But what if I give you an answer about justice other and better, he said, than any of these?
What do you deserve to have done to you?
Done to me!--as becomes the ignorant, I must learn from the wise-- that is what I deserve to
have done to me.
What, and no payment! a pleasant notion!
I will pay when I have the money, I replied.
SOCRATES - THRASYMACHUS - GLAUCON
But you have, Socrates, said Glaucon: and you, Thrasymachus, need be under no anxiety
about money, for we will all make a contribution for Socrates.
Yes, he replied, and then Socrates will do as he always does-- refuse to answer himself, but
take and pull to pieces the answer of some one else.
Why, my good friend, I said, how can any one answer who knows, and says that he knows, just
nothing; and who, even if he has some faint notions of his own, is told by a man of authority not
to utter them? The natural thing is, that the speaker should be some one like yourself who
professes to know and can tell what he knows. Will you then kindly answer, for the edification of
the company and of myself ?
Glaucon and the rest of the company joined in my request and Thrasymachus, as any one
might see, was in reality eager to speak; for he thought that he had an excellent answer, and
would distinguish himself. But at first he to insist on my answering; at length he consented to
begin. Behold, he said, the wisdom of Socrates; he refuses to teach himself, and goes about
learning of others, to whom he never even says thank you.
That I learn of others, I replied, is quite true; but that I am ungrateful I wholly deny. Money I
have none, and therefore I pay in praise, which is all I have: and how ready I am to praise any
one who appears to me to speak well you will very soon find out when you answer; for I expect
that you will answer well.
Listen, then, he said; I proclaim that justice is nothing else than the interest of the stronger. And
now why do you not me? But of course you won't.
Let me first understand you, I replied. justice, as you say, is the interest of the stronger. What,
Thrasymachus, is the meaning of this? You cannot mean to say that because Polydamas, the
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pancratiast, is stronger than we are, and finds the eating of beef conducive to his bodily
strength, that to eat beef is therefore equally for our good who are weaker than he is, and right
and just for us?
That's abominable of you, Socrates; you take the words in the sense which is most damaging to
the argument.
Not at all, my good sir, I said; I am trying to understand them; and I wish that you would be a
little clearer.
Well, he said, have you never heard that forms of government differ; there are tyrannies, and
there are democracies, and there are aristocracies?
Yes, I know.
And the government is the ruling power in each state?
Certainly.
And the different forms of government make laws democratical, aristocratical, tyrannical, with a
view to their several interests; and these laws, which are made by them for their own interests,
are the justice which they deliver to their subjects, and him who transgresses them they punish
as a breaker of the law, and unjust. And that is what I mean when I say that in all states there is
the same principle of justice, which is the interest of the government; and as the government
must be supposed to have power, the only reasonable conclusion is, that everywhere there is
one principle of justice, which is the interest of the stronger.
Now I understand you, I said; and whether you are right or not I will try to discover. But let me
remark, that in defining justice you have yourself used the word ìnterest' which you forbade me
to use. It is true, however, that in your definition the words òf the stronger' are added.
A small addition, you must allow, he said.
Great or small, never mind about that: we must first enquire whether what you are saying is the
truth. Now we are both agreed that justice is interest of some sort, but you go on to say òf the
stronger'; about this addition I am not so sure, and must therefore consider further.
Proceed.
I will; and first tell me, Do you admit that it is just or subjects to obey their rulers?
I do.
But are the rulers of states absolutely infallible, or are they sometimes liable to err?
To be sure, he replied, they are liable to err.
Then in making their laws they may sometimes make them rightly, and sometimes not?
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True.
When they make them rightly, they make them agreeably to their interest; when they are
mistaken, contrary to their interest; you admit that?
Yes.
And the laws which they make must be obeyed by their subjects,-- and that is what you call
justice?
Doubtless.
Then justice, according to your argument, is not only obedience to the interest of the stronger
but the reverse?
What is that you are saying? he asked.
I am only repeating what you are saying, I believe. But let us consider: Have we not admitted
that the rulers may be mistaken about their own interest in what they command, and also that to
obey them is justice? Has not that been admitted?
Yes.
Then you must also have acknowledged justice not to be for the interest of the stronger, when
the rulers unintentionally command things to be done which are to their own injury. For if, as you
say, justice is the obedience which the subject renders to their commands, in that case, O
wisest of men, is there any escape from the conclusion that the weaker are commanded to do,
not what is for the interest, but what is for the injury of the stronger?
Nothing can be clearer, Socrates, said Polemarchus.
SOCRATES - CLEITOPHON - POLEMARCHUS - THRASYMACHUS
Yes, said Cleitophon, interposing, if you are allowed to be his witness.
But there is no need of any witness, said Polemarchus, for Thrasymachus himself
acknowledges that rulers may sometimes command what is not for their own interest, and that
for subjects to obey them is justice.
Yes, Polemarchus,--Thrasymachus said that for subjects to do what was commanded by their
rulers is just.
Yes, Cleitophon, but he also said that justice is the interest of the stronger, and, while admitting
both these propositions, he further acknowledged that the stronger may command the weaker
who are his subjects to do what is not for his own interest; whence follows that justice is the
injury quite as much as the interest of the stronger.
But, said Cleitophon, he meant by the interest of the stronger what the stronger thought to be
his interest,--this was what the weaker had to do; and this was affirmed by him to be justice.
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Those were not his words, rejoined Polemarchus.
SOCRATES - THRASYMACHUS
Never mind, I replied, if he now says that they are, let us accept his statement. Tell me,
Thrasymachus, I said, did you mean by justice what the stronger thought to be his interest,
whether really so or not?
Certainly not, he said. Do you suppose that I call him who is mistaken the stronger at the time
when he is mistaken?
Yes, I said, my impression was that you did so, when you admitted that the ruler was not
infallible but might be sometimes mistaken.
You argue like an informer, Socrates. Do you mean, for example, that he who is mistaken about
the sick is a physician in that he is mistaken? or that he who errs in arithmetic or grammar is an
arithmetician or grammarian at the me when he is making the mistake, in respect of the
mistake? True, we say that the physician or arithmetician or grammarian has made a mistake,
but this is only a way of speaking; for the fact is that neither the grammarian nor any other
person of skill ever makes a mistake in so far as he is what his name implies; they none of them
err unless their skill fails them, and then they cease to be skilled artists. No artist or sage or ruler
errs at the time when he is what his name implies; though he is commonly said to err, and I
adopted the common mode of speaking. But to be perfectly accurate, since you are such a lover
of accuracy, we should say that the ruler, in so far as he is the ruler, is unerring, and, being
unerring, always commands that which is for his own interest; and the subject is required to
execute his commands; and therefore, as I said at first and now repeat, justice is the interest of
the stronger.
Indeed, Thrasymachus, and do I really appear to you to argue like an informer?
Certainly, he replied.
And you suppose that I ask these questions with any design of injuring you in the argument?
Nay, he replied, `suppose' is not the word--I know it; but you will be found out, and by sheer
force of argument you will never prevail.
I shall not make the attempt, my dear man; but to avoid any misunderstanding occurring
between us in future, let me ask, in what sense do you speak of a ruler or stronger whose
interest, as you were saying, he being the superior, it is just that the inferior should execute-- is
he a ruler in the popular or in the strict sense of the term?
In the strictest of all senses, he said. And now cheat and play the informer if you can; I ask no
quarter at your hands. But you never will be able, never.
And do you imagine, I said, that I am such a madman as to try and cheat, Thrasymachus? I
might as well shave a lion.
Why, he said, you made the attempt a minute ago, and you failed.
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Enough, I said, of these civilities. It will be better that I should ask you a question: Is the
physician, taken in that strict sense of which you are speaking, a healer of the sick or a maker of
money? And remember that I am now speaking of the true physician.
A healer of the sick, he replied.
And the pilot--that is to say, the true pilot--is he a captain of sailors or a mere sailor?
A captain of sailors.
The circumstance that he sails in the ship is not to be taken into account; neither is he to be
called a sailor; the name pilot by which he is distinguished has nothing to do with sailing, but is
significant of his skill and of his authority over the sailors.
Very true, he said.
Now, I said, every art has an interest?
Certainly.
For which the art has to consider and provide?
Yes, that is the aim of art.
And the interest of any art is the perfection of it--this and nothing else?
What do you mean?
I mean what I may illustrate negatively by the example of the body. Suppose you were to ask
me whether the body is self-sufficing or has wants, I should reply: Certainly the body has wants;
for the body may be ill and require to be cured, and has therefore interests to which the art of
medicine ministers; and this is the origin and intention of medicine, as you will acknowledge. Am
I not right?
Quite right, he replied.
But is the art of medicine or any other art faulty or deficient in any quality in the same way that
the eye may be deficient in sight or the ear fail of hearing, and therefore requires another art to
provide for the interests of seeing and hearing-- has art in itself, I say, any similar liability to fault
or defect, and does every art require another supplementary art to provide for its interests, and
that another and another without end? Or have the arts to look only after their own interests? Or
have they no need either of themselves or of another?--having no faults or defects, they have
no need to correct them, either by the exercise of their own art or of any other; they have only to
consider the interest of their subject-matter. For every art remains pure and faultless while
remaining true--that is to say, while perfect and unimpaired. Take the words in your precise
sense, and tell me whether I am not right."
Yes, clearly.
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Then medicine does not consider the interest of medicine, but the interest of the body?
True, he said.
Nor does the art of horsemanship consider the interests of the art of horsemanship, but the
interests of the horse; neither do any other arts care for themselves, for they have no needs;
they care only for that which is the subject of their art?
True, he said.
But surely, Thrasymachus, the arts are the superiors and rulers of their own subjects?
To this he assented with a good deal of reluctance.
Then, I said, no science or art considers or enjoins the interest of the stronger or superior, but
only the interest of the subject and weaker?
He made an attempt to contest this proposition also, but finally acquiesced.
Then, I continued, no physician, in so far as he is a physician, considers his own good in what
he prescribes, but the good of his patient; for the true physician is also a ruler having the human
body as a subject, and is not a mere money-maker; that has been admitted?
Yes.
And the pilot likewise, in the strict sense of the term, is a ruler of sailors and not a mere sailor?
That has been admitted.
And such a pilot and ruler will provide and prescribe for the interest of the sailor who is under
him, and not for his own or the ruler's interest?
He gave a reluctant `Yes.'
Then, I said, Thrasymachus, there is no one in any rule who, in so far as he is a ruler, considers
or enjoins what is for his own interest, but always what is for the interest of his subject or
suitable to his art; to that he looks, and that alone he considers in everything which he says and
does.
When we had got to this point in the argument, and every one saw that the definition of justice
had been completely upset, Thrasymachus, instead of replying to me, said: Tell me, Socrates,
have you got a nurse?
Why do you ask such a question, I said, when you ought rather to be answering?
Because she leaves you to snivel, and never wipes your nose: she has not even taught you to
know the shepherd from the sheep.
What makes you say that? I replied.

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Because you fancy that the shepherd or neatherd fattens of tends the sheep or oxen with a view
to their own good and not to the good of himself or his master; and you further imagine that the
rulers of states, if they are true rulers, never think of their subjects as sheep, and that they are
not studying their own advantage day and night. Oh, no; and so entirely astray are you in your
ideas about the just and unjust as not even to know that justice and the just are in reality
another's good; that is to say, the interest of the ruler and stronger, and the loss of the subject
and servant; and injustice the opposite; for the unjust is lord over the truly simple and just: he is
the stronger, and his subjects do what is for his interest, and minister to his happiness, which is
very far from being their own. Consider further, most foolish Socrates, that the just is always a
loser in comparison with the unjust. First of all, in private contracts: wherever the unjust is the
partner of the just you will find that, when the partnership is dissolved, the unjust man has
always more and the just less. Secondly, in their dealings with the State: when there is an
income tax, the just man will pay more and the unjust less on the same amount of income; and
when there is anything to be received the one gains nothing and the other much. Observe also
what happens when they take an office; there is the just man neglecting his affairs and perhaps
suffering other losses, and getting nothing out of the public, because he is just; moreover he is
hated by his friends and acquaintance for refusing to serve them in unlawful ways. But all this is
reversed in the case of the unjust man. I am speaking, as before, of injustice on a large scale in
which the advantage of the unjust is more apparent; and my meaning will be most clearly seen if
we turn to that highest form of injustice in which the criminal is the happiest of men, and the
sufferers or those who refuse to do injustice are the most miserable--that is to say tyranny,
which by fraud and force takes away the property of others, not little by little but wholesale;
comprehending in one, things sacred as well as profane, private and public; for which acts of
wrong, if he were detected perpetrating any one of them singly, he would be punished and incur
great disgrace-- they who do such wrong in particular cases are called robbers of temples, and
man-stealers and burglars and swindlers and thieves. But when a man besides taking away the
money of the citizens has made slaves of them, then, instead of these names of reproach, he is
termed happy and blessed, not only by the citizens but by all who hear of his having achieved
the consummation of injustice. For mankind censure injustice, fearing that they may be the
victims of it and not because they shrink from committing it. And thus, as I have shown,
Socrates, injustice, when on a sufficient scale, has more strength and freedom and mastery
than justice; and, as I said at first, justice is the interest of the stronger, whereas injustice is a
man's own profit and interest.
Thrasymachus, when he had thus spoken, having, like a bathman, deluged our ears with his
words, had a mind to go away. But the company would not let him; they insisted that he should
remain and defend his position; and I myself added my own humble request that he would not
leave us. Thrasymachus, I said to him, excellent man, how suggestive are your remarks! And
are you going to run away before you have fairly taught or learned whether they are true or not?
Is the attempt to determine the way of man's life so small a matter in your eyes--to determine
how life may be passed by each one of us to the greatest advantage?
And do I differ from you, he said, as to the importance of the enquiry?
You appear rather, I replied, to have no care or thought about us, Thrasymachus--whether we
live better or worse from not knowing what you say you know, is to you a matter of indifference.
Prithee, friend, do not keep your knowledge to yourself; we are a large party; and any benefit
which you confer upon us will be amply rewarded. For my own part I openly declare that I am
not convinced, and that I do not believe injustice to be more gainful than justice, even if
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uncontrolled and allowed to have free play. For, granting that there may be an unjust man who
is able to commit injustice either by fraud or force, still this does not convince me of the superior
advantage of injustice, and there may be others who are in the same predicament with myself.
Perhaps we may be wrong; if so, you in your wisdom should convince us that we are mistaken
in preferring justice to injustice.
And how am I to convince you, he said, if you are not already convinced by what I have just
said; what more can I do for you? Would you have me put the proof bodily into your souls?
Heaven forbid! I said; I would only ask you to be consistent; or, if you change, change openly
and let there be no deception. For I must remark, Thrasymachus, if you will recall what was
previously said, that although you began by defining the true physician in an exact sense, you
did not observe a like exactness when speaking of the shepherd; you thought that the shepherd
as a shepherd tends the sheep not with a view to their own good, but like a mere diner or
banqueter with a view to the pleasures of the table; or, again, as a trader for sale in the market,
and not as a shepherd. Yet surely the art of the shepherd is concerned only with the good of his
subjects; he has only to provide the best for them, since the perfection of the art is already
ensured whenever all the requirements of it are satisfied. And that was what I was saying just
now about the ruler. I conceived that the art of the ruler, considered as ruler, whether in a state
or in private life, could only regard the good of his flock or subjects; whereas you seem to think
that the rulers in states, that is to say, the true rulers, like being in authority.
Think! Nay, I am sure of it.
Then why in the case of lesser offices do men never take them willingly without payment, unless
under the idea that they govern for the advantage not of themselves but of others? Let me ask
you a question: Are not the several arts different, by reason of their each having a separate
function? And, my dear illustrious friend, do say what you think, that we may make a little
progress.
Yes, that is the difference, he replied.
And each art gives us a particular good and not merely a general one-- medicine, for example,
gives us health; navigation, safety at sea, and so on?
Yes, he said.
And the art of payment has the special function of giving pay: but we do not confuse this with
other arts, any more than the art of the pilot is to be confused with the art of medicine, because
the health of the pilot may be improved by a sea voyage. You would not be inclined to say,
would you, that navigation is the art of medicine, at least if we are to adopt your exact use of
language?
Certainly not.
Or because a man is in good health when he receives pay you would not say that the art of
payment is medicine?
I should say not.

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Nor would you say that medicine is the art of receiving pay because a man takes fees when he
is engaged in healing?
Certainly not.
And we have admitted, I said, that the good of each art is specially confined to the art?
Yes.
Then, if there be any good which all artists have in common, that is to be attributed to
something of which they all have the common use?
True, he replied.
And when the artist is benefited by receiving pay the advantage is gained by an additional use
of the art of pay, which is not the art professed by him?
He gave a reluctant assent to this.
Then the pay is not derived by the several artists from their respective arts. But the truth is, that
while the art of medicine gives health, and the art of the builder builds a house, another art
attends them which is the art of pay. The various arts may be doing their own business and
benefiting that over which they preside, but would the artist receive any benefit from his art
unless he were paid as well?
I suppose not.
But does he therefore confer no benefit when he works for nothing?
Certainly, he confers a benefit.
Then now, Thrasymachus, there is no longer any doubt that neither arts nor governments
provide for their own interests; but, as we were before saying, they rule and provide for the
interests of their subjects who are the weaker and not the stronger-- to their good they attend
and not to the good of the superior.
And this is the reason, my dear Thrasymachus, why, as I was just now saying, no one is willing
to govern; because no one likes to take in hand the reformation of evils which are not his
concern without remuneration. For, in the execution of his work, and in giving his orders to
another, the true artist does not regard his own interest, but always that of his subjects; and
therefore in order that rulers may be willing to rule, they must be paid in one of three modes of
payment: money, or honour, or a penalty for refusing.
SOCRATES - GLAUCON
What do you mean, Socrates? said Glaucon. The first two modes of payment are intelligible
enough, but what the penalty is I do not understand, or how a penalty can be a payment.
You mean that you do not understand the nature of this payment which to the best men is the
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great inducement to rule? Of course you know that ambition and avarice are held to be, as
indeed they are, a disgrace?
Very true.
And for this reason, I said, money and honour have no attraction for them; good men do not
wish to be openly demanding payment for governing and so to get the name of hirelings, nor by
secretly helping themselves out of the public revenues to get the name of thieves. And not
being ambitious they do not care about honour. Wherefore necessity must be laid upon them,
and they must be induced to serve from the fear of punishment. And this, as I imagine, is the
reason why the forwardness to take office, instead of waiting to be compelled, has been
deemed dishonourable. Now the worst part of the punishment is that he who refuses to rule is
liable to be ruled by one who is worse than himself. And the fear of this, as I conceive, induces
the good to take office, not because they would, but because they cannot help--not under the
idea that they are going to have any benefit or enjoyment themselves, but as a necessity, and
because they are not able to commit the task of ruling to any one who is better than themselves,
or indeed as good. For there is reason to think that if a city were composed entirely of good
men, then to avoid office would be as much an object of contention as to obtain office is at
present; then we should have plain proof that the true ruler is not meant by nature to regard his
own interest, but that of his subjects; and every one who knew this would choose rather to
receive a benefit from another than to have the trouble of conferring one. So far am I from
agreeing with Thrasymachus that justice is the interest of the stronger. This latter question need
not be further discussed at present; but when Thrasymachus says that the life of the unjust is
more advantageous than that of the just, his new statement appears to me to be of a far more
serious character. Which of us has spoken truly? And which sort of life, Glaucon, do you prefer?
I for my part deem the life of the just to be the more advantageous, he answered.
Did you hear all the advantages of the unjust which Thrasymachus was rehearsing?
Yes, I heard him, he replied, but he has not convinced me.
Then shall we try to find some way of convincing him, if we can, that he is saying what is not
true?
Most certainly, he replied.
If, I said, he makes a set speech and we make another recounting all the advantages of being
just, and he answers and we rejoin, there must be a numbering and measuring of the goods
which are claimed on either side, and in the end we shall want judges to decide; but if we
proceed in our enquiry as we lately did, by making admissions to one another, we shall unite the
offices of judge and advocate in our own persons.
Very good, he said.
And which method do I understand you to prefer? I said.
That which you propose.
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Well, then, Thrasymachus, I said, suppose you begin at the beginning and answer me. You say
that perfect injustice is more gainful than perfect justice?
SOCRATES - GLAUCON - THRASYMACHUS
Yes, that is what I say, and I have given you my reasons.
And what is your view about them? Would you call one of them virtue and the other vice?
Certainly.
I suppose that you would call justice virtue and injustice vice?
What a charming notion! So likely too, seeing that I affirm injustice to be profitable and justice
not.
What else then would you say?
The opposite, he replied.
And would you call justice vice?
No, I would rather say sublime simplicity.
Then would you call injustice malignity?
No; I would rather say discretion.
And do the unjust appear to you to be wise and good?
Yes, he said; at any rate those of them who are able to be perfectly unjust, and who have the
power of subduing states and nations; but perhaps you imagine me to be talking of cutpurses.
Even this profession if undetected has advantages, though they are not to be compared with
those of which I was just now speaking.
I do not think that I misapprehend your meaning, Thrasymachus, I replied; but still I cannot hear
without amazement that you class injustice with wisdom and virtue, and justice with the
opposite.
Certainly I do so class them.
Now, I said, you are on more substantial and almost unanswerable ground; for if the injustice
which you were maintaining to be profitable had been admitted by you as by others to be vice
and deformity, an answer might have been given to you on received principles; but now I
perceive that you will call injustice honourable and strong, and to the unjust you will attribute all
the qualities which were attributed by us before to the just, seeing that you do not hesitate to
rank injustice with wisdom and virtue.
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You have guessed most infallibly, he replied.
Then I certainly ought not to shrink from going through with the argument so long as I have
reason to think that you, Thrasymachus, are speaking your real mind; for I do believe that you
are now in earnest and are not amusing yourself at our expense.
I may be in earnest or not, but what is that to you?--to refute the argument is your business.
Very true, I said; that is what I have to do: But will you be so good as answer yet one more
question? Does the just man try to gain any advantage over the just?
Far otherwise; if he did would not be the simple, amusing creature which he is.
And would he try to go beyond just action?
He would not.
And how would he regard the attempt to gain an advantage over the unjust; would that be
considered by him as just or unjust?
He would think it just, and would try to gain the advantage; but he would not be able.
Whether he would or would not be able, I said, is not to the point. My question is only whether
the just man, while refusing to have more than another just man, would wish and claim to have
more than the unjust?
Yes, he would.
And what of the unjust--does he claim to have more than the just man and to do more than is
just
Of course, he said, for he claims to have more than all men.
And the unjust man will strive and struggle to obtain more than the unjust man or action, in
order that he may have more than all?
True.
We may put the matter thus, I said--the just does not desire more than his like but more than his
unlike, whereas the unjust desires more than both his like and his unlike?
Nothing, he said, can be better than that statement.
And the unjust is good and wise, and the just is neither?
Good again, he said.
And is not the unjust like the wise and good and the just unlike them?
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Of course, he said, he who is of a certain nature, is like those who are of a certain nature; he
who is not, not.
Each of them, I said, is such as his like is?
Very good, Thrasymachus, I said; and now to take the case of the arts: you would admit that
one man is a musician and another not a musician?
Yes.
And which is wise and which is foolish?
Clearly the musician is wise, and he who is not a musician is foolish.
And he is good in as far as he is wise, and bad in as far as he is foolish?
Yes.
And you would say the same sort of thing of the physician?
Yes.
And do you think, my excellent friend, that a musician when he adjusts the lyre would desire or
claim to exceed or go beyond a musician in the tightening and loosening the strings?
I do not think that he would.
But he would claim to exceed the non-musician?
Of course.
And what would you say of the physician? In prescribing meats and drinks would he wish to go
beyond another physician or beyond the practice of medicine?
He would not.
But he would wish to go beyond the non-physician?
Yes.
And about knowledge and ignorance in general; see whether you think that any man who has
knowledge ever would wish to have the choice of saying or doing more than another man who
has knowledge. Would he not rather say or do the same as his like in the same case?
That, I suppose, can hardly be denied.
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And what of the ignorant? would he not desire to have more than either the knowing or the
ignorant?
I dare say.
And the knowing is wise?
Yes.
And the wise is good?
True.
Then the wise and good will not desire to gain more than his like, but more than his unlike and
opposite?
I suppose so.
Whereas the bad and ignorant will desire to gain more than both?
Yes.
But did we not say, Thrasymachus, that the unjust goes beyond both his like and unlike? Were
not these your words? They were.
They were.
And you also said that the lust will not go beyond his like but his unlike?
Yes.
Then the just is like the wise and good, and the unjust like the evil and ignorant?
And each of them is such as his like is?
That was admitted.
Then the just has turned out to be wise and good and the unjust evil and ignorant.
Thrasymachus made all these admissions, not fluently, as I repeat them, but with extreme
reluctance; it was a hot summer's day, and the perspiration poured from him in torrents; and
then I saw what I had never seen before, Thrasymachus blushing. As we were now agreed that
justice was virtue and wisdom, and injustice vice and ignorance, I proceeded to another point:
Well, I said, Thrasymachus, that matter is now settled; but were we not also saying that injustice
had strength; do you remember?
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Yes, I remember, he said, but do not suppose that I approve of what you are saying or have no
answer; if however I were to answer, you would be quite certain to accuse me of haranguing;
therefore either permit me to have my say out, or if you would rather ask, do so, and I will
answer `Very good,' as they say to story-telling old women, and will nod `Yes' and `No.'
Certainly not, I said, if contrary to your real opinion.
Yes, he said, I will, to please you, since you will not let me speak. What else would you have?
Nothing in the world, I said; and if you are so disposed I will ask and you shall answer.
Proceed.
Then I will repeat the question which I asked before, in order that our examination of the relative
nature of justice and injustice may be carried on regularly. A statement was made that injustice
is stronger and more powerful than justice, but now justice, having been identified with wisdom
and virtue, is easily shown to be stronger than injustice, if injustice is ignorance; this can no
longer be questioned by any one. But I want to view the matter, Thrasymachus, in a different
way: You would not deny that a state may be unjust and may be unjustly attempting to enslave
other states, or may have already enslaved them, and may be holding many of them in
subjection?
True, he replied; and I will add the best and perfectly unjust state will be most likely to do so.
I know, I said, that such was your position; but what I would further consider is, whether this
power which is possessed by the superior state can exist or be exercised without justice.
If you are right in you view, and justice is wisdom, then only with justice; but if I am right, then
without justice.
I am delighted, Thrasymachus, to see you not only nodding assent and dissent, but making
answers which are quite excellent.
That is out of civility to you, he replied.
You are very kind, I said; and would you have the goodness also to inform me, whether you
think that a state, or an army, or a band of robbers and thieves, or any other gang of evil-doers
could act at all if they injured one another?
No indeed, he said, they could not.
But if they abstained from injuring one another, then they might act together better?
Yes.
And this is because injustice creates divisions and hatreds and fighting, and justice imparts
harmony and friendship; is not that true, Thrasymachus?
I agree, he said, because I do not wish to quarrel with you.

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How good of you, I said; but I should like to know also whether injustice, having this tendency to
arouse hatred, wherever existing, among slaves or among freemen, will not make them hate
one another and set them at variance and render them incapable of common action?
Certainly.
And even if injustice be found in two only, will they not quarrel and fight, and become enemies
to one another and to the just
They will.
And suppose injustice abiding in a single person, would your wisdom say that she loses or that
she retains her natural power?
Let us assume that she retains her power.
Yet is not the power which injustice exercises of such a nature that wherever she takes up her
abode, whether in a city, in an army, in a family, or in any other body, that body is, to begin with,
rendered incapable of united action by reason of sedition and distraction; and does it not
become its own enemy and at variance with all that opposes it, and with the just? Is not this the
case?
Yes, certainly.
And is not injustice equally fatal when existing in a single person; in the first place rendering him
incapable of action because he is not at unity with himself, and in the second place making him
an enemy to himself and the just? Is not that true, Thrasymachus?
Yes.
And O my friend, I said, surely the gods are just?
Granted that they are.
But if so, the unjust will be the enemy of the gods, and the just will be their friend?
Feast away in triumph, and take your fill of the argument; I will not oppose you, lest I should
displease the company.
Well then, proceed with your answers, and let me have the remainder of my repast. For we
have already shown that the just are clearly wiser and better and abler than the unjust, and that
the unjust are incapable of common action; nay ing at more, that to speak as we did of men who
are evil acting at any time vigorously together, is not strictly true, for if they had been perfectly
evil, they would have laid hands upon one another; but it is evident that there must have been
some remnant of justice in them, which enabled them to combine; if there had not been they
would have injured one another as well as their victims; they were but half--villains in their
enterprises; for had they been whole villains, and utterly unjust, they would have been utterly
incapable of action. That, as I believe, is the truth of the matter, and not what you said at first.
But whether the just have a better and happier life than the unjust is a further question which we
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also proposed to consider. I think that they have, and for the reasons which to have given; but
still I should like to examine further, for no light matter is at stake, nothing less than the rule of
human life.
Proceed.
I will proceed by asking a question: Would you not say that a horse has some end?
I should.
And the end or use of a horse or of anything would be that which could not be accomplished, or
not so well accomplished, by any other thing?
I do not understand, he said.
Let me explain: Can you see, except with the eye?
Certainly not.
Or hear, except with the ear?
No.
These then may be truly said to be the ends of these organs?
They may.
But you can cut off a vine-branch with a dagger or with a chisel, and in many other ways?
Of course.
And yet not so well as with a pruning-hook made for the purpose?
True.
May we not say that this is the end of a pruning-hook?
We may.
Then now I think you will have no difficulty in understanding my meaning when I asked the
question whether the end of anything would be that which could not be accomplished, or not so
well accomplished, by any other thing?
I understand your meaning, he said, and assent.
And that to which an end is appointed has also an excellence? Need I ask again whether the
eye has an end?
It has.
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And has not the eye an excellence?
Yes.
And the ear has an end and an excellence also?
True.
And the same is true of all other things; they have each of them an end and a special
excellence?
That is so.
Well, and can the eyes fulfil their end if they are wanting in their own proper excellence and
have a defect instead?
How can they, he said, if they are blind and cannot see?
You mean to say, if they have lost their proper excellence, which is sight; but I have not arrived
at that point yet. I would rather ask the question more generally, and only enquire whether the
things which fulfil their ends fulfil them by their own proper excellence, and fall of fulfilling them
by their own defect?
I might say the same of the ears; when deprived of their own proper excellence they cannot fulfil
their end?
True.
And the same observation will apply to all other things?
I agree.
Well; and has not the soul an end which nothing else can fulfil? for example, to superintend and
command and deliberate and the like. Are not these functions proper to the soul, and can they
rightly be assigned to any other?
To no other.
And is not life to be reckoned among the ends of the soul?
Assuredly, he said.
And has not the soul an excellence also?
Yes.
And can she or can she not fulfil her own ends when deprived of that excellence?
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She cannot.
Then an evil soul must necessarily be an evil ruler and superintendent, and the good soul a
good ruler?
Yes, necessarily.
And we have admitted that justice is the excellence of the soul, and injustice the defect of the
soul?
That has been admitted.
Then the just soul and the just man will live well, and the unjust man will live ill?
That is what your argument proves.
And he who lives well is blessed and happy, and he who lives ill the reverse of happy?
Certainly.
Then the just is happy, and the unjust miserable?
So be it.
But happiness and not misery is profitable.
Of course.
Then, my blessed Thrasymachus, injustice can never be more profitable than justice.
Let this, Socrates, he said, be your entertainment at the Bendidea.
For which I am indebted to you, I said, now that you have grown gentle towards me and have
left off scolding. Nevertheless, I have not been well entertained; but that was my own fault and
not yours. As an epicure snatches a taste of every dish which is successively brought to table,
he not having allowed himself time to enjoy the one before, so have I gone from one subject to
another without having discovered what I sought at first, the nature of justice. I left that enquiry
and turned away to consider whether justice is virtue and wisdom or evil and folly; and when
there arose a further question about the comparative advantages of justice and injustice, I could
not refrain from passing on to that. And the result of the whole discussion has been that I know
nothing at all. For I know not what justice is, and therefore I am not likely to know whether it is or
is not a virtue, nor can I say whether the just man is happy or unhappy.
BOOK II
SOCRATES - GLAUCON
WITH these words I was thinking that I had made an end of the discussion; but the end, in truth,
proved to be only a beginning. For Glaucon, who is always the most pugnacious of men, was
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dissatisfied at Thrasymachus' retirement; he wanted to have the battle out. So he said to me:
Socrates, do you wish really to persuade us, or only to seem to have persuaded us, that to be
just is always better than to be unjust?
I should wish really to persuade you, I replied, if I could.
Then you certainly have not succeeded. Let me ask you now:--How would you arrange
goods--are there not some which we welcome for their own sakes, and independently of their
consequences, as, for example, harmless pleasures and enjoyments, which delight us at the
time, although nothing follows from them?
I agree in thinking that there is such a class, I replied.
Is there not also a second class of goods, such as knowledge, sight, health, which are desirable
not only in themselves, but also for their results?
Certainly, I said.
And would you not recognize a third class, such as gymnastic, and the care of the sick, and the
physician's art; also the various ways of money-making--these do us good but we regard them
as disagreeable; and no one would choose them for their own sakes, but only for the sake of
some reward or result which flows from them?
There is, I said, this third class also. But why do you ask?
Because I want to know in which of the three classes you would place justice?
In the highest class, I replied,--among those goods which he who would be happy desires both
for their own sake and for the sake of their results.
Then the many are of another mind; they think that justice is to be reckoned in the troublesome
class, among goods which are to be pursued for the sake of rewards and of reputation, but in
themselves are disagreeable and rather to be avoided.
I know, I said, that this is their manner of thinking, and that this was the thesis which
Thrasymachus was maintaining just now, when he censured justice and praised injustice. But I
am too stupid to be convinced by him.
I wish, he said, that you would hear me as well as him, and then I shall see whether you and I
agree. For Thrasymachus seems to me, like a snake, to have been charmed by your voice
sooner than he ought to have been; but to my mind the nature of justice and injustice have not
yet been made clear. Setting aside their rewards and results, I want to know what they are in
themselves, and how they inwardly work in the soul. If you, please, then, I will revive the
argument of Thrasymachus. And first I will speak of the nature and origin of justice according to
the common view of them. Secondly, I will show that all men who practise justice do so against
their will, of necessity, but not as a good. And thirdly, I will argue that there is reason in this
view, for the life of the unjust is after all better far than the life of the just--if what they say is true,
Socrates, since I myself am not of their opinion. But still I acknowledge that I am perplexed
when I hear the voices of Thrasymachus and myriads of others dinning in my ears; and, on the
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other hand, I have never yet heard the superiority of justice to injustice maintained by any one in
a satisfactory way. I want to hear justice praised in respect of itself; then I shall be satisfied, and
you are the person from whom I think that I am most likely to hear this; and therefore I will
praise the unjust life to the utmost of my power, and my manner of speaking will indicate the
manner in which I desire to hear you too praising justice and censuring injustice. Will you say
whether you approve of my proposal?
Indeed I do; nor can I imagine any theme about which a man of sense would oftener wish to
converse.
I am delighted, he replied, to hear you say so, and shall begin by speaking, as I proposed, of
the nature and origin of justice.
GLAUCON
They say that to do injustice is, by nature, good; to suffer injustice, evil; but that the evil is
greater than the good. And so when men have both done and suffered injustice and have had
experience of both, not being able to avoid the one and obtain the other, they think that they
had better agree among themselves to have neither; hence there arise laws and mutual
covenants; and that which is ordained by law is termed by them lawful and just. This they affirm
to be the origin and nature of justice;--it is a mean or compromise, between the best of all, which
is to do injustice and not be punished, and the worst of all, which is to suffer injustice without the
power of retaliation; and justice, being at a middle point between the two, is tolerated not as a
good, but as the lesser evil, and honoured by reason of the inability of men to do injustice. For
no man who is worthy to be called a man would ever submit to such an agreement if he were
able to resist; he would be mad if he did. Such is the received account, Socrates, of the nature
and origin of justice.
Now that those who practise justice do so involuntarily and because they have not the power to
be unjust will best appear if we imagine something of this kind: having given both to the just and
the unjust power to do what they will, let us watch and see whither desire will lead them; then
we shall discover in the very act the just and unjust man to be proceeding along the same road,
following their interest, which all natures deem to be their good, and are only diverted into the
path of justice by the force of law. The liberty which we are supposing may be most completely
given to them in the form of such a power as is said to have been possessed by Gyges the
ancestor of Croesus the Lydian. According to the tradition, Gyges was a shepherd in the service
of the king of Lydia; there was a great storm, and an earthquake made an opening in the earth
at the place where he was feeding his flock. Amazed at the sight, he descended into the
opening, where, among other marvels, he beheld a hollow brazen horse, having doors, at which
he stooping and looking in saw a dead body of stature, as appeared to him, more than human,
and having nothing on but a gold ring; this he took from the finger of the dead and reascended.
Now the shepherds met together, according to custom, that they might send their monthly report
about the flocks to the king; into their assembly he came having the ring on his finger, and as he
was sitting among them he chanced to turn the collet of the ring inside his hand, when instantly
he became invisible to the rest of the company and they began to speak of him as if he were no
longer present. He was astonished at this, and again touching the ring he turned the collet
outwards and reappeared; he made several trials of the ring, and always with the same result-
when he turned the collet inwards he became invisible, when outwards he reappeared.
Whereupon he contrived to be chosen one of the messengers who were sent to the court;
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where as soon as he arrived he seduced the queen, and with her help conspired against the
king and slew him, and took the kingdom. Suppose now that there were two such magic rings,
and the just put on one of them and the unjust the other;,no man can be imagined to be of such
an iron nature that he would stand fast in justice. No man would keep his hands off what was
not his own when he could safely take what he liked out of the market, or go into houses and lie
with any one at his pleasure, or kill or release from prison whom he would, and in all respects be
like a God among men. Then the actions of the just would be as the actions of the unjust; they
would both come at last to the same point. And this we may truly affirm to be a great proof that
a man is just, not willingly or because he thinks that justice is any good to him individually, but of
necessity, for wherever any one thinks that he can safely be unjust, there he is unjust. For all
men believe in their hearts that injustice is far more profitable to the individual than justice, and
he who argues as I have been supposing, will say that they are right. If you could imagine any
one obtaining this power of becoming invisible, and never doing any wrong or touching what
was another's, he would be thought by the lookers-on to be a most wretched idiot, although they
would praise him to one another's faces, and keep up appearances with one another from a fear
that they too might suffer injustice. Enough of this.
Now, if we are to form a real judgment of the life of the just and unjust, we must isolate them;
there is no other way; and how is the isolation to be effected? I answer: Let the unjust man be
entirely unjust, and the just man entirely just; nothing is to be taken away from either of them,
and both are to be perfectly furnished for the work of their respective lives. First, let the unjust
be like other distinguished masters of craft; like the skilful pilot or physician, who knows
intuitively his own powers and keeps within their limits, and who, if he fails at any point, is able
to recover himself. So let the unjust make his unjust attempts in the right way, and lie hidden if
he means to be great in his injustice (he who is found out is nobody): for the highest reach of
injustice is: to be deemed just when you are not. Therefore I say that in the perfectly unjust man
we must assume the most perfect injustice; there is to be no deduction, but we must allow him,
while doing the most unjust acts, to have acquired the greatest reputation for justice. If he have
taken a false step he must be able to recover himself; he must be one who can speak with
effect, if any of his deeds come to light, and who can force his way where force is required his
courage and strength, and command of money and friends. And at his side let us place the just
man in his nobleness and simplicity, wishing, as Aeschylus says, to be and not to seem good.
There must be no seeming, for if he seem to be just he will be honoured and rewarded, and
then we shall not know whether he is just for the sake of justice or for the sake of honours and
rewards; therefore, let him be clothed in justice only, and have no other covering; and he must
be imagined in a state of life the opposite of the former. Let him be the best of men, and let him
be thought the worst; then he will have been put to the proof; and we shall see whether he will
be affected by the fear of infamy and its consequences. And let him continue thus to the hour of
death; being just and seeming to be unjust. When both have reached the uttermost extreme, the
one of justice and the other of injustice, let judgment be given which of them is the happier of
the two.
SOCRATES - GLAUCON
Heavens! my dear Glaucon, I said, how energetically you polish them up for the decision, first
one and then the other, as if they were two statues.
I do my best, he said. And now that we know what they are like there is no difficulty in tracing
out the sort of life which awaits either of them. This I will proceed to describe; but as you may
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think the description a little too coarse, I ask you to suppose, Socrates, that the words which
follow are not mine.-- Let me put them into the mouths of the eulogists of injustice: They will tell
you that the just man who is thought unjust will be scourged, racked, bound--will have his eyes
burnt out; and, at last, after suffering every kind of evil, he will be impaled: Then he will
understand that he ought to seem only, and not to be, just; the words of Aeschylus may be
more truly spoken of the unjust than of the just. For the unjust is pursuing a reality; he does not
live with a view to appearances--he wants to be really unjust and not to seem only:--
His mind has a soil deep and fertile, Out of which spring his prudent counsels.
In the first place, he is thought just, and therefore bears rule in the city; he can marry whom he
will, and give in marriage to whom he will; also he can trade and deal where he likes, and
always to his own advantage, because he has no misgivings about injustice and at every
contest, whether in public or private, he gets the better of his antagonists, and gains at their
expense, and is rich, and out of his gains he can benefit his friends, and harm his enemies;
moreover, he can offer sacrifices, and dedicate gifts to the gods abundantly and magnificently,
and can honour the gods or any man whom he wants to honour in a far better style than the
just, and therefore he is likely to be dearer than they are to the gods. And thus, Socrates, gods
and men are said to unite in making the life of the unjust better than the life of the just.
ADEIMANTUS -SOCRATES
I was going to say something in answer to Glaucon, when Adeimantus, his brother, interposed:
Socrates, he said, you do not suppose that there is nothing more to be urged?
Why, what else is there? I answered.
The strongest point of all has not been even mentioned, he replied.
Well, then, according to the proverb, `Let brother help brother'-- if he fails in any part do you
assist him; although I must confess that Glaucon has already said quite enough to lay me in the
dust, and take from me the power of helping justice.
ADEIMANTUS
Nonsense, he replied. But let me add something more: There is another side to Glaucon's
argument about the praise and censure of justice and injustice, which is equally required in
order to bring out what I believe to be his meaning. Parents and tutors are always telling their
sons and their wards that they are to be just; but why? not for the sake of justice, but for the
sake of character and reputation; in the hope of obtaining for him who is reputed just some of
those offices, marriages, and the like which Glaucon has enumerated among the advantages
accruing to the unjust from the reputation of justice. More, however, is made of appearances by
this class of persons than by the others; for they throw in the good opinion of the gods, and will
tell you of a shower of benefits which the heavens, as they say, rain upon the pious; and this
accords with the testimony of the noble Hesiod and Homer, the first of whom says, that the gods
make the oaks of the just--
To hear acorns at their summit, and bees I the middle; And the sheep the bowed down bowed
the with the their fleeces.
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and many other blessings of a like kind are provided for them. And Homer has a very similar
strain; for he speaks of one whose fame is--
As the fame of some blameless king who, like a god, Maintains justice to whom the black earth
brings forth Wheat and barley, whose trees are bowed with fruit, And his sheep never fail to
bear, and the sea gives him fish.
Still grander are the gifts of heaven which Musaeus and his son vouchsafe to the just; they take
them down into the world below, where they have the saints lying on couches at a feast,
everlastingly drunk, crowned with garlands; their idea seems to be that an immortality of
drunkenness is the highest meed of virtue. Some extend their rewards yet further; the posterity,
as they say, of the faithful and just shall survive to the third and fourth generation. This is the
style in which they praise justice. But about the wicked there is another strain; they bury them in
a slough in Hades, and make them carry water in a sieve; also while they are yet living they
bring them to infamy, and inflict upon them the punishments which Glaucon described as the
portion of the just who are reputed to be unjust; nothing else does their invention supply. Such
is their manner of praising the one and censuring the other.
Once more, Socrates, I will ask you to consider another way of speaking about justice and
injustice, which is not confined to the poets, but is found in prose writers. The universal voice of
mankind is always declaring that justice and virtue are honourable, but grievous and toilsome;
and that the pleasures of vice and injustice are easy of attainment, and are only censured by
law and opinion. They say also that honesty is for the most part less profitable than dishonesty;
and they are quite ready to call wicked men happy, and to honour them both in public and
private when they are rich or in any other way influential, while they despise and overlook those
who may be weak and poor, even though acknowledging them to be better than the others. But
most extraordinary of all is their mode of speaking about virtue and the gods: they say that the
gods apportion calamity and misery to many good men, and good and happiness to the wicked.
And mendicant prophets go to rich men's doors and persuade them that they have a power
committed to them by the gods of making an atonement for a man's own or his ancestor's sins
by sacrifices or charms, with rejoicings and feasts; and they promise to harm an enemy,
whether just or unjust, at a small cost; with magic arts and incantations binding heaven, as they
say, to execute their will. And the poets are the authorities to whom they appeal, now smoothing
the path of vice with the words of Hesiod;--
Vice may be had in abundance without trouble; the way is smooth and her dwelling-place is
near. But before virtue the gods have set toil,
and a tedious and uphill road: then citing Homer as a witness that the gods may be influenced
by men; for he also says:
The gods, too, may he turned from their purpose; and men pray to them and avert their wrath by
sacrifices and soothing entreaties, and by libations and the odour of fat, when they have sinned
and transgressed.
And they produce a host of books written by Musaeus and Orpheus, who were children of the
Moon and the Muses--that is what they say-- according to which they perform their ritual, and
persuade not only individuals, but whole cities, that expiations and atonements for sin may be
made by sacrifices and amusements which fill a vacant hour, and are equally at the service of
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the living and the dead; the latter sort they call mysteries, and they redeem us from the pains of
hell, but if we neglect them no one knows what awaits us.
He proceeded: And now when the young hear all this said about virtue and vice, and the way in
which gods and men regard them, how are their minds likely to be affected, my dear Socrates,--
those of them, I mean, who are quickwitted, and, like bees on the wing, light on every flower,
and from all that they hear are prone to draw conclusions as to what manner of persons they
should be and in what way they should walk if they would make the best of life? Probably the
youth will say to himself in the words of Pindar--
Can I by justice or by crooked ways of deceit ascend a loftier tower which may he a fortress to
me all my days?
For what men say is that, if I am really just and am not also thought just profit there is none, but
the pain and loss on the other hand are unmistakable. But if, though unjust, I acquire the
reputation of justice, a heavenly life is promised to me. Since then, as philosophers prove,
appearance tyrannizes over truth and is lord of happiness, to appearance I must devote myself.
I will describe around me a picture and shadow of virtue to be the vestibule and exterior of my
house; behind I will trail the subtle and crafty fox, as Archilochus, greatest of sages,
recommends. But I hear some one exclaiming that the concealment of wickedness is often
difficult; to which I answer, Nothing great is easy. Nevertheless, the argument indicates this, if
we would be happy, to be the path along which we should proceed. With a view to concealment
we will establish secret brotherhoods and political clubs. And there are professors of rhetoric
who teach the art of persuading courts and assemblies; and so, partly by persuasion and partly
by force, I shall make unlawful gains and not be punished. Still I hear a voice saying that the
gods cannot be deceived, neither can they be compelled. But what if there are no gods? or,
suppose them to have no care of human things--why in either case should we mind about
concealment? And even if there are gods, and they do care about us, yet we know of them only
from tradition and the genealogies of the poets; and these are the very persons who say that
they may be influenced and turned by `sacrifices and soothing entreaties and by offerings.' Let
us be consistent then, and believe both or neither. If the poets speak truly, why then we had
better be unjust, and offer of the fruits of injustice; for if we are just, although we may escape
the vengeance of heaven, we shall lose the gains of injustice; but, if we are unjust, we shall
keep the gains, and by our sinning and praying, and praying and sinning, the gods will be
propitiated, and we shall not be punished. `But there is a world below in which either we or our
posterity will suffer for our unjust deeds.' Yes, my friend, will be the reflection, but there are
mysteries and atoning deities, and these have great power. That is what mighty cities declare;
and the children of the gods, who were their poets and prophets, bear a like testimony.
On what principle, then, shall we any longer choose justice rather than the worst injustice?
when, if we only unite the latter with a deceitful regard to appearances, we shall fare to our mind
both with gods and men, in life and after death, as the most numerous and the highest
authorities tell us. Knowing all this, Socrates, how can a man who has any superiority of mind or
person or rank or wealth, be willing to honour justice; or indeed to refrain from laughing when he
hears justice praised? And even if there should be some one who is able to disprove the truth of
my words, and who is satisfied that justice is best, still he is not angry with the unjust, but is very
ready to forgive them, because he also knows that men are not just of their own free will;
unless, peradventure, there be some one whom the divinity within him may have inspired with a
hatred of injustice, or who has attained knowledge of the truth--but no other man. He only
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blames injustice who, owing to cowardice or age or some weakness, has not the power of being
unjust. And this is proved by the fact that when he obtains the power, he immediately becomes
unjust as far as he can be.
The cause of all this, Socrates, was indicated by us at the beginning of the argument, when my
brother and I told you how astonished we were to find that of all the professing panegyrists of
justice-- beginning with the ancient heroes of whom any memorial has been preserved to us,
and ending with the men of our own time-- no one has ever blamed injustice or praised justice
except with a view to the glories, honours, and benefits which flow from them. No one has ever
adequately described either in verse or prose the true essential nature of either of them abiding
in the soul, and invisible to any human or divine eye; or shown that of all the things of a man's
soul which he has within him, justice is the greatest good, and injustice the greatest evil. Had
this been the universal strain, had you sought to persuade us of this from our youth upwards,
we should not have been on the watch to keep one another from doing wrong, but every one
would have been his own watchman, because afraid, if he did wrong, of harbouring in himself
the greatest of evils. I dare say that Thrasymachus and others would seriously hold the
language which I have been merely repeating, and words even stronger than these about
justice and injustice, grossly, as I conceive, perverting their true nature. But I speak in this
vehement manner, as I must frankly confess to you, because I want to hear from you the
opposite side; and I would ask you to show not only the superiority which justice has over
injustice, but what effect they have on the possessor of them which makes the one to be a good
and the other an evil to him. And please, as Glaucon requested of you, to exclude reputations;
for unless you take away from each of them his true reputation and add on the false, we shall
say that you do not praise justice, but the appearance of it; we shall think that you are only
exhorting us to keep injustice dark, and that you really agree with Thrasymachus in thinking that
justice is another's good and the interest of the stronger, and that injustice is a man's own profit
and interest, though injurious to the weaker. Now as you have admitted that justice is one of
that highest class of goods which are desired indeed for their results, but in a far greater degree
for their own sakes--like sight or hearing or knowledge or health, or any other real and natural
and not merely conventional good-- I would ask you in your praise of justice to regard one point
only: I mean the essential good and evil which justice and injustice work in the possessors of
them. Let others praise justice and censure injustice, magnifying the rewards and honours of
the one and abusing the other; that is a manner of arguing which, coming from them, I am ready
to tolerate, but from you who have spent your whole life in the consideration of this question,
unless I hear the contrary from your own lips, I expect something better. And therefore, I say,
not only prove to us that justice is better than injustice, but show what they either of them do to
the possessor of them, which makes the one to be a good and the other an evil, whether seen
or unseen by gods and men.
SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS
I had always admired the genius of Glaucon and Adeimantus, but on hearing these words I was
quite delighted, and said: Sons of an illustrious father, that was not a bad beginning of the
Elegiac verses which the admirer of Glaucon made in honour of you after you had distinguished
yourselves at the battle of Megara:--
`Sons of Ariston,' he sang, `divine offspring of an illustrious hero.'
The epithet is very appropriate, for there is something truly divine in being able to argue as you
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have done for the superiority of injustice, and remaining unconvinced by your own arguments.
And I do believe that you are not convinced--this I infer from your general character, for had I
judged only from your speeches I should have mistrusted you. But now, the greater my
confidence in you, the greater is my difficulty in knowing what to say. For I am in a strait
between two; on the one hand I feel that I am unequal to the task; and my inability is brought
home to me by the fact that you were not satisfied with the answer which I made to
Thrasymachus, proving, as I thought, the superiority which justice has over injustice. And yet I
cannot refuse to help, while breath and speech remain to me; I am afraid that there would be an
impiety in being present when justice is evil spoken of and not lifting up a hand in her defence.
And therefore I had best give such help as I can.
Glaucon and the rest entreated me by all means not to let the question drop, but to proceed in
the investigation. They wanted to arrive at the truth, first, about the nature of justice and
injustice, and secondly, about their relative advantages. I told them, what I-- really thought, that
the enquiry would be of a serious nature, and would require very good eyes. Seeing then, I said,
that we are no great wits, I think that we had better adopt a method which I may illustrate thus;
suppose that a short-sighted person had been asked by some one to read small letters from a
distance; and it occurred to some one else that they might be found in another place which was
larger and in which the letters were larger-- if they were the same and he could read the larger
letters first, and then proceed to the lesser--this would have been thought a rare piece of good
fortune.
Very true, said Adeimantus; but how does the illustration apply to our enquiry?
I will tell you, I replied; justice, which is the subject of our enquiry, is, as you know, sometimes
spoken of as the virtue of an individual, and sometimes as the virtue of a State.
True, he replied.
And is not a State larger than an individual?
It is.
Then in the larger the quantity of justice is likely to be larger and more easily discernible. I
propose therefore that we enquire into the nature of justice and injustice, first as they appear in
the State, and secondly in the individual, proceeding from the greater to the lesser and
comparing them.
That, he said, is an excellent proposal.
And if we imagine the State in process of creation, we shall see the justice and injustice of the
State in process of creation also.
I dare say.
When the State is completed there may be a hope that the object of our search will be more
easily discovered.
Yes, far more easily.

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But ought we to attempt to construct one? I said; for to do so, as I am inclined to think, will be a
very serious task. Reflect therefore.
I have reflected, said Adeimantus, and am anxious that you should proceed.
A State, I said, arises, as I conceive, out of the needs of mankind; no one is self-sufficing, but all
of us have many wants. Can any other origin of a State be imagined?
There can I be no other.
Then, as we have many wants, and many persons are needed to supply them, one takes a
helper for one purpose and another for another; and when these partners and helpers are
gathered together in one habitation the body of inhabitants is termed a State.
True, he said.
And they exchange with one another, and one gives, and another receives, under the idea that
the exchange will be for their good.
Very true.
Then, I said, let us begin and create in idea a State; and yet the true creator is necessity, who is
the mother of our invention.
Of course, he replied.
Now the first and greatest of necessities is food, which is the condition of life and existence.
Certainly.
The second is a dwelling, and the third clothing and the like.
True.
And now let us see how our city will be able to supply this great demand: We may suppose that
one man is a husbandman, another a builder, some one else a weaver--shall we add to them a
shoemaker, or perhaps some other purveyor to our bodily wants?
Quite right.
The barest notion of a State must include four or five men.
Clearly.
And how will they proceed? Will each bring the result of his labours into a common stock?--the
individual husbandman, for example, producing for four, and labouring four times as long and as
much as he need in the provision of food with which he supplies others as well as himself; or will
he have nothing to do with others and not be at the trouble of producing for them, but provide
for himself alone a fourth of the food in a fourth of the time, and in the remaining three-fourths of
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his time be employed in making a house or a coat or a pair of shoes, having no partnership with
others, but supplying himself all his own wants?
Adeimantus thought that he should aim at producing food only and not at producing everything.
Probably, I replied, that would be the better way; and when I hear you say this, I am myself
reminded that we are not all alike; there are diversities of natures among us which are adapted
to different occupations.
Very true.
And will you have a work better done when the workman has many occupations, or when he
has only one?
When he has only one.
Further, there can be no doubt that a work is spoilt when not done at the right time?
No doubt.
For business is not disposed to wait until the doer of the business is at leisure; but the doer
must follow up what he is doing, and make the business his first object.
He must.
And if so, we must infer that all things are produced more plentifully and easily and of a better
quality when one man does one thing which is natural to him and does it at the right time, and
leaves other things.
Undoubtedly..
Then more than four citizens will be required; for the husbandman will not make his own plough
or mattock, or other implements of agriculture, if they are to be good for anything. Neither will
the builder make his tools--and he too needs many; and in like manner the weaver and
shoemaker.
True.
Then carpenters, and smiths, and many other artisans, will be sharers in our little State, which is
already beginning to grow?
True.
Yet even if we add neatherds, shepherds, and other herdsmen, in order that our husbandmen
may have oxen to plough with, and builders as well as husbandmen may have draught cattle,
and curriers and weavers fleeces and hides,--still our State will not be very large.
That is true; yet neither will it be a very small State which contains all these.
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Then, again, there is the situation of the city--to find a place where nothing need be imported is
well-nigh impossible.
Impossible.
Then there must be another class of citizens who will bring the required supply from another
city?
There must.
But if the trader goes empty-handed, having nothing which they require who would supply his
need, he will come back empty-handed.
That is certain.
And therefore what they produce at home must be not only enough for themselves, but such
both in quantity and quality as to accommodate those from whom their wants are supplied.
Very true.
Then more husbandmen and more artisans will be required?
They will.
Not to mention the importers and exporters, who are called merchants?
Yes.
Then we shall want merchants?
We shall.
And if merchandise is to be carried over the sea, skilful sailors will also be needed, and in
considerable numbers?
Yes, in considerable numbers.
Then, again, within the city, how will they exchange their productions? To secure such an
exchange was, as you will remember, one of our principal objects when we formed them into a
society and constituted a State.
Clearly they will buy and sell.
Then they will need a market-place, and a money-token for purposes of exchange.
Certainly.
Suppose now that a husbandman, or an artisan, brings some production to market, and he
comes at a time when there is no one to exchange with him,--is he to leave his calling and sit
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idle in the market-place?
Not at all; he will find people there who, seeing the want, undertake the office of salesmen. In
well-ordered States they are commonly those who are the weakest in bodily strength, and
therefore of little use for any other purpose; their duty is to be in the market, and to give money
in exchange for goods to those who desire to sell and to take money from those who desire to
buy.
This want, then, creates a class of retail-traders in our State. Is not `retailer' the term which is
applied to those who sit in the market-place engaged in buying and selling, while those who
wander from one city to another are called merchants?
Yes, he said.
And there is another class of servants, who are intellectually hardly on the level of
companionship; still they have plenty of bodily strength for labour, which accordingly they sell,
and are called, if I do not mistake, hirelings, hire being the name which is given to the price of
their labour.
True.
Then hirelings will help to make up our population?
Yes.
And now, Adeimantus, is our State matured and perfected?
I think so.
Where, then, is justice, and where is injustice, and in what part of the State did they spring up?
Probably in the dealings of these citizens with one another. cannot imagine that they are more
likely to be found anywhere else.
I dare say that you are right in your suggestion, I said; we had better think the matter out, and
not shrink from the enquiry.
Let us then consider, first of all, what will be their way of life, now that we have thus established
them. Will they not produce corn, and wine, and clothes, and shoes, and build houses for
themselves? And when they are housed, they will work, in summer, commonly, stripped and
barefoot, but in winter substantially clothed and shod. They will feed on barley-meal and flour of
wheat, baking and kneading them, making noble cakes and loaves; these they will serve up on
a mat of reeds or on clean leaves, themselves reclining the while upon beds strewn with yew or
myrtle. And they and their children will feast, drinking of the wine which they have made,
wearing garlands on their heads, and hymning the praises of the gods, in happy converse with
one another. And they will take care that their families do not exceed their means; having an
eye to poverty or war.
SOCRATES - GLAUCON
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But, said Glaucon, interposing, you have not given them a relish to their meal.
True, I replied, I had forgotten; of course they must have a relish-salt, and olives, and cheese,
and they will boil roots and herbs such as country people prepare; for a dessert we shall give
them figs, and peas, and beans; and they will roast myrtle-berries and acorns at the fire,
drinking in moderation. And with such a diet they may be expected to live in peace and health to
a good old age, and bequeath a similar life to their children after them.
Yes, Socrates, he said, and if you were providing for a city of pigs, how else would you feed the
beasts?
But what would you have, Glaucon? I replied.
Why, he said, you should give them the ordinary conveniences of life. People who are to be
comfortable are accustomed to lie on sofas, and dine off tables, and they should have sauces
and sweets in the modern style.
Yes, I said, now I understand: the question which you would have me consider is, not only how
a State, but how a luxurious State is created; and possibly there is no harm in this, for in such a
State we shall be more likely to see how justice and injustice originate. In my opinion the true
and healthy constitution of the State is the one which I have described. But if you wish also to
see a State at fever heat, I have no objection. For I suspect that many will not be satisfied with
the simpler way of way They will be for adding sofas, and tables, and other furniture; also
dainties, and perfumes, and incense, and courtesans, and cakes, all these not of one sort only,
but in every variety; we must go beyond the necessaries of which I was at first speaking, such
as houses, and clothes, and shoes: the arts of the painter and the embroiderer will have to be
set in motion, and gold and ivory and all sorts of materials must be procured.
True, he said.
Then we must enlarge our borders; for the original healthy State is no longer sufficient. Now will
the city have to fill and swell with a multitude of callings which are not required by any natural
want; such as the whole tribe of hunters and actors, of whom one large class have to do with
forms and colours; another will be the votaries of music--poets and their attendant train of
rhapsodists, players, dancers, contractors; also makers of divers kinds of articles, including
women's dresses. And we shall want more servants. Will not tutors be also in request, and
nurses wet and dry, tirewomen and barbers, as well as confectioners and cooks; and
swineherds, too, who were not needed and therefore had no place in the former edition of our
State, but are needed now? They must not be forgotten: and there will be animals of many other
kinds, if people eat them.
Certainly.
And living in this way we shall have much greater need of physicians than before?
Much greater.
And the country which was enough to support the original inhabitants will be too small now, and
not enough?
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Quite true.
Then a slice of our neighbours' land will be wanted by us for pasture and tillage, and they will
want a slice of ours, if, like ourselves, they exceed the limit of necessity, and give themselves up
to the unlimited accumulation of wealth?
That, Socrates, will be inevitable.
And so we shall go to war, Glaucon. Shall we not?
Most certainly, he replied.
Then without determining as yet whether war does good or harm, thus much we may affirm, that
now we have discovered war to be derived from causes which are also the causes of almost all
the evils in States, private as well as public.
Undoubtedly.
And our State must once more enlarge; and this time the will be nothing short of a whole army,
which will have to go out and fight with the invaders for all that we have, as well as for the things
and persons whom we were describing above.
Why? he said; are they not capable of defending themselves?
No, I said; not if we were right in the principle which was acknowledged by all of us when we
were framing the State: the principle, as you will remember, was that one man cannot practise
many arts with success.
Very true, he said.
But is not war an art?
Certainly.
And an art requiring as much attention as shoemaking?
Quite true.
And the shoemaker was not allowed by us to be husbandman, or a weaver, a builder--in order
that we might have our shoes well made; but to him and to every other worker was assigned
one work for which he was by nature fitted, and at that he was to continue working all his life
long and at no other; he was not to let opportunities slip, and then he would become a good
workman. Now nothing can be more important than that the work of a soldier should be well
done. But is war an art so easily acquired that a man may be a warrior who is also a
husbandman, or shoemaker, or other artisan; although no one in the world would be a good
dice or draught player who merely took up the game as a recreation, and had not from his
earliest years devoted himself to this and nothing else?
No tools will make a man a skilled workman, or master of defence, nor be of any use to him who
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has not learned how to handle them, and has never bestowed any attention upon them. How
then will he who takes up a shield or other implement of war become a good fighter all in a day,
whether with heavy-armed or any other kind of troops?
Yes, he said, the tools which would teach men their own use would be beyond price.
And the higher the duties of the guardian, I said, the more time, and skill, and art, and
application will be needed by him?
No doubt, he replied.
Will he not also require natural aptitude for his calling?
Certainly.
Then it will be our duty to select, if we can, natures which are fitted for the task of guarding the
city?
It will.
And the selection will be no easy matter, I said; but we must be brave and do our best.
We must.
Is not the noble youth very like a well-bred dog in respect of guarding and watching?
What do you mean?
I mean that both of them ought to be quick to see, and swift to overtake the enemy when they
see him; and strong too if, when they have caught him, they have to fight with him.
All these qualities, he replied, will certainly be required by them.
Well, and your guardian must be brave if he is to fight well?
Certainly.
And is he likely to be brave who has no spirit, whether horse or dog or any other animal? Have
you never observed how invincible and unconquerable is spirit and how the presence of it
makes the soul of any creature to be absolutely fearless and indomitable?
I have.
Then now we have a clear notion of the bodily qualities which are required in the guardian.
True.
And also of the mental ones; his soul is to be full of spirit?
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Yes.
But are not these spirited natures apt to be savage with one another, and with everybody else?
A difficulty by no means easy to overcome, he replied.
Whereas, I said, they ought to be dangerous to their enemies, and gentle to their friends; if not,
they will destroy themselves without waiting for their enemies to destroy them.
True, he said.
What is to be done then? I said; how shall we find a gentle nature which has also a great spirit,
for the one is the contradiction of the other?
True.
He will not be a good guardian who is wanting in either of these two qualities; and yet the
combination of them appears to be impossible; and hence we must infer that to be a good
guardian is impossible.
I am afraid that what you say is true, he replied.
Here feeling perplexed I began to think over what had preceded. My friend, I said, no wonder
that we are in a perplexity; for we have lost sight of the image which we had before us.
What do you mean? he said.
I mean to say that there do exist natures gifted with those opposite qualities.
And where do you find them?
Many animals, I replied, furnish examples of them; our friend the dog is a very good one: you
know that well-bred dogs are perfectly gentle to their familiars and acquaintances, and the
reverse to strangers.
Yes, I know.
Then there is nothing impossible or out of the order of nature in our finding a guardian who has
a similar combination of qualities?
Certainly not.
Would not he who is fitted to be a guardian, besides the spirited nature, need to have the
qualities of a philosopher?
I do not apprehend your meaning.
The trait of which I am speaking, I replied, may be also seen in the dog, and is remarkable in
the animal.
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What trait?
Why, a dog, whenever he sees a stranger, is angry; when an acquaintance, he welcomes him,
although the one has never done him any harm, nor the other any good. Did this never strike
you as curious?
The matter never struck me before; but I quite recognise the truth of your remark.
And surely this instinct of the dog is very charming;--your dog is a true philosopher.
Why?
Why, because he distinguishes the face of a friend and of an enemy only by the criterion of
knowing and not knowing. And must not an animal be a lover of learning who determines what
he likes and dislikes by the test of knowledge and ignorance?
Most assuredly.
And is not the love of learning the love of wisdom, which is philosophy?
They are the same, he replied.
And may we not say confidently of man also, that he who is likely to be gentle to his friends and
acquaintances, must by nature be a lover of wisdom and knowledge?
That we may safely affirm.
Then he who is to be a really good and noble guardian of the State will require to unite in
himself philosophy and spirit and swiftness and strength?
Undoubtedly.
Then we have found the desired natures; and now that we have found them, how are they to be
reared and educated? Is not this enquiry which may be expected to throw light on the greater
enquiry which is our final end--How do justice and injustice grow up in States? for we do not
want either to omit what is to the point or to draw out the argument to an inconvenient length.
Adeimantus thought that the enquiry would be of great service to us.
Then, I said, my dear friend, the task must not be given up, even if somewhat long.
Certainly not.
Come then, and let us pass a leisure hour in story-telling, and our story shall be the education of
our heroes.
By all means.
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And what shall be their education? Can we find a better than the traditional sort?--and this has
two divisions, gymnastic for the body, and music for the soul.
True.
Shall we begin education with music, and go on to gymnastic afterwards?
By all means.
And when you speak of music, do you include literature or not?
I do.
And literature may be either true or false?
Yes.
And the young should be trained in both kinds, and we begin with the false?
I do not understand your meaning, he said.
You know, I said, that we begin by telling children stories which, though not wholly destitute of
truth, are in the main fictitious; and these stories are told them when they are not of an age to
learn gymnastics.
Very true.
That was my meaning when I said that we must teach music before gymnastics.
Quite right, he said.
You know also that the beginning is the most important part of any work, especially in the case
of a young and tender thing; for that is the time at which the character is being formed and the
desired impression is more readily taken.
Quite true.
And shall we just carelessly allow children to hear any casual tales which may be devised by
casual persons, and to receive into their minds ideas for the most part the very opposite of
those which we should wish them to have when they are grown up?
We cannot.
Then the first thing will be to establish a censorship of the writers of fiction, and let the censors
receive any tale of fiction which is good, and reject the bad; and we will desire mothers and
nurses to tell their children the authorised ones only. Let them fashion the mind with such tales,
even more fondly than they mould the body with their hands; but most of those which are now in
use must be discarded.
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Of what tales are you speaking? he said.
You may find a model of the lesser in the greater, I said; for they are necessarily of the same
type, and there is the same spirit in both of them.
Very likely, he replied; but I do not as yet know what you would term the greater.
Those, I said, which are narrated by Homer and Hesiod, and the rest of the poets, who have
ever been the great story-tellers of mankind.
But which stories do you mean, he said; and what fault do you find with them?
A fault which is most serious, I said; the fault of telling a lie, and, what is more, a bad lie.
But when is this fault committed?
Whenever an erroneous representation is made of the nature of gods and heroes,--as when a
painter paints a portrait not having the shadow of a likeness to the original.
Yes, he said, that sort of thing is certainly very blamable; but what are the stories which you
mean?
First of all, I said, there was that greatest of all lies, in high places, which the poet told about
Uranus, and which was a bad lie too,-- I mean what Hesiod says that Uranus did, and how
Cronus retaliated on him. The doings of Cronus, and the sufferings which in turn his son inflicted
upon him, even if they were true, ought certainly not to be lightly told to young and thoughtless
persons; if possible, they had better be buried in silence. But if there is an absolute necessity for
their mention, a chosen few might hear them in a mystery, and they should sacrifice not a
common [Eleusinian] pig, but some huge and unprocurable victim; and then the number of the
hearers will be very few indeed.
Why, yes, said he, those stories are extremely objectionable.
Yes, Adeimantus, they are stories not to be repeated in our State; the young man should not be
told that in committing the worst of crimes he is far from doing anything outrageous; and that
even if he chastises his father when does wrong, in whatever manner, he will only be following
the example of the first and greatest among the gods.
I entirely agree with you, he said; in my opinion those stories are quite unfit to be repeated.
Neither, if we mean our future guardians to regard the habit of quarrelling among themselves as
of all things the basest, should any word be said to them of the wars in heaven, and of the plots
and fightings of the gods against one another, for they are not true. No, we shall never mention
the battles of the giants, or let them be embroidered on garments; and we shall be silent about
the innumerable other quarrels of gods and heroes with their friends and relatives. If they would
only believe us we would tell them that quarrelling is unholy, and that never up to this time has
there been any, quarrel between citizens; this is what old men and old women should begin by
telling children; and when they grow up, the poets also should be told to compose for them in a
similar spirit. But the narrative of Hephaestus binding Here his mother, or how on another
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occasion Zeus sent him flying for taking her part when she was being beaten, and all the battles
of the gods in Homer--these tales must not be admitted into our State, whether they are
supposed to have an allegorical meaning or not. For a young person cannot judge what is
allegorical and what is literal; anything that he receives into his mind at that age is likely to
become indelible and unalterable; and therefore it is most important that the tales which the
young first hear should be models of virtuous thoughts.
There you are right, he replied; but if any one asks where are such models to be found and of
what tales are you speaking-- how shall we answer him?
I said to him, You and I, Adeimantus, at this moment are not poets, but founders of a State: now
the founders of a State ought to know the general forms in which poets should cast their tales,
and the limits which must be observed by them, but to make the tales is not their business.
Very true, he said; but what are these forms of theology which you mean?
Something of this kind, I replied:--God is always to be represented as he truly is, whatever be

the sort of poetry, epic, lyric or tragic, in which the representation is given.
Right.
And is he not truly good? and must he not be represented as such?
Certainly.
And no good thing is hurtful?
No, indeed.
And that which is not hurtful hurts not?
Certainly not.
And that which hurts not does no evil?
No.
And can that which does no evil be a cause of evil?
Impossible.
And the good is advantageous?
Yes.
And therefore the cause of well-being?
Yes.
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It follows therefore that the good is not the cause of all things, but of the good only?
Assuredly.
Then God, if he be good, is not the author of all things, as the many assert, but he is the cause
of a few things only, and not of most things that occur to men. For few are the goods of human
life, and many are the evils, and the good is to be attributed to God alone; of the evils the
causes are to be sought elsewhere, and not in him.
That appears to me to be most true, he said.
Then we must not listen to Homer or to any other poet who is guilty of the folly of saying that
two casks
Lie at the threshold of Zeus, full of lots, one of good, the other of evil lots,
and that he to whom Zeus gives a mixture of the two
Sometimes meets with evil fortune, at other times with good;
but that he to whom is given the cup of unmingled ill,
Him wild hunger drives o'er the beauteous earth.
And again
Zeus, who is the dispenser of good and evil to us.
And if any one asserts that the violation of oaths and treaties, which was really the work of
Pandarus, was brought about by Athene and Zeus, or that the strife and contention of the gods
was instigated by Themis and Zeus, he shall not have our approval; neither will we allow our
young men to hear the words of Aeschylus, that
God plants guilt among men when he desires utterly to destroy a house.
And if a poet writes of the sufferings of Niobe--the subject of the tragedy in which these iambic
verses occur--or of the house of Pelops, or of the Trojan war or on any similar theme, either we
must not permit him to say that these are the works of God, or if they are of God, he must
devise some explanation of them such as we are seeking; he must say that God did what was
just and right, and they were the better for being punished; but that those who are punished are
miserable, and that God is the author of their misery-- the poet is not to be permitted to say;
though he may say that the wicked are miserable because they require to be punished, and are
benefited by receiving punishment from God; but that God being good is the author of evil to
any one is to be strenuously denied, and not to be said or sung or heard in verse or prose by
any one whether old or young in any well-ordered commonwealth. Such a fiction is suicidal,
ruinous, impious.
I agree with you, he replied, and am ready to give my assent to the law.
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Let this then be one of our rules and principles concerning the gods, to which our poets and
reciters will be expected to conform-- that God is not the author of all things, but of good only.
That will do, he said.
And what do you think of a second principle? Shall I ask you whether God is a magician, and of
a nature to appear insidiously now in one shape, and now in another--sometimes himself
changing and passing into many forms, sometimes deceiving us with the semblance of such
transformations; or is he one and the same immutably fixed in his own proper image?
I cannot answer you, he said, without more thought.
Well, I said; but if we suppose a change in anything, that change must be effected either by the
thing itself, or by some other thing?
Most certainly.
And things which are at their best are also least liable to be altered or discomposed; for
example, when healthiest and strongest, the human frame is least liable to be affected by meats
and drinks, and the plant which is in the fullest vigour also suffers least from winds or the heat of
the sun or any similar causes.
Of course.
And will not the bravest and wisest soul be least confused or deranged by any external
influence?
True.
And the same principle, as I should suppose, applies to all composite things--furniture, houses,
garments; when good and well made, they are least altered by time and circumstances.
Very true.
Then everything which is good, whether made by art or nature, or both, is least liable to suffer
change from without?
True.
But surely God and the things of God are in every way perfect?
Of course they are.
Then he can hardly be compelled by external influence to take many shapes?
He cannot.
But may he not change and transform himself?
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Clearly, he said, that must be the case if he is changed at all.
And will he then change himself for the better and fairer, or for the worse and more unsightly?
If he change at all he can only change for the worse, for we cannot suppose him to be deficient
either in virtue or beauty.
Very true, Adeimantus; but then, would any one, whether God or man, desire to make himself
worse?
Impossible.
Then it is impossible that God should ever be willing to change; being, as is supposed, the
fairest and best that is conceivable, every god remains absolutely and for ever in his own form.
That necessarily follows, he said, in my judgment.
Then, I said, my dear friend, let none of the poets tell us that
The gods, taking the disguise of strangers from other lands, walk up and down cities in all sorts
of forms;
and let no one slander Proteus and Thetis, neither let any one, either in tragedy or in any other
kind of poetry, introduce Here disguised in the likeness of a priestess asking an alms
For the life-giving daughters of Inachus the river of Argos;
--let us have no more lies of that sort. Neither must we have mothers under the influence of the
poets scaring their children with a bad version of these myths--telling how certain gods, as they
say, `Go about by night in the likeness of so many strangers and in divers forms'; but let them
take heed lest they make cowards of their children, and at the same time speak blasphemy
against the gods.
Heaven forbid, he said.
But although the gods are themselves unchangeable, still by witchcraft and deception they may
make us think that they appear in various forms?
Perhaps, he replied.
Well, but can you imagine that God will be willing to lie, whether in word or deed, or to put forth
a phantom of himself?
I cannot say, he replied.
Do you not know, I said, that the true lie, if such an expression may be allowed, is hated of gods
and men?

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I mean that no one is willingly deceived in that which is the truest and highest part of himself, or
about the truest and highest matters; there, above all, he is most afraid of a lie having
possession of him.
Still, he said, I do not comprehend you.
The reason is, I replied, that you attribute some profound meaning to my words; but I am only
saying that deception, or being deceived or uninformed about the highest realities in the highest
part of themselves, which is the soul, and in that part of them to have and to hold the lie, is what
mankind least like;--that, I say, is what they utterly detest.
There is nothing more hateful to them.
And, as I was just now remarking, this ignorance in the soul of him who is deceived may be
called the true lie; for the lie in words is only a kind of imitation and shadowy image of a
previous affection of the soul, not pure unadulterated falsehood. Am I not right?
Perfectly right.
The true lie is hated not only by the gods, but also by men?
Yes.
Whereas the lie in words is in certain cases useful and not hateful; in dealing with enemies--that
would be an instance; or again, when those whom we call our friends in a fit of madness or
illusion are going to do some harm, then it is useful and is a sort of medicine or preventive; also
in the tales of mythology, of which we were just now speaking--because we do not know the
truth about ancient times, we make falsehood as much like truth as we can, and so turn it to
account.
Very true, he said.
But can any of these reasons apply to God? Can we suppose that he is ignorant of antiquity,
and therefore has recourse to invention?
That would be ridiculous, he said.
Then the lying poet has no place in our idea of God?
I should say not.
Or perhaps he may tell a lie because he is afraid of enemies?
That is inconceivable.
But he may have friends who are senseless or mad?
But no mad or senseless person can be a friend of God.
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Then no motive can be imagined why God should lie?
None whatever.
Then the superhuman and divine is absolutely incapable of falsehood?
Yes.
Then is God perfectly simple and true both in word and deed; he changes not; he deceives not,
either by sign or word, by dream or waking vision.
Your thoughts, he said, are the reflection of my own.
You agree with me then, I said, that this is the second type or form in which we should write and
speak about divine things. The gods are not magicians who transform themselves, neither do
they deceive mankind in any way.
I grant that.
Then, although we are admirers of Homer, we do not admire the lying dream which Zeus sends
to Agamemnon; neither will we praise the verses of Aeschylus in which Thetis says that Apollo
at her nuptials
Was celebrating in song her fair progeny whose days were to he long, and to know no sickness.
And when he had spoken of my lot as in all things blessed of heaven he raised a note of
triumph and cheered my soul. And I thought that the word of Phoebus being divine and full of
prophecy, would not fail. And now he himself who uttered the strain, he who was present at the
banquet, and who said this--he it is who has slain my son.
These are the kind of sentiments about the gods which will arouse our anger; and he who utters
them shall be refused a chorus; neither shall we allow teachers to make use of them in the
instruction of the young, meaning, as we do, that our guardians, as far as men can be, should
be true worshippers of the gods and like them.
I entirely agree, be said, in these principles, and promise to make them my laws.
BOOK III
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?
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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
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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.

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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.
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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?
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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?
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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
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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.
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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?
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.
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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.
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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,
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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
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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?
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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 èvery 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?
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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
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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.
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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?
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.
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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.
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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
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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?
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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.
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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
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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?
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
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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,
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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
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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.
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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.
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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.
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.
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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?
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.
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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,
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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
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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
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humanize them in their relations to one another, and to those who are under their protection.
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 IV
ADEIMANTUS - SOCRATES
HERE Adeimantus interposed a question: How would you answer, Socrates, said he, if a person
were to say that you are making these people miserable, and that they are the cause of their
own unhappiness; the city in fact belongs to them, but they are none the better for it; whereas
other men acquire lands, and build large and handsome houses, and have everything
handsome about them, offering sacrifices to the gods on their own account, and practising
hospitality; moreover, as you were saying just now, they have gold and silver, and all that is
usual among the favourites of fortune; but our poor citizens are no better than mercenaries who
are quartered in the city and are always mounting guard?
Yes, I said; and you may add that they are only fed, and not paid in addition to their food, like
other men; and therefore they cannot, if they would, take a journey of pleasure; they have no
money to spend on a mistress or any other luxurious fancy, which, as the world goes, is thought
to be happiness; and many other accusations of the same nature might be added.
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But, said he, let us suppose all this to be included in the charge.
You mean to ask, I said, what will be our answer?
Yes.
If we proceed along the old path, my belief, I said, is that we shall find the answer. And our
answer will be that, even as they are, our guardians may very likely be the happiest of men; but
that our aim in founding the State was not the disproportionate happiness of any one class, but
the greatest happiness of the whole; we thought that in a State which is ordered with a view to
the good of the whole we should be most likely to find Justice, and in the ill-ordered State
injustice: and, having found them, we might then decide which of the two is the happier. At
present, I take it, we are fashioning the happy State, not piecemeal, or with a view of making a
few happy citizens, but as a whole; and by-and-by we will proceed to view the opposite kind of
State. Suppose that we were painting a statue, and some one came up to us and said, Why do
you not put the most beautiful colours on the most beautiful parts of the body--the eyes ought to
be purple, but you have made them black--to him we might fairly answer, Sir, you would not
surely have us beautify the eyes to such a degree that they are no longer eyes; consider rather
whether, by giving this and the other features their due proportion, we make the whole beautiful.
And so I say to you, do not compel us to assign to the guardians a sort of happiness which will
make them anything but guardians; for we too can clothe our husbandmen in royal apparel, and
set crowns of gold on their heads, and bid them till the ground as much as they like, and no
more. Our potters also might be allowed to repose on couches, and feast by the fireside,
passing round the winecup, while their wheel is conveniently at hand, and working at pottery
only as much as they like; in this way we might make every class happy-and then, as you
imagine, the whole State would be happy. But do not put this idea into our heads; for, if we
listen to you, the husbandman will be no longer a husbandman, the potter will cease to be a
potter, and no one will have the character of any distinct class in the State. Now this is not of
much consequence where the corruption of society, and pretension to be what you are not, is
confined to cobblers; but when the guardians of the laws and of the government are only
seemingly and not real guardians, then see how they turn the State upside down; and on the
other hand they alone have the power of giving order and happiness to the State. We mean our
guardians to be true saviours and not the destroyers of the State, whereas our opponent is
thinking of peasants at a festival, who are enjoying a life of revelry, not of citizens who are doing
their duty to the State. But, if so, we mean different things, and he is speaking of something
which is not a State. And therefore we must consider whether in appointing our guardians we
would look to their greatest happiness individually, or whether this principle of happiness does
not rather reside in the State as a whole. But the latter be the truth, then the guardians and
auxillaries, and all others equally with them, must be compelled or induced to do their own work
in the best way. And thus the whole State will grow up in a noble order, and the several classes
will receive the proportion of happiness which nature assigns to them.
I think that you are quite right.
I wonder whether you will agree with another remark which occurs to me.
What may that be?
There seem to be two causes of the deterioration of the arts.

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What are they?
Wealth, I said, and poverty.
How do they act?
The process is as follows: When a potter becomes rich, will he, think you, any longer take the
same pains with his art?
Certainly not.
He will grow more and more indolent and careless?
Very true.
And the result will be that he becomes a worse potter?
Yes; he greatly deteriorates.
But, on the other hand, if he has no money, and cannot provide himself tools or instruments, he
will not work equally well himself, nor will he teach his sons or apprentices to work equally well.
Certainly not.
Then, under the influence either of poverty or of wealth, workmen and their work are equally
liable to degenerate?
That is evident.
Here, then, is a discovery of new evils, I said, against which the guardians will have to watch, or
they will creep into the city unobserved.
What evils?
Wealth, I said, and poverty; the one is the parent of luxury and indolence, and the other of
meanness and viciousness, and both of discontent.
That is very true, he replied; but still I should like to know, Socrates, how our city will be able to
go to war, especially against an enemy who is rich and powerful, if deprived of the sinews of
war.
There would certainly be a difficulty, I replied, in going to war with one such enemy; but there is
no difficulty where there are two of them.
How so? he asked.
In the first place, I said, if we have to fight, our side will be trained warriors fighting against an
army of rich men.
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That is true, he said.
And do you not suppose, Adeimantus, that a single boxer who was perfect in his art would
easily be a match for two stout and well-to-do gentlemen who were not boxers?
Hardly, if they came upon him at once.
What, not, I said, if he were able to run away and then turn and strike at the one who first came
up? And supposing he were to do this several times under the heat of a scorching sun, might he
not, being an expert, overturn more than one stout personage?
Certainly, he said, there would be nothing wonderful in that.
And yet rich men probably have a greater superiority in the science and practice of boxing than
they have in military qualities.
Likely enough.
Then we may assume that our athletes will be able to fight with two or three times their own
number?
I agree with you, for I think you right.
And suppose that, before engaging, our citizens send an embassy to one of the two cities,
telling them what is the truth: Silver and gold we neither have nor are permitted to have, but you
may; do you therefore come and help us in war, of and take the spoils of the other city: Who, on
hearing these words, would choose to fight against lean wiry dogs, rather th than, with the dogs
on their side, against fat and tender sheep?
That is not likely; and yet there might be a danger to the poor State if the wealth of many States
were to be gathered into one.
But how simple of you to use the term State at all of any but our own!
Why so?
You ought to speak of other States in the plural number; not one of them is a city, but many
cities, as they say in the game. For indeed any city, however small, is in fact divided into two,
one the city of the poor, the other of the rich; these are at war with one another; and in either
there are many smaller divisions, and you would be altogether beside the mark if you treated
them all as a single State. But if you deal with them as many, and give the wealth or power or
persons of the one to the others, you will always have a great many friends and not many
enemies. And your State, while the wise order which has now been prescribed continues to
prevail in her, will be the greatest of States, I do not mean to say in reputation or appearance,
but in deed and truth, though she number not more than a thousand defenders. A single State
which is her equal you will hardly find, either among Hellenes or barbarians, though many that
appear to be as great and many times greater.
That is most true, he said.

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And what, I said, will be the best limit for our rulers to fix when they are considering the size of
the State and the amount of territory which they are to include, and beyond which they will not
go?
What limit would you propose?
I would allow the State to increase so far as is consistent with unity; that, I think, is the proper
limit.
Very good, he said.
Here then, I said, is another order which will have to be conveyed to our guardians: Let our city
be accounted neither large nor small, but one and self-sufficing.
And surely, said he, this is not a very severe order which we impose upon them.
And the other, said I, of which we were speaking before is lighter still, -I mean the duty of
degrading the offspring of the guardians when inferior, and of elevating into the rank of
guardians the offspring of the lower classes, when naturally superior. The intention was, that, in
the case of the citizens generally, each individual should be put to the use for which nature
which nature intended him, one to one work, and then every man would do his own business,
and be one and not many; and so the whole city would be one and not many.
Yes, he said; that is not so difficult.
The regulations which we are prescribing, my good Adeimantus, are not, as might be supposed,
a number of great principles, but trifles all, if care be taken, as the saying is, of the one great
thing,-- a thing, however, which I would rather call, not great, but sufficient for our purpose.
What may that be? he asked.
Education, I said, and nurture: If our citizens are well educated, and grow into sensible men,
they will easily see their way through all these, as well as other matters which I omit; such, for
example, as marriage, the possession of women and the procreation of children, which will all
follow the general principle that friends have all things in common, as the proverb says.
That will be the best way of settling them.
Also, I said, the State, if once started well, moves with accumulating force like a wheel. For
good nurture and education implant good constitutions, and these good constitutions taking root
in a good education improve more and more, and this improvement affects the breed in man as
in other animals.
Very possibly, he said.
Then to sum up: This is the point to which, above all, the attention of our rulers should be
directed,--that music and gymnastic be preserved in their original form, and no innovation made.
They must do their utmost to maintain them intact. And when any one says that mankind most
regard
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The newest song which the singers have,
they will be afraid that he may be praising, not new songs, but a new kind of song; and this
ought not to be praised, or conceived to be the meaning of the poet; for any musical innovation
is full of danger to the whole State, and ought to be prohibited. So Damon tells me, and I can
quite believe him;-he says that when modes of music change, of the State always change with
them.
Yes, said Adeimantus; and you may add my suffrage to Damon's and your own.
Then, I said, our guardians must lay the foundations of their fortress in music?
Yes, he said; the lawlessness of which you speak too easily steals in.
Yes, I replied, in the form of amusement; and at first sight it appears harmless.
Why, yes, he said, and there is no harm; were it not that little by little this spirit of licence, finding
a home, imperceptibly penetrates into manners and customs; whence, issuing with greater
force, it invades contracts between man and man, and from contracts goes on to laws and
constitutions, in utter recklessness, ending at last, Socrates, by an overthrow of all rights,
private as well as public.
Is that true? I said.
That is my belief, he replied.
Then, as I was saying, our youth should be trained from the first in a stricter system, for if
amusements become lawless, and the youths themselves become lawless, they can never grow
up into well-conducted and virtuous citizens.
Very true, he said.
And when they have made a good beginning in play, and by the help of music have gained the
habit of good order, then this habit of order, in a manner how unlike the lawless play of the
others! will accompany them in all their actions and be a principle of growth to them, and if there
be any fallen places a principle in the State will raise them up again.
Very true, he said.
Thus educated, they will invent for themselves any lesser rules which their predecessors have
altogether neglected.
What do you mean?
I mean such things as these:--when the young are to be silent before their elders; how they are
to show respect to them by standing and making them sit; what honour is due to parents; what
garments or shoes are to be worn; the mode of dressing the hair; deportment and manners in
general. You would agree with me?
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Yes.
But there is, I think, small wisdom in legislating about such matters,-- I doubt if it is ever done;
nor are any precise written enactments about them likely to be lasting.
Impossible.
It would seem, Adeimantus, that the direction in which education starts a man, will determine his
future life. Does not like always attract like?
To be sure.
Until some one rare and grand result is reached which may be good, and may be the reverse of
good?
That is not to be denied.
And for this reason, I said, I shall not attempt to legislate further about them.
Naturally enough, he replied.
Well, and about the business of the agora, dealings and the ordinary dealings between man and
man, or again about agreements with the commencement with artisans; about insult and injury,
of the commencement of actions, and the appointment of juries, what would you say? there may
also arise questions about any impositions and extractions of market and harbour dues which
may be required, and in general about the regulations of markets, police, harbours, and the like.
But, oh heavens! shall we condescend to legislate on any of these particulars?
I think, he said, that there is no need to impose laws about them on good men; what regulations
are necessary they will find out soon enough for themselves.
Yes, I said, my friend, if God will only preserve to them the laws which we have given them.
And without divine help, said Adeimantus, they will go on for ever making and mending their
laws and their lives in the hope of attaining perfection.
You would compare them, I said, to those invalids who, having no self-restraint, will not leave off
their habits of intemperance?
Exactly.
Yes, I said; and what a delightful life they lead! they are always doctoring and increasing and
complicating their disorders, and always fancying that they will be cured by any nostrum which
anybody advises them to try.
Such cases are very common, he said, with invalids of this sort.
Yes, I replied; and the charming thing is that they deem him their worst enemy who tells them
the truth, which is simply that, unless they give up eating and drinking and wenching and idling,
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neither drug nor cautery nor spell nor amulet nor any other remedy will avail.
Charming! he replied. I see nothing charming in going into a passion with a man who tells you
what is right.
These gentlemen, I said, do not seem to be in your good graces.
Assuredly not.
Nor would you praise the behaviour of States which act like the men whom I was just now
describing. For are there not ill-ordered States in which the citizens are forbidden under pain of
death to alter the constitution; and yet he who most sweetly courts those who live under this
regime and indulges them and fawns upon them and is skilful in anticipating and gratifying their
humours is held to be a great and good statesman-- do not these States resemble the persons
whom I was describing?
Yes, he said; the States are as bad as the men; and I am very far from praising them.
But do you not admire, I said, the coolness and dexterity of these ready ministers of political
corruption?
Yes, he said, I do; but not of all of them, for there are some whom the applause of the multitude
has deluded into the belief that they are really statesmen, and these are not much to be
admired.
What do you mean? I said; you should have more feeling for them. When a man cannot
measure, and a great many others who cannot measure declare that he is four cubits high, can
he help believing what they say?
Nay, he said, certainly not in that case.
Well, then, do not be angry with them; for are they not as good as a play, trying their hand at
paltry reforms such as I was describing; they are always fancying that by legislation they will
make an end of frauds in contracts, and the other rascalities which I was mentioning, not
knowing that they are in reality cutting off the heads of a hydra?
Yes, he said; that is just what they are doing.
I conceive, I said, that the true legislator will not trouble himself with this class of enactments
whether concerning laws or the constitution either in an ill-ordered or in a well-ordered State; for
in the former they are quite useless, and in the latter there will be no difficulty in devising them;
and many of them will naturally flow out of our previous regulations.
What, then, he said, is still remaining to us of the work of legislation?
Nothing to us, I replied; but to Apollo, the God of Delphi, there remains the ordering of the
greatest and noblest and chiefest things of all.
Which are they? he said.

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The institution of temples and sacrifices, and the entire service of gods, demigods, and heroes;
also the ordering of the repositories of the dead, and the rites which have to be observed by him
who would propitiate the inhabitants of the world below. These are matters of which we are
ignorant ourselves, and as founders of a city we should be unwise in trusting them to any
interpreter but our ancestral deity. He is the god who sits in the center, on the navel of the earth,
and he is the interpreter of religion to all mankind.
You are right, and we will do as you propose.
But where, amid all this, is justice? son of Ariston, tell me where. Now that our city has been
made habitable, light a candle and search, and get your brother and Polemarchus and the rest
of our friends to help, and let us see where in it we can discover justice and where injustice, and
in what they differ from one another, and which of them the man who would be happy should
have for his portion, whether seen or unseen by gods and men.
SOCRATES - GLAUCON
Nonsense, said Glaucon: did you not promise to search yourself, saying that for you not to help
justice in her need would be an impiety?
I do not deny that I said so, and as you remind me, I will be as good as my word; but you must
join.
We will, he replied.
Well, then, I hope to make the discovery in this way: I mean to begin with the assumption that
our State, if rightly ordered, is perfect.
That is most certain.
And being perfect, is therefore wise and valiant and temperate and just.
That is likewise clear.
And whichever of these qualities we find in the State, the one which is not found will be the
residue?
Very good.
If there were four things, and we were searching for one of them, wherever it might be, the one
sought for might be known to us from the first, and there would be no further trouble; or we
might know the other three first, and then the fourth would clearly be the one left.
Very true, he said.
And is not a similar method to be pursued about the virtues, which are also four in number?
Clearly.
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First among the virtues found in the State, wisdom comes into view, and in this I detect a certain
peculiarity.
What is that?
The State which we have been describing is said to be wise as being good in counsel?
Very true.
And good counsel is clearly a kind of knowledge, for not by ignorance, but by knowledge, do
men counsel well?
Clearly.
And the kinds of knowledge in a State are many and diverse?
Of course.
There is the knowledge of the carpenter; but is that the sort of knowledge which gives a city the
title of wise and good in counsel?
Certainly not; that would only give a city the reputation of skill in carpentering.
Then a city is not to be called wise because possessing a knowledge which counsels for the
best about wooden implements?
Certainly not.
Nor by reason of a knowledge which advises about brazen pots, I said, nor as possessing any
other similar knowledge?
Not by reason of any of them, he said.
Nor yet by reason of a knowledge which cultivates the earth; that would give the city the name
of agricultural?
Yes.
Well, I said, and is there any knowledge in our recently founded State among any of the citizens
which advises, not about any particular thing in the State, but about the whole, and considers
how a State can best deal with itself and with other States?
There certainly is.
And what is knowledge, and among whom is it found? I asked.
It is the knowledge of the guardians, he replied, and found among those whom we were just
now describing as perfect guardians.
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And what is the name which the city derives from the possession of this sort of knowledge?
The name of good in counsel and truly wise.
And will there be in our city more of these true guardians or more smiths?
The smiths, he replied, will be far more numerous.
Will not the guardians be the smallest of all the classes who receive a name from the profession
of some kind of knowledge?
Much the smallest.
And so by reason of the smallest part or class, and of the knowledge which resides in this
presiding and ruling part of itself, the whole State, being thus constituted according to nature,
will be wise; and this, which has the only knowledge worthy to be called wisdom, has been
ordained by nature to be of all classes the least.
Most true.
Thus, then, I said, the nature and place in the State of one of the four virtues has somehow or
other been discovered.
And, in my humble opinion, very satisfactorily discovered, he replied.
Again, I said, there is no difficulty in seeing the nature of courage; and in what part that quality
resides which gives the name of courageous to the State.
How do you mean?
Why, I said, every one who calls any State courageous or cowardly, will be thinking of the part
which fights and goes out to war on the State's behalf.
No one, he replied, would ever think of any other.
Certainly not.
The rest of the citizens may be courageous or may be cowardly but their courage or cowardice
will not, as I conceive, have the effect of making the city either the one or the other.
The city will be courageous in virtue of a portion of herself which preserves under all
circumstances that opinion about the nature of things to be feared and not to be feared in which
our legislator educated them; and this is what you term courage.
I should like to hear what you are saying once more, for I do not think that I perfectly understand
you.
I mean that courage is a kind of salvation.
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Salvation of what?
Of the opinion respecting things to be feared, what they are and of what nature, which the law
implants through education; and I mean by the words ùnder all circumstances' to intimate that
in pleasure or in pain, or under the influence of desire or fear, a man preserves, and does not
lose this opinion. Shall I give you an illustration?
If you please.
You know, I said, that dyers, when they want to dye wool for making the true sea-purple, begin
by selecting their white colour first; this they prepare and dress with much care and pains, in
order that the white ground may take the purple hue in full perfection. The dyeing then
proceeds; and whatever is dyed in this manner becomes a fast colour, and no washing either
with lyes or without them can take away the bloom. But, when the ground has not been duly
prepared, you will have noticed how poor is the look either of purple or of any other colour.
Yes, he said; I know that they have a washed-out and ridiculous appearance.
Then now, I said, you will understand what our object was in selecting our soldiers, and
educating them in music and gymnastic; we were contriving influences which would prepare
them to take the dye of the laws in perfection, and the colour of their opinion about dangers and
of every other opinion was to be indelibly fixed by their nurture and training, not to be washed
away by such potent lyes as pleasure-- mightier agent far in washing the soul than any soda or
lye; or by sorrow, fear, and desire, the mightiest of all other solvents. And this sort of universal
saving power of true opinion in conformity with law about real and false dangers I call and
maintain to be courage, unless you disagree.
But I agree, he replied; for I suppose that you mean to exclude mere uninstructed courage, such
as that of a wild beast or of a slave-- this, in your opinion, is not the courage which the law
ordains, and ought to have another name.
Most certainly.
Then I may infer courage to be such as you describe?
Why, yes, said I, you may, and if you add the words òf a citizen,' you will not be far
wrong;--hereafter, if you like, we will carry the examination further, but at present we are we w
seeking not for courage but justice; and for the purpose of our enquiry we have said enough.
You are right, he replied.
Two virtues remain to be discovered in the State-first temperance, and then justice which is the
end of our search.
Very true.
Now, can we find justice without troubling ourselves about temperance?
I do not know how that can be accomplished, he said, nor do I desire that justice should be
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brought to light and temperance lost sight of; and therefore I wish that you would do me the
favour of considering temperance first.
Certainly, I replied, I should not be justified in refusing your request.
Then consider, he said.
Yes, I replied; I will; and as far as I can at present see, the virtue of temperance has more of the
nature of harmony and symphony than the preceding.
How so? he asked.
Temperance, I replied, is the ordering or controlling of certain pleasures and desires; this is
curiously enough implied in the saying of à man being his own master' and other traces of the
same notion may be found in language.
No doubt, he said.
There is something ridiculous in the expression `master of himself'; for the master is also the
servant and the servant the master; and in all these modes of speaking the same person is
denoted.
Certainly.
The meaning is, I believe, that in the human soul there is a better and also a worse principle;
and when the better has the worse under control, then a man is said to be master of himself;
and this is a term of praise: but when, owing to evil education or association, the better
principle, which is also the smaller, is overwhelmed by the greater mass of the worse--in this
case he is blamed and is called the slave of self and unprincipled.
Yes, there is reason in that.
And now, I said, look at our newly created State, and there you will find one of these two
conditions realised; for the State, as you will acknowledge, may be justly called master of itself,
if the words `temperance' and `self-mastery' truly express the rule of the better part over the
worse.
Yes, he said, I see that what you say is true.
Let me further note that the manifold and complex pleasures and desires and pains are
generally found in children and women and servants, and in the freemen so called who are of
the lowest and more numerous class.
Certainly, he said.
Whereas the simple and moderate desires which follow reason, and are under the guidance of
mind and true opinion, are to be found only in a few, and those the best born and best
educated.
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Very true. These two, as you may perceive, have a place in our State; and the meaner desires
of the are held down by the virtuous desires and wisdom of the few.
That I perceive, he said.
Then if there be any city which may be described as master of its own pleasures and desires,
and master of itself, ours may claim such a designation?
It may also be called temperate, and for the same reasons?
Yes.
And if there be any State in which rulers and subjects will be agreed as to the question who are
to rule, that again will be our State?
Undoubtedly.
And the citizens being thus agreed among themselves, in which class will temperance be
found--in the rulers or in the subjects?
In both, as I should imagine, he replied.
Do you observe that we were not far wrong in our guess that temperance was a sort of
harmony?
Why so?
Why, because temperance is unlike courage and wisdom, each of which resides in a part only,
the one making the State wise and the other valiant; not so temperance, which extends to the
whole, and runs through all the notes of the scale, and produces a harmony of the weaker and
the stronger and the middle class, whether you suppose them to be stronger or weaker in
wisdom or power or numbers or wealth, or anything else. Most truly then may we deem
temperance to be the agreement of the naturally superior and inferior, as to the right to rule of
either, both in states and individuals.
I entirely agree with you.
And so, I said, we may consider three out of the four virtues to have been discovered in our
State. The last of those qualities which make a state virtuous must be justice, if we only knew
what that was.
The inference is obvious.
The time then has arrived, Glaucon, when, like huntsmen, we should surround the cover, and
look sharp that justice does not steal away, and pass out of sight and escape us; for beyond a
doubt she is somewhere in this country: watch therefore and strive to catch a sight of her, and if
you see her first, let me know.
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Would that I could! but you should regard me rather as a follower who has just eyes enough to,
see what you show him--that is about as much as I am good for.
Offer up a prayer with me and follow.
I will, but you must show me the way.
Here is no path, I said, and the wood is dark and perplexing; still we must push on.
Let us push on.
Here I saw something: Halloo! I said, I begin to perceive a track, and I believe that the quarry
will not escape.
Good news, he said.
Truly, I said, we are stupid fellows.
Why so?
Why, my good sir, at the beginning of our enquiry, ages ago, there was justice tumbling out at
our feet, and we never saw her; nothing could be more ridiculous. Like people who go about
looking for what they have in their hands--that was the way with us--we looked not at what we
were seeking, but at what was far off in the distance; and therefore, I suppose, we missed her.
What do you mean?
I mean to say that in reality for a long time past we have been talking of justice, and have failed
to recognise her.
I grow impatient at the length of your exordium.
Well then, tell me, I said, whether I am right or not: You remember the original principle which
we were always laying down at the foundation of the State, that one man should practise one
thing only, the thing to which his nature was best adapted;-- now justice is this principle or a part
of it.
Yes, we often said that one man should do one thing only.
Further, we affirmed that justice was doing one's own business, and not being a busybody; we
said so again and again, and many others have said the same to us.
Yes, we said so.
Then to do one's own business in a certain way may be assumed to be justice. Can you tell me
whence I derive this inference?
I cannot, but I should like to be told.
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Because I think that this is the only virtue which remains in the State when the other virtues of
temperance and courage and wisdom are abstracted; and, that this is the ultimate cause and
condition of the existence of all of them, and while remaining in them is also their preservative;
and we were saying that if the three were discovered by us, justice would be the fourth or
remaining one.
That follows of necessity.
If we are asked to determine which of these four qualities by its presence contributes most to
the excellence of the State, whether the agreement of rulers and subjects, or the preservation in
the soldiers of the opinion which the law ordains about the true nature of dangers, or wisdom
and watchfulness in the rulers, or whether this other which I am mentioning, and which is found
in children and women, slave and freeman, artisan, ruler, subject,--the quality, I mean, of every
one doing his own work, and not being a busybody, would claim the palm--the question is not so
easily answered.
Certainly, he replied, there would be a difficulty in saying which.
Then the power of each individual in the State to do his own work appears to compete with the
other political virtues, wisdom, temperance, courage.
Yes, he said.
And the virtue which enters into this competition is justice?
Exactly.
Let us look at the question from another point of view: Are not the rulers in a State those to
whom you would entrust the office of determining suits at law?
Certainly.
And are suits decided on any other ground but that a man may neither take what is another's,
nor be deprived of what is his own?
Yes; that is their principle.
Which is a just principle?
Yes.
Then on this view also justice will be admitted to be the having and doing what is a man's own,
and belongs to him?
Very true.
Think, now, and say whether you agree with me or not. Suppose a carpenter to be doing the
business of a cobbler, or a cobbler of a carpenter; and suppose them to exchange their
implements or their duties, or the same person to be doing the work of both, or whatever be the
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change; do you think that any great harm would result to the State?
Not much.
But when the cobbler or any other man whom nature designed to be a trader, having his heart
lifted up by wealth or strength or the number of his followers, or any like advantage, attempts to
force his way into the class of warriors, or a warrior into that of legislators and guardians, for
which he is unfitted, and either to take the implements or the duties of the other; or when one
man is trader, legislator, and warrior all in one, then I think you will agree with me in saying that
this interchange and this meddling of one with another is the ruin of the State.
Most true.
Seeing then, I said, that there are three distinct classes, any meddling of one with another, or
the change of one into another, is the greatest harm to the State, and may be most justly
termed evil-doing?
Precisely.
And the greatest degree of evil-doing to one's own city would be termed by you injustice?
Certainly.
This then is injustice; and on the other hand when the trader, the auxiliary, and the guardian
each do their own business, that is justice, and will make the city just.
I agree with you.
We will not, I said, be over-positive as yet; but if, on trial, this conception of justice be verified in
the individual as well as in the State, there will be no longer any room for doubt; if it be not
verified, we must have a fresh enquiry. First let us complete the old investigation, which we
began, as you remember, under the impression that, if we could previously examine justice on
the larger scale, there would be less difficulty in discerning her in the individual. That larger
example appeared to be the State, and accordingly we constructed as good a one as we could,
knowing well that in the good State justice would be found. Let the discovery which we made be
now applied to the individual--if they agree, we shall be satisfied; or, if there be a difference in
the individual, we will come back to the State and have another trial of the theory. The friction of
the two when rubbed together may possibly strike a light in which justice will shine forth, and the
vision which is then revealed we will fix in our souls.
That will be in regular course; let us do as you say.
I proceeded to ask: When two things, a greater and less, are called by the same name, are they
like or unlike in so far as they are called the same?
Like, he replied.
The just man then, if we regard the idea of justice only, will be like the just State?
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He will.
And a State was thought by us to be just when the three classes in the State severally did their
own business; and also thought to be temperate and valiant and wise by reason of certain other
affections and qualities of these same classes?
True, he said.
And so of the individual; we may assume that he has the same three principles in his own soul
which are found in the State; and he may be rightly described in the same terms, because he is
affected in the same manner?
Certainly, he said.
Once more then, O my friend, we have alighted upon an easy question-- whether the soul has
these three principles or not?
An easy question! Nay, rather, Socrates, the proverb holds that hard is the good.
Very true, I said; and I do not think that the method which we are employing is at all adequate to
the accurate solution of this question; the true method is another and a longer one. Still we may
arrive at a solution not below the level of the previous enquiry.
May we not be satisfied with that? he said;--under the circumstances, I am quite content.
I too, I replied, shall be extremely well satisfied.
Then faint not in pursuing the speculation, he said.
Must we not acknowledge, I said, that in each of us there are the same principles and habits
which there are in the State; and that from the individual they pass into the State?--how else
can they come there? Take the quality of passion or spirit;--it would be ridiculous to imagine that
this quality, when found in States, is not derived from the individuals who are supposed to
possess it, e.g. the Thracians, Scythians, and in general the northern nations; and the same
may be said of the love of knowledge, which is the special characteristic of our part of the world,
or of the love of money, which may, with equal truth, be attributed to the Phoenicians and
Egyptians.
Exactly so, he said.
There is no difficulty in understanding this.
None whatever.
But the question is not quite so easy when we proceed to ask whether these principles are three
or one; whether, that is to say, we learn with one part of our nature, are angry with another, and
with a third part desire the satisfaction of our natural appetites; or whether the whole soul comes
into play in each sort of action-- to determine that is the difficulty.
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Yes, he said; there lies the difficulty.
Then let us now try and determine whether they are the same or different.
How can we? he asked.
I replied as follows: The same thing clearly cannot act or be acted upon in the same part or in
relation to the same thing at the same time, in contrary ways; and therefore whenever this
contradiction occurs in things apparently the same, we know that they are really not the same,
but different.
Good.
For example, I said, can the same thing be at rest and in motion at the same time in the same
part?
Impossible.
Still, I said, let us have a more precise statement of terms, lest we should hereafter fall out by
the way. Imagine the case of a man who is standing and also moving his hands and his head,
and suppose a person to say that one and the same person is in motion and at rest at the same
moment-to such a mode of speech we should object, and should rather say that one part of him
is in motion while another is at rest.
Very true.
And suppose the objector to refine still further, and to draw the nice distinction that not only
parts of tops, but whole tops, when they spin round with their pegs fixed on the spot, are at rest
and in motion at the same time (and he may say the same of anything which revolves in the
same spot), his objection would not be admitted by us, because in such cases things are not at
rest and in motion in the same parts of themselves; we should rather say that they have both an
axis and a circumference, and that the axis stands still, for there is no deviation from the
perpendicular; and that the circumference goes round. But if, while revolving, the axis inclines
either to the right or left, forwards or backwards, then in no point of view can they be at rest.
That is the correct mode of describing them, he replied.
Then none of these objections will confuse us, or incline us to believe that the same thing at the
same time, in the same part or in relation to the same thing, can act or be acted upon in
contrary ways.
Certainly not, according to my way of thinking.
Yet, I said, that we may not be compelled to examine all such objections, and prove at length
that they are untrue, let us assume their absurdity, and go forward on the understanding that
hereafter, if this assumption turn out to be untrue, all the consequences which follow shall be
withdrawn.
Yes, he said, that will be the best way.

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Well, I said, would you not allow that assent and dissent, desire and aversion, attraction and
repulsion, are all of them opposites, whether they are regarded as active or passive (for that
makes no difference in the fact of their opposition)?
Yes, he said, they are opposites.
Well, I said, and hunger and thirst, and the desires in general, and again willing and wishing,--all
these you would refer to the classes already mentioned. You would say--would you not?--that
the soul of him who desires is seeking after the object of his desires; or that he is drawing to
himself the thing which he wishes to possess: or again, when a person wants anything to be
given him, his mind, longing for the realisation of his desires, intimates his wish to have it by a
nod of assent, as if he had been asked a question?
Very true.
And what would you say of unwillingness and dislike and the absence of desire; should not
these be referred to the opposite class of repulsion and rejection?
Certainly.
Admitting this to be true of desire generally, let us suppose a particular class of desires, and out
of these we will select hunger and thirst, as they are termed, which are the most obvious of
them?
Let us take that class, he said.
The object of one is food, and of the other drink?
Yes.
And here comes the point: is not thirst the desire which the soul has of drink, and of drink only;
not of drink qualified by anything else; for example, warm or cold, or much or little, or, in a word,
drink of any particular sort: but if the thirst be accompanied by heat, then the desire is of cold
drink; or, if accompanied by cold, then of warm drink; or, if the thirst be excessive, then the drink
which is desired will be excessive; or, if not great, the quantity of drink will also be small: but
thirst pure and simple will desire drink pure and simple, which is the natural satisfaction of thirst,
as food is of hunger?
Yes, he said; the simple desire is, as you say, in every case of the simple object, and the
qualified desire of the qualified object.
But here a confusion may arise; and I should wish to guard against an opponent starting up and
saying that no man desires drink only, but good drink, or food only, but good food; for good is
the universal object of desire, and thirst being a desire, will necessarily be thirst after good drink;
and the same is true of every other desire.
Yes, he replied, the opponent might have something to say.
Nevertheless I should still maintain, that of relatives some have a quality attached to either term
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of the relation; others are simple and have their correlatives simple.
I do not know what you mean.
Well, you know of course that the greater is relative to the less?
Certainly.
And the much greater to the much less?
Yes.
And the sometime greater to the sometime less, and the greater that is to be to the less that is
to be?
Certainly, he said.
And so of more and less, and of other correlative terms, such as the double and the half, or
again, the heavier and the lighter, the swifter and the slower; and of hot and cold, and of any
other relatives;--is not this true of all of them?
Yes.
And does not the same principle hold in the sciences? The object of science is knowledge
(assuming that to be the true definition), but the object of a particular science is a particular kind
of knowledge; I mean, for example, that the science of house-building is a kind of knowledge
which is defined and distinguished from other kinds and is therefore termed architecture.
Certainly.
Because it has a particular quality which no other has?
Yes.
And it has this particular quality because it has an object of a particular kind; and this is true of
the other arts and sciences?
Yes.
Now, then, if I have made myself clear, you will understand my original meaning in what I said
about relatives. My meaning was, that if one term of a relation is taken alone, the other is taken
alone; if one term is qualified, the other is also qualified. I do not mean to say that relatives may
not be disparate, or that the science of health is healthy, or of disease necessarily diseased, or
that the sciences of good and evil are therefore good and evil; but only that, when the term
science is no longer used absolutely, but has a qualified object which in this case is the nature
of health and disease, it becomes defined, and is hence called not merely science, but the
science of medicine.
I quite understand, and I think as you do.

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Would you not say that thirst is one of these essentially relative terms, having clearly a relation--
Yes, thirst is relative to drink.
And a certain kind of thirst is relative to a certain kind of drink; but thirst taken alone is neither of
much nor little, nor of good nor bad, nor of any particular kind of drink, but of drink only?
Certainly.
Then the soul of the thirsty one, in so far as he is thirsty, desires only drink; for this he yearns
and tries to obtain it?
That is plain.
And if you suppose something which pulls a thirsty soul away from drink, that must be different
from the thirsty principle which draws him like a beast to drink; for, as we were saying, the same
thing cannot at the same time with the same part of itself act in contrary ways about the same.
Impossible.
No more than you can say that the hands of the archer push and pull the bow at the same time,
but what you say is that one hand pushes and the other pulls.
Exactly so, he replied.
And might a man be thirsty, and yet unwilling to drink?
Yes, he said, it constantly happens.
And in such a case what is one to say? Would you not say that there was something in the soul
bidding a man to drink, and something else forbidding him, which is other and stronger than the
principle which bids him?
I should say so.
And the forbidding principle is derived from reason, and that which bids and attracts proceeds
from passion and disease?
Clearly.
Then we may fairly assume that they are two, and that they differ from one another; the one
with which man reasons, we may call the rational principle of the soul, the other, with which he
loves and hungers and thirsts and feels the flutterings of any other desire, may be termed the
irrational or appetitive, the ally of sundry pleasures and satisfactions?
Yes, he said, we may fairly assume them to be different.
Then let us finally determine that there are two principles existing in the soul. And what of
passion, or spirit? Is it a third, or akin to one of the preceding?
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I should be inclined to say--akin to desire.
Well, I said, there is a story which I remember to have heard, and in which I put faith. The story
is, that Leontius, the son of Aglaion, coming up one day from the Piraeus, under the north wall
on the outside, observed some dead bodies lying on the ground at the place of execution. He
felt a desire to see them, and also a dread and abhorrence of them; for a time he struggled and
covered his eyes, but at length the desire got the better of him; and forcing them open, he ran
up to the dead bodies, saying, Look, ye wretches, take your fill of the fair sight.
I have heard the story myself, he said.
The moral of the tale is, that anger at times goes to war with desire, as though they were two
distinct things.
Yes; that is the meaning, he said.
And are there not many other cases in which we observe that when a man's desires violently
prevail over his reason, he reviles himself, and is angry at the violence within him, and that in
this struggle, which is like the struggle of factions in a State, his spirit is on the side of his
reason;--but for the passionate or spirited element to take part with the desires when reason
that she should not be opposed, is a sort of thing which thing which I believe that you never
observed occurring in yourself, nor, as I should imagine, in any one else?
Certainly not.
Suppose that a man thinks he has done a wrong to another, the nobler he is the less able is he
to feel indignant at any suffering, such as hunger, or cold, or any other pain which the injured
person may inflict upon him--these he deems to be just, and, as I say, his anger refuses to be
excited by them.
True, he said.
But when he thinks that he is the sufferer of the wrong, then he boils and chafes, and is on the
side of what he believes to be justice; and because he suffers hunger or cold or other pain he is
only the more determined to persevere and conquer. His noble spirit will not be quelled until he
either slays or is slain; or until he hears the voice of the shepherd, that is, reason, bidding his
dog bark no more.
The illustration is perfect, he replied; and in our State, as we were saying, the auxiliaries were to
be dogs, and to hear the voice of the rulers, who are their shepherds.
I perceive, I said, that you quite understand me; there is, however, a further point which I wish
you to consider.
What point?
You remember that passion or spirit appeared at first sight to be a kind of desire, but now we
should say quite the contrary; for in the conflict of the soul spirit is arrayed on the side of the
rational principle.
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Most assuredly.
But a further question arises: Is passion different from reason also, or only a kind of reason; in
which latter case, instead of three principles in the soul, there will only be two, the rational and
the concupiscent; or rather, as the State was composed of three classes, traders, auxiliaries,
counsellors, so may there not be in the individual soul a third element which is passion or spirit,
and when not corrupted by bad education is the natural auxiliary of reason
Yes, he said, there must be a third.
Yes, I replied, if passion, which has already been shown to be different from desire, turn out
also to be different from reason.
But that is easily proved:--We may observe even in young children that they are full of spirit
almost as soon as they are born, whereas some of them never seem to attain to the use of
reason, and most of them late enough.
Excellent, I said, and you may see passion equally in brute animals, which is a further proof of
the truth of what you are saying. And we may once more appeal to the words of Homer, which
have been already quoted by us,
He smote his breast, and thus rebuked his soul,
for in this verse Homer has clearly supposed the power which reasons about the better and
worse to be different from the unreasoning anger which is rebuked by it.
Very true, he said.
And so, after much tossing, we have reached land, and are fairly agreed that the same
principles which exist in the State exist also in the individual, and that they are three in number.
Exactly.
Must we not then infer that the individual is wise in the same way, and in virtue of the same
quality which makes the State wise?
Certainly.
Also that the same quality which constitutes courage in the State constitutes courage in the
individual, and that both the State and the individual bear the same relation to all the other
virtues?
Assuredly.
And the individual will be acknowledged by us to be just in the same way in which the State is
just?
That follows, of course.
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We cannot but remember that the justice of the State consisted in each of the three classes
doing the work of its own class?
We are not very likely to have forgotten, he said.
We must recollect that the individual in whom the several qualities of his nature do their own
work will be just, and will do his own work?
Yes, he said, we must remember that too.
And ought not the rational principle, which is wise, and has the care of the whole soul, to rule,
and the passionate or spirited principle to be the subject and ally?
Certainly.
And, as we were saying, the united influence of music and gymnastic will bring them into
accord, nerving and sustaining the reason with noble words and lessons, and moderating and
soothing and civilizing the wildness of passion by harmony and rhythm?
And these two, thus nurtured and educated, and having learned truly to know their own
functions, will rule over the concupiscent, which in each of us is the largest part of the soul and
by nature most insatiable of gain; over this they will keep guard, lest, waxing great and strong
with the fulness of bodily pleasures, as they are termed, the concupiscent soul, no longer
confined to her own sphere, should attempt to enslave and rule those who are not her natural-
born subjects, and overturn the whole life of man?
Very true, he said.
Both together will they not be the best defenders of the whole soul and the whole body against
attacks from without; the one counselling, and the other fighting under his leader, and
courageously executing his commands and counsels?
True.
And he is to be deemed courageous whose spirit retains in pleasure and in pain the commands
of reason about what he ought or ought not to fear?
Right, he replied.
And him we call wise who has in him that little part which rules, and which proclaims these
commands; that part too being supposed to have a knowledge of what is for the interest of each
of the three parts and of the whole?
Assuredly.
And would you not say that he is temperate who has these same elements in friendly harmony,
in whom the one ruling principle of reason, and the two subject ones of spirit and desire are
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equally agreed that reason ought to rule, and do not rebel?
Certainly, he said, that is the true account of temperance whether in the State or individual.
And surely, I said, we have explained again and again how and by virtue of what quality a man
will be just.
That is very certain.
And is justice dimmer in the individual, and is her form different, or is she the same which we
found her to be in the State?
There is no difference in my opinion, he said.
Because, if any doubt is still lingering in our minds, a few commonplace instances will satisfy us
of the truth of what I am saying.
What sort of instances do you mean?
If the case is put to us, must we not admit that the just State, or the man who is trained in the
principles of such a State, will be less likely than the unjust to make away with a deposit of gold
or silver? Would any one deny this?
No one, he replied.
Will the just man or citizen ever be guilty of sacrilege or theft, or treachery either to his friends or
to his country?
Never.
Neither will he ever break faith where there have been oaths or agreements?
Impossible.
No one will be less likely to commit adultery, or to dishonour his father and mother, or to fall in
his religious duties?
No one.
And the reason is that each part of him is doing its own business, whether in ruling or being
ruled?
Exactly so.
Are you satisfied then that the quality which makes such men and such states is justice, or do
you hope to discover some other?
Not I, indeed.
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Then our dream has been realised; and the suspicion which we entertained at the beginning of
our work of construction, that some divine power must have conducted us to a primary form of
justice, has now been verified?
Yes, certainly.
And the division of labour which required the carpenter and the shoemaker and the rest of the
citizens to be doing each his own business, and not another's, was a shadow of justice, and for
that reason it was of use?
Clearly.
But in reality justice was such as we were describing, being concerned however, not with the
outward man, but with the inward, which is the true self and concernment of man: for the just
man does not permit the several elements within him to interfere with one another, or any of
them to do the work of others,--he sets in order his own inner life, and is his own master and his
own law, and at peace with himself; and when he has bound together the three principles within
him, which may be compared to the higher, lower, and middle notes of the scale, and the
intermediate intervals-- when he has bound all these together, and is no longer many, but has
become one entirely temperate and perfectly adjusted nature, then he proceeds to act, if he has
to act, whether in a matter of property, or in the treatment of the body, or in some affair of
politics or private business; always thinking and calling that which preserves and co-operates
with this harmonious condition, just and good action, and the knowledge which presides over it,
wisdom, and that which at any time impairs this condition, he will call unjust action, and the
opinion which presides over it ignorance.
You have said the exact truth, Socrates.
Very good; and if we were to affirm that we had discovered the just man and the just State, and
the nature of justice in each of them, we should not be telling a falsehood?
Most certainly not.
May we say so, then?
Let us say so.
And now, I said, injustice has to be considered.
Clearly.
Must not injustice be a strife which arises among the three principles-- a meddlesomeness, and
interference, and rising up of a part of the soul against the whole, an assertion of unlawful
authority, which is made by a rebellious subject against a true prince, of whom he is the natural
vassal,--what is all this confusion and delusion but injustice, and intemperance and cowardice
and ignorance, and every form of vice?
Exactly so.
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And if the nature of justice and injustice be known, then the meaning of acting unjustly and
being unjust, or, again, of acting justly, will also be perfectly clear?
Why, I said, they are like disease and health; being in the soul just what disease and health are
in the body.
How so? he said.
Why, I said, that which is healthy causes health, and that which is unhealthy causes disease.
Yes.
And just actions cause justice, and unjust actions cause injustice?
That is certain.
And the creation of health is the institution of a natural order and government of one by another
in the parts of the body; and the creation of disease is the production of a state of things at
variance with this natural order?
True.
And is not the creation of justice the institution of a natural order and government of one by
another in the parts of the soul, and the creation of injustice the production of a state of things at
variance with the natural order?
Exactly so, he said.
Then virtue is the health and beauty and well-being of the soul, and vice the disease and
weakness and deformity of the same?
True.
And do not good practices lead to virtue, and evil practices to vice?
Assuredly.
Still our old question of the comparative advantage of justice and injustice has not been
answered: Which is the more profitable, to be just and act justly and practise virtue, whether
seen or unseen of gods and men, or to be unjust and act unjustly, if only unpunished and
unreformed?
In my judgment, Socrates, the question has now become ridiculous. We know that, when the
bodily constitution is gone, life is no longer endurable, though pampered with all kinds of meats
and drinks, and having all wealth and all power; and shall we be told that when the very
essence of the vital principle is undermined and corrupted, life is still worth having to a man, if
only he be allowed to do whatever he likes with the single exception that he is not to acquire
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justice and virtue, or to escape from injustice and vice; assuming them both to be such as we
have described?
Yes, I said, the question is, as you say, ridiculous. Still, as we are near the spot at which we
may see the truth in the clearest manner with our own eyes, let us not faint by the way.
Certainly not, he replied.
Come up hither, I said, and behold the various forms of vice, those of them, I mean, which are
worth looking at.
I am following you, he replied: proceed.
I said, The argument seems to have reached a height from which, as from some tower of
speculation, a man may look down and see that virtue is one, but that the forms of vice are
innumerable; there being four special ones which are deserving of note.
I mean, I replied, that there appear to be as many forms of the soul as there are distinct forms of
the State.
How many?
There are five of the State, and five of the soul, I said.
What are they?
The first, I said, is that which we have been describing, and which may be said to have two
names, monarchy and aristocracy, accordingly as rule is exercised by one distinguished man or
by many.
True, he replied.
But I regard the two names as describing one form only; for whether the government is in the
hands of one or many, if the governors have been trained in the manner which we have
supposed, the fundamental laws of the State will be maintained.
That is true, he replied.
BOOK V
SOCRATES - GLAUCON - ADEIMANTUS
SUCH is the good and true City or State, and the good and man is of the same pattern; and if
this is right every other is wrong; and the evil is one which affects not only the ordering of the
State, but also the regulation of the individual soul, and is exhibited in four forms.
What are they? he said.

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I was proceeding to tell the order in which the four evil forms appeared to me to succeed one
another, when Pole marchus, who was sitting a little way off, just beyond Adeimantus, began to
whisper to him: stretching forth his hand, he took hold of the upper part of his coat by the
shoulder, and drew him towards him, leaning forward himself so as to be quite close and saying
something in his ear, of which I only caught the words, `Shall we let him off, or what shall we
do?'
Certainly not, said Adeimantus, raising his voice.
Who is it, I said, whom you are refusing to let off?
You, he said.
I repeated, Why am I especially not to be let off?
Why, he said, we think that you are lazy, and mean to cheat us out of a whole chapter which is
a very important part of the story; and you fancy that we shall not notice your airy way of
proceeding; as if it were self-evident to everybody, that in the matter of women and children
`friends have all things in common.'
And was I not right, Adeimantus?
Yes, he said; but what is right in this particular case, like everything else, requires to be
explained; for community may be of many kinds. Please, therefore, to say what sort of
community you mean. We have been long expecting that you would tell us something about the
family life of your citizens--how they will bring children into the world, and rear them when they
have arrived, and, in general, what is the nature of this community of women and children-for
we are of opinion that the right or wrong management of such matters will have a great and
paramount influence on the State for good or for evil. And now, since the question is still
undetermined, and you are taking in hand another State, we have resolved, as you heard, not to
let you go until you give an account of all this.
To that resolution, said Glaucon, you may regard me as saying Agreed.
SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS - GLAUCON - THRASYMACHUS
And without more ado, said Thrasymachus, you may consider us all to be equally agreed.
I said, You know not what you are doing in thus assailing me: What an argument are you raising
about the State! Just as I thought that I had finished, and was only too glad that I had laid this
question to sleep, and was reflecting how fortunate I was in your acceptance of what I then said,
you ask me to begin again at the very foundation, ignorant of what a hornet's nest of words you
are stirring. Now I foresaw this gathering trouble, and avoided it.
For what purpose do you conceive that we have come here, said Thrasymachus,--to look for
gold, or to hear discourse?
Yes, but discourse should have a limit.
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Yes, Socrates, said Glaucon, and the whole of life is the only limit which wise men assign to the
hearing of such discourses. But never mind about us; take heart yourself and answer the
question in your own way: What sort of community of women and children is this which is to
prevail among our guardians? and how shall we manage the period between birth and
education, which seems to require the greatest care? Tell us how these things will be.
Yes, my simple friend, but the answer is the reverse of easy; many more doubts arise about this
than about our previous conclusions. For the practicability of what is said may be doubted; and
looked at in another point of view, whether the scheme, if ever so practicable, would be for the
best, is also doubtful. Hence I feel a reluctance to approach the subject, lest our aspiration, my
dear friend, should turn out to be a dream only.
Fear not, he replied, for your audience will not be hard upon you; they are not sceptical or
hostile.
I said: My good friend, I suppose that you mean to encourage me by these words.
Yes, he said.
Then let me tell you that you are doing just the reverse; the encouragement which you offer
would have been all very well had I myself believed that I knew what I was talking about: to
declare the truth about matters of high interest which a man honours and loves among wise
men who love him need occasion no fear or faltering in his mind; but to carry on an argument
when you are yourself only a hesitating enquirer, which is my condition, is a dangerous and
slippery thing; and the danger is not that I shall be laughed at (of which the fear would be
childish), but that I shall miss the truth where I have most need to be sure of my footing, and
drag my friends after me in my fall. And I pray Nemesis not to visit upon me the words which I
am going to utter. For I do indeed believe that to be an involuntary homicide is a less crime than
to be a deceiver about beauty or goodness or justice in the matter of laws. And that is a risk
which I would rather run among enemies than among friends, and therefore you do well to
encourage me.
Glaucon laughed and said: Well then, Socrates, in case you and your argument do us any
serious injury you shall be acquitted beforehand of the and shall not be held to be a deceiver;
take courage then and speak.
Well, I said, the law says that when a man is acquitted he is free from guilt, and what holds at
law may hold in argument.
Then why should you mind?
Well, I replied, I suppose that I must retrace my steps and say what I perhaps ought to have
said before in the proper place. The part of the men has been played out, and now properly
enough comes the turn of the women. Of them I will proceed to speak, and the more readily
since I am invited by you.
For men born and educated like our citizens, the only way, in my opinion, of arriving at a right
conclusion about the possession and use of women and children is to follow the path on which
we originally started, when we said that the men were to be the guardians and watchdogs of the
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herd.
True.
Let us further suppose the birth and education of our women to be subject to similar or nearly
similar regulations; then we shall see whether the result accords with our design.
What do you mean?
What I mean may be put into the form of a question, I said: Are dogs divided into hes and shes,
or do they both share equally in hunting and in keeping watch and in the other duties of dogs?
or do we entrust to the males the entire and exclusive care of the flocks, while we leave the
females at home, under the idea that the bearing and suckling their puppies is labour enough
for them?
No, he said, they share alike; the only difference between them is that the males are stronger
and the females weaker.
But can you use different animals for the same purpose, unless they are bred and fed in the
same way?
You cannot.
Then, if women are to have the same duties as men, they must have the same nurture and
education?
Yes.
The education which was assigned to the men was music and gymnastic. Yes.
Then women must be taught music and gymnastic and also the art of war, which they must
practise like the men?
That is the inference, I suppose.
I should rather expect, I said, that several of our proposals, if they are carried out, being
unusual, may appear ridiculous.
No doubt of it.
Yes, and the most ridiculous thing of all will be the sight of women naked in the palaestra,
exercising with the men, especially when they are no longer young; they certainly will not be a
vision of beauty, any more than the enthusiastic old men who in spite of wrinkles and ugliness
continue to frequent the gymnasia.
Yes, indeed, he said: according to present notions the proposal would be thought ridiculous.
But then, I said, as we have determined to speak our minds, we must not fear the jests of the
wits which will be directed against this sort of innovation; how they will talk of women's
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attainments both in music and gymnastic, and above all about their wearing armour and riding
upon horseback!
Yet having begun we must go forward to the rough places of the law; at the same time begging
of these gentlemen for once in their life to be serious. Not long ago, as we shall remind them,
the Hellenes were of the opinion, which is still generally received among the barbarians, that the
sight of a naked man was ridiculous and improper; and when first the Cretans and then the
Lacedaemonians introduced the custom, the wits of that day might equally have ridiculed the
innovation.
No doubt.
But when experience showed that to let all things be uncovered was far better than to cover
them up, and the ludicrous effect to the outward eye vanished before the better principle which
reason asserted, then the man was perceived to be a fool who directs the shafts of his ridicule
at any other sight but that of folly and vice, or seriously inclines to weigh the beautiful by any
other standard but that of the good.
First, then, whether the question is to be put in jest or in earnest, let us come to an
understanding about the nature of woman: Is she capable of sharing either wholly or partially in
the actions of men, or not at all? And is the art of war one of those arts in which she can or can
not share? That will be the best way of commencing the enquiry, and will probably lead to the
fairest conclusion.
That will be much the best way.
Shall we take the other side first and begin by arguing against ourselves; in this manner the
adversary's position will not be undefended.
Why not? he said.
Then let us put a speech into the mouths of our opponents. They will say: `Socrates and
Glaucon, no adversary need convict you, for you yourselves, at the first foundation of the State,
admitted the principle that everybody was to do the one work suited to his own nature.' And
certainly, if I am not mistaken, such an admission was made by us. Ànd do not the natures of
men and women differ very much indeed?' And we shall reply: Of course they do. Then we shall
be asked, `Whether the tasks assigned to men and to women should not be different, and such
as are agreeable to their different natures?' Certainly they should. `But if so, have you not fallen
into a serious inconsistency in saying that men and women, whose natures are so entirely
different, ought to perform the same actions?'-- What defence will you make for us, my good Sir,
against any one who offers these objections?
That is not an easy question to answer when asked suddenly; and I shall and I do beg of you to
draw out the case on our side.
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These are the objections, Glaucon, and there are many others of a like kind, which I foresaw
long ago; they made me afraid and reluctant to take in hand any law about the possession and
nurture of women and children.
By Zeus, he said, the problem to be solved is anything but easy.
Why yes, I said, but the fact is that when a man is out of his depth, whether he has fallen into a
little swimming bath or into mid-ocean, he has to swim all the same.
Very true.
And must not we swim and try to reach the shore: we will hope that Arion's dolphin or some
other miraculous help may save us?
I suppose so, he said.
Well then, let us see if any way of escape can be found. We acknowledged--did we not? that
different natures ought to have different pursuits, and that men's and women's natures are
different. And now what are we saying?--that different natures ought to have the same
pursuits,--this is the inconsistency which is charged upon us.
Precisely.
Verily, Glaucon, I said, glorious is the power of the art of contradiction!
Why do you say so?
Because I think that many a man falls into the practice against his will. When he thinks that he is
reasoning he is really disputing, just because he cannot define and divide, and so know that of
which he is speaking; and he will pursue a merely verbal opposition in the spirit of contention
and not of fair discussion.
Yes, he replied, such is very often the case; but what has that to do with us and our argument?
A great deal; for there is certainly a danger of our getting unintentionally into a verbal
opposition.
In what way?
Why, we valiantly and pugnaciously insist upon the verbal truth, that different natures ought to
have different pursuits, but we never considered at all what was the meaning of sameness or
difference of nature, or why we distinguished them when we assigned different pursuits to
different natures and the same to the same natures.
Why, no, he said, that was never considered by us.
I said: Suppose that by way of illustration we were to ask the question whether there is not an
opposition in nature between bald men and hairy men; and if this is admitted by us, then, if bald
men are cobblers, we should forbid the hairy men to be cobblers, and conversely?
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That would be a jest, he said.
Yes, I said, a jest; and why? because we never meant when we constructed the State, that the
opposition of natures should extend to every difference, but only to those differences which
affected the pursuit in which the individual is engaged; we should have argued, for example,
that a physician and one who is in mind a physician may be said to have the same nature.
True.
Whereas the physician and the carpenter have different natures?
Certainly.
And if, I said, the male and female sex appear to differ in their fitness for any art or pursuit, we
should say that such pursuit or art ought to be assigned to one or the other of them; but if the
difference consists only in women bearing and men begetting children, this does not amount to
a proof that a woman differs from a man in respect of the sort of education she should receive;
and we shall therefore continue to maintain that our guardians and their wives ought to have the
same pursuits.
Very true, he said.
Next, we shall ask our opponent how, in reference to any of the pursuits or arts of civic life, the
nature of a woman differs from that of a man?
That will be quite fair.
And perhaps he, like yourself, will reply that to give a sufficient answer on the instant is not
easy; but after a little reflection there is no difficulty.
Yes, perhaps.
Suppose then that we invite him to accompany us in the argument, and then we may hope to
show him that there is nothing peculiar in the constitution of women which would affect them in
the administration of the State.
By all means.
Let us say to him: Come now, and we will ask you a question:-- when you spoke of a nature
gifted or not gifted in any respect, did you mean to say that one man will acquire a thing easily,
another with difficulty; a little learning will lead the one to discover a great deal; whereas the
other, after much study and application, no sooner learns than he forgets; or again, did you
mean, that the one has a body which is a good servant to his mind, while the body of the other
is a hindrance to him?-would not these be the sort of differences which distinguish the man
gifted by nature from the one who is ungifted?
No one will deny that.
And can you mention any pursuit of mankind in which the male sex has not all these gifts and
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qualities in a higher degree than the female? Need I waste time in speaking of the art of
weaving, and the management of pancakes and preserves, in which womankind does really
appear to be great, and in which for her to be beaten by a man is of all things the most absurd?
You are quite right, he replied, in maintaining the general inferiority of the female sex: although
many women are in many things superior to many men, yet on the whole what you say is true.
And if so, my friend, I said, there is no special faculty of administration in a state which a woman
has because she is a woman, or which a man has by virtue of his sex, but the gifts of nature are
alike diffused in both; all the pursuits of men are the pursuits of women also, but in all of them a
woman is inferior to a man.
Very true.
Then are we to impose all our enactments on men and none of them on women?
That will never do.
One woman has a gift of healing, another not; one is a musician, and another has no music in
her nature?
Very true.
And one woman has a turn for gymnastic and military exercises, and another is unwarlike and
hates gymnastics?
Certainly.
And one woman is a philosopher, and another is an enemy of philosophy; one has spirit, and
another is without spirit?
That is also true.
Then one woman will have the temper of a guardian, and another not. Was not the selection of
the male guardians determined by differences of this sort?
Yes.
Men and women alike possess the qualities which make a guardian; they differ only in their
comparative strength or weakness.
Obviously.
And those women who have such qualities are to be selected as the companions and
colleagues of men who have similar qualities and whom they resemble in capacity and in
character?
Very true.
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And ought not the same natures to have the same pursuits?
They ought.
Then, as we were saying before, there is nothing unnatural in assigning music and gymnastic to
the wives of the guardians-- to that point we come round again.
Certainly not.
The law which we then enacted was agreeable to nature, and therefore not an impossibility or
mere aspiration; and the contrary practice, which prevails at present, is in reality a violation of
nature.
That appears to be true.
We had to consider, first, whether our proposals were possible, and secondly whether they were
the most beneficial?
Yes.
And the possibility has been acknowledged?
Yes.
The very great benefit has next to be established?
Quite so.
You will admit that the same education which makes a man a good guardian will make a woman
a good guardian; for their original nature is the same?
Yes.
I should like to ask you a question.
What is it?
Would you say that all men are equal in excellence, or is one man better than another?
The latter.
And in the commonwealth which we were founding do you conceive the guardians who have
been brought up on our model system to be more perfect men, or the cobblers whose education
has been cobbling?
What a ridiculous question!
You have answered me, I replied: Well, and may we not further say that our guardians are the
best of our citizens?
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By far the best.
And will not their wives be the best women?
Yes, by far the best.
And can there be anything better for the interests of the State than that the men and women of
a State should be as good as possible?
There can be nothing better.
And this is what the arts of music and gymnastic, when present in such manner as we have
described, will accomplish?
Certainly.
Then we have made an enactment not only possible but in the highest degree beneficial to the
State?
True.
Then let the wives of our guardians strip, for their virtue will be their robe, and let them share in
the toils of war and the defence of their country; only in the distribution of labours the lighter are
to be assigned to the women, who are the weaker natures, but in other respects their duties are
to be the same. And as for the man who laughs at naked women exercising their bodies from
the best of motives, in his laughter he is plucking
A fruit of unripe wisdom,
and he himself is ignorant of what he is laughing at, or what he is about;--for that is, and ever
will be, the best of sayings, That the useful is the noble and the hurtful is the base.
Very true.
Here, then, is one difficulty in our law about women, which we may say that we have now
escaped; the wave has not swallowed us up alive for enacting that the guardians of either sex
should have all their pursuits in common; to the utility and also to the possibility of this
arrangement the consistency of the argument with itself bears witness.
Yes, that was a mighty wave which you have escaped.
Yes, I said, but a greater is coming; you will of this when you see the next.
Go on; let me see.
The law, I said, which is the sequel of this and of all that has preceded, is to the following
effect,--'that the wives of our guardians are to be common, and their children are to be common,
and no parent is to know his own child, nor any child his parent.'
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Yes, he said, that is a much greater wave than the other; and the possibility as well as the utility
of such a law are far more questionable.
I do not think, I said, that there can be any dispute about the very great utility of having wives
and children in common; the possibility is quite another matter, and will be very much disputed.
I think that a good many doubts may be raised about both.
You imply that the two questions must be combined, I replied. Now I meant that you should
admit the utility; and in this way, as I thought; I should escape from one of them, and then there
would remain only the possibility.
But that little attempt is detected, and therefore you will please to give a defence of both.
Well, I said, I submit to my fate. Yet grant me a little favour: let me feast my mind with the dream
as day dreamers are in the habit of feasting themselves when they are walking alone; for before
they have discovered any means of effecting their wishes-- that is a matter which never troubles
them--they would rather not tire themselves by thinking about possibilities; but assuming that
what they desire is already granted to them, they proceed with their plan, and delight in detailing
what they mean to do when their wish has come true--that is a way which they have of not
doing much good to a capacity which was never good for much. Now I myself am beginning to
lose heart, and I should like, with your permission, to pass over the question of possibility at
present. Assuming therefore the possibility of the proposal, I shall now proceed to enquire how
the rulers will carry out these arrangements, and I shall demonstrate that our plan, if executed,
will be of the greatest benefit to the State and to the guardians. First of all, then, if you have no
objection, I will endeavour with your help to consider the advantages of the measure; and
hereafter the question of possibility.
I have no objection; proceed.
First, I think that if our rulers and their auxiliaries are to be worthy of the name which they bear,
there must be willingness to obey in the one and the power of command in the other; the
guardians must themselves obey the laws, and they must also imitate the spirit of them in any
details which are entrusted to their care.
That is right, he said.
You, I said, who are their legislator, having selected the men, will now select the women and
give them to them;--they must be as far as possible of like natures with them; and they must live
in common houses and meet at common meals, None of them will have anything specially his
or her own; they will be together, and will be brought up together, and will associate at
gymnastic exercises. And so they will be drawn by a necessity of their natures to have
intercourse with each other--necessity is not too strong a word, I think?
Yes, he said;--necessity, not geometrical, but another sort of necessity which lovers know, and
which is far more convincing and constraining to the mass of mankind.
True, I said; and this, Glaucon, like all the rest, must proceed after an orderly fashion; in a city of
the blessed, licentiousness is an unholy thing which the rulers will forbid.
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Yes, he said, and it ought not to be permitted.
Then clearly the next thing will be to make matrimony sacred in the highest degree, and what is
most beneficial will be deemed sacred?
Exactly.
And how can marriages be made most beneficial?--that is a question which I put to you,
because I see in your house dogs for hunting, and of the nobler sort of birds not a few. Now, I
beseech you, do tell me, have you ever attended to their pairing and breeding?
In what particulars?
Why, in the first place, although they are all of a good sort, are not some better than others?
True.
And do you breed from them all indifferently, or do you take care to breed from the best only?
From the best.
And do you take the oldest or the youngest, or only those of ripe age?
I choose only those of ripe age.
And if care was not taken in the breeding, your dogs and birds would greatly deteriorate?
Certainly.
And the same of horses and animals in general?
Undoubtedly.
Good heavens! my dear friend, I said, what consummate skill will our rulers need if the same
principle holds of the human species!
Certainly, the same principle holds; but why does this involve any particular skill?
Because, I said, our rulers will often have to practise upon
the body corporate with medicines. Now you know that when patients do not require medicines,
but have only to be put under a regimen, the inferior sort of practitioner is deemed to be good
enough; but when medicine has to be given, then the doctor should be more of a man.
That is quite true, he said; but to what are you alluding?
I mean, I replied, that our rulers will find a considerable dose of falsehood and deceit necessary
for the good of their subjects: we were saying that the use of all these things regarded as
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medicines might be of advantage.
And we were very right.
And this lawful use of them seems likely to be often needed in the regulations of marriages and
births.
How so?
Why, I said, the principle has been already laid down that the best of either sex should be united
with the best as often, and the inferior with the inferior, as seldom as possible; and that they
should rear the offspring of the one sort of union, but not of the other, if the flock is to be
maintained in first-rate condition. Now these goings on must be a secret which the rulers only
know, or there will be a further danger of our herd, as the guardians may be termed, breaking
out into rebellion.
Very true.
Had we not better appoint certain festivals at which we will bring together the brides and
bridegrooms, and sacrifices will be offered and suitable hymeneal songs composed by our
poets: the number of weddings is a matter which must be left to the discretion of the rulers,
whose aim will be to preserve the average of population? There are many other things which
they will have to consider, such as the effects of wars and diseases and any similar agencies, in
order as far as this is possible to prevent the State from becoming either too large or too small.
We shall have to invent some ingenious kind of lots which the less worthy may draw on each
occasion of our bringing them together, and then they will accuse their own ill-luck and not the
rulers.
To be sure, he said.
And I think that our braver and better youth, besides their other honours and rewards, might
have greater facilities of intercourse with women given them; their bravery will be a reason, and
such fathers ought to have as many sons as possible.
True.
And the proper officers, whether male or female or both, for offices are to be held by women as
well as by men--
Yes--
The proper officers will take the offspring of the good parents to the pen or fold, and there they
will deposit them with certain nurses who dwell in a separate quarter; but the offspring of the
inferior, or of the better when they chance to be deformed, will be put away in some mysterious,
unknown place, as they should be.
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Yes, he said, that must be done if the breed of the guardians is to be kept pure.
They will provide for their nurture, and will bring the mothers to the fold when they are full of
milk, taking the greatest possible care that no mother recognizes her own child; and other wet-
nurses may be engaged if more are required. Care will also be taken that the process of
suckling shall not be protracted too long; and the mothers will have no getting up at night or
other trouble, but will hand over all this sort of thing to the nurses and attendants.
You suppose the wives of our guardians to have a fine easy time of it when they are having
children.
Why, said I, and so they ought. Let us, however, proceed with our scheme. We were saying that
the parents should be in the prime of life?
Very true.
And what is the prime of life? May it not be defined as a period of about twenty years in a
woman's life, and thirty in a man's?
Which years do you mean to include?
A woman, I said, at twenty years of age may begin to bear children to the State, and continue to
bear them until forty; a man may begin at five-and-twenty, when he has passed the point at
which the pulse of life beats quickest, and continue to beget children until he be fifty-five.
Certainly, he said, both in men and women those years are the prime of physical as well as of
intellectual vigour.
Any one above or below the prescribed ages who takes part in the public hymeneals shall be
said to have done an unholy and unrighteous thing; the child of which he is the father, if it steals
into life, will have been conceived under auspices very unlike the sacrifices and prayers, which
at each hymeneal priestesses and priest and the whole city will offer, that the new generation
may be better and more useful than their good and useful parents, whereas his child will be the
offspring of darkness and strange lust.
And the same law will apply to any one of those within the prescribed age who forms a
connection with any woman in the prime of life without the sanction of the rulers; for we shall
say that he is raising up a bastard to the State, uncertified and unconsecrated.
This applies, however, only to those who are within the specified age: after that we allow them
to range at will, except that a man may not marry his daughter or his daughter's daughter, or his
mother or his mother's mother; and women, on the other hand, are prohibited from marrying
their sons or fathers, or son's son or father's father, and so on in either direction. And we grant
all this, accompanying the permission with strict orders to prevent any embryo which may come
into being from seeing the light; and if any force a way to the birth, the parents must understand
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that the offspring of such an union cannot be maintained, and arrange accordingly.
That also, he said, is a reasonable proposition. But how will they know who are fathers and
daughters, and so on?
They will never know. The way will be this:--dating from the day of the hymeneal, the
bridegroom who was then married will call all the male children who are born in the seventh and
tenth month afterwards his sons, and the female children his daughters, and they will call him
father, and he will call their children his grandchildren, and they will call the elder generation
grandfathers and grandmothers. All who were begotten at the time when their fathers and
mothers came together will be called their brothers and sisters, and these, as I was saying, will
be forbidden to inter-marry. This, however, is not to be understood as an absolute prohibition of
the marriage of brothers and sisters; if the lot favours them, and they receive the sanction of the
Pythian oracle, the law will allow them.
Quite right, he replied.
Such is the scheme, Glaucon, according to which the guardians of our State are to have their
wives and families in common. And now you would have the argument show that this
community is consistent with the rest of our polity, and also that nothing can be better-- would
you not?
Yes, certainly.
Shall we try to find a common basis by asking of ourselves what ought to be the chief aim of the
legislator in making laws and in the organization of a State,--what is the greatest I good, and
what is the greatest evil, and then consider whether our previous description has the stamp of
the good or of the evil?
By all means.
Can there be any greater evil than discord and distraction and plurality where unity ought to
reign? or any greater good than the bond of unity?
There cannot.
And there is unity where there is community of pleasures and pains-- where all the citizens are
glad or grieved on the same occasions of joy and sorrow?
No doubt.
Yes; and where there is no common but only private feeling a State is disorganized--when you
have one half of the world triumphing and the other plunged in grief at the same events
happening to the city or the citizens?
Certainly.
Such differences commonly originate in a disagreement about the use of the terms `mine' and
`not mine,' `his' and `not his.'
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Exactly so.
And is not that the best-ordered State in which the greatest number of persons apply the terms
`mine' and `not mine' in the same way to the same thing?
Quite true.
Or that again which most nearly approaches to the condition of the individual--as in the body,
when but a finger of one of us is hurt, the whole frame, drawn towards the soul as a center and
forming one kingdom under the ruling power therein, feels the hurt and sympathizes all together
with the part affected, and we say that the man has a pain in his finger; and the same
expression is used about any other part of the body, which has a sensation of pain at suffering
or of pleasure at the alleviation of suffering.
Very true, he replied; and I agree with you that in the best-ordered State there is the nearest
approach to this common feeling which you describe.
Then when any one of the citizens experiences any good or evil, the whole State will make his
case their own, and will either rejoice or sorrow with him?
Yes, he said, that is what will happen in a well-ordered State.
It will now be time, I said, for us to return to our State and see whether this or some other form
is most in accordance with these fundamental principles.
Very good.
Our State like every other has rulers and subjects?
True.
All of whom will call one another citizens?
Of course.
But is there not another name which people give to their rulers in other States?
Generally they call them masters, but in democratic States they simply call them rulers.
And in our State what other name besides that of citizens do the people give the rulers?
They are called saviours and helpers, he replied.
And what do the rulers call the people?
Their maintainers and foster-fathers.
And what do they call them in other States?
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Slaves.
And what do the rulers call one another in other States?
Fellow-rulers.
And what in ours?
Fellow-guardians.
Did you ever know an example in any other State of a ruler who would speak of one of his
colleagues as his friend and of another as not being his friend?
Yes, very often.
And the friend he regards and describes as one in whom he has an interest, and the other as a
stranger in whom he has no interest?
Exactly.
But would any of your guardians think or speak of any other guardian as a stranger?
Certainly he would not; for every one whom they meet will be regarded by them either as a
brother or sister, or father or mother, or son or daughter, or as the child or parent of those who
are thus connected with him.
Capital, I said; but let me ask you once more: Shall they be a family in name only; or shall they
in all their actions be true to the name? For example, in the use of the word `father,' would the
care of a father be implied and the filial reverence and duty and obedience to him which the law
commands; and is the violator of these duties to be regarded as an impious and unrighteous
person who is not likely to receive much good either at the hands of God or of man? Are these
to be or not to be the strains which the children will hear repeated in their ears by all the citizens
about those who are intimated to them to be their parents and the rest of their kinsfolk?
These, he said, and none other; for what can be more ridiculous than for them to utter the
names of family ties with the lips only and not to act in the spirit of them?
Then in our city the language of harmony and concord will be more often beard than in any
other. As I was describing before, when any one is well or ill, the universal word will be with me
ìt is well' or ìt is ill.'
Most true.
And agreeably to this mode of thinking and speaking, were we not saying that they will have
their pleasures and pains in common?
Yes, and so they will.
And they will have a common interest in the same thing which they will alike call `my own,' and
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having this common interest they will have a common feeling of pleasure and pain?
Yes, far more so than in other States.
And the reason of this, over and above the general constitution of the State, will be that the
guardians will have a community of women and children?
That will be the chief reason.
And this unity of feeling we admitted to be the greatest good, as was implied in our own
comparison of a well-ordered State to the relation of the body and the members, when affected
by pleasure or pain?
That we acknowledged, and very rightly.
Then the community of wives and children among our citizens is clearly the source of the
greatest good to the State?
Certainly.
And this agrees with the other principle which we were affirming,-- that the guardians were not
to have houses or lands or any other property; their pay was to be their food, which they were to
receive from the other citizens, and they were to have no private expenses; for we intended
them to preserve their true character of guardians.
Right, he replied.
Both the community of property and the community of families, as I am saying, tend to make
them more truly guardians; they will not tear the city in pieces by differing about `mine' and `not
mine;' each man dragging any acquisition which he has made into a separate house of his own,
where he has a separate wife and children and private pleasures and pains; but all will be
affected as far as may be by the same pleasures and pains because they are all of one opinion
about what is near and dear to them, and therefore they all tend towards a common end.
And as they have nothing but their persons which they can call their own, suits and complaints
will have no existence among them; they will be delivered from all those quarrels of which
money or children or relations are the occasion.
Of course they will.
Neither will trials for assault or insult ever be likely to occur among them. For that equals should
defend themselves against equals we shall maintain to be honourable and right; we shall make
the protection of the person a matter of necessity.
That is good, he said.
Yes; and there is a further good in the law; viz. that if a man has a quarrel with another he will
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satisfy his resentment then and there, and not proceed to more dangerous lengths.
Certainly.
To the elder shall be assigned the duty of ruling and chastising the younger.
Clearly.
Nor can there be a doubt that the younger will not strike or do any other violence to an elder,
unless the magistrates command him; nor will he slight him in any way. For there are two
guardians, shame and fear, mighty to prevent him: shame, which makes men refrain from laying
hands on those who are to them in the relation of parents; fear, that the injured one will be
succoured by the others who are his brothers, sons, one wi fathers.
That is true, he replied.
Then in every way the laws will help the citizens to keep the peace with one another?
Yes, there will be no want of peace.
And as the guardians will never quarrel among themselves there will be no danger of the rest of
the city being divided either against them or against one another.
None whatever.
I hardly like even to mention the little meannesses of which they will be rid, for they are beneath
notice: such, for example, as the flattery of the rich by the poor, and all the pains and pangs
which men experience in bringing up a family, and in finding money to buy necessaries for their
household, borrowing and then repudiating, getting how they can, and giving the money into the
hands of women and slaves to keep--the many evils of so many kinds which people suffer in
this way are mean enough and obvious enough, and not worth speaking of.
Yes, he said, a man has no need of eyes in order to perceive that.
And from all these evils they will be delivered, and their life will be blessed as the life of Olympic
victors and yet more blessed.
How so?
The Olympic victor, I said, is deemed happy in receiving a part only of the blessedness which is
secured to our citizens, who have won a more glorious victory and have a more complete
maintenance at the public cost. For the victory which they have won is the salvation of the
whole State; and the crown with which they and their children are crowned is the fulness of all
that life needs; they receive rewards from the hands of their country while living, and after death
have an honourable burial.
Yes, he said, and glorious rewards they are.
Do you remember, I said, how in the course of the previous discussion some one who shall be
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nameless accused us of making our guardians unhappy-- they had nothing and might have
possessed all things-to whom we replied that, if an occasion offered, we might perhaps
hereafter consider this question, but that, as at present advised, we would make our guardians
truly guardians, and that we were fashioning the State with a view to the greatest happiness, not
of any particular class, but of the whole?
Yes, I remember.
And what do you say, now that the life of our protectors is made out to be far better and nobler
than that of Olympic victors-- is the life of shoemakers, or any other artisans, or of husbandmen,
to be compared with it?
Certainly not.
At the same time I ought here to repeat what I have said elsewhere, that if any of our guardians
shall try to be happy in such a manner that he will cease to be a guardian, and is not content
with this safe and harmonious life, which, in our judgment, is of all lives the best, but infatuated
by some youthful conceit of happiness which gets up into his head shall seek to appropriate the
whole State to himself, then he will have to learn how wisely Hesiod spoke, when he said, `half
is more than the whole.'
If he were to consult me, I should say to him: Stay where you are, when you have the offer of
such a life.
You agree then, I said, that men and women are to have a common way of life such as we have
described--common education, common children; and they are to watch over the citizens in
common whether abiding in the city or going out to war; they are to keep watch together, and to
hunt together like dogs; and always and in all things, as far as they are able, women are to
share with the men? And in so doing they will do what is best, and will not violate, but preserve
the natural relation of the sexes.
I agree with you, he replied.
The enquiry, I said, has yet to be made, whether such a community be found possible--as
among other animals, so also among men-- and if possible, in what way possible?
You have anticipated the question which I was about to suggest.
There is no difficulty, I said, in seeing how war will be carried on by them.
How?
Why, of course they will go on expeditions together; and will take with them any of their children
who are strong enough, that, after the manner of the artisan's child, they may look on at the
work which they will have to do when they are grown up; and besides looking on they will have
to help and be of use in war, and to wait upon their fathers and mothers. Did you never observe
in the arts how the potters' boys look on and help, long before they touch the wheel?
Yes, I have.
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And shall potters be more careful in educating their children and in giving them the opportunity
of seeing and practising their duties than our guardians will be?
The idea is ridiculous, he said.
There is also the effect on the parents, with whom, as with other animals, the presence of their
young ones will be the greatest incentive to valour.
That is quite true, Socrates; and yet if they are defeated, which may often happen in war, how
great the danger is! the children will be lost as well as their parents, and the State will never
recover.
True, I said; but would you never allow them to run any risk?
I am far from saying that.
Well, but if they are ever to run a risk should they not do so on some occasion when, if they
escape disaster, they will be the better for it?
Clearly.
Whether the future soldiers do or do not see war in the days of their youth is a very important
matter, for the sake of which some risk may fairly be incurred.
Yes, very important.
This then must be our first step,--to make our children spectators of war; but we must also
contrive that they shall be secured against danger; then all will be well.
True.
Their parents may be supposed not to be blind to the risks of war, but to know, as far as human
foresight can, what expeditions are safe and what dangerous?
And they will take them on the safe expeditions and be cautious about the dangerous ones?
True.
And they will place them under the command of experienced veterans who will be their leaders
and teachers?
Very properly.
Still, the dangers of war cannot be always foreseen; there is a good deal of chance about them?
True.
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Then against such chances the children must be at once furnished with wings, in order that in
the hour of need they may fly away and escape.
I mean that we must mount them on horses in their earliest youth, and when they have learnt to
ride, take them on horseback to see war: the horses must be spirited and warlike, but the most
tractable and yet the swiftest that can be had. In this way they will get an excellent view of what
is hereafter to be their own business; and if there is danger they have only to follow their elder
leaders and escape.
I believe that you are right, he said.
Next, as to war; what are to be the relations of your soldiers to one another and to their
enemies? I should be inclined to propose that the soldier who leaves his rank or throws away
his arms, or is guilty of any other act of cowardice, should be degraded into the rank of a
husbandman or artisan. What do you think?
By all means, I should say.
And he who allows himself to be taken prisoner may as well be made a present of to his
enemies; he is their lawful prey, and let them do what they like with him.
Certainly.
But the hero who has distinguished himself, what shall be done to him? In the first place, he
shall receive honour in the army from his youthful comrades; every one of them in succession
shall crown him. What do you say?
I approve.
And what do you say to his receiving the right hand of fellowship?
To that too, I agree.
But you will hardly agree to my next proposal.
What is your proposal?
That he should kiss and be kissed by them.
Most certainly, and I should be disposed to go further, and say: Let no one whom he has a mind
to kiss refuse to be kissed by him while the expedition lasts. So that if there be a lover in the
army, whether his love be youth or maiden, he may be more eager to win the prize of valour.
Capital, I said. That the brave man is to have more wives than others has been already
determined: and he is to have first choices in such matters more than others, in order that he
may have as many children as possible?
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Agreed.
Again, there is another manner in which, according to Homer, brave youths should be
honoured; for he tells how Ajax, after he had distinguished himself in battle, was rewarded with
long chines, which seems to be a compliment appropriate to a hero in the flower of his age,
being not only a tribute of honour but also a very strengthening thing.
Most true, he said.
Then in this, I said, Homer shall be our teacher; and we too, at sacrifices and on the like
occasions, will honour the brave according to the measure of their valour, whether men or
women, with hymns and those other distinctions which we were mentioning; also with
seats of precedence, and meats and full cups;
and in honouring them, we shall be at the same time training them.
That, he replied, is excellent.
Yes, I said; and when a man dies gloriously in war shall we not say, in the first place, that he is
of the golden race?
To be sure.
Nay, have we not the authority of Hesiod for affirming that when they are dead
They are holy angels upon the earth, authors of good, averters of evil, the guardians of speech-
gifted men?
Yes; and we accept his authority.
We must learn of the god how we are to order the sepulture of divine and heroic personages,
and what is to be their special distinction and we must do as he bids?
By all means.
And in ages to come we will reverence them and knee. before their sepulchres as at the graves
of heroes. And not only they but any who are deemed pre-eminently good, whether they die
from age, or in any other way, shall be admitted to the same honours.
That is very right, he said.
Next, how shall our soldiers treat their enemies? What about this?
In what respect do you mean?
First of all, in regard to slavery? Do you think it right that Hellenes should enslave Hellenic
States, or allow others to enslave them, if they can help? Should not their custom be to spare
them, considering the danger which there is that the whole race may one day fall under the
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yoke of the barbarians?
To spare them is infinitely better.
Then no Hellene should be owned by them as a slave; that is a rule which they will observe and
advise the other Hellenes to observe.
Certainly, he said; they will in this way be united against the barbarians and will keep their
hands off one another.
Next as to the slain; ought the conquerors, I said, to take anything but their armour? Does not
the practice of despoiling an enemy afford an excuse for not facing the battle? Cowards skulk
about the dead, pretending that they are fulfilling a duty, and many an army before now has
been lost from this love of plunder.
Very true.
And is there not illiberality and avarice in robbing a corpse, and also a degree of meanness and
womanishness in making an enemy of the dead body when the real enemy has flown away and
left only his fighting gear behind him,--is not this rather like a dog who cannot get at his
assailant, quarrelling with the stones which strike him instead?
Very like a dog, he said.
Then we must abstain from spoiling the dead or hindering their burial?
Yes, he replied, we most certainly must.
Neither shall we offer up arms at the temples of the gods, least of all the arms of Hellenes, if we
care to maintain good feeling with other Hellenes; and, indeed, we have reason to fear that the
offering of spoils taken from kinsmen may be a pollution unless commanded by the god
himself?
Very true.
Again, as to the devastation of Hellenic territory or the burning of houses, what is to be the
practice?
May I have the pleasure, he said, of hearing your opinion?
Both should be forbidden, in my judgment; I would take the annual produce and no more. Shall I
tell you why?
Pray do.
Why, you see, there is a difference in the names `discord' and `war,' and I imagine that there is
also a difference in their natures; the one is expressive of what is internal and domestic, the
other of what is external and foreign; and the first of the two is termed discord, and only the
second, war.
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That is a very proper distinction, he replied.
And may I not observe with equal propriety that the Hellenic race is all united together by ties of
blood and friendship, and alien and strange to the barbarians?
Very good, he said.
And therefore when Hellenes fight with barbarians and barbarians with Hellenes, they will be
described by us as being at war when they fight, and by nature enemies, and this kind of
antagonism should be called war; but when Hellenes fight with one another we shall say that
Hellas is then in a state of disorder and discord, they being by nature friends and such enmity is
to be called discord.
I agree.
Consider then, I said, when that which we have acknowledged to be discord occurs, and a city
is divided, if both parties destroy the lands and burn the houses of one another, how wicked
does the strife appear! No true lover of his country would bring himself to tear in pieces his own
nurse and mother: There might be reason in the conqueror depriving the conquered of their
harvest, but still they would have the idea of peace in their hearts and would not mean to go on
fighting for ever.
Yes, he said, that is a better temper than the other.
And will not the city, which you are founding, be an Hellenic city?
It ought to be, he replied.
Then will not the citizens be good and civilized?
Yes, very civilized.
And will they not be lovers of Hellas, and think of Hellas as their own land, and share in the
common temples?
Most certainly.
And any difference which arises among them will be regarded by them as discord only--a
quarrel among friends, which is not to be called a war?
Certainly not.
Then
they will quarrel as those who intend some day to be reconciled? Certainly.
They will use friendly correction, but will not enslave or destroy their opponents; they will be
correctors, not enemies?
Just so.
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And as they are Hellenes themselves they will not devastate Hellas, nor will they burn houses,
not even suppose that the whole population of a city--men, women, and children--are equally
their enemies, for they know that the guilt of war is always confined to a few persons and that
the many are their friends. And for all these reasons they will be unwilling to waste their lands
and raze their houses; their enmity to them will only last until the many innocent sufferers have
compelled the guilty few to give satisfaction?
I agree, he said, that our citizens should thus deal with their Hellenic enemies; and with
barbarians as the Hellenes now deal with one another.
Then let us enact this law also for our guardians:-that they are neither to devastate the lands of
Hellenes nor to burn their houses.
Agreed; and we may agree also in thinking that these, all our previous enactments, are very
good.
But still I must say, Socrates, that if you are allowed to go on in this way you will entirely forget
the other question which at the commencement of this discussion you thrust aside:-- Is such an
order of things possible, and how, if at all? For I am quite ready to acknowledge that the plan
which you propose, if only feasible, would do all sorts of good to the State. I will add, what you
have omitted, that your citizens will be the bravest of warriors, and will never leave their ranks,
for they will all know one another, and each will call the other father, brother, son; and if you
suppose the women to join their armies, whether in the same rank or in the rear, either as a
terror to the enemy, or as auxiliaries in case of need, I know that they will then be absolutely
invincible; and there are many domestic tic advantages which might also be mentioned and
which I also fully acknowledge: but, as I admit all these advantages and as many more as you
please, if only this State of yours were to come into existence, we need say no more about
them; assuming then the existence of the State, let us now turn to the question of possibility and
ways and means-- the rest may be left.
If I loiter for a moment, you instantly make a raid upon me, I said, and have no mercy; I have
hardly escaped the first and second waves, and you seem not to be aware that you are now
bringing upon me the third, which is the greatest and heaviest. When you have seen and heard
the third wave, I think you be more considerate and will acknowledge that some fear and
hesitation was natural respecting a proposal so extraordinary as that which I have now to state
and investigate.
The more appeals of this sort which you make, he said, the more determined are we that you
shall tell us how such a State is possible: speak out and at once.
Let me begin by reminding you that we found our way hither in the search after justice and
injustice.
True, he replied; but what of that?
I was only going to ask whether, if we have discovered them, we are to require that the just man
should in nothing fail of absolute justice; or may we be satisfied with an approximation, and the
attainment in him of a higher degree of justice than is to be found in other men?
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The approximation will be enough.
We are enquiring into the nature of absolute justice and into the character of the perfectly just,
and into injustice and the perfectly unjust, that we might have an ideal. We were to look at these
in order that we might judge of our own happiness and unhappiness according to the standard
which they exhibited and the degree in which we resembled them, but not with any view of
showing that they could exist in fact.
True, he said.
Would a painter be any the worse because, after having delineated with consummate art an
ideal of a perfectly beautiful man, he was unable to show that any such man could ever have
existed?
He would be none the worse.
Well, and were we not creating an ideal of a perfect State?
To be sure.
And is our theory a worse theory because we are unable to prove the possibility of a city being
ordered in the manner described?
Surely not, he replied.
That is the truth, I said. But if, at your request, I am to try and show how and under what
conditions the possibility is highest, I must ask you, having this in view, to repeat your former
admissions.
What admissions?
I want to know whether ideals are ever fully realised in language? Does not the word express
more than the fact, and must not the actual, whatever a man may think, always, in the nature of
things, fall short of the truth? What do you say?
I agree.
Then you must not insist on my proving that the actual State will in every respect coincide with
the ideal: if we are only able to discover how a city may be governed nearly as we proposed,
you will admit that we have discovered the possibility which you demand; and will be contented.
I am sure that I should be contented-- will not you?
Yes, I will.
Let me next endeavour to show what is that fault in States which is the cause of their present
maladministration, and what is the least change which will enable a State to pass into the truer
form; and let the change, if possible, be of one thing only, or if not, of two; at any rate, let the
changes be as few and slight as possible.
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I think, I said, that there might be a reform of the State if only one change were made, which is
not a slight or easy though still a possible one.
What is it? he said.
Now then, I said, I go to meet that which I liken to the greatest of the waves; yet shall the word
be spoken, even though the wave break and drown me in laughter and dishonour; and do you
mark my words.
Proceed.
I said: Until philosophers are kings, or the kings and princes of this world have the spirit and
power of philosophy, and political greatness and wisdom meet in one, and those commoner
natures who pursue either to the exclusion of the other are compelled to stand aside, cities will
never have rest from their evils,-- nor the human race, as I believe,--and then only will this our
State have a possibility of life and behold the light of day. Such was the thought, my dear
Glaucon, which I would fain have uttered if it had not seemed too extravagant; for to be
convinced that in no other State can there be happiness private or public is indeed a hard thing.
Socrates, what do you mean? I would have you consider that the word which you have uttered
is one at which numerous persons, and very respectable persons too, in a figure pulling off their
coats all in a moment, and seizing any weapon that comes to hand, will run at you might and
main, before you know where you are, intending to do heaven knows what; and if you don't
prepare an answer, and put yourself in motion, you will be prepared by their fine wits,' and no
mistake.
You got me into the scrape, I said.
And I was quite right; however, I will do all I can to get you out of it; but I can only give you good-
will and good advice, and, perhaps, I may be able to fit answers to your questions better than
another-- that is all. And now, having such an auxiliary, you must do your best to show the
unbelievers that you are right.
I ought to try, I said, since you offer me such invaluable assistance. And I think that, if there is to
be a chance of our escaping, we must explain to them whom we mean when we say that
philosophers are to rule in the State; then we shall be able to defend ourselves: There will be
discovered to be some natures who ought to study philosophy and to be leaders in the State;
and others who are not born to be philosophers, and are meant to be followers rather than
leaders.
Then now for a definition, he said.
Follow me, I said, and I hope that I may in some way or other be able to give you a satisfactory
explanation.
Proceed.
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I dare say that you remember, and therefore I need not remind you, that a lover, if lie is worthy
of the name, ought to show his love, not to some one part of that which he loves, but to the
whole.
I really do not understand, and therefore beg of you to assist my memory.
Another person, I said, might fairly reply as you do; but a man of pleasure like yourself ought to
know that all who are in the flower of youth do somehow or other raise a pang or emotion in a
lover's breast, and are thought by him to be worthy of his affectionate regards. Is not this a way
which you have with the fair: one has a snub nose, and you praise his charming face; the hook-
nose of another has, you say, a royal look; while he who is neither snub nor hooked has the
grace of regularity: the dark visage is manly, the fair are children of the gods; and as to the
sweet `honey pale,' as they are called, what is the very name but the invention of a lover who
talks in diminutives, and is not adverse to paleness if appearing on the cheek of youth? In a
word, there is no excuse which you will not make, and nothing which you will not say, in order
not to lose a single flower that blooms in the spring-time of youth.
If you make me an authority in matters of love, for the sake of the argument, I assent.
And what do you say of lovers of wine? Do you not see them doing the same? They are glad of
any pretext of drinking any wine.
Very good.
And the same is true of ambitious men; if they cannot command an army, they are willing to
command a file; and if they cannot be honoured by really great and important persons, they are
glad to be honoured by lesser and meaner people, but honour of some kind they must have.
Exactly.
Once more let me ask: Does he who desires any class of goods, desire the whole class or a
part only?
The whole.
And may we not say of the philosopher that he is a lover, not of a part of wisdom only, but of the
whole?
Yes, of the whole.
And he who dislikes learnings, especially in youth, when he has no power of judging what is
good and what is not, such an one we maintain not to be a philosopher or a lover of knowledge,
just as he who refuses his food is not hungry, and may be said to have a bad appetite and not a
good one?
Very true, he said.
Whereas he who has a taste for every sort of knowledge and who is curious to learn and is
never satisfied, may be justly termed a philosopher? Am I not right?
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Glaucon said: If curiosity makes a philosopher, you will find many a strange being will have a
title to the name. All the lovers of sights have a delight in learning, and must therefore be
included. Musical amateurs, too, are a folk strangely out of place among philosophers, for they
are the last persons in the world who would come to anything like a philosophical discussion, if
they could help, while they run about at the Dionysiac festivals as if they had let out their ears to
hear every chorus; whether the performance is in town or country--that makes no
difference--they are there. Now are we to maintain that all these and any who have similar
tastes, as well as the professors of quite minor arts, are philosophers?
Certainly not, I replied; they are only an imitation.
He said: Who then are the true philosophers?
Those, I said, who are lovers of the vision of truth.
That is also good, he said; but I should like to know what you mean?
To another, I replied, I might have a difficulty in explaining; but I am sure that you will admit a
proposition which I am about to make.
What is the proposition?
That since beauty is the opposite of ugliness, they are two?
Certainly.
And inasmuch as they are two, each of them is one?
True again.
And of just and unjust, good and evil, and of every other class, the same remark holds: taken
singly, each of them one; but from the various combinations of them with actions and things and
with one another, they are seen in all sorts of lights and appear many? Very true.
And this is the distinction which I draw between the sight-loving, art-loving, practical class and
those of whom I am speaking, and who are alone worthy of the name of philosophers.
How do you distinguish them? he said.
The lovers of sounds and sights, I replied, are, as I conceive, fond of fine tones and colours and
forms and all the artificial products that are made out of them, but their mind is incapable of
seeing or loving absolute beauty.
True, he replied.
Few are they who are able to attain to the sight of this.
Very true.
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And he who, having a sense of beautiful things has no sense of absolute beauty, or who, if
another lead him to a knowledge of that beauty is unable to follow--of such an one I ask, Is he
awake or in a dream only? Reflect: is not the dreamer, sleeping or waking, one who likens
dissimilar things, who puts the copy in the place of the real object?
I should certainly say that such an one was dreaming.
But take the case of the other, who recognises the existence of absolute beauty and is able to
distinguish the idea from the objects which participate in the idea, neither putting the objects in
the place of the idea nor the idea in the place of the objects-- is he a dreamer, or is he awake?
He is wide awake.
And may we not say that the mind of the one who knows has knowledge, and that the mind of
the other, who opines only, has opinion
Certainly.
But suppose that the latter should quarrel with us and dispute our statement, can we administer
any soothing cordial or advice to him, without revealing to him that there is sad disorder in his
wits?
We must certainly offer him some good advice, he replied.
Come, then, and let us think of something to say to him. Shall we begin by assuring him that he
is welcome to any knowledge which he may have, and that we are rejoiced at his having it? But
we should like to ask him a question: Does he who has knowledge know something or nothing?
(You must answer for him.)
I answer that he knows something.
Something that is or is not?
Something that is; for how can that which is not ever be known?
And are we assured, after looking at the matter from many points of view, that absolute being is
or may be absolutely known, but that the utterly non-existent is utterly unknown?
Nothing can be more certain.
Good. But if there be anything which is of such a nature as to be and not to be, that will have a
place intermediate between pure being and the absolute negation of being?
Yes, between them.
And, as knowledge corresponded to being and ignorance of necessity to not-being, for that
intermediate between being and not-being there has to be discovered a corresponding
intermediate between ignorance and knowledge, if there be such?
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Certainly.
Do we admit the existence of opinion?
Undoubtedly.
As being the same with knowledge, or another faculty?
Another faculty.
Then opinion and knowledge have to do with different kinds of matter corresponding to this
difference of faculties?
Yes.
And knowledge is relative to being and knows being. But before I proceed further I will make a
division.
What division?
I will begin by placing faculties in a class by themselves: they are powers in us, and in all other
things, by which we do as we do. Sight and hearing, for example, I should call faculties. Have I
clearly explained the class which I mean?
Yes, I quite understand.
Then let me tell you my view about them. I do not see them, and therefore the distinctions of
fire, colour, and the like, which enable me to discern the differences of some things, do not
apply to them. In speaking of a faculty I think only of its sphere and its result; and that which has
the same sphere and the same result I call the same faculty, but that which has another sphere
and another result I call different. Would that be your way of speaking?
Yes.
And will you be so very good as to answer one more question? Would you say that knowledge
is a faculty, or in what class would you place it?
Certainly knowledge is a faculty, and the mightiest of all faculties.
And is opinion also a faculty?
Certainly, he said; for opinion is that with which we are able to form an opinion.
And yet you were acknowledging a little while ago that knowledge is not the same as opinion?
Why, yes, he said: how can any reasonable being ever identify that which is infallible with that
which errs?
An excellent answer, proving, I said, that we are quite conscious of a distinction between them.
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Yes.
Then knowledge and opinion having distinct powers have also distinct spheres or subject-
matters?
That is certain.
Being is the sphere or subject-matter of knowledge, and knowledge is to know the nature of
being?
Yes.
And opinion is to have an opinion?
Yes.
And do we know what we opine? or is the subject-matter of opinion the same as the subject-
matter of knowledge?
Nay, he replied, that has been already disproven; if difference in faculty implies difference in the
sphere or subject matter, and if, as we were saying, opinion and knowledge are distinct
faculties, then the sphere of knowledge and of opinion cannot be the same.
Then if being is the subject-matter of knowledge, something else must be the subject-matter of
opinion?
Yes, something else.
Well then, is not-being the subject-matter of opinion? or, rather, how can there be an opinion at
all about not-being? Reflect: when a man has an opinion, has he not an opinion about
something? Can he have an opinion which is an opinion about nothing?
Impossible.
He who has an opinion has an opinion about some one thing?
Yes.
And not-being is not one thing but, properly speaking, nothing?
True.
Of not-being, ignorance was assumed to be the necessary correlative; of being, knowledge?
True, he said.
Then opinion is not concerned either with being or with not-being?
Not with either.

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And can therefore neither be ignorance nor knowledge?
That seems to be true.
But is opinion to be sought without and beyond either of them, in a greater clearness than
knowledge, or in a greater darkness than ignorance?
In neither.
Then I suppose that opinion appears to you to be darker than knowledge, but lighter than
ignorance?
Both; and in no small degree.
And also to be within and between them?
Yes.
Then you would infer that opinion is intermediate?
No question.
But were we not saying before, that if anything appeared to be of a sort which is and is not at
the same time, that sort of thing would appear also to lie in the interval between pure being and
absolute not-being; and that the corresponding faculty is neither knowledge nor ignorance, but
will be found in the interval between them?
True.
And in that interval there has now been discovered something which we call opinion?
There has.
Then what remains to be discovered is the object which partakes equally of the nature of being
and not-being, and cannot rightly be termed either, pure and simple; this unknown term, when
discovered, we may truly call the subject of opinion, and assign each to its proper faculty, -the
extremes to the faculties of the extremes and the mean to the faculty of the mean.
True.
This being premised, I would ask the gentleman who is of opinion that there is no absolute or
unchangeable idea of beauty-- in whose opinion the beautiful is the manifold--he, I say, your
lover of beautiful sights, who cannot bear to be told that the beautiful is one, and the just is one,
or that anything is one-- to him I would appeal, saying, Will you be so very kind, sir, as to tell us
whether, of all these beautiful things, there is one which will not be found ugly; or of the just,
which will not be found unjust; or of the holy, which will not also be unholy?
No, he replied; the beautiful will in some point of view be found ugly; and the same is true of the
rest.
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And may not the many which are doubles be also halves?--doubles, that is, of one thing, and
halves of another?
Quite true.
And things great and small, heavy and light, as they are termed, will not be denoted by these
any more than by the opposite names?
True; both these and the opposite names will always attach to all of them.
And can any one of those many things which are called by particular names be said to be this
rather than not to be this?
He replied: They are like the punning riddles which are asked at feasts or the children's puzzle
about the eunuch aiming at the bat, with what he hit him, as they say in the puzzle, and upon
what the bat was sitting. The individual objects of which I am speaking are also a riddle, and
have a double sense: nor can you fix them in your mind, either as being or not-being, or both, or
neither.
Then what will you do with them? I said. Can they have a better place than between being and
not-being? For they are clearly not in greater darkness or negation than not-being, or more full
of light and existence than being.
Thus then we seem to have discovered that the many ideas which the multitude entertain about
the beautiful and about all other things are tossing about in some region which is halfway
between pure being and pure not-being?
We have.
Yes; and we had before agreed that anything of this kind which we might find was to be
described as matter of opinion, and not as matter of knowledge; being the intermediate flux
which is caught and detained by the intermediate faculty.
Quite true.
Then those who see the many beautiful, and who yet neither see absolute beauty, nor can
follow any guide who points the way thither; who see the many just, and not absolute justice,
and the like,-- such persons may be said to have opinion but not knowledge?
That is certain.
But those who see the absolute and eternal and immutable may be said to know, and not to
have opinion only?
Neither can that be denied.
The one loves and embraces the subjects of knowledge, the other those of opinion? The latter
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are the same, as I dare say will remember, who listened to sweet sounds and gazed upon fair
colours, but would not tolerate the existence of absolute beauty.
Yes, I remember.
Shall we then be guilty of any impropriety in calling them lovers of opinion rather than lovers of
wisdom, and will they be very angry with us for thus describing them?
I shall tell them not to be angry; no man should be angry at what is true.
But those who love the truth in each thing are to be called lovers of wisdom and not lovers of
opinion.
Assuredly.
BOOK VI
SOCRATES - GLAUCON
AND thus, Glaucon, after the argument has gone a weary way, the true and the false
philosophers have at length appeared in view.
I do not think, he said, that the way could have been shortened.
I suppose not, I said; and yet I believe that we might have had a better view of both of them if
the discussion could have been confined to this one subject and if there were not many other
questions awaiting us, which he who desires to see in what respect the life of the just differs
from that of the unjust must consider.
And what is the next question? he asked.
Surely, I said, the one which follows next in order. Inasmuch as philosophers only are able to
grasp the eternal and unchangeable, and those who wander in the region of the many and
variable are not philosophers, I must ask you which of the two classes should be the rulers of
our State?
And how can we rightly answer that question?
Whichever of the two are best able to guard the laws and institutions of our State--let them be
our guardians.
Very good.
Neither, I said, can there be any question that the guardian who is to keep anything should have
eyes rather than no eyes?
There can be no question of that.
And are not those who are verily and indeed wanting in the knowledge of the true being of each
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thing, and who have in their souls no clear pattern, and are unable as with a painter's eye to
look at the absolute truth and to that original to repair, and having perfect vision of the other
world to order the laws about beauty, goodness, justice in this, if not already ordered, and to
guard and preserve the order of them--are not such persons, I ask, simply blind?
Truly, he replied, they are much in that condition.
And shall they be our guardians when there are others who, besides being their equals in
experience and falling short of them in no particular of virtue, also know the very truth of each
thing?
There can be no reason, he said, for rejecting those who have this greatest of all great qualities;
they must always have the first place unless they fail in some other respect.
Suppose then, I said, that we determine how far they can unite this and the other excellences.
By all means.
In the first place, as we began by observing, the nature of the philosopher has to be
ascertained. We must come to an understanding about him, and, when we have done so, then,
if I am not mistaken, we shall also acknowledge that such an union of qualities is possible, and
that those in whom they are united, and those only, should be rulers in the State.
What do you mean?
Let us suppose that philosophical minds always love knowledge of a sort which shows them the
eternal nature not varying from generation and corruption.
Agreed.
And further, I said, let us agree that they are lovers of all true being; there is no part whether
greater or less, or more or less honourable, which they are willing to renounce; as we said
before of the lover and the man of ambition.
True.
And if they are to be what we were describing, is there not another quality which they should
also possess?
What quality?
Truthfulness: they will never intentionally receive into their mind falsehood, which is their
detestation, and they will love the truth.
Yes, that may be safely affirmed of them.
`May be,' my friend, I replied, is not the word; say rather `must be affirmed:' for he whose nature
is amorous of anything cannot help loving all that belongs or is akin to the object of his
affections.
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Right, he said.
And is there anything more akin to wisdom than truth?
How can there be?
Can the same nature be a lover of wisdom and a lover of falsehood?
Never.
The true lover of learning then must from his earliest youth, as far as in him lies, desire all truth?
Assuredly.
But then again, as we know by experience, he whose desires are strong in one direction will
have them weaker in others; they will be like a stream which has been drawn off into another
channel.
True.
He whose desires are drawn towards knowledge in every form will be absorbed in the pleasures
of the soul, and will hardly feel bodily pleasure-- I mean, if he be a true philosopher and not a
sham one.
That is most certain.
Such an one is sure to be temperate and the reverse of covetous; for the motives which make
another man desirous of having and spending, have no place in his character.
Very true.
Another criterion of the philosophical nature has also to be considered.
What is that?
There should be no secret corner of illiberality; nothing can more antagonistic than meanness to
a soul which is ever longing after the whole of things both divine and human.
Most true, he replied.
Then how can he who has magnificence of mind and is the spectator of all time and all
existence, think much of human life?
He cannot.
Or can such an one account death fearful?
No indeed.
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Then the cowardly and mean nature has no part in true philosophy?
Certainly not.
Or again: can he who is harmoniously constituted, who is not covetous or mean, or a boaster, or
a coward-can he, I say, ever be unjust or hard in his dealings?
Impossible.
Then you will soon observe whether a man is just and gentle, or rude and unsociable; these are
the signs which distinguish even in youth the philosophical nature from the unphilosophical.
True.
There is another point which should be remarked.
What point?
Whether he has or has not a pleasure in learning; for no one will love that which gives him pain,
and in which after much toil he makes little progress.
Certainly not.
And again, if he is forgetful and retains nothing of what he learns, will he not be an empty
vessel?
That is certain.
Labouring in vain, he must end in hating himself and his fruitless occupation? Yes.
Then a soul which forgets cannot be ranked among genuine philosophic natures; we must insist
that the philosopher should have a good memory?
Certainly.
And once more, the inharmonious and unseemly nature can only tend to disproportion?
Undoubtedly.
And do you consider truth to be akin to proportion or to disproportion?
To proportion.
Then, besides other qualities, we must try to find a naturally well-proportioned and gracious
mind, which will move spontaneously towards the true being of everything.
Certainly.
Well, and do not all these qualities, which we have been enumerating, go together, and are they
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not, in a manner, necessary to a soul, which is to have a full and perfect participation of being?
They are absolutely necessary, he replied.
And must not that be a blameless study which he only can pursue who has the gift of a good
memory, and is quick to learn,--noble, gracious, the friend of truth, justice, courage,
temperance, who are his kindred?
The god of jealousy himself, he said, could find no fault with such a study.
And to men like him, I said, when perfected by years and education, and to these only you will
entrust the State.
Here Adeimantus interposed and said: To these statements, Socrates, no one can offer a reply;
but when you talk in this way, a strange feeling passes over the minds of your hearers: They
fancy that they are led astray a little at each step in the argument, owing to their own want of
skill in asking and answering questions; these littles accumulate, and at the end of the
discussion they are found to have sustained a mighty overthrow and all their former notions
appear to be turned upside down. And as unskilful players of draughts are at last shut up by
their more skilful adversaries and have no piece to move, so they too find themselves shut up at
last; for they have nothing to say in this new game of which words are the counters; and yet all
the time they are in the right. The observation is suggested to me by what is now occurring. For
any one of us might say, that although in words he is not able to meet you at each step of the
argument, he sees as a fact that the votaries of philosophy, when they carry on the study, not
only in youth as a part of education, but as the pursuit of their maturer years, most of them
become strange monsters, not to say utter rogues, and that those who may be considered the
best of them are made useless to the world by the very study which you extol.
Well, and do you think that those who say so are wrong?
I cannot tell, he replied; but I should like to know what is your opinion.
Hear my answer; I am of opinion that they are quite right.
Then how can you be justified in saying that cities will not cease from evil until philosophers rule
in them, when philosophers are acknowledged by us to be of no use to them?
You ask a question, I said, to which a reply can only be given in a parable.
Yes, Socrates; and that is a way of speaking to which you are not at all accustomed, I suppose.
I perceive, I said, that you are vastly amused at having plunged me into such a hopeless
discussion; but now hear the parable, and then you will be still more amused at the meagreness
of my imagination: for the manner in which the best men are treated in their own States is so
grievous that no single thing on earth is comparable to it; and therefore, if I am to plead their
cause, I must have recourse to fiction, and put together a figure made up of many things, like
the fabulous unions of goats and stags which are found in pictures. Imagine then a fleet or a
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ship in which there is a captain who is taller and stronger than any of the crew, but he is a little
deaf and has a similar infirmity in sight, and his knowledge of navigation is not much better. The
sailors are quarrelling with one another about the steering-- every one is of opinion that he has
a right to steer, though he has never learned the art of navigation and cannot tell who taught
him or when he learned, and will further assert that it cannot be taught, and they are ready to
cut in pieces any one who says the contrary. They throng about the captain, begging and
praying him to commit the helm to them; and if at any time they do not prevail, but others are
preferred to them, they kill the others or throw them overboard, and having first chained up the
noble captain's senses with drink or some narcotic drug, they mutiny and take possession of the
ship and make free with the stores; thus, eating and drinking, they proceed on their voyage in
such a manner as might be expected of them. Him who is their partisan and cleverly aids them
in their plot for getting the ship out of the captain's hands into their own whether by force or
persuasion, they compliment with the name of sailor, pilot, able seaman, and abuse the other
sort of man, whom they call a good-for-nothing; but that the true pilot must pay attention to the
year and seasons and sky and stars and winds, and whatever else belongs to his art, if he
intends to be really qualified for the command of a ship, and that he must and will be the
steerer, whether other people like or not-the possibility of this union of authority with the
steerer's art has never seriously entered into their thoughts or been made part of their calling.
Now in vessels which are in a state of mutiny and by sailors who are mutineers, how will the
true pilot be regarded? Will he not be called by them a prater, a star-gazer, a good-for-nothing?
Of course, said Adeimantus.
Then you will hardly need, I said, to hear the interpretation of the figure, which describes the
true philosopher in his relation to the State; for you understand already.
Certainly.
Then suppose you now take this parable to the gentleman who is surprised at finding that
philosophers have no honour in their cities; explain it to him and try to convince him that their
having honour would be far more extraordinary.
I will.
Say to him, that, in deeming the best votaries of philosophy to be useless to the rest of the
world, he is right; but also tell him to attribute their uselessness to the fault of those who will not
use them, and not to themselves. The pilot should not humbly beg the sailors to be commanded
by him--that is not the order of nature; neither are `the wise to go to the doors of the rich'--the
ingenious author of this saying told a lie--but the truth is, that, when a man is ill, whether he be
rich or poor, to the physician he must go, and he who wants to be governed, to him who is able
to govern. The ruler who is good for anything ought not to beg his subjects to be ruled by him;
although the present governors of mankind are of a different stamp; they may be justly
compared to the mutinous sailors, and the true helmsmen to those who are called by them good-
for-nothings and star-gazers.
Precisely so, he said.
For these reasons, and among men like these, philosophy, the noblest pursuit of all, is not likely
to be much esteemed by those of the opposite faction; not that the greatest and most lasting
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injury is done to her by her opponents, but by her own professing followers, the same of whom
you suppose the accuser to say, that the greater number of them are arrant rogues, and the
best are useless; in which opinion I agreed.
Yes.
And the reason why the good are useless has now been explained?
True.
Then shall we proceed to show that the corruption of the majority is also unavoidable, and that
this is not to be laid to the charge of philosophy any more than the other?
By all means.
And let us ask and answer in turn, first going back to the description of the gentle and noble
nature. Truth, as you will remember, was his leader, whom he followed always and in all things;
failing in this, he was an impostor, and had no part or lot in true philosophy.
Yes, that was said.
Well, and is not this one quality, to mention no others, greatly at variance with present notions of
him?
Certainly, he said.
And have we not a right to say in his defence, that the true lover of knowledge is always striving
after being--that is his nature; he will not rest in the multiplicity of individuals which is an
appearance only, but will go on--the keen edge will not be blunted, nor the force of his desire
abate until he have attained the knowledge of the true nature of every essence by a
sympathetic and kindred power in the soul, and by that power drawing near and mingling and
becoming incorporate with very being, having begotten mind and truth, he will have knowledge
and will live and grow truly, and then, and not till then, will he cease from his travail.
Nothing, he said, can be more just than such a description of him.
And will the love of a lie be any part of a philosopher's nature? Will he not utterly hate a lie?
He will.
And when truth is the captain, we cannot suspect any evil of the band which he leads?
Impossible.
Justice and health of mind will be of the company, and temperance will follow after?
True, he replied.
Neither is there any reason why I should again set in array the philosopher's virtues, as you will
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doubtless remember that courage, magnificence, apprehension, memory, were his natural gifts.
And you objected that, although no one could deny what I then said, still, if you leave words and
look at facts, the persons who are thus described are some of them manifestly useless, and the
greater number utterly depraved; we were then led to enquire into the grounds of these
accusations, and have now arrived at the point of asking why are the majority bad, which
question of necessity brought us back to the examination and definition of the true philosopher.
Exactly.
And we have next to consider the corruptions of the philosophic nature, why so many are
spoiled and so few escape spoiling--I am speaking of those who were said to be useless but not
wicked--and, when we have done with them, we will speak of the imitators of philosophy, what
manner of men are they who aspire after a profession which is above them and of which they
are unworthy, and then, by their manifold inconsistencies, bring upon philosophy, and upon all
philosophers, that universal reprobation of which we speak.
What are these corruptions? he said.
I will see if I can explain them to you. Every one will admit that a nature having in perfection all
the qualities which we required in a philosopher, is a rare plant which is seldom seen among
men.
Rare indeed.
And what numberless and powerful causes tend to destroy these rare natures!
What causes?
In the first place there are their own virtues, their courage, temperance, and the rest of them,
every one of which praise worthy qualities (and this is a most singular circumstance) destroys
and distracts from philosophy the soul which is the possessor of them.
That is very singular, he replied.
Then there are all the ordinary goods of life--beauty, wealth, strength, rank, and great
connections in the State--you understand the sort of things--these also have a corrupting and
distracting effect.
I understand; but I should like to know more precisely what you mean about them.
Grasp the truth as a whole, I said, and in the right way; you will then have no difficulty in
apprehending the preceding remarks, and they will no longer appear strange to you.
And how am I to do so? he asked.
Why, I said, we know that all germs or seeds, whether vegetable or animal, when they fail to
meet with proper nutriment or climate or soil, in proportion to their vigour, are all the more
sensitive to the want of a suitable environment, for evil is a greater enemy to what is good than
what is not.
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Very true.
There is reason in supposing that the finest natures, when under alien conditions, receive more
injury than the inferior, because the contrast is greater.
Certainly.
And may we not say, Adeimantus, that the most gifted minds, when they are ill-educated,
become pre-eminently bad? Do not great crimes and the spirit of pure evil spring out of a
fulness of nature ruined by education rather than from any inferiority, whereas weak natures are
scarcely capable of any very great good or very great evil?
There I think that you are right.
And our philosopher follows the same analogy-he is like a plant which, having proper nurture,
must necessarily grow and mature into all virtue, but, if sown and planted in an alien soil,
becomes the most noxious of all weeds, unless he be preserved by some divine power. Do you
really think, as people so often say, that our youth are corrupted by Sophists, or that private
teachers of the art corrupt them in any degree worth speaking of? Are not the public who say
these things the greatest of all Sophists? And do they not educate to perfection young and old,
men and women alike, and fashion them after their own hearts?
When is this accomplished? he said.
When they meet together, and the world sits down at an assembly, or in a court of law, or a
theatre, or a camp, or in any other popular resort, and there is a great uproar, and they praise
some things which are being said or done, and blame other things, equally exaggerating both,
shouting and clapping their hands, and the echo of the rocks and the place in which they are
assembled redoubles the sound of the praise or blame--at such a time will not a young man's
heart, as they say, leap within him? Will any private training enable him to stand firm against the
overwhelming flood of popular opinion? or will he be carried away by the stream? Will he not
have the notions of good and evil which the public in general have--he will do as they do, and as
they are, such will he be?
Yes, Socrates; necessity will compel him.
And yet, I said, there is a still greater necessity, which has not been mentioned.
What is that?
The gentle force of attainder or confiscation or death which, as you are aware, these new
Sophists and educators who are the public, apply when their words are powerless.
Indeed they do; and in right good earnest.
Now what opinion of any other Sophist, or of any private person, can be expected to overcome
in such an unequal contest?
None, he replied.
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No, indeed, I said, even to make the attempt is a great piece of folly; there neither is, nor has
been, nor is ever likely to be, any different type of character which has had no other training in
virtue but that which is supplied by public opinion--I speak, my friend, of human virtue only; what
is more than human, as the proverb says, is not included: for I would not have you ignorant that,
in the present evil state of governments, whatever is saved and comes to good is saved by the
power of God, as we may truly say.
I quite assent, he replied.
Then let me crave your assent also to a further observation.
What are you going to say?
Why, that all those mercenary individuals, whom the many call Sophists and whom they deem
to be their adversaries, do, in fact, teach nothing but the opinion of the many, that is to say, the
opinions of their assemblies; and this is their wisdom. I might compare them to a man who
should study the tempers and desires of a mighty strong beast who is fed by him-he would learn
how to approach and handle him, also at what times and from what causes he is dangerous or
the reverse, and what is the meaning of his several cries, and by what sounds, when another
utters them, he is soothed or infuriated; and you may suppose further, that when, by continually
attending upon him, he has become perfect in all this, he calls his knowledge wisdom, and
makes of it a system or art, which he proceeds to teach, although he has no real notion of what
he means by the principles or passions of which he is speaking, but calls this honourable and
that dishonourable, or good or evil, or just or unjust, all in accordance with the tastes and
tempers of the great brute. Good he pronounces to be that in which the beast delights and evil
to be that which he dislikes; and he can give no other account of them except that the just and
noble are the necessary, having never himself seen, and having no power of explaining to
others the nature of either, or the difference between them, which is immense. By heaven,
would not such an one be a rare educator?
Indeed, he would.
And in what way does he who thinks that wisdom is the discernment of the tempers and tastes
of the motley multitude, whether in painting or music, or, finally, in politics, differ from him whom
I have been describing? For when a man consorts with the many, and exhibits to them his poem
or other work of art or the service which he has done the State, making them his judges when
he is not obliged, the so-called necessity of Diomede will oblige him to produce whatever they
praise. And yet the reasons are utterly ludicrous which they give in confirmation of their own
notions about the honourable and good. Did you ever hear any of them which were not?
No, nor am I likely to hear.
You recognise the truth of what I have been saying? Then let me ask you to consider further
whether the world will ever be induced to believe in the existence of absolute beauty rather than
of the many beautiful, or of the absolute in each kind rather than of the many in each kind?
Certainly not.
Then the world cannot possibly be a philosopher?

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Impossible.
And therefore philosophers must inevitably fall under the censure of the world?
They must.
And of individuals who consort with the mob and seek to please them?
That is evident.
Then, do you see any way in which the philosopher can be preserved in his calling to the end?
and remember what we were saying of him, that he was to have quickness and memory and
courage and magnificence-- these were admitted by us to be the true philosopher's gifts.
Yes.
Will not such an one from his early childhood be in all things first among all, especially if his
bodily endowments are like his mental ones?
Certainly, he said.
And his friends and fellow-citizens will want to use him as he gets older for their own purposes?
No question.
Falling at his feet, they will make requests to him and do him honour and flatter him, because
they want to get into their hands now, the power which he will one day possess.
That often happens, he said.
And what will a man such as he be likely to do under such circumstances, especially if he be a
citizen of a great city, rich and noble, and a tall proper youth? Will he not be full of boundless
aspirations, and fancy himself able to manage the affairs of Hellenes and of barbarians, and
having got such notions into his head will he not dilate and elevate himself in the fulness of vain
pomp and senseless pride?
To be sure he will.
Now, when he is in this state of mind, if some one gently comes to him and tells him that he is a
fool and must get understanding, which can only be got by slaving for it, do you think that, under
such adverse circumstances, he will be easily induced to listen?
Far otherwise.
And even if there be some one who through inherent goodness or natural reasonableness has
had his eyes opened a little and is humbled and taken captive by philosophy, how will his
friends behave when they think that they are likely to lose the advantage which they were
hoping to reap from his companionship? Will they not do and say anything to prevent him from
yielding to his better nature and to render his teacher powerless, using to this end private
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intrigues as well as public prosecutions?
There can be no doubt of it.
And how can one who is thus circumstanced ever become a philosopher?
Impossible.
Then were we not right in saying that even the very qualities which make a man a philosopher
may, if he be ill-educated, divert him from philosophy, no less than riches and their
accompaniments
and the other so-called goods of life?
We were quite right.
Thus, my excellent friend, is brought about all that ruin and failure which I have been describing
of the natures best adapted to the best of all pursuits; they are natures which we maintain to be
rare at any time; this being the class out of which come the men who are the authors of the
greatest evil to States and individuals; and also of the greatest good when the tide carries them
in that direction; but a small man never was the doer of any great thing either to individuals or to
States.
And so philosophy is left desolate, with her marriage rite incomplete: for her own have fallen
away and forsaken her, and while they are leading a false and unbecoming life, other unworthy
persons, seeing that she has no kinsmen to be her protectors, enter in and dishonour her; and
fasten upon her the reproaches which, as you say, her reprovers utter, who affirm of her
votaries that some are good for nothing, and that the greater number deserve the severest
punishment.
That is certainly what people say.
Yes; and what else would you expect, I said, when you think of the puny creatures who, seeing
this land open to them--a land well stocked with fair names and showy titles--like prisoners
running out of prison into a sanctuary, take a leap out of their trades into philosophy; those who
do so being probably the cleverest hands at their own miserable crafts? For, although
philosophy be in this evil case, still there remains a dignity about her which is not to be found in
the arts. And many are thus attracted by her whose natures are imperfect and whose souls are
maimed and disfigured by their meannesses, as their bodies are by their trades and crafts. Is
not this unavoidable?
Yes.
Are they not exactly like a bald little tinker who has just got out of durance and come into a
fortune; he takes a bath and puts on a new coat, and is decked out as a bridegroom going to
marry his master's daughter, who is left poor and desolate?
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A most exact parallel.
What will be the issue of such marriages? Will they not be vile and bastard?
There can be no question of it.
And when persons who are unworthy of education approach philosophy and make an alliance
with her who is a rank above them what sort of ideas and opinions are likely to be generated?
Will they not be sophisms captivating to the ear, having nothing in them genuine, or worthy of or
akin to true wisdom?
No doubt, he said.
Then, Adeimantus, I said, the worthy disciples of philosophy will be but a small remnant:
perchance some noble and well-educated person, detained by exile in her service, who in the
absence of corrupting influences remains devoted to her; or some lofty soul born in a mean city,
the politics of which he contemns and neglects; and there may be a gifted few who leave the
arts, which they justly despise, and come to her;--or peradventure there are some who are
restrained by our friend Theages' bridle; for everything in the life of Theages conspired to divert
him from philosophy; but ill-health kept him away from politics. My own case of the internal sign
is hardly worth mentioning, for rarely, if ever, has such a monitor been given to any other man.
Those who belong to this small class have tasted how sweet and blessed a possession
philosophy is, and have also seen enough of the madness of the multitude; and they know that
no politician is honest, nor is there any champion of justice at whose side they may fight and be
saved. Such an one may be compared to a man who has fallen among wild beasts-- he will not
join in the wickedness of his fellows, but neither is he able singly to resist all their fierce natures,
and therefore seeing that he would be of no use to the State or to his friends, and reflecting that
he would have to throw away his life without doing any good either to himself or others, he holds
his peace, and goes his own way. He is like one who, in the storm of dust and sleet which the
driving wind hurries along, retires under the shelter of a wall; and seeing the rest of mankind full
of wickedness, he is content, if only he can live his own life and be pure from evil or
unrighteousness, and depart in peace and good-will, with bright hopes.
Yes, he said, and he will have done a great work before he departs.
A great work--yes; but not the greatest, unless he find a State suitable to him; for in a State
which is suitable to him, he will have a larger growth and be the saviour of his country, as well
as of himself.
The causes why philosophy is in such an evil name have now been sufficiently explained: the
injustice of the charges against her has been shown-is there anything more which you wish to
say?
Nothing more on that subject, he replied; but I should like to know which of the governments
now existing is in your opinion the one adapted to her.
Not any of them, I said; and that is precisely the accusation which I bring against them--not one
of them is worthy of the philosophic nature, and hence that nature is warped and estranged;--as
the exotic seed which is sown in a foreign land becomes denaturalized, and is wont to be
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overpowered and to lose itself in the new soil, even so this growth of philosophy, instead of
persisting, degenerates and receives another character. But if philosophy ever finds in the State
that perfection which she herself is, then will be seen that she is in truth divine, and that all other
things, whether natures of men or institutions, are but human;--and now, I know that you are
going to ask, what that State is.
No, he said; there you are wrong, for I was going to ask another question-- whether it is the
State of which. we are the founders and inventors, or some other?
Yes, I replied, ours in most respects; but you may remember my saying before, that some living
authority would always be required in the State having the same idea of the constitution which
guided you when as legislator you were laying down the laws.
That was said, he replied.
Yes, but not in a satisfactory manner; you frightened us by interposing objections, which
certainly showed that the discussion would be long and difficult; and what still remains is the
reverse of easy.
What is there remaining?
The question how the study of philosophy may be so ordered as not to be the ruin of the State:
All great attempts are attended with risk; `hard is the good,' as men say.
Still, he said, let the point be cleared up, and the enquiry will then be complete.
I shall not be hindered, I said, by any want of will, but, if at all, by a want of power: my zeal you
may see for yourselves; and please to remark in what I am about to say how boldly and
unhesitatingly I declare that States should pursue philosophy, not as they do now, but in a
different spirit.
In what manner?
At present, I said, the students of philosophy are quite young; beginning when they are hardly
past childhood, they devote only the time saved from moneymaking and housekeeping to such
pursuits; and even those of them who are reputed to have most of the philosophic spirit, when
they come within sight of the great difficulty of the subject, I mean dialectic, take themselves off.
In after life when invited by some one else, they may, perhaps, go and hear a lecture, and about
this they make much ado, for philosophy is not considered by them to be their proper business:
at last, when they grow old, in most cases they are extinguished more truly than Heracleitus'
sun, inasmuch as they never light up again.
But what ought to be their course?
Just the opposite. In childhood and youth their study, and what philosophy they learn, should be
suited to their tender years: during this period while they are growing up towards manhood, the
chief and special care should be given to their bodies that they may have them to use in the
service of philosophy; as life advances and the intellect begins to mature, let them increase the
gymnastics of the soul; but when the strength of our citizens fails and is past civil and military
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duties, then let them range at will and engage in no serious labour, as we intend them to live
happily here, and to crown this life with a similar happiness in another.
How truly in earnest you are, Socrates! he said; I am sure of that; and yet most of your hearers,
if I am not mistaken, are likely to be still more earnest in their opposition to you, and will never
be convinced; Thrasymachus least of all.
Do not make a quarrel, I said, between Thrasymachus and me, who have recently become
friends, although, indeed, we were never enemies; for I shall go on striving to the utmost until I
either convert him and other men, or do something which may profit them against the day when
they live again, and hold the like discourse in another state of existence.
You are speaking of a time which is not very near.
Rather, I replied, of a time which is as nothing in comparison with eternity. Nevertheless, I do

not wonder that the many refuse to believe; for they have never seen that of which we are now
speaking realised; they have seen only a conventional imitation of philosophy, consisting of
words artificially brought together, not like these of ours having a natural unity. But a human
being who in word and work is perfectly moulded, as far as he can be, into the proportion and
likeness of virtue--such a man ruling in a city which bears the same image, they have never yet
seen, neither one nor many of them--do you think that they ever did?
No indeed.
No, my friend, and they have seldom, if ever, heard free and noble sentiments; such as men
utter when they are earnestly and by every means in their power seeking after truth for the sake
of knowledge, while they look coldly on the subtleties of controversy, of which the end is opinion
and strife, whether they meet with them in the courts of law or in society.
They are strangers, he said, to the words of which you speak.
And this was what we foresaw, and this was the reason why truth forced us to admit, not without
fear and hesitation, that neither cities nor States nor individuals will ever attain perfection until
the small class of philosophers whom we termed useless but not corrupt are providentially
compelled, whether they will or not, to take care of the State, and until a like necessity be laid
on the State to obey them; or until kings, or if not kings, the sons of kings or princes, are divinely
inspired with a true love of true philosophy. That either or both of these alternatives are
impossible, I see no reason to affirm: if they were so, we might indeed be justly ridiculed as
dreamers and visionaries. Am I not right?
Quite right.
If then, in the countless ages of the past, or at the present hour in some foreign clime which is
far away and beyond our ken, the perfected philosopher is or has been or hereafter shall be
compelled by a superior power to have the charge of the State, we are ready to assert to the
death, that this our constitution has been, and is--yea, and will be whenever the Muse of
Philosophy is queen. There is no impossibility in all this; that there is a difficulty, we
acknowledge ourselves.
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My opinion agrees with yours, he said.
But do you mean to say that this is not the opinion of the multitude?
I should imagine not, he replied.
O my friend, I said, do not attack the multitude: they will change their minds, if, not in an
aggressive spirit, but gently and with the view of soothing them and removing their dislike of
over-education, you show them your philosophers as they really are and describe as you were
just now doing their character and profession, and then mankind will see that he of whom you
are speaking is not such as they supposed--if they view him in this new light, they will surely
change their notion of him, and answer in another strain. Who can be at enmity with one who
loves them, who that is himself gentle and free from envy will be jealous of one in whom there is
no jealousy? Nay, let me answer for you, that in a few this harsh temper may be found but not in
the majority of mankind.
I quite agree with you, he said.
And do you not also think, as I do, that the harsh feeling which the many entertain towards
philosophy originates in the pretenders, who rush in uninvited, and are always abusing them,
and finding fault with them, who make persons instead of things the theme of their
conversation? and nothing can be more unbecoming in philosophers than this.
It is most unbecoming.
For he, Adeimantus, whose mind is fixed upon true being, has surely no time to look down upon
the affairs of earth, or to be filled with malice and envy, contending against men; his eye is ever
directed towards things fixed and immutable, which he sees neither injuring nor injured by one
another, but all in order moving according to reason; these he imitates, and to these he will, as
far as he can, conform himself. Can a man help imitating that with which he holds reverential
converse?
Impossible.
And the philosopher holding converse with the divine order, becomes orderly and divine, as far
as the nature of man allows; but like every one else, he will suffer from detraction.
Of course.
And if a necessity be laid upon him of fashioning, not only himself, but human nature generally,
whether in States or individuals, into that which he beholds elsewhere, will he, think you, be an
unskilful artificer of justice, temperance, and every civil virtue?
Anything but unskilful.
And if the world perceives that what we are saying about him is the truth, will they be angry with
philosophy? Will they disbelieve us, when we tell them that no State can be happy which is not
designed by artists who imitate the heavenly pattern?
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They will not be angry if they understand, he said. But how will they draw out the plan of which
you are speaking?
They will begin by taking the State and the manners of men, from which, as from a tablet, they
will rub out the picture, and leave a clean surface. This is no easy task. But whether easy or not,
herein will lie the difference between them and every other legislator,-- they will have nothing to
do either with individual or State, and will inscribe no laws, until they have either found, or
themselves made, a clean surface.
They will be very right, he said.
Having effected this, they will proceed to trace an outline of the constitution?
No doubt.
And when they are filling in the work, as I conceive, they will often turn their eyes upwards and
downwards: I mean that they will first look at absolute justice and beauty and temperance, and
again at the human copy; and will mingle and temper the various elements of life into the image
of a man; and thus they will conceive according to that other image, which, when existing
among men, Homer calls the form and likeness of God.
Very true, he said.
And one feature they will erase, and another they will put in, they have made the ways of men,
as far as possible, agreeable to the ways of God?
Indeed, he said, in no way could they make a fairer picture.
And now, I said, are we beginning to persuade those whom you described as rushing at us with
might and main, that the painter of constitutions is such an one as we are praising; at whom
they were so very indignant because to his hands we committed the State; and are they
growing a little calmer at what they have just heard?
Much calmer, if there is any sense in them.
Why, where can they still find any ground for objection? Will they doubt that the philosopher is a
lover of truth and being?
They would not be so unreasonable.
Or that his nature, being such as we have delineated, is akin to the highest good?
Neither can they doubt this.
But again, will they tell us that such a nature, placed under favourable circumstances, will not be
perfectly good and wise if any ever was? Or will they prefer those whom we have rejected?
Surely not.
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Then will they still be angry at our saying, that, until philosophers bear rule, States and
individuals will have no rest from evil, nor will this our imaginary State ever be realised?
I think that they will be less angry.
Shall we assume that they are not only less angry but quite gentle, and that they have been
converted and for very shame, if for no other reason, cannot refuse to come to terms?
By all means, he said.
Then let us suppose that the reconciliation has been effected. Will any one deny the other point,
that there may be sons of kings or princes who are by nature philosophers?
Surely no man, he said.
And when they have come into being will any one say that they must of necessity be destroyed;
that they can hardly be saved is not denied even by us; but that in the whole course of ages no
single one of them can escape--who will venture to affirm this?
Who indeed!
But, said I, one is enough; let there be one man who has a city obedient to his will, and he might
bring into existence the ideal polity about which the world is so incredulous.
Yes, one is enough.
The ruler may impose the laws and institutions which we have been describing, and the citizens
may possibly be willing to obey them?
Certainly.
And that others should approve of what we approve, is no miracle or impossibility?
I think not.
But we have sufficiently shown, in what has preceded, that all this, if only possible, is assuredly
for the best.
We have.
And now we say not only that our laws, if they could be enacted, would be for the best, but also
that the enactment of them, though difficult, is not impossible.
Very good.
And so with pain and toil we have reached the end of one subject, but more remains to be
discussed;--how and by what studies and pursuits will the saviours of the constitution be
created, and at what ages are they to apply themselves to their several studies?
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Certainly.
I omitted the troublesome business of the possession of women, and the procreation of
children, and the appointment of the rulers, because I knew that the perfect State would be
eyed with jealousy and was difficult of attainment; but that piece of cleverness was not of much
service to me, for I had to discuss them all the same. The women and children are now
disposed of, but the other question of the rulers must be investigated from the very beginning.
We were saying, as you will remember, that they were to be lovers of their country, tried by the
test of pleasures and pains, and neither in hardships, nor in dangers, nor at any other critical
moment were to lose their patriotism--he was to be rejected who failed, but he who always
came forth pure, like gold tried in the refiner's fire, was to be made a ruler, and to receive
honours and rewards in life and after death. This was the sort of thing which was being said,
and then the argument turned aside and veiled her face; not liking to stir the question which has
now arisen.
I perfectly remember, he said.
Yes, my friend, I said, and I then shrank from hazarding the bold word; but now let me dare to
say--that the perfect guardian must be a philosopher.
Yes, he said, let that be affirmed.
And do not suppose that there will be many of them; for the gifts which were deemed by us to
be essential rarely grow together; they are mostly found in shreds and patches.
You are aware, I replied, that quick intelligence, memory, sagacity, cleverness, and similar
qualities, do not often grow together, and that persons who possess them and are at the same
time high-spirited and magnanimous are not so constituted by nature as to live orderly and in a
peaceful and settled manner; they are driven any way by their impulses, and all solid principle
goes out of them.
Very true, he said.
On the other hand, those steadfast natures which can better be depended upon, which in a
battle are impregnable to fear and immovable, are equally immovable when there is anything to
be learned; they are always in a torpid state, and are apt to yawn and go to sleep over any
intellectual toil.
Quite true.
And yet we were saying that both qualities were necessary in those to whom the higher
education is to be imparted, and who are to share in any office or command.
Certainly, he said.
And will they be a class which is rarely found?
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Yes, indeed.
Then the aspirant must not only be tested in those labours and dangers and pleasures which
we mentioned before, but there is another kind of probation which we did not mention--he must
be exercised also in many kinds of knowledge, to see whether the soul will be able to endure
the highest of all, will faint under them, as in any other studies and exercises.
Yes, he said, you are quite right in testing him. But what do you mean by the highest of all
knowledge?
You may remember, I said, that we divided the soul into three parts; and distinguished the
several natures of justice, temperance, courage, and wisdom?
Indeed, he said, if I had forgotten, I should not deserve to hear more.
And do you remember the word of caution which preceded the discussion of them?
To what do you refer?
We were saying, if I am not mistaken, that he who wanted to see them in their perfect beauty
must take a longer and more circuitous way, at the end of which they would appear; but that we
could add on a popular exposition of them on a level with the discussion which had preceded.
And you replied that such an exposition would be enough for you, and so the enquiry was
continued in what to me seemed to be a very inaccurate manner; whether you were satisfied or
not, it is for you to say.
Yes, he said, I thought and the others thought that you gave us a fair measure of truth.
But, my friend, I said, a measure of such things Which in any degree falls short of the whole
truth is not fair measure; for nothing imperfect is the measure of anything, although persons are
too apt to be contented and think that they need search no further.
Not an uncommon case when people are indolent.
Yes, I said; and there cannot be any worse fault in a guardian of the State and of the laws.
True.
The guardian then, I said, must be required to take the longer circuit, and toll at learning as well
as at gymnastics, or he will never reach the highest knowledge of all which, as we were just now
saying, is his proper calling.
What, he said, is there a knowledge still higher than this-- higher than justice and the other
virtues?
Yes, I said, there is. And of the virtues too we must behold not the outline merely, as at
present--nothing short of the most finished picture should satisfy us. When little things are
elaborated with an infinity of pains, in order that they may appear in their full beauty and utmost
clearness, how ridiculous that we should not think the highest truths worthy of attaining the
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highest accuracy!
A right noble thought; but do you suppose that we shall refrain from asking you what is this
highest knowledge?
Nay, I said, ask if you will; but I am certain that you have heard the answer many times, and
now you either do not understand me or, as I rather think, you are disposed to be troublesome;
for you have of been told that the idea of good is the highest knowledge, and that all other
things become useful and advantageous only by their use of this. You can hardly be ignorant
that of this I was about to speak, concerning which, as you have often heard me say, we know
so little; and, without which, any other knowledge or possession of any kind will profit us
nothing. Do you think that the possession of all other things is of any value if we do not possess
the good? or the knowledge of all other things if we have no knowledge of beauty and
goodness?
Assuredly not.
You are further aware that most people affirm pleasure to be the good, but the finer sort of wits
say it is knowledge
Yes.
And you are aware too that the latter cannot explain what they mean by knowledge, but are
obliged after all to say knowledge of the good?
How ridiculous!
Yes, I said, that they should begin by reproaching us with our ignorance of the good, and then
presume our knowledge of it-- for the good they define to be knowledge of the good, just as if
we understood them when they use the term `good'--this is of course ridiculous.
Most true, he said.
And those who make pleasure their good are in equal perplexity; for they are compelled to
admit that there are bad pleasures as well as good.
Certainly.
And therefore to acknowledge that bad and good are the same?
True.
There can be no doubt about the numerous difficulties in which this question is involved.
There can be none.
Further, do we not see that many are willing to do or to have or to seem to be what is just and
honourable without the reality; but no one is satisfied with the appearance of good--the reality is
what they seek; in the case of the good, appearance is despised by every one.
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Very true, he said.
Of this then, which every soul of man pursues and makes the end of all his actions, having a
presentiment that there is such an end, and yet hesitating because neither knowing the nature
nor having the same assurance of this as of other things, and therefore losing whatever good
there is in other things,--of a principle such and so great as this ought the best men in our State,
to whom everything is entrusted, to be in the darkness of ignorance?
I am sure, I said, that he who does not know now the beautiful and the just are likewise good
will be but a sorry guardian of them; and I suspect that no one who is ignorant of the good will
have a true knowledge of them.
That, he said, is a shrewd suspicion of yours.
And if we only have a guardian who has this knowledge our State will be perfectly ordered?
Of course, he replied; but I wish that you would tell me whether you conceive this supreme
principle of the good to be knowledge or pleasure, or different from either.
Aye, I said, I knew all along that a fastidious gentleman like you would not be contented with the
thoughts of other people about these matters.
True, Socrates; but I must say that one who like you has passed a lifetime in the study of
philosophy should not be always repeating the opinions of others, and never telling his own.
Well, but has any one a right to say positively what he does not know?
Not, he said, with the assurance of positive certainty; he has no right to do that: but he may say
what he thinks, as a matter of opinion.
And do you not know, I said, that all mere opinions are bad, and the best of them blind? You
would not deny that those who have any true notion without intelligence are only like blind men
who feel their way along the road?
Very true.
And do you wish to behold what is blind and crooked and base, when others will tell you of
brightness and beauty?
GLAUCON - SOCRATES
Still, I must implore you, Socrates, said Glaucon, not to turn away just as you are reaching the
goal; if you will only give such an explanation of the good as you have already given of justice
and temperance and the other virtues, we shall be satisfied.
Yes, my friend, and I shall be at least equally satisfied, but I cannot help fearing that I shall fall,
and that my indiscreet zeal will bring ridicule upon me. No, sweet sirs, let us not at present ask
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what is the actual nature of the good, for to reach what is now in my thoughts would be an effort
too great for me. But of the child of the good who is likest him, I would fain speak, if I could be
sure that you wished to hear--otherwise, not.
By all means, he said, tell us about the child, and you shall remain in our debt for the account of
the parent.
I do indeed wish, I replied, that I could pay, and you receive, the account of the parent, and not,
as now, of the offspring only; take, however, this latter by way of interest, and at the same time
have a care that i do not render a false account, although I have no intention of deceiving you.
Yes, we will take all the care that we can: proceed.
Yes, I said, but I must first come to an understanding with you, and remind you of what I have
mentioned in the course of this discussion, and at many other times.
What?
The old story, that there is a many beautiful and a many good, and so of other things which we
describe and define; to all of them `many' is applied.
True, he said.
And there is an absolute beauty and an absolute good, and of other things to which the term
`many' is applied there is an absolute; for they may be brought under a single idea, which is
called the essence of each.
Very true.
The many, as we say, are seen but not known, and the ideas are known but not seen.
Exactly.
And what is the organ with which we see the visible things?
The sight, he said.
And with the hearing, I said, we hear, and with the other senses perceive the other objects of
sense?
True.
But have you remarked that sight is by far the most costly and complex piece of workmanship
which the artificer of the senses ever contrived?
No, I never have, he said.
Then reflect; has the ear or voice need of any third or additional nature in order that the one
may be able to hear and the other to be heard?
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Nothing of the sort.
No, indeed, I replied; and the same is true of most, if not all, the other senses--you would not
say that any of them requires such an addition?
Certainly not.
But you see that without the addition of some other nature there is no seeing or being seen?
How do you mean?
Sight being, as I conceive, in the eyes, and he who has eyes wanting to see; colour being also
present in them, still unless there be a third nature specially adapted to the purpose, the owner
of the eyes will see nothing and the colours will be invisible.
Of what nature are you speaking?
Of that which you term light, I replied.
True, he said.
Noble, then, is the bond which links together sight and visibility, and great beyond other bonds
by no small difference of nature; for light is their bond, and light is no ignoble thing?
Nay, he said, the reverse of ignoble.
And which, I said, of the gods in heaven would you say was the lord of this element? Whose is
that light which makes the eye to see perfectly and the visible to appear?
You mean the sun, as you and all mankind say.
May not the relation of sight to this deity be described as follows?
How?
Neither sight nor the eye in which sight resides is the sun?
No.
Yet of all the organs of sense the eye is the most like the sun?
By far the most like.
And the power which the eye possesses is a sort of effluence which is dispensed from the sun?
Exactly.
Then the sun is not sight, but the author of sight who is recognised by sight.
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True, he said.
And this is he whom I call the child of the good, whom the good begat in his own likeness, to be
in the visible world, in relation to sight and the things of sight, what the good is in the intellectual
world in relation to mind and the things of mind.
Will you be a little more explicit? he said.
Why, you know, I said, that the eyes, when a person directs them towards objects on which the
light of day is no longer shining, but the moon and stars only, see dimly, and are nearly blind;
they seem to have no clearness of vision in them?
Very true.
But when they are directed towards objects on which the sun shines, they see clearly and there
is sight in them?
Certainly.
And the soul is like the eye: when resting upon that on which truth and being shine, the soul
perceives and understands and is radiant with intelligence; but when turned towards the twilight
of becoming and perishing, then she has opinion only, and goes blinking about, and is first of
one opinion and then of another, and seems to have no intelligence?
Just so.
Now, that which imparts truth to the known and the power of knowing to the knower is what I
would have you term the idea of good, and this you will deem to be the cause of science, and of
truth in so far as the latter becomes the subject of knowledge; beautiful too, as are both truth
and knowledge, you will be right in esteeming this other nature as more beautiful than either;
and, as in the previous instance, light and sight may be truly said to be like the sun, and yet not
to be the sun, so in this other sphere, science and truth may be deemed to be like the good, but
not the good; the good has a place of honour yet higher.
What a wonder of beauty that must be, he said, which is the author of science and truth, and yet
surpasses them in beauty; for you surely cannot mean to say that pleasure is the good?
God forbid, I replied; but may I ask you to consider the image in another point of view?
In what point of view?
You would say, would you not, that the sun is only the author of visibility in all visible things, but
of generation and nourishment and growth, though he himself is not generation?
Certainly.
In like manner the good may be said to be not only the author of knowledge to all things known,
but of their being and essence, and yet the good is not essence, but far exceeds essence in
dignity and power.
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Glaucon said, with a ludicrous earnestness: By the light of heaven, how amazing!
Yes, I said, and the exaggeration may be set down to you; for you made me utter my fancies.
And pray continue to utter them; at any rate let us hear if there is anything more to be said
about the similitude of the sun.
Yes, I said, there is a great deal more.
Then omit nothing, however slight.
I will do my best, I said; but I should think that a great deal will have to be omitted.
You have to imagine, then, that there are two ruling powers, and that one of them is set over the
intellectual world, the other over the visible. I do not say heaven, lest you should fancy that I am
playing upon the name ('ourhanoz, orhatoz'). May I suppose that you have this distinction of the
visible and intelligible fixed in your mind?
I have.
Now take a line which has been cut into two unequal parts, and divide each of them again in the
same proportion, and suppose the two main divisions to answer, one to the visible and the other
to the intelligible, and then compare the subdivisions in respect of their clearness and want of
clearness, and you will find that the first section in the sphere of the visible consists of images.
And by images I mean, in the first place, shadows, and in the second place, reflections in water
and in solid, smooth and polished bodies and the like: Do you understand?
Yes, I understand.
Imagine, now, the other section, of which this is only the resemblance, to include the animals
which we see, and everything that grows or is made.
Very good.
Would you not admit that both the sections of this division have different degrees of truth, and
that the copy is to the original as the sphere of opinion is to the sphere of knowledge?
Most undoubtedly.
Next proceed to consider the manner in which the sphere of the intellectual is to be divided.
In what manner?
Thus:--There are two subdivisions, in the lower or which the soul uses the figures given by the
former division as images; the enquiry can only be hypothetical, and instead of going upwards
to a principle descends to the other end; in the higher of the two, the soul passes out of
hypotheses, and goes up to a principle which is above hypotheses, making no use of images as
in the former case, but proceeding only in and through the ideas themselves.
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I do not quite understand your meaning, he said.
Then I will try again; you will understand me better when I have made some preliminary
remarks. You are aware that students of geometry, arithmetic, and the kindred sciences assume
the odd and the even and the figures and three kinds of angles and the like in their several
branches of science; these are their hypotheses, which they and everybody are supposed to
know, and therefore they do not deign to give any account of them either to themselves or
others; but they begin with them, and go on until they arrive at last, and in a consistent manner,
at their conclusion?
Yes, he said, I know.
And do you not know also that although they make use of the visible forms and reason about
them, they are thinking not of these, but of the ideals which they resemble; not of the figures
which they draw, but of the absolute square and the absolute diameter, and so on-- the forms
which they draw or make, and which have shadows and reflections in water of their own, are
converted by them into images, but they are really seeking to behold the things themselves,
which can only be seen with the eye of the mind?
That is true.
And of this kind I spoke as the intelligible, although in the search after it the soul is compelled to
use hypotheses; not ascending to a first principle, because she is unable to rise above the
region of hypothesis, but employing the objects of which the shadows below are resemblances
in their turn as images, they having in relation to the shadows and reflections of them a greater
distinctness, and therefore a higher value.
I understand, he said, that you are speaking of the province of geometry and the sister arts.
And when I speak of the other division of the intelligible, you will understand me to speak of that
other sort of knowledge which reason herself attains by the power of dialectic, using the
hypotheses not as first principles, but only as hypotheses-- that is to say, as steps and points of
departure into a world which is above hypotheses, in order that she may soar beyond them to
the first principle of the whole; and clinging to this and then to that which depends on this, by
successive steps she descends again without the aid of any sensible object, from ideas,
through ideas, and in ideas she ends.
I understand you, he replied; not perfectly, for you seem to me to be describing a task which is
really tremendous; but, at any rate, I understand you to say that knowledge and being, which
the science of dialectic contemplates, are clearer than the notions of the arts, as they are
termed, which proceed from hypotheses only: these are also contemplated by the
understanding, and not by the senses: yet, because they start from hypotheses and do not
ascend to a principle, those who contemplate them appear to you not to exercise the higher
reason upon them, although when a first principle is added to them they are cognizable by the
higher reason. And the habit which is concerned with geometry and the cognate sciences I
suppose that you would term understanding and not reason, as being intermediate between
opinion and reason.
You have quite conceived my meaning, I said; and now, corresponding to these four divisions,
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let there be four faculties in the soul-reason answering to the highest, understanding to the
second, faith (or conviction) to the third, and perception of shadows to the last-and let there be a
scale of them, and let us suppose that the several faculties have clearness in the same degree
that their objects have truth.
I understand, he replied, and give my assent, and accept your arrangement.
BOOK VII
SOCRATES - GLAUCON
AND now, I said, let me show in a figure how far our nature is enlightened or
unenlightened:--Behold! human beings living in a underground den, which has a mouth open
towards the light and reaching all along the den; here they have been from their childhood, and
have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only see before them,
being prevented by the chains from turning round their heads. Above and behind them a fire is
blazing at a distance, and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and you will
see, if you look, a low wall built along the way, like the screen which marionette players have in
front of them, over which they show the puppets.
I see.
And do you see, I said, men passing along the wall carrying all sorts of vessels, and statues and
figures of animals made of wood and stone and various materials, which appear over the wall?
Some of them are talking, others silent.
You have shown me a strange image, and they are strange prisoners.
Like ourselves, I replied; and they see only their own shadows, or the shadows of one another,
which the fire throws on the opposite wall of the cave?
True, he said; how could they see anything but the shadows if they were never allowed to move
their heads?
And of the objects which are being carried in like manner they would only see the shadows?
Yes, he said.
And if they were able to converse with one another, would they not suppose that they were
naming what was actually before them?
Very true.
And suppose further that the prison had an echo which came from the other side, would they
not be sure to fancy when one of the passers-by spoke that the voice which they heard came
from the passing shadow?
No question, he replied.
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To them, I said, the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images.
That is certain.
And now look again, and see what will naturally follow it' the prisoners are released and
disabused of their error. At first, when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand
up and turn his neck round and walk and look towards the light, he will suffer sharp pains; the
glare will distress him, and he will be unable to see the realities of which in his former state he
had seen the shadows; and then conceive some one saying to him, that what he saw before
was an illusion, but that now, when he is approaching nearer to being and his eye is turned
towards more real existence, he has a clearer vision, -what will be his reply? And you may
further imagine that his instructor is pointing to the objects as they pass and requiring him to
name them, -will he not be perplexed? Will he not fancy that the shadows which he formerly
saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him?
Far truer.
And if he is compelled to look straight at the light, will he not have a pain in his eyes which will
make him turn away to take and take in the objects of vision which he can see, and which he
will conceive to be in reality clearer than the things which are now being shown to him?
True, he now
And suppose once more, that he is reluctantly dragged up a steep and rugged ascent, and held
fast until he's forced into the presence of the sun himself, is he not likely to be pained and
irritated? When he approaches the light his eyes will be dazzled, and he will not be able to see
anything at all of what are now called realities.
Not all in a moment, he said.
He will require to grow accustomed to the sight of the upper world. And first he will see the
shadows best, next the reflections of men and other objects in the water, and then the objects
themselves; then he will gaze upon the light of the moon and the stars and the spangled
heaven; and he will see the sky and the stars by night better than the sun or the light of the sun
by day?
Certainly.
Last of he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflections of him in the water, but he will
see him in his own proper place, and not in another; and he will contemplate him as he is.
Certainly.
He will then proceed to argue that this is he who gives the season and the years, and is the
guardian of all that is in the visible world, and in a certain way the cause of all things which he
and his fellows have been accustomed to behold?
Clearly, he said, he would first see the sun and then reason about him.
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And when he remembered his old habitation, and the wisdom of the den and his fellow-
prisoners, do you not suppose that he would felicitate himself on the change, and pity them?
Certainly, he would.
And if they were in the habit of conferring honours among themselves on those who were
quickest to observe the passing shadows and to remark which of them went before, and which
followed after, and which were together; and who were therefore best able to draw conclusions
as to the future, do you think that he would care for such honours and glories, or envy the
possessors of them? Would he not say with Homer,
Better to be the poor servant of a poor master,
and to endure anything, rather than think as they do and live after their manner?
Yes, he said, I think that he would rather suffer anything than entertain these false notions and
live in this miserable manner.
Imagine once more, I said, such an one coming suddenly out of the sun to be replaced in his old
situation; would he not be certain to have his eyes full of darkness?
To be sure, he said.
And if there were a contest, and he had to compete in measuring the shadows with the
prisoners who had never moved out of the den, while his sight was still weak, and before his
eyes had become steady (and the time which would be needed to acquire this new habit of
sight might be very considerable) would he not be ridiculous? Men would say of him that up he
went and down he came without his eyes; and that it was better not even to think of ascending;
and if any one tried to loose another and lead him up to the light, let them only catch the
offender, and they would put him to death.
No question, he said.
This entire allegory, I said, you may now append, dear Glaucon, to the previous argument; the
prison-house is the world of sight, the light of the fire is the sun, and you will not misapprehend
me if you interpret the journey upwards to be the ascent of the soul into the intellectual world
according to my poor belief, which, at your desire, I have expressed whether rightly or wrongly
God knows. But, whether true or false, my opinion is that in the world of knowledge the idea of
good appears last of all, and is seen only with an effort; and, when seen, is also inferred to be
the universal author of all things beautiful and right, parent of light and of the lord of light in this
visible world, and the immediate source of reason and truth in the intellectual; and that this is
the power upon which he who would act rationally, either in public or private life must have his
eye fixed.
I agree, he said, as far as I am able to understand you.
Moreover, I said, you must not wonder that those who attain to this beatific vision are unwilling
to descend to human affairs; for their souls are ever hastening into the upper world where they
desire to dwell; which desire of theirs is very natural, if our allegory may be trusted.
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Yes, very natural.
And is there anything surprising in one who passes from divine contemplations to the evil state
of man, misbehaving himself in a ridiculous manner; if, while his eyes are blinking and before he
has become accustomed to the surrounding darkness, he is compelled to fight in courts of law,
or in other places, about the images or the shadows of images of justice, and is endeavouring to
meet the conceptions of those who have never yet seen absolute justice?
Anything but surprising, he replied.
Any one who has common sense will remember that the bewilderments of the eyes are of two
kinds, and arise from two causes, either from coming out of the light or from going into the light,
which is true of the mind's eye, quite as much as of the bodily eye; and he who remembers this
when he sees any one whose vision is perplexed and weak, will not be too ready to laugh; he
will first ask whether that soul of man has come out of the brighter light, and is unable to see
because unaccustomed to the dark, or having turned from darkness to the day is dazzled by
excess of light. And he will count the one happy in his condition and state of being, and he will
pity the other; or, if he have a mind to laugh at the soul which comes from below into the light,
there will be more reason in this than in the laugh which greets him who returns from above out
of the light into the den.
That, he said, is a very just distinction.
But then, if I am right, certain professors of education must be wrong when they say that they
can put a knowledge into the soul which was not there before, like sight into blind eyes.
They undoubtedly say this, he replied.
Whereas, our argument shows that the power and capacity of learning exists in the soul
already; and that just as the eye was unable to turn from darkness to light without the whole
body, so too the instrument of knowledge can only by the movement of the whole soul be turned
from the world of becoming into that of being, and learn by degrees to endure the sight of being,
and of the brightest and best of being, or in other words, of the good.
Very true.
And must there not be some art which will effect conversion in the easiest and quickest manner;
not implanting the faculty of sight, for that exists already, but has been turned in the wrong
direction, and is looking away from the truth?
Yes, he said, such an art may be presumed.
And whereas the other so-called virtues of the soul seem to be akin to bodily qualities, for even
when they are not originally innate they can be implanted later by habit and exercise, the of
wisdom more than anything else contains a divine element which always remains, and by this
conversion is rendered useful and profitable; or, on the other hand, hurtful and useless. Did you
never observe the narrow intelligence flashing from the keen eye of a clever rogue--how eager
he is, how clearly his paltry soul sees the way to his end; he is the reverse of blind, but his keen
eyesight is forced into the service of evil, and he is mischievous in proportion to his cleverness.
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Very true, he said.
But what if there had been a circumcision of such natures in the days of their youth; and they
had been severed from those sensual pleasures, such as eating and drinking, which, like
leaden weights, were attached to them at their birth, and which drag them down and turn the
vision of their souls upon the things that are below--if, I say, they had been released from these
impediments and turned in the opposite direction, the very same faculty in them would have
seen the truth as keenly as they see what their eyes are turned to now.
Very likely.
Yes, I said; and there is another thing which is likely. or rather a necessary inference from what
has preceded, that neither the uneducated and uninformed of the truth, nor yet those who never
make an end of their education, will be able ministers of State; not the former, because they
have no single aim of duty which is the rule of all their actions, private as well as public; nor the
latter, because they will not act at all except upon compulsion, fancying that they are already
dwelling apart in the islands of the blest.
Then, I said, the business of us who are the founders of the State will be to compel the best
minds to attain that knowledge which we have already shown to be the greatest of all-they must
continue to ascend until they arrive at the good; but when they have ascended and seen
enough we must not allow them to do as they do now.
What do you mean?
I mean that they remain in the upper world: but this must not be allowed; they must be made to
descend again among the prisoners in the den, and partake of their labours and honours,
whether they are worth having or not.
But is not this unjust? he said; ought we to give them a worse life, when they might have a
better?
You have again forgotten, my friend, I said, the intention of the legislator, who did not aim at
making any one class in the State happy above the rest; the happiness was to be in the whole
State, and he held the citizens together by persuasion and necessity, making them benefactors
of the State, and therefore benefactors of one another; to this end he created them, not to
please themselves, but to be his instruments in binding up the State.
True, he said, I had forgotten.
Observe, Glaucon, that there will be no injustice in compelling our philosophers to have a care
and providence of others; we shall explain to them that in other States, men of their class are
not obliged to share in the toils of politics: and this is reasonable, for they grow up at their own
sweet will, and the government would rather not have them. Being self-taught, they cannot be
expected to show any gratitude for a culture which they have never received. But we have
brought you into the world to be rulers of the hive, kings of yourselves and of the other citizens,
and have educated you far better and more perfectly than they have been educated, and you
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are better able to share in the double duty. Wherefore each of you, when his turn comes, must
go down to the general underground abode, and get the habit of seeing in the dark. When you
have acquired the habit, you will see ten thousand times better than the inhabitants of the den,
and you will know what the several images are, and what they represent, because you have
seen the beautiful and just and good in their truth. And thus our State which is also yours will be
a reality, and not a dream only, and will be administered in a spirit unlike that of other States, in
which men fight with one another about shadows only and are distracted in the struggle for
power, which in their eyes is a great good. Whereas the truth is that the State in which the rulers
are most reluctant to govern is always the best and most quietly governed, and the State in
which they are most eager, the worst.
Quite true, he replied.
And will our pupils, when they hear this, refuse to take their turn at the toils of State, when they
are allowed to spend the greater part of their time with one another in the heavenly light?
Impossible, he answered; for they are just men, and the commands which we impose upon
them are just; there can be no doubt that every one of them will take office as a stern necessity,
and not after the fashion of our present rulers of State.
Yes, my friend, I said; and there lies the point. You must contrive for your future rulers another
and a better life than that of a ruler, and then you may have a well-ordered State; for only in the
State which offers this, will they rule who are truly rich, not in silver and gold, but in virtue and
wisdom, which are the true blessings of life. Whereas if they go to the administration of public
affairs, poor and hungering after the' own private advantage, thinking that hence they are to
snatch the chief good, order there can never be; for they will be fighting about office, and the
civil and domestic broils which thus arise will be the ruin of the rulers themselves and of the
whole State.
And the only life which looks down upon the life of political ambition is that of true philosophy.
Do you know of any other?
Indeed, I do not, he said.
And those who govern ought not to be lovers of the task? For, if they are, there will be rival
lovers, and they will fight.
No question.
Who then are those whom we shall compel to be guardians? Surely they will be the men who
are wisest about affairs of State, and by whom the State is best administered, and who at the
same time have other honours and another and a better life than that of politics?
They are the men, and I will choose them, he replied.
And now shall we consider in what way such guardians will be produced, and how they are to
be brought from darkness to light,--as some are said to have ascended from the world below to
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the gods?
By all means, he replied.
The process, I said, is not the turning over of an oyster-shell, but the turning round of a soul
passing from a day which is little better than night to the true day of being, that is, the ascent
from below, which we affirm to be true philosophy?
Quite so.
And should we not enquire what sort of knowledge has the power of effecting such a change?
Certainly.
What sort of knowledge is there which would draw the soul from becoming to being? And
another consideration has just occurred to me: You will remember that our young men are to be
warrior athletes
Yes, that was said.
Then this new kind of knowledge must have an additional quality?
What quality?
Usefulness in war.
Yes, if possible.
There were two parts in our former scheme of education, were there not?
Just so.
There was gymnastic which presided over the growth and decay of the body, and may therefore
be regarded as having to do with generation and corruption?
True.
Then that is not the knowledge which we are seeking to discover? No.
But what do you say of music, which also entered to a certain extent into our former scheme?
Music, he said, as you will remember, was the counterpart of gymnastic, and trained the
guardians by the influences of habit, by harmony making them harmonious, by rhythm
rhythmical, but not giving them science; and the words, whether fabulous or possibly true, had
kindred elements of rhythm and harmony in them. But in music there was nothing which tended
to that good which you are now seeking.
You are most accurate, I said, in your recollection; in music there certainly was nothing of the
kind. But what branch of knowledge is there, my dear Glaucon, which is of the desired nature;
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since all the useful arts were reckoned mean by us?
Undoubtedly; and yet if music and gymnastic are excluded, and the arts are also excluded, what
remains?
Well, I said, there may be nothing left of our special subjects; and then we shall have to take
something which is not special, but of universal application.
What may that be?
A something which all arts and sciences and intelligences use in common, and which every one
first has to learn among the elements of education.
What is that?
The little matter of distinguishing one, two, and three--in a word, number and calculation:--do not
all arts and sciences necessarily partake of them?
Yes.
Then the art of war partakes of them?
To the sure.
Then Palamedes, whenever he appears in tragedy, proves Agamemnon ridiculously unfit to be

a general. Did you never remark how he declares that he had invented number, and had
numbered the ships and set in array the ranks of the army at Troy; which implies that they had
never been numbered before, and Agamemnon must be supposed literally to have been
incapable of counting his own feet-- how could he if he was ignorant of number? And if that is
true, what sort of general must he have been?
I should say a very strange one, if this was as you say.
Can we deny that a warrior should have a knowledge of arithmetic?
Certainly he should, if he is to have the smallest understanding of military tactics, or indeed, I

should rather say, if he is to be a man at all.
I should like to know whether you have the same notion which I have of this study?
What is your notion?
It appears to me to be a study of the kind which we are seeking, and which leads naturally to
reflection, but never to have been rightly used; for the true use of it is simply to draw the soul
towards being.
Will you explain your meaning? he said.
I will try, I said; and I wish you would share the enquiry with me, and say `yes' or `no' when I
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attempt to distinguish in my own mind what branches of knowledge have this attracting power,
in order that we may have clearer proof that arithmetic is, as I suspect, one of them.
Explain, he said.
I mean to say that objects of sense are of two kinds; some of them do not invite thought
because the sense is an adequate judge of them; while in the case of other objects sense is so
untrustworthy that further enquiry is imperatively demanded.
You are clearly referring, he said, to the manner in which the senses are imposed upon by
distance, and by painting in light and shade.
No, I said, that is not at all my meaning.
Then what is your meaning?
When speaking of uninviting objects, I mean those which do not pass from one sensation to the
opposite; inviting objects are those which do; in this latter case the sense coming upon the
object, whether at a distance or near, gives no more vivid idea of anything in particular than of
its opposite. An illustration will make my meaning clearer:-- here are three fingers--a little finger,
a second finger, and a middle finger.
Very good.
You may suppose that they are seen quite close: And here comes the point.
What is it?
Each of them equally appears a finger, whether seen in the middle or at the extremity, whether
white or black, or thick or thin-- it makes no difference; a finger is a finger all the same. In these
cases a man is not compelled to ask of thought the question, what is a finger? for the sight
never intimates to the mind that a finger is other than a finger.
True.
And therefore, I said, as we might expect, there is nothing here which invites or excites
intelligence.
There is not, he said.
But is this equally true of the greatness and smallness of the fingers? Can sight adequately
perceive them? and is no difference made by the circumstance that one of the fingers is in the
middle and another at the extremity? And in like manner does the touch adequately perceive
the qualities of thickness or thinness, or softness or hardness? And so of the other senses; do
they give perfect intimations of such matters? Is not their mode of operation on this wise-- the
sense which is concerned with the quality of hardness is necessarily concerned also with the
quality of softness, and only intimates to the soul that the same thing is felt to be both hard and
soft?
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You are quite right, he said.
And must not the soul be perplexed at this intimation which the sense gives of a hard which is
also soft? What, again, is the meaning of light and heavy, if that which is light is also heavy, and
that which is heavy, light?
Yes, he said, these intimations which the soul receives are very curious and require to be
explained.
Yes, I said, and in these perplexities the soul naturally summons to her aid calculation and
intelligence, that she may see whether the several objects announced to her are one or two.
True.
And if they turn out to be two, is not each of them one and different?
Certainly.
And if each is one, and both are two, she will conceive the two as in a state of division, for if
there were undivided they could only be conceived of as one?
True.
The eye certainly did see both small and great, but only in a confused manner; they were not
distinguished.
Yes.
Whereas the thinking mind, intending to light up the chaos, was compelled to reverse the
process, and look at small and great as separate and not confused.
Very true.
Was not this the beginning of the enquiry `What is great?' and `What is small?'
Exactly so.
And thus arose the distinction of the visible and the intelligible.
Most true.
This was what I meant when I spoke of impressions which invited the intellect, or the
reverse--those which are simultaneous with opposite impressions, invite thought; those which
are not simultaneous do not.
I understand, he said, and agree with you.
And to which class do unity and number belong?
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I do not know, he replied.
Think a little and you will see that what has preceded will supply the answer; for if simple unity
could be adequately perceived by the sight or by any other sense, then, as we were saying in
the case of the finger, there would be nothing to attract towards being; but when there is some
contradiction always present, and one is the reverse of one and involves the conception of
plurality, then thought begins to be aroused within us, and the soul perplexed and wanting to
arrive at a decision asks `What is absolute unity?' This is the way in which the study of the one
has a power of drawing and converting the mind to the contemplation of true being.
And surely, he said, this occurs notably in the case of one; for we see the same thing to be both
one and infinite in multitude?
Yes, I said; and this being true of one must be equally true of all number?
Certainly.
And all arithmetic and calculation have to do with number?
Yes.
And they appear to lead the mind towards truth?
Yes, in a very remarkable manner.
Then this is knowledge of the kind for which we are seeking, having a double use, military and
philosophical; for the man of war must learn the art of number or he will not know how to array
his troops, and the philosopher also, because he has to rise out of the sea of change and lay
hold of true being, and therefore he must be an arithmetician.
That is true.
And our guardian is both warrior and philosopher?
Certainly.
Then this is a kind of knowledge which legislation may fitly prescribe; and we must endeavour to
persuade those who are prescribe to be the principal men of our State to go and learn
arithmetic, not as amateurs, but they must carry on the study until they see the nature of
numbers with the mind only; nor again, like merchants or retail-traders, with a view to buying or
selling, but for the sake of their military use, and of the soul herself; and because this will be the
easiest way for her to pass from becoming to truth and being.
That is excellent, he said.
Yes, I said, and now having spoken of it, I must add how charming the science is! and in how
many ways it conduces to our desired end, if pursued in the spirit of a philosopher, and not of a
shopkeeper!
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How do you mean?
I mean, as I was saying, that arithmetic has a very great and elevating effect, compelling the
soul to reason about abstract number, and rebelling against the introduction of visible or
tangible objects into the argument. You know how steadily the masters of the art repel and
ridicule any one who attempts to divide absolute unity when he is calculating, and if you divide,
they multiply, taking care that one shall continue one and not become lost in fractions.
That is very true.
Now, suppose a person were to say to them: O my friends, what are these wonderful numbers
about which you are reasoning, in which, as you say, there is a unity such as you demand, and
each unit is equal, invariable, indivisible,--what would they answer?
They would answer, as I should conceive, that they were speaking of those numbers which can
only be realised in thought.
Then you see that this knowledge may be truly called necessary, necessitating as it clearly does
the use of the pure intelligence in the attainment of pure truth?
Yes; that is a marked characteristic of it.
And have you further observed, that those who have a natural talent for calculation are
generally quick at every other kind of knowledge; and even the dull if they have had an
arithmetical training, although they may derive no other advantage from it, always become much
quicker than they would otherwise have been.
Very true, he said.
And indeed, you will not easily find a more difficult study, and not many as difficult.
You will not.
And, for all these reasons, arithmetic is a kind of knowledge in which the best natures should be
trained, and which must not be given up.
I agree.
Let this then be made one of our subjects of education. And next, shall we enquire whether the
kindred science also concerns us?
You mean geometry?
Exactly so.
Clearly, he said, we are concerned with that part of geometry which relates to war; for in
pitching a camp, or taking up a position, or closing or extending the lines of an army, or any
other military manoeuvre, whether in actual battle or on a march, it will make all the difference
whether a general is or is not a geometrician.
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Yes, I said, but for that purpose a very little of either geometry or calculation will be enough; the
question relates rather to the greater and more advanced part of geometry--whether that tends
in any degree to make more easy the vision of the idea of good; and thither, as I was saying, all
things tend which compel the soul to turn her gaze towards that place, where is the full
perfection of being, which she ought, by all means, to behold.
True, he said.
Then if geometry compels us to view being, it concerns us; if becoming only, it does not concern
us?
Yes, that is what we assert.
Yet anybody who has the least acquaintance with geometry will not deny that such a conception
of the science is in flat contradiction to the ordinary language of geometricians.
How so?
They have in view practice only, and are always speaking? in a narrow and ridiculous manner,
of squaring and extending and applying and the like-- they confuse the necessities of geometry
with those of daily life; whereas knowledge is the real object of the whole science.
Certainly, he said.
Then must not a further admission be made?
What admission?
That the knowledge at which geometry aims is knowledge of the eternal, and not of aught
perishing and transient.
That, he replied, may be readily allowed, and is true.
Then, my noble friend, geometry will draw the soul towards truth, and create the spirit of
philosophy, and raise up that which is now unhappily allowed to fall down.
Nothing will be more likely to have such an effect.
Then nothing should be more sternly laid down than that the inhabitants of your fair city should
by all means learn geometry. Moreover the science has indirect effects, which are not small.
Of what kind? he said.
There are the military advantages of which you spoke, I said; and in all departments of
knowledge, as experience proves, any one who has studied geometry is infinitely quicker of
apprehension than one who has not.
Yes indeed, he said, there is an infinite difference between them.
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Then shall we propose this as a second branch of knowledge which our youth will study?
Let us do so, he replied.
And suppose we make astronomy the third--what do you say?
I am strongly inclined to it, he said; the observation of the seasons and of months and years is
as essential to the general as it is to the farmer or sailor.
I am amused, I said, at your fear of the world, which makes you guard against the appearance
of insisting upon useless studies; and I quite admit the difficulty of believing that in every man
there is an eye of the soul which, when by other pursuits lost and dimmed, is by these purified
and re-illumined; and is more precious far than ten thousand bodily eyes, for by it alone is truth
seen. Now there are two classes of persons: one class of those who will agree with you and will
take your words as a revelation; another class to whom they will be utterly unmeaning, and who
will naturally deem them to be idle tales, for they see no sort of profit which is to be obtained
from them. And therefore you had better decide at once with which of the two you are proposing
to argue. You will very likely say with neither, and that your chief aim in carrying on the
argument is your own improvement; at the same time you do not grudge to others any benefit
which they may receive.
I think that I should prefer to carry on the argument mainly on my own behalf.
Then take a step backward, for we have gone wrong in the order of the sciences.
What was the mistake? he said.
After plane geometry, I said, we proceeded at once to solids in revolution, instead of taking
solids in themselves; whereas after the second dimension the third, which is concerned with
cubes and dimensions of depth, ought to have followed.
That is true, Socrates; but so little seems to be known as yet about these subjects.
Why, yes, I said, and for two reasons:--in the first place, no government patronises them; this
leads to a want of energy in the pursuit of them, and they are difficult; in the second place,
students cannot learn them unless they have a director. But then a director can hardly be found,
and even if he could, as matters now stand, the students, who are very conceited, would not
attend to him. That, however, would be otherwise if the whole State became the director of
these studies and gave honour to them; then disciples would want to come, and there would be
continuous and earnest search, and discoveries would be made; since even now, disregarded
as they are by the world, and maimed of their fair proportions, and although none of their
votaries can tell the use of them, still these studies force their way by their natural charm, and
very likely, if they had the help of the State, they would some day emerge into light.
Yes, he said, there is a remarkable charm in them. But I do not clearly understand the change in
the order. First you began with a geometry of plane surfaces?
Yes, I said.
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And you placed astronomy next, and then you made a step backward?
Yes, and I have delayed you by my hurry; the ludicrous state of solid geometry, which, in natural
order, should have followed, made me pass over this branch and go on to astronomy, or motion
of solids.
True, he said.
Then assuming that the science now omitted would come into existence if encouraged by the
State, let us go on to astronomy, which will be fourth.
The right order, he replied. And now, Socrates, as you rebuked the vulgar manner in which I
praised astronomy before, my praise shall be given in your own spirit. For every one, as I think,
must see that astronomy compels the soul to look upwards and leads us from this world to
another.
Every one but myself, I said; to every one else this may be clear, but not to me.
And what then would you say?
I should rather say that those who elevate astronomy into philosophy appear to me to make us
look downwards and not upwards.
What do you mean? he asked.
You, I replied, have in your mind a truly sublime conception of our knowledge of the things
above. And I dare say that if a person were to throw his head back and study the fretted ceiling,
you would still think that his mind was the percipient, and not his eyes. And you are very likely
right, and I may be a simpleton: but, in my opinion, that knowledge only which is of being and of
the unseen can make the soul look upwards, and whether a man gapes at the heavens or blinks
on the ground, seeking to learn some particular of sense, I would deny that he can learn, for
nothing of that sort is matter of science; his soul is looking downwards, not upwards, whether
his way to knowledge is by water or by land, whether he floats, or only lies on his back.
I acknowledge, he said, the justice of your rebuke. Still, I should like to ascertain how astronomy
can be learned in any manner more conducive to that knowledge of which we are speaking?
I will tell you, I said: The starry heaven which we behold is wrought upon a visible ground, and
therefore, although the fairest and most perfect of visible things, must necessarily be deemed
inferior far to the true motions of absolute swiftness and absolute slowness, which are relative to
each other, and carry with them that which is contained in them, in the true number and in every
true figure. Now, these are to be apprehended by reason and intelligence, but not by sight.
True, he replied.
The spangled heavens should be used as a pattern and with a view to that higher knowledge;
their beauty is like the beauty of figures or pictures excellently wrought by the hand of Daedalus,
or some other great artist, which we may chance to behold; any geometrician who saw them
would appreciate the exquisiteness of their workmanship, but he would never dream of thinking
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that in them he could find the true equal or the true double, or the truth of any other proportion.
No, he replied, such an idea would be ridiculous.
And will not a true astronomer have the same feeling when he looks at the movements of the
stars? Will he not think that heaven and the things in heaven are framed by the Creator of them
in the most perfect manner? But he will never imagine that the proportions of night and day, or
of both to the month, or of the month to the year, or of the stars to these and to one another,
and any other things that are material and visible can also be eternal and subject to no
deviation-- that would be absurd; and it is equally absurd to take so much pains in investigating
their exact truth.
I quite agree, though I never thought of this before.
Then, I said, in astronomy, as in geometry, we should employ problems, and let the heavens
alone if we would approach the subject in the right way and so make the natural gift of reason to
be of any real use.
That, he said, is a work infinitely beyond our present astronomers.
Yes, I said; and there are many other things which must also have a similar extension given to
them, if our legislation is to be of any value. But can you tell me of any other suitable study?
No, he said, not without thinking.
Motion, I said, has many forms, and not one only; two of them are obvious enough even to wits
no better than ours; and there are others, as I imagine, which may be left to wiser persons.
But where are the two?
There is a second, I said, which is the counterpart of the one already named.
And what may that be?
The second, I said, would seem relatively to the ears to be what the first is to the eyes; for I
conceive that as the eyes are designed to look up at the stars, so are the ears to hear
harmonious motions; and these are sister sciences--as the Pythagoreans say, and we, Glaucon,
agree with them?
Yes, he replied.
But this, I said, is a laborious study, and therefore we had better go and learn of them; and they
will tell us whether there are any other applications of these sciences. At the same time, we
must not lose sight of our own higher object.
What is that?
There is a perfection which all knowledge ought to reach, and which our pupils ought also to
attain, and not to fall short of, as I was saying that they did in astronomy. For in the science of
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harmony, as you probably know, the same thing happens. The teachers of harmony compare
the sounds and consonances which are heard only, and their labour, like that of the
astronomers, is in vain.
Yes, by heaven! he said; and 'tis as good as a play to hear them talking about their condensed
notes, as they call them; they put their ears close alongside of the strings like persons catching
a sound from their neighbour's wall--one set of them declaring that they distinguish an
intermediate note and have found the least interval which should be the unit of measurement;
the others insisting that the two sounds have passed into the same-- either party setting their
ears before their understanding.
You mean, I said, those gentlemen who tease and torture the strings and rack them on the pegs
of the instrument: might carry on the metaphor and speak after their manner of the blows which
the plectrum gives, and make accusations against the strings, both of backwardness and
forwardness to sound; but this would be tedious, and therefore I will only say that these are not
the men, and that I am referring to the Pythagoreans, of whom I was just now proposing to
enquire about harmony. For they too are in error, like the astronomers; they investigate the
numbers of the harmonies which are heard, but they never attain to problems-that is to say,
they never reach the natural harmonies of number, or reflect why some numbers are
harmonious and others not.
That, he said, is a thing of more than mortal knowledge.
A thing, I replied, which I would rather call useful; that is, if sought after with a view to the
beautiful and good; but if pursued in any other spirit, useless. Very true, he said.
Now, when all these studies reach the point of inter-communion and connection with one
another, and come to be considered in their mutual affinities, then, I think, but not till then, will
the pursuit of them have a value for our objects; otherwise there is no profit in them.
I suspect so; but you are speaking, Socrates, of a vast work.
What do you mean? I said; the prelude or what? Do you not know that all this is but the prelude
to the actual strain which we have to learn? For you surely would not regard the skilled
mathematician as a dialectician?
Assuredly not, he said; I have hardly ever known a mathematician who was capable of
reasoning.
But do you imagine that men who are unable to give and take a reason will have the knowledge
which we require of them?
Neither can this be supposed.
And so, Glaucon, I said, we have at last arrived at the hymn of dialectic. This is that strain which
is of the intellect only, but which the faculty of sight will nevertheless be found to imitate; for
sight, as you may remember, was imagined by us after a while to behold the real animals and
stars, and last of all the sun himself. And so with dialectic; when a person starts on the
discovery of the absolute by the light of reason only, and without any assistance of sense, and
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perseveres until by pure intelligence he arrives at the perception of the absolute good, he at last
finds himself at the end of the intellectual world, as in the case of sight at the end of the visible.
Exactly, he said.
Then this is the progress which you call dialectic?
True.
But the release of the prisoners from chains, and their translation from the shadows to the
images and to the light, and the ascent from the underground den to the sun, while in his
presence they are vainly trying to look on animals and plants and the light of the sun, but are
able to perceive even with their weak eyes the images in the water (which are divine), and are
the shadows of true existence (not shadows of images cast by a light of fire, which compared
with the sun is only an image)--this power of elevating the highest principle in the soul to the
contemplation of that which is best in existence, with which we may compare the raising of that
faculty which is the very light of the body to the sight of that which is brightest in the material
and visible world--this power is given, as I was saying, by all that study and pursuit of the arts
which has been described.
I agree in what you are saying, he replied, which may be hard to believe, yet, from another point
of view, is harder still to deny. This, however, is not a theme to be treated of in passing only, but
will have to be discussed again and again. And so, whether our conclusion be true or false, let
us assume all this, and proceed at once from the prelude or preamble to the chief strain, and
describe that in like manner. Say, then, what is the nature and what are the divisions of
dialectic, and what are the paths which lead thither; for these paths will also lead to our final
rest?
Dear Glaucon, I said, you will not be able to follow me here, though I would do my best, and you
should behold not an image only but the absolute truth, according to my notion. Whether what I
told you would or would not have been a reality I cannot venture to say; but you would have
seen something like reality; of that I am confident.
Doubtless, he replied.
But I must also remind you, that the power of dialectic alone can
reveal this, and only to one who is a disciple of the previous sciences.
Of that assertion you may be as confident as of the last.
And assuredly no one will argue that there is any other method of comprehending by any
regular process all true existence or of ascertaining what each thing is in its own nature; for the
arts in general are concerned with the desires or opinions of men, or are cultivated with a view
to production and construction, or for the preservation of such productions and constructions;
and as to the mathematical sciences which, as we were saying, have some apprehension of
true being--geometry and the like-- they only dream about being, but never can they behold the
waking reality so long as they leave the hypotheses which they use unexamined, and are
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unable to give an account of them. For when a man knows not his own first principle, and when
the conclusion and intermediate steps are also constructed out of he knows not what, how can
he imagine that such a fabric of convention can ever become science?
Impossible, he said.
Then dialectic, and dialectic alone, goes directly to the first principle and is the only science
which does away with hypotheses in order to make her ground secure; the eye of the soul,
which is literally buried in an outlandish slough, is by her gentle aid lifted upwards; and she uses
as handmaids and helpers in the work of conversion, the sciences which we have been
discussing. Custom terms them sciences, but they ought to have some other name, implying
greater clearness than opinion and less clearness than science: and this, in our previous
sketch, was called understanding. But why should we dispute about names when we have
realities of such importance to consider?
Why indeed, he said, when any name will do which expresses the thought of the mind with
clearness?
At any rate, we are satisfied, as before, to have four divisions; two for intellect and two for
opinion, and to call the first division science, the second understanding, the third belief, and the
fourth perception of shadows, opinion being concerned with becoming, and intellect with being;
and so to make a proportion:--
As being is to becoming, so is pure intellect to opinion. And as intellect is to opinion, so is

science to belief, and understanding to the perception of shadows.
But let us defer the further correlation and subdivision of the subjects of opinion and of intellect,
for it will be a long enquiry, many times longer than this has been.
As far as I understand, he said, I agree.
And do you also agree, I said, in describing the dialectician as one who attains a conception of
the essence of each thing? And he who does not possess and is therefore unable to impart this
conception, in whatever degree he fails, may in that degree also be said to fail in intelligence?
Will you admit so much?
Yes, he said; how can I deny it?
And you would say the same of the conception of the good?
Until the person is able to abstract and define rationally the idea of good, and unless he can run
the gauntlet of all objections, and is ready to disprove them, not by appeals to opinion, but to
absolute truth, never faltering at any step of the argument-- unless he can do all this, you would
say that he knows neither the idea of good nor any other good; he apprehends only a shadow, if
anything at all, which is given by opinion and not by science;-- dreaming and slumbering in this
life, before he is well awake here, he arrives at the world below, and has his final quietus.
In all that I should most certainly agree with you.
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And surely you would not have the children of your ideal State, whom you are nurturing and
educating--if the ideal ever becomes a reality--you would not allow the future rulers to be like
posts, having no reason in them, and yet to be set in authority over the highest matters?
Certainly not.
Then you will make a law that they shall have such an education as will enable them to attain
the greatest skill in asking and answering questions?
Yes, he said, you and I together will make it.
Dialectic, then, as you will agree, is the coping-stone of the sciences, and is set over them; no
other science can be placed higher-- the nature of knowledge can no further go?
I agree, he said.
But to whom we are to assign these studies, and in what way they are to be assigned, are
questions which remain to be considered?
Yes, clearly.
You remember, I said, how the rulers were chosen before?
Certainly, he said.
The same natures must still be chosen, and the preference again given to the surest and the
bravest, and, if possible, to the fairest; and, having noble and generous tempers, they should
also have the natural gifts which will facilitate their education.
And what are these?
Such gifts as keenness and ready powers of acquisition; for the mind more often faints from the
severity of study than from the severity of gymnastics: the toil is more entirely the mind's own,
and is not shared with the body.
Further, he of whom we are in search should have a good memory, and be an unwearied solid
man who is a lover of labour in any line; or he will never be able to endure the great amount of
bodily exercise and to go through all the intellectual discipline and study which we require of
him.
Certainly, he said; he must have natural gifts.
The mistake at present is, that those who study philosophy have no vocation, and this, as I was
before saying, is the reason why she has fallen into disrepute: her true sons should take her by
the hand and not bastards.
What do you mean?

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In the first place, her votary should not have a lame or halting industry-- I mean, that he should
not be half industrious and half idle: as, for example, when a man is a lover of gymnastic and
hunting, and all other bodily exercises, but a hater rather than a lover of the labour of learning or
listening or enquiring. Or the occupation to which he devotes himself may be of an opposite
kind, and he may have the other sort of lameness.
Certainly, he said.
And as to truth, I said, is not a soul equally to be deemed halt and lame which hates voluntary
falsehood and is extremely indignant at herself and others when they tell lies, but is patient of
involuntary falsehood, and does not mind wallowing like a swinish beast in the mire of
ignorance, and has no shame at being detected?
To be sure.
And, again, in respect of temperance, courage, magnificence, and every other virtue, should we
not carefully distinguish between the true son and the bastard? for where there is no
discernment of such qualities States and individuals unconsciously err and the State makes a
ruler, and the individual a friend, of one who, being defective in some part of virtue, is in a figure
lame or a bastard.
That is very true, he said.
All these things, then, will have to be carefully considered by us; and if only those whom we
introduce to this vast system of education and training are sound in body and mind, justice
herself will have nothing to say against us, and we shall be the saviours of the constitution and
of the State; but, if our pupils are men of another stamp, the reverse will happen, and we shall
pour a still greater flood of ridicule on philosophy than she has to endure at present.
That would not be creditable.
Certainly not, I said; and yet perhaps, in thus turning jest into earnest I am equally ridiculous.
In what respect?
I had forgotten, I said, that we were not serious, and spoke with too much excitement. For when
I saw philosophy so undeservedly trampled under foot of men I could not help feeling a sort of
indignation at the authors of her disgrace: and my anger made me too vehement.
Indeed! I was listening, and did not think so.
But I, who am the speaker, felt that I was. And now let me remind you that, although in our
former selection we chose old men, we must not do so in this. Solon was under a delusion when
he said that a man when he grows old may learn many things--for he can no more learn much
than he can run much; youth is the time for any extraordinary toil.
Of course.
And, therefore, calculation and geometry and all the other elements of instruction, which are a
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preparation for dialectic, should be presented to the mind in childhood; not, however, under any
notion of forcing our system of education.
Why not?
Because a freeman ought not to be a slave in the acquisition of knowledge of any kind. Bodily
exercise, when compulsory, does no harm to the body; but knowledge which is acquired under
compulsion obtains no hold on the mind.
Very true.
Then, my good friend, I said, do not use compulsion, but let early education be a sort of
amusement; you will then be better able to find out the natural bent.
That is a very rational notion, he said.
Do you remember that the children, too, were to be taken to see the battle on horseback; and
that if there were no danger they were to be brought close up and, like young hounds, have a
taste of blood given them?
Yes, I remember.
The same practice may be followed, I said, in all these things-- labours, lessons, dangers--and
he who is most at home in all of them ought to be enrolled in a select number.
At what age?
At the age when the necessary gymnastics are over: the period whether of two or three years
which passes in this sort of training is useless for any other purpose; for sleep and exercise are
unpropitious to learning; and the trial of who is first in gymnastic exercises is one of the most
important tests to which our youth are subjected.
After that time those who are selected from the class of twenty years old will be promoted to
higher honour, and the sciences which they learned without any order in their early education
will now be brought together, and they will be able to see the natural relationship of them to one
another and to true being.
Yes, he said, that is the only kind of knowledge which takes lasting root.
Yes, I said; and the capacity for such knowledge is the great criterion of dialectical talent: the
comprehensive mind is always the dialectical.
I agree with you, he said.
These, I said, are the points which you must consider; and those who have most of this
comprehension, and who are more steadfast in their learning, and in their military and other
appointed duties, when they have arrived at the age of thirty have to be chosen by you out of
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the select class, and elevated to higher honour; and you will have to prove them by the help of
dialectic, in order to learn which of them is able to give up the use of sight and the other senses,
and in company with truth to attain absolute being: And here, my friend, great caution is
required.
Why great caution?
Do you not remark, I said, how great is the evil which dialectic has introduced?
What evil? he said.
The students of the art are filled with lawlessness.
Do you think that there is anything so very unnatural or inexcusable in their case? or will you
make allowance for them?
In what way make allowance?
I want you, I said, by way of parallel, to imagine a supposititious son who is brought up in great
wealth; he is one of a great and numerous family, and has many flatterers. When he grows up
to manhood, he learns that his alleged are not his real parents; but who the real are he is
unable to discover. Can you guess how he will be likely to behave towards his flatterers and his
supposed parents, first of all during the period when he is ignorant of the false relation, and then
again when he knows? Or shall I guess for you?
If you please.
Then I should say, that while he is ignorant of the truth he will be likely to honour his father and
his mother and his supposed relations more than the flatterers; he will be less inclined to neglect
them when in need, or to do or say anything against them; and he will be less willing to disobey
them in any important matter.
He will.
But when he has made the discovery, I should imagine that he would diminish his honour and
regard for them, and would become more devoted to the flatterers; their influence over him
would greatly increase; he would now live after their ways, and openly associate with them, and,
unless he were of an unusually good disposition, he would trouble himself no more about his
supposed parents or other relations.
Well, all that is very probable. But how is the image applicable to the disciples of philosophy?
In this way: you know that there are certain principles about justice and honour, which were
taught us in childhood, and under their parental authority we have been brought up, obeying
and honouring them.
That is true.
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There are also opposite maxims and habits of pleasure which flatter and attract the soul, but do
not influence those of us who have any sense of right, and they continue to obey and honour
the maxims of their fathers.
True.
Now, when a man is in this state, and the questioning spirit asks what is fair or honourable, and
he answers as the legislator has taught him, and then arguments many and diverse refute his
words, until he is driven into believing that nothing is honourable any more than dishonourable,
or just and good any more than the reverse, and so of all the notions which he most valued, do
you think that he will still honour and obey them as before?
Impossible.
And when he ceases to think them honourable and natural as heretofore, and he fails to
discover the true, can he be expected to pursue any life other than that which flatters his
desires?
He cannot.
And from being a keeper of the law he is converted into a breaker of it?
Unquestionably.
Now all this is very natural in students of philosophy such as I have described, and also, as I
was just now saying, most excusable.
Yes, he said; and, I may add, pitiable.
Therefore, that your feelings may not be moved to pity about our citizens who are now thirty
years of age, every care must be taken in introducing them to dialectic.
Certainly.
There is a danger lest they should taste the dear delight too early; for youngsters, as you may
have observed, when they first get the taste in their mouths, argue for amusement, and are
always contradicting and refuting others in imitation of those who refute them; like puppy-dogs,
they rejoice in pulling and tearing at all who come near them.
Yes, he said, there is nothing which they like better.
And when they have made many conquests and received defeats at the hands of many, they
violently and speedily get into a way of not believing anything which they believed before, and
hence, not only they, but philosophy and all that relates to it is apt to have a bad name with the
rest of the world.
Too true, he said.
But when a man begins to get older, he will no longer be guilty of such insanity; he will imitate
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the dialectician who is seeking for truth, and not the eristic, who is contradicting for the sake of
amusement; and the greater moderation of his character will increase instead of diminishing the
honour of the pursuit.
Very true, he said.
And did we not make special provision for this, when we said that the disciples of philosophy
were to be orderly and steadfast, not, as now, any chance aspirant or intruder?
Very true.
Suppose, I said, the study of philosophy to take the place of gymnastics and to be continued
diligently and earnestly and exclusively for twice the number of years which were passed in
bodily exercise-- will that be enough?
Would you say six or four years? he asked.
Say five years, I replied; at the end of the time they must be sent down again into the den and
compelled to hold any military or other office which young men are qualified to hold: in this way
they will get their experience of life, and there will be an opportunity of trying whether, when
they are drawn all manner of ways by temptation, they will stand firm or flinch.
And how long is this stage of their lives to last?
Fifteen years, I answered; and when they have reached fifty years of age, then let those who
still survive and have distinguished themselves in every action of their lives and in every branch
of knowledge come at last to their consummation; the time has now arrived at which they must
raise the eye of the soul to the universal light which lightens all things, and behold the absolute
good; for that is the, pattern according to which they are to order the State and the lives of
individuals, and the remainder of their own lives also; making philosophy their chief pursuit, but,
when their turn comes, toiling also at politics and ruling for the public good, not as though they
were performing some heroic action, but simply as a matter of duty; and when they have
brought up in each generation others like themselves and left them in their place to be
governors of the State, then they will depart to the Islands of the Blest and dwell there; and the
city will give them public memorials and sacrifices and honour them, if the Pythian oracle
consent, as demi-gods, but if not, as in any case blessed and divine.
You are a sculptor, Socrates, and have made statues of our governors faultless in beauty.
Yes, I said, Glaucon, and of our governesses too; for you must not suppose that what I have
been saying applies to men only and not to women as far as their natures can go.
There you are right, he said, since we have made them to share in all things like the men.
Well, I said, and you would agree (would you not?) that what has been said about the State and
the government is not a mere dream, and although difficult not impossible, but only possible in
the way which has been supposed; that is to say, when the true philosopher kings are born in a
State, one or more of them, despising the honours of this present world which they deem mean
and worthless, esteeming above all things right and the honour that springs from right, and
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regarding justice as the greatest and most necessary of all things, whose ministers they are,
and whose principles will be exalted by them when they set in order their own city?
How will they proceed?
They will begin by sending out into the country all the inhabitants of the city who are more than
ten years old, and will take possession of their children, who will be unaffected by the habits of
their parents; these they will train in their own habits and laws, I mean in the laws which we
have given them: and in this way the State and constitution of which we were speaking will
soonest and most easily attain happiness, and the nation which has such a constitution will gain
most.
Yes, that will be the best way. And I think, Socrates, that you have very well described how, if
ever, such a constitution might come into being.
Enough then of the perfect State, and of the man who bears its image-- there is no difficulty in
seeing how we shall describe him.
There is no difficulty, he replied; and I agree with you in thinking that nothing more need be
said.
BOOK VIII
SOCRATES - GLAUCON
AND so, Glaucon, we have arrived at the conclusion that in the perfect State wives and children
are to be in common; and that all education and the pursuits of war and peace are also to be
common, and the best philosophers and the bravest warriors are to be their kings?
That, replied Glaucon, has been acknowledged.
Yes, I said; and we have further acknowledged that the governors, when appointed themselves,
will take their soldiers and place them in houses such as we were describing, which are
common to all, and contain nothing private, or individual; and about their property, you
remember what we agreed?
Yes, I remember that no one was to have any of the ordinary possessions of mankind; they
were to be warrior athletes and guardians, receiving from the other citizens, in lieu of annual
payment, only their maintenance, and they were to take care of themselves and of the whole
State.
True, I said; and now that this division of our task is concluded, let us find the point at which we
digressed, that we may return into the old path.
There is no difficulty in returning; you implied, then as now, that you had finished the description
of the State: you said that such a State was good, and that the man was good who answered to
it, although, as now appears, you had more excellent things to relate both of State and man.
And you said further, that if this was the true form, then the others were false; and of the false
forms, you said, as I remember, that there were four principal ones, and that their defects, and
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the defects of the individuals corresponding to them, were worth examining. When we had seen
all the individuals, and finally agreed as to who was the best and who was the worst of them, we
were to consider whether the best was not also the happiest, and the worst the most miserable.
I asked you what were the four forms of government of which you spoke, and then Polemarchus
and Adeimantus put in their word; and you began again, and have found your way to the point
at which we have now arrived.
Your recollection, I said, is most exact.
Then, like a wrestler, he replied, you must put yourself again in the same position; and let me
ask the same questions, and do you give me the same answer which you were about to give
me then.
Yes, if I can, I will, I said.
I shall particularly wish to hear what were the four constitutions of which you were speaking.
That question, I said, is easily answered: the four governments of which I spoke, so far as they
have distinct names, are, first, those of Crete and Sparta, which are generally applauded; what
is termed oligarchy comes next; this is not equally approved, and is a form of government which
teems with evils: thirdly, democracy, which naturally follows oligarchy, although very different:
and lastly comes tyranny, great and famous, which differs from them all, and is the fourth and
worst disorder of a State. I do not know, do you? of any other constitution which can be said to
have a distinct character. There are lordships and principalities which are bought and sold, and
some other intermediate forms of government. But these are nondescripts and may be found
equally among Hellenes and among barbarians.
Yes, he replied, we certainly hear of many curious forms of government which exist among
them.
Do you know, I said, that governments vary as the dispositions of men vary, and that there must
be as many of the one as there are of the other? For we cannot suppose that States are made
of òak and rock,' and not out of the human natures which are in them, and which in a figure turn
the scale and draw other things after them?
Yes, he said, the States are as the men are; they grow out of human characters.
Then if the constitutions of States are five, the dispositions of individual minds will also be five?
Certainly.
Him who answers to aristocracy, and whom we rightly call just and good, we have already
described.
We have.
Then let us now proceed to describe the inferior sort of natures, being the contentious and
ambitious, who answer to the Spartan polity; also the oligarchical, democratical, and tyrannical.
Let us place the most just by the side of the most unjust, and when we see them we shall be
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able to compare the relative happiness or unhappiness of him who leads a life of pure justice or
pure injustice. The enquiry will then be completed. And we shall know whether we ought to
pursue injustice, as Thrasymachus advises, or in accordance with the conclusions of the
argument to prefer justice.
Certainly, he replied, we must do as you say.
Shall we follow our old plan, which we adopted with a view to clearness, of taking the State first
and then proceeding to the individual, and begin with the government of honour?--I know of no
name for such a government other than timocracy, or perhaps timarchy. We will compare with
this the like character in the individual; and, after that, consider oligarchical man; and then again
we will turn our attention to democracy and the democratical man; and lastly, we will go and
view the city of tyranny, and once more take a look into the tyrant's soul, and try to arrive at a
satisfactory decision.
That way of viewing and judging of the matter will be very suitable.
First, then, I said, let us enquire how timocracy (the government of honour) arises out of
aristocracy (the government of the best). Clearly, all political changes originate in divisions of
the actual governing power; a government which is united, however small, cannot be moved.
Very true, he said.
In what way, then, will our city be moved, and in what manner the two classes of auxiliaries and
rulers disagree among themselves or with one another? Shall we, after the manner of Homer,
pray the Muses to tell us `how discord first arose'? Shall we imagine them in solemn mockery,
to play and jest with us as if we were children, and to address us in a lofty tragic vein, making
believe to be in earnest?
How would they address us?
After this manner:--A city which is thus constituted can hardly be shaken; but, seeing that
everything which has a beginning has also an end, even a constitution such as yours will not
last for ever, but will in time be dissolved. And this is the dissolution:-- In plants that grow in the
earth, as well as in animals that move on the earth's surface, fertility and sterility of soul and
body occur when the circumferences of the circles of each are completed, which in short-lived
existences pass over a short space, and in long-lived ones over a long space. But to the
knowledge of human fecundity and sterility all the wisdom and education of your rulers will not
attain; the laws which regulate them will not be discovered by an intelligence which is alloyed
with sense, but will escape them, and they will bring children into the world when they ought not.
Now that which is of divine birth has a period which is contained in a perfect number, but the
period of human birth is comprehended in a number in which first increments by involution and
evolution (or squared and cubed) obtaining three intervals and four terms of like and unlike,
waxing and waning numbers, make all the terms commensurable and agreeable to one another.
The base of these (3) with a third added (4) when combined with five (20) and raised to the third
power furnishes two harmonies; the first a square which is a hundred times as great (400 = 4 X
100), and the other a figure having one side equal to the former, but oblong, consisting of a
hundred numbers squared upon rational diameters of a square (i. e. omitting fractions), the side
of which is five (7 X 7 = 49 X 100 = 4900), each of them being less by one (than the perfect
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square which includes the fractions, sc. 50) or less by two perfect squares of irrational
diameters (of a square the side of which is five = 50 + 50 = 100); and a hundred cubes of three
(27 X 100 = 2700 + 4900 + 400 = 8000). Now this number represents a geometrical figure
which has control over the good and evil of births. For when your guardians are ignorant of the
law of births, and unite bride and bridegroom out of season, the children will not be goodly or
fortunate. And though only the best of them will be appointed by their predecessors, still they
will be unworthy to hold their fathers' places, and when they come into power as guardians, they
will soon be found to fall in taking care of us, the Muses, first by under-valuing music; which
neglect will soon extend to gymnastic; and hence the young men of your State will be less
cultivated. In the succeeding generation rulers will be appointed who have lost the guardian
power of testing the metal of your different races, which, like Hesiod's, are of gold and silver and
brass and iron. And so iron will be mingled with silver, and brass with gold, and hence there will
arise dissimilarity and inequality and irregularity, which always and in all places are causes of
hatred and war. This the Muses affirm to be the stock from which discord has sprung, wherever
arising; and this is their answer to us.
Yes, and we may assume that they answer truly.
Why, yes, I said, of course they answer truly; how can the Muses speak falsely?
And what do the Muses say next?
When discord arose, then the two races were drawn different ways: the iron and brass fell to
acquiring money and land and houses and gold and silver; but the gold and silver races, not
wanting money but having the true riches in their own nature, inclined towards virtue and the
ancient order of things. There was a battle between them, and at last they agreed to distribute
their land and houses among individual owners; and they enslaved their friends and
maintainers, whom they had formerly protected in the condition of freemen, and made of them
subjects and servants; and they themselves were engaged in war and in keeping a watch
against them.
I believe that you have rightly conceived the origin of the change.
And the new government which thus arises will be of a form intermediate between oligarchy and
aristocracy?
Very true.
Such will be the change, and after the change has been made, how will they proceed? Clearly,
the new State, being in a mean between oligarchy and the perfect State, will partly follow one
and partly the other, and will also have some peculiarities.
True, he said.
In the honour given to rulers, in the abstinence of the warrior class from agriculture, handicrafts,
and trade in general, in the institution of common meals, and in the attention paid to gymnastics
and military training--in all these respects this State will resemble the former.
True.
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But in the fear of admitting philosophers to power, because they are no longer to be had simple
and earnest, but are made up of mixed elements; and in turning from them to passionate and
less complex characters, who are by nature fitted for war rather than peace; and in the value set
by them upon military stratagems and contrivances, and in the waging of everlasting wars--this
State will be for the most part peculiar.
Yes.
Yes, I said; and men of this stamp will be covetous of money, like those who live in oligarchies;
they will have, a fierce secret longing after gold and silver, which they will hoard in dark places,
having magazines and treasuries of their own for the deposit and concealment of them; also
castles which are just nests for their eggs, and in which they will spend large sums on their
wives, or on any others whom they please.
And they are miserly because they have no means of openly acquiring the money which they
prize; they will spend that which is another man's on the gratification of their desires, stealing
their pleasures and running away like children from the law, their father: they have been
schooled not by gentle influences but by force, for they have neglected her who is the true
Muse, the companion of reason and philosophy, and have honoured gymnastic more than
music.
Undoubtedly, he said, the form of government which you describe is a mixture of good and evil.
Why, there is a mixture, I said; but one thing, and one thing only, is predominantly seen,--the
spirit of contention and ambition; and these are due to the prevalence of the passionate or
spirited element.
Assuredly, he said.
Such is the origin and such the character of this State, which has been described in outline only;
the more perfect execution was not required, for a sketch is enough to show the type of the
most perfectly just and most perfectly unjust; and to go through all the States and all the
characters of men, omitting none of them, would be an interminable labour.
Now what man answers to this form of government-how did he come into being, and what is he
like?
I think, said Adeimantus, that in the spirit of contention which characterises him, he is not unlike
our friend Glaucon.
Perhaps, I said, he may be like him in that one point; but there are other respects in which he is
very different.
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In what respects?
He should have more of self-assertion and be less cultivated, and yet a friend of culture; and he
should be a good listener, but no speaker. Such a person is apt to be rough with slaves, unlike
the educated man, who is too proud for that; and he will also be courteous to freemen, and
remarkably obedient to authority; he is a lover of power and a lover of honour; claiming to be a
ruler, not because he is eloquent, or on any ground of that sort, but because he is a soldier and
has performed feats of arms; he is also a lover of gymnastic exercises and of the chase.
Yes, that is the type of character which answers to timocracy.
Such an one will despise riches only when he is young; but as he gets older he will be more and
more attracted to them, because he has a piece of the avaricious nature in him, and is not
singleminded towards virtue, having lost his best guardian.
Who was that? said Adeimantus.
Philosophy, I said, tempered with music, who comes and takes her abode in a man, and is the
only saviour of his virtue throughout life.
Good, he said.
Such,
I said, is the timocratical youth, and he is like the timocratical State.
Exactly.
His origin is as follows:--He is often the young son of a grave father, who dwells in an ill-
governed city, of which he declines the honours and offices, and will not go to law, or exert
himself in any way, but is ready to waive his rights in order that he may escape trouble.
And how does the son come into being?
The character of the son begins to develop when he hears his mother complaining that her
husband has no place in the government, of which the consequence is that she has no
precedence among other women. Further, when she sees her husband not very eager about
money, and instead of battling and railing in the law courts or assembly, taking whatever
happens to him quietly; and when she observes that his thoughts always centre in himself, while
he treats her with very considerable indifference, she is annoyed, and says to her son that his
father is only half a man and far too easy-going: adding all the other complaints about her own
ill-treatment which women are so fond of rehearsing.
Yes, said Adeimantus, they give us plenty of them, and their complaints are so like themselves.
And you know, I said, that the old servants also, who are supposed to be attached to the family,
from time to time talk privately in the same strain to the son; and if they see any one who owes
money to his father, or is wronging him in any way, and he falls to prosecute them, they tell the
youth that when he grows up he must retaliate upon people of this sort, and be more of a man
than his father. He has only to walk abroad and he hears and sees the same sort of thing: those
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who do their own business in the city are called simpletons, and held in no esteem, while the
busy-bodies are honoured and applauded. The result is that the young man, hearing and seeing
all these thing-- hearing too, the words of his father, and having a nearer view of his way of life,
and making comparisons of him and others--is drawn opposite ways: while his father is watering
and nourishing the rational principle in his soul, the others are encouraging the passionate and
appetitive; and he being not originally of a bad nature, but having kept bad company, is at last
brought by their joint influence to a middle point, and gives up the kingdom which is within him
to the middle principle of contentiousness and passion, and becomes arrogant and ambitious.
You seem to me to have described his origin perfectly.
Then we have now, I said, the second form of government and the second type of character?
We have.
Next, let us look at another man who, as Aeschylus says,
Is set over against another State;
or rather, as our plan requires, begin with the State.
By all means.
I believe that oligarchy follows next in order.
And what manner of government do you term oligarchy?
A government resting on a valuation of property, in which the rich have power and the poor man
is deprived of it.
I understand, he replied.
Ought I not to begin by describing how the change from timocracy to oligarchy arises?
Yes.
Well, I said, no eyes are required in order to see how the one passes into the other.
How?
The accumulation of gold in the treasury of private individuals is ruin the of timocracy; they
invent illegal modes of expenditure; for what do they or their wives care about the law?
Yes, indeed.
And then one, seeing another grow rich, seeks to rival him, and thus the great mass of the
citizens become lovers of money.
Likely enough.
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And so they grow richer and richer, and the more they think of making a fortune the less they
think of virtue; for when riches and virtue are placed together in the scales of the balance, the
one always rises as the other falls.
True.
And in proportion as riches and rich men are honoured in the State, virtue and the virtuous are
dishonoured.
Clearly.
And what is honoured is cultivated, and that which has no honour is neglected.
That is obvious.
And so at last, instead of loving contention and glory, men become lovers of trade and money;
they honour and look up to the rich man, and make a ruler of him, and dishonour the poor man.
They do so.
They next proceed to make a law which fixes a sum of money as the qualification of citizenship;
the sum is higher in one place and lower in another, as the oligarchy is more or less exclusive;
and they allow no one whose property falls below the amount fixed to have any share in the
government. These changes in the constitution they effect by force of arms, if intimidation has
not already done their work.
Very true.
And this, speaking generally, is the way in which oligarchy is established.
Yes, he said; but what are the characteristics of this form of government, and what are the
defects of which we were speaking?
First of all, I said, consider the nature of the qualification just think what would happen if pilots
were to be chosen according to their property, and a poor man were refused permission to
steer, even though he were a better pilot?
You mean that they would shipwreck?
Yes; and is not this true of the government of anything?
I should imagine so.
Except a city?--or would you include a city?
Nay, he said, the case of a city is the strongest of all, inasmuch as the rule of a city is the
greatest and most difficult of all.
This, then, will be the first great defect of oligarchy?

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Clearly.
And here is another defect which is quite as bad.
What defect?
The inevitable division: such a State is not one, but two States, the one of poor, the other of rich
men; and they are living on the same spot and always conspiring against one another.
That, surely, is at least as bad.
Another discreditable feature is, that, for a like reason, they are incapable of carrying on any
war. Either they arm the multitude, and then they are more afraid of them than of the enemy; or,
if they do not call them out in the hour of battle, they are oligarchs indeed, few to fight as they
are few to rule. And at the same time their fondness for money makes them unwilling to pay
taxes.
How discreditable!
And, as we said before, under such a constitution the same persons have too many
callings--they are husbandmen, tradesmen, warriors, all in one. Does that look well?
Anything but well.
There is another evil which is, perhaps, the greatest of all, and to which this State first begins to
be liable.
What evil?
A man may sell all that he has, and another may acquire his property; yet after the sale he may
dwell in the city of which he is no longer a part, being neither trader, nor artisan, nor horseman,
nor hoplite, but only a poor, helpless creature.
Yes, that is an evil which also first begins in this State.
The evil is certainly not prevented there; for oligarchies have both the extremes of great wealth
and utter poverty.
True.
But think again: In his wealthy days, while he was spending his money, was a man of this sort a
whit more good to the State for the purposes of citizenship? Or did he only seem to be a
member of the ruling body, although in truth he was neither ruler nor subject, but just a
spendthrift?
As you say, he seemed to be a ruler, but was only a spendthrift.
May we not say that this is the drone in the house who is like the drone in the honeycomb, and
that the one is the plague of the city as the other is of the hive?
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Just so, Socrates.
And God has made the flying drones, Adeimantus, all without stings, whereas of the walking
drones he has made some without stings but others have dreadful stings; of the stingless class
are those who in their old age end as paupers; of the stingers come all the criminal class, as
they are termed.
Most true, he said.
Clearly then, whenever you see paupers in a State, somewhere in that neighborhood there are
hidden away thieves, and cutpurses and robbers of temples, and all sorts of malefactors.
Clearly.
Well, I said, and in oligarchical States do you not find paupers?
Yes, he said; nearly everybody is a pauper who is not a ruler.
And may we be so bold as to affirm that there are also many criminals to be found in them,
rogues who have stings, and whom the authorities are careful to restrain by force?
Certainly, we may be so bold.
The existence of such persons is to be attributed to want of education, ill-training, and an evil
constitution of the State?
True.
Such, then, is the form and such are the evils of oligarchy; and there may be many other evils.
Very likely.
Then oligarchy, or the form of government in which the rulers are elected for their wealth, may
now be dismissed. Let us next proceed to consider the nature and origin of the individual who
answers to this State.
By all means.
Does not the timocratical man change into the oligarchical on this wise?
How?
A time arrives when the representative of timocracy has a son: at first he begins by emulating
his father and walking in his footsteps, but presently he sees him of a sudden foundering
against the State as upon a sunken reef, and he and all that he has is lost; he may have been a
general or some other high officer who is brought to trial under a prejudice raised by informers,
and either put to death, or exiled, or deprived of the privileges of a citizen, and all his property
taken from him.
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Nothing more likely.
And the son has seen and known all this--he is a ruined man, and his fear has taught him to
knock ambition and passion head-foremost from his bosom's throne; humbled by poverty he
takes to money-making and by mean and miserly savings and hard work gets a fortune
together. Is not such an one likely to seat the concupiscent and covetous element on the vacant
throne and to suffer it to play the great king within him, girt with tiara and chain and scimitar?
And when he has made reason and spirit sit down on the ground obediently on either side of
their sovereign, and taught them to know their place, he compels the one to think only of how
lesser sums may be turned into larger ones, and will not allow the other to worship and admire
anything but riches and rich men, or to be ambitious of anything so much as the acquisition of
wealth and the means of acquiring it.
Of all changes, he said, there is none so speedy or so sure as the conversion of the ambitious
youth into the avaricious one.
And the avaricious, I said, is the oligarchical youth?
Yes, he said; at any rate the individual out of whom he came is like the State out of which
oligarchy came.
Let us then consider whether there is any likeness between them.
Very good.
First, then, they resemble one another in the value which they set upon wealth?
Certainly.
Also in their penurious, laborious character; the individual only satisfies his necessary appetites,
and confines his expenditure to them; his other desires he subdues, under the idea that they are
unprofitable.
True.
He is a shabby fellow, who saves something out of everything and makes a purse for himself;
and this is the sort of man whom the vulgar applaud. Is he not a true image of the State which
he represents?
He appears to me to be so; at any rate money is highly valued by him as well as by the State.
You see that he is not a man of cultivation, I said.
I imagine not, he said; had he been educated he would never have made a blind god director of
his chorus, or given him chief honour.
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Excellent! I said. Yet consider: Must we not further admit that owing to this want of cultivation
there will be found in him dronelike desires as of pauper and rogue, which are forcibly kept
down by his general habit of life?
True.
Do you know where you will have to look if you want to discover his rogueries?
Where must I look?
You should see him where he has some great opportunity of acting dishonestly, as in the
guardianship of an orphan.
Aye.
It will be clear enough then that in his ordinary dealings which give him a reputation for honesty
he coerces his bad passions by an enforced virtue; not making them see that they are wrong, or
taming them by reason, but by necessity and fear constraining them, and because he trembles
for his possessions.
To be sure.
Yes, indeed, my dear friend, but you will find that the natural desires of the drone commonly
exist in him all the same whenever he has to spend what is not his own.
Yes, and they will be strong in him too.
The man, then, will be at war with himself; he will be two men, and not one; but, in general, his
better desires will be found to prevail over his inferior ones.
True.
For these reasons such an one will be more respectable than most people; yet the true virtue of
a unanimous and harmonious soul will flee far away and never come near him.
I should expect so.
And surely, the miser individually will be an ignoble competitor in a State for any prize of victory,
or other object of honourable ambition; he will not spend his money in the contest for glory; so
afraid is he of awakening his expensive appetites and inviting them to help and join in the
struggle; in true oligarchical fashion he fights with a small part only of his resources, and the
result commonly is that he loses the prize and saves his money.
Very true.
Can we any longer doubt, then, that the miser and money-maker answers to the oligarchical
State?
There can be no doubt.

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Next comes democracy; of this the origin and nature have still to be considered by us; and then
we will enquire into the ways of the democratic man, and bring him up for judgement.
That, he said, is our method.
Well, I said, and how does the change from oligarchy into democracy arise? Is it not on this
wise?--The good at which such a State alms is to become as rich as possible, a desire which is
insatiable?
What then?
The rulers, being aware that their power rests upon their wealth, refuse to curtail by law the
extravagance of the spendthrift youth because they gain by their ruin; they take interest from
them and buy up their estates and thus increase their own wealth and importance?
To be sure.
There can be no doubt that the love of wealth and the spirit of moderation cannot exist together
in citizens of the same State to any considerable extent; one or the other will be disregarded.
That is tolerably clear.
And in oligarchical States, from the general spread of carelessness and extravagance, men of
good family have often been reduced to beggary?
Yes, often.
And still they remain in the city; there they are, ready to sting and fully armed, and some of them
owe money, some have forfeited their citizenship; a third class are in both predicaments; and
they hate and conspire against those who have got their property, and against everybody else,
and are eager for revolution.
That is true.
On the other hand, the men of business, stooping as they walk, and pretending not even to see
those whom they have already ruined, insert their sting--that is, their money--into some one else
who is not on his guard against them, and recover the parent sum many times over multiplied
into a family of children: and so they make drone and pauper to abound in the State.
Yes, he said, there are plenty of them--that is certain.
The evil blazes up like a fire; and they will not extinguish it, either by restricting a man's use of
his own property, or by another remedy:
What other?
One which is the next best, and has the advantage of compelling the citizens to look to their
characters:--Let there be a general rule that every one shall enter into voluntary contracts at his
own risk, and there will be less of this scandalous money-making, and the evils of which we
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were speaking will be greatly lessened in the State.
Yes, they will be greatly lessened.
At present the governors, induced by the motives which I have named, treat their subjects
badly; while they and their adherents, especially the young men of the governing class, are
habituated to lead a life of luxury and idleness both of body and mind; they do nothing, and are
incapable of resisting either pleasure or pain.
Very true.
They themselves care only for making money, and are as indifferent as the pauper to the
cultivation of virtue.
Yes, quite as indifferent.
Such is the state of affairs which prevails among them. And often rulers and their subjects may
come in one another's way, whether on a pilgrimage or a march, as fellow-soldiers or fellow-
sailors; aye, and they may observe the behaviour of each other in the very moment of
danger--for where danger is, there is no fear that the poor will be despised by the rich-- and very
likely the wiry sunburnt poor man may be placed in battle at the side of a wealthy one who has
never spoilt his complexion and has plenty of superfluous flesh--when he sees such an one
puffing and at his wit's end, how can he avoid drawing the conclusion that men like him are only
rich because no one has the courage to despoil them? And when they meet in private will not
people be saying to one another Òur warriors are not good for much'?
Yes, he said, I am quite aware that this is their way of talking.
And, as in a body which is diseased the addition of a touch from without may bring on illness,
and sometimes even when there is no external provocation a commotion may arise within-in the
same way wherever there is weakness in the State there is also likely to be illness, of which the
occasions may be very slight, the one party introducing from without their oligarchical, the other
their democratical allies, and then the State falls sick, and is at war with herself; and may be at
times distracted, even when there is no external cause.
Yes, surely.
And then democracy comes into being after the poor have conquered their opponents,
slaughtering some and banishing some, while to the remainder they give an equal share of
freedom and power; and this is the form of government in which the magistrates are commonly
elected by lot.
Yes, he said, that is the nature of democracy, whether the revolution has been effected by
arms, or whether fear has caused the opposite party to withdraw.
And now what is their manner of life, and what sort of a government have they? for as the
government is, such will be the man.
Clearly, he said.
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In the first place, are they not free; and is not the city full of freedom and frankness--a man may
say and do what he likes?
`Tis said so, he replied.
And where freedom is, the individual is clearly able to order for himself his own life as he
pleases?
Clearly.
Then in this kind of State there will be the greatest variety of human natures?
There will.
This, then, seems likely to be the fairest of States, being an embroidered robe which is
spangled with every sort of flower. And just as women and children think a variety of colours to
be of all things most charming, so there are many men to whom this State, which is spangled
with the manners and characters of mankind, will appear to be the fairest of States.
Yes.
Yes, my good Sir, and there will be no better in which to look for a government.
Why?
Because of the liberty which reigns there--they have a complete assortment of constitutions;
and he who has a mind to establish a State, as we have been doing, must go to a democracy
as he would to a bazaar at which they sell them, and pick out the one that suits him; then, when
he has made his choice, he may found his State.
He will be sure to have patterns enough.
And there being no necessity, I said, for you to govern in this State, even if you have the
capacity, or to be governed, unless you like, or go to war when the rest go to war, or to be at
peace when others are at peace, unless you are so disposed--there being no necessity also,
because some law forbids you to hold office or be a dicast, that you should not hold office or be
a dicast, if you have a fancy-- is not this a way of life which for the moment is supremely
delightful
For the moment, yes.
And is not their humanity to the condemned in some cases quite charming? Have you not
observed how, in a democracy, many persons, although they have been sentenced to death or
exile, just stay where they are and walk about the world--the gentleman parades like a hero,
and nobody sees or cares?
Yes, he replied, many and many a one.
See too, I said, the forgiving spirit of democracy, and the `don't care' about trifles, and the
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disregard which she shows of all the fine principles which we solemnly laid down at the
foundation of the city-- as when we said that, except in the case of some rarely gifted nature,
there never will be a good man who has not from his childhood been used to play amid things of
beauty and make of them a joy and a study-- how grandly does she trample all these fine
notions of ours under her feet, never giving a thought to the pursuits which make a statesman,
and promoting to honour any one who professes to be the people's friend.
Yes, she is of a noble spirit.
These and other kindred characteristics are proper to democracy, which is a charming form of
government, full of variety and disorder, and dispensing a sort of equality to equals and
unequals alike.
We know her well.
Consider now, I said, what manner of man the individual is, or rather consider, as in the case of
the State, how he comes into being.
Very good, he said.
Is not this the way--he is the son of the miserly and oligarchical father who has trained him in his
own habits?
Exactly.
And, like his father, he keeps under by force the pleasures which are of the spending and not of
the getting sort, being those which are called unnecessary?
Obviously.
Would you like, for the sake of clearness, to distinguish which are the necessary and which are
the unnecessary pleasures?
I should.
Are not necessary pleasures those of which we cannot get rid, and of which the satisfaction is a
benefit to us? And they are rightly so, because we are framed by nature to desire both what is
beneficial and what is necessary, and cannot help it.
True.
We are not wrong therefore in calling them necessary?
We are not.
And the desires of which a man may get rid, if he takes pains from his youth upwards--of which
the presence, moreover, does no good, and in some cases the reverse of good--shall we not be
right in saying that all these are unnecessary?
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Yes, certainly.
Suppose we select an example of either kind, in order that we may have a general notion of
them?
Very good.
Will not the desire of eating, that is, of simple food and condiments, in so far as they are
required for health and strength, be of the necessary class?
That is what I should suppose.
The pleasure of eating is necessary in two ways; it does us good and it is essential to the
continuance of life?
Yes.
But the condiments are only necessary in so far as they are good for health?
Certainly.
And the desire which goes beyond this, or more delicate food, or other luxuries, which might
generally be got rid of, if controlled and trained in youth, and is hurtful to the body, and hurtful to
the soul in the pursuit of wisdom and virtue, may be rightly called unnecessary?
Very true.
May we not say that these desires spend, and that the others make money because they
conduce to production?
Certainly.
And of the pleasures of love, and all other pleasures, the same holds good?
True.
And the drone of whom we spoke was he who was surfeited in pleasures and desires of this
sort, and was the slave of the unnecessary desires, whereas he who was subject o the
necessary only was miserly and oligarchical?
Very true.
Again, let us see how the democratical man grows out of the oligarchical: the following, as I
suspect, is commonly the process.
What is the process?
When a young man who has been brought up as we were just now describing, in a vulgar and
miserly way, has tasted drones' honey and has come to associate with fierce and crafty natures
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who are able to provide for him all sorts of refinements and varieties of pleasure--then, as you
may imagine, the change will begin of the oligarchical principle within him into the democratical?
Inevitably.
And as in the city like was helping like, and the change was effected by an alliance from without
assisting one division of the citizens, so too the young man is changed by a class of desires
coming from without to assist the desires within him, that which is and alike again helping that
which is akin and alike?
Certainly.
And if there be any ally which aids the oligarchical principle within him, whether the influence of
a father or of kindred, advising or rebuking him, then there arises in his soul a faction and an
opposite faction, and he goes to war with himself.
It must be so.
And there are times when the democratical principle gives way to the oligarchical, and some of
his desires die, and others are banished; a spirit of reverence enters into the young man's soul
and order is restored.
Yes, he said, that sometimes happens.
And then, again, after the old desires have been driven out, fresh ones spring up, which are
akin to them, and because he, their father, does not know how to educate them, wax fierce and
numerous.
Yes, he said, that is apt to be the way.
They draw him to his old associates, and holding secret intercourse with them, breed and
multiply in him.
Very true.
At length they seize upon the citadel of the young man's soul, which they perceive to be void of
all accomplishments and fair pursuits and true words, which make their abode in the minds of
men who are dear to the gods, and are their best guardians and sentinels.
None better.
False and boastful conceits and phrases mount upwards and take their place.
They are certain to do so.
And so the young man returns into the country of the lotus-eaters, and takes up his dwelling
there in the face of all men; and if any help be sent by his friends to the oligarchical part of him,
the aforesaid vain conceits shut the gate of the king's fastness; and they will neither allow the
embassy itself to enter, private if private advisers offer the fatherly counsel of the aged will they
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listen to them or receive them. There is a battle and they gain the day, and then modesty, which
they call silliness, is ignominiously thrust into exile by them, and temperance, which they
nickname unmanliness, is trampled in the mire and cast forth; they persuade men that
moderation and orderly expenditure are vulgarity and meanness, and so, by the help of a rabble
of evil appetites, they drive them beyond the border.
Yes, with a will.
And when they have emptied and swept clean the soul of him who is now in their power and
who is being initiated by them in great mysteries, the next thing is to bring back to their house
insolence and anarchy and waste and impudence in bright array having garlands on their
heads, and a great company with them, hymning their praises and calling them by sweet
names; insolence they term breeding, and anarchy liberty, and waste magnificence, and
impudence courage. And so the young man passes out of his original nature, which was trained
in the school of necessity, into the freedom and libertinism of useless and unnecessary
pleasures.
Yes, he said, the change in him is visible enough.
After this he lives on, spending his money and labour and time on unnecessary pleasures quite
as much as on necessary ones; but if he be fortunate, and is not too much disordered in his
wits, when years have elapsed, and the heyday of passion is over-- supposing that he then re-
admits into the city some part of the exiled virtues, and does not wholly give himself up to their
successors--in that case he balances his pleasures and lives in a sort of equilibrium, putting the
government of himself into the hands of the one which comes first and wins the turn; and when
he has had enough of that, then into the hands of another; he despises none of them but
encourages them all equally.
Very true, he said.
Neither does he receive or let pass into the fortress any true word of advice; if any one says to
him that some pleasures are the satisfactions of good and noble desires, and others of evil
desires, and that he ought to use and honour some and chastise and master the
others--whenever this is repeated to him he shakes his head and says that they are all alike,
and that one is as good as another.
Yes, he said; that is the way with him.
Yes, I said, he lives from day to day indulging the appetite of the hour; and sometimes he is
lapped in drink and strains of the flute; then he becomes a water-drinker, and tries to get thin;
then he takes a turn at gymnastics; sometimes idling and neglecting everything, then once more
living the life of a philosopher; often he-is busy with politics, and starts to his feet and says and
does whatever comes into his head; and, if he is emulous of any one who is a warrior, off he is
in that direction, or of men of business, once more in that. His life has neither law nor order; and
this distracted existence he terms joy and bliss and freedom; and so he goes on.
Yes, he replied, he is all liberty and equality.
Yes, I said; his life is motley and manifold and an epitome of the lives of many;--he answers to
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the State which we described as fair and spangled. And many a man and many a woman will
take him for their pattern, and many a constitution and many an example of manners is
contained in him.
Just so.
Let him then be set over against democracy; he may truly be called the democratic man.
Let that be his place, he said.
Last of all comes the most beautiful of all, man and State alike, tyranny and the tyrant; these we
have now to consider.
Say then, my friend, in what manner does tyranny arise?--that it has a democratic origin is
evident.
Clearly.
And does not tyranny spring from democracy in the same manner as democracy from
oligarchy--I mean, after a sort?
How?
The good which oligarchy proposed to itself and the means by which it was maintained was
excess of wealth--am I not right?
Yes.
And the insatiable desire of wealth and the neglect of all other things for the sake of money-
getting was also the ruin of oligarchy?
True.
And democracy has her own good, of which the insatiable desire brings her to dissolution?
What good?
Freedom, I replied; which, as they tell you in a democracy, is the glory of the State--and that
therefore in a democracy alone will the freeman of nature deign to dwell.
Yes; the saying is in everybody's mouth.
I was going to observe, that the insatiable desire of this and the neglect of other things
introduces the change in democracy, which occasions a demand for tyranny.
How so?
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When a democracy which is thirsting for freedom has evil cupbearers presiding over the feast,
and has drunk too deeply of the strong wine of freedom, then, unless her rulers are very
amenable and give a plentiful draught, she calls them to account and punishes them, and says
that they are cursed oligarchs.
Yes, he replied, a very common occurrence.
Yes, I said; and loyal citizens are insultingly termed by her slaves who hug their chains and men
of naught; she would have subjects who are like rulers, and rulers who are like subjects: these
are men after her own heart, whom she praises and honours both in private and public. Now, in
such a State, can liberty have any limit?
Certainly not.
By degrees the anarchy finds a way into private houses, and ends by getting among the
animals and infecting them.
How do you mean?
I mean that the father grows accustomed to descend to the level of his sons and to fear them,
and the son is on a level with his father, he having no respect or reverence for either of his
parents; and this is his freedom, and metic is equal with the citizen and the citizen with the
metic, and the stranger is quite as good as either.
Yes, he said, that is the way.
And these are not the only evils, I said--there are several lesser ones: In such a state of society
the master fears and flatters his scholars, and the scholars despise their masters and tutors;
young and old are all alike; and the young man is on a level with the old, and is ready to
compete with him in word or deed; and old men condescend to the young and are full of
pleasantry and gaiety; they are loth to be thought morose and authoritative, and therefore they
adopt the manners of the young.
The last extreme of popular liberty is when the slave bought with money, whether male or
female, is just as free as his or her purchaser; nor must I forget to tell of the liberty and equality
of the two sexes in relation to each other.
Why not, as Aeschylus says, utter the word which rises to our lips?
That is what I am doing, I replied; and I must add that no one who does not know would believe,
how much greater is the liberty which the animals who are under the dominion of man have in a
democracy than in any other State: for truly, the she-dogs, as the proverb says, are as good as
their she-mistresses, and the horses and asses have a way of marching along with all the rights
and dignities of freemen; and they will run at anybody who comes in their way if he does not
leave the road clear for them: and all things are just ready to burst with liberty.
When I take a country walk, he said, I often experience what you describe. You and I have
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dreamed the same thing.
And above all, I said, and as the result of all, see how sensitive the citizens become; they chafe
impatiently at the least touch of authority and at length, as you know, they cease to care even
for the laws, written or unwritten; they will have no one over them.
Yes, he said, I know it too well.
Such, my friend, I said, is the fair and glorious beginning out of which springs tyranny.
Glorious indeed, he said. But what is the next step?
The ruin of oligarchy is the ruin of democracy; the same disease magnified and intensified by
liberty overmasters democracy-- the truth being that the excessive increase of anything often
causes a reaction in the opposite direction; and this is the case not only in the seasons and in
vegetable and animal life, but above all in forms of government.
True.
The excess of liberty, whether in States or individuals, seems only to pass into excess of
slavery.
Yes, the natural order.
And so tyranny naturally arises out of democracy, and the most aggravated form of tyranny and
slavery out of the most extreme form of liberty?
As we might expect.
That, however, was not, as I believe, your question-you rather desired to know what is that
disorder which is generated alike in oligarchy and democracy, and is the ruin of both?
Just so, he replied.
Well, I said, I meant to refer to the class of idle spendthrifts, of whom the more courageous are
the-leaders and the more timid the followers, the same whom we were comparing to drones,
some stingless, and others having stings.
A very just comparison.
These two classes are the plagues of every city in which they are generated, being what
phlegm and bile are to the body. And the good physician and lawgiver of the State ought, like
the wise bee-master, to keep them at a distance and prevent, if possible, their ever coming in;
and if they have anyhow found a way in, then he should have them and their cells cut out as
speedily as possible.
Yes, by all means, he said.
Then, in order that we may see clearly what we are doing, let us imagine democracy to be
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divided, as indeed it is, into three classes; for in the first place freedom creates rather more
drones in the democratic than there were in the oligarchical State.
That is true.
And in the democracy they are certainly more intensified.
How so?
Because in the oligarchical State they are disqualified and driven from office, and therefore they
cannot train or gather strength; whereas in a democracy they are almost the entire ruling power,
and while the keener sort speak and act, the rest keep buzzing about the bema and do not
suffer a word to be said on the other side; hence in democracies almost everything is managed
by the drones.
Very true, he said.
Then there is another class which is always being severed from the mass.
What is that?
They are the orderly class, which in a nation of traders sure to be the richest.
Naturally so.
They are the most squeezable persons and yield the largest amount of honey to the drones.
Why, he said, there is little to be squeezed out of people who have little.
And this is called the wealthy class, and the drones feed upon them.
That is pretty much the case, he said.
The people are a third class, consisting of those who work with their own hands; they are not
politicians, and have not much to live upon. This, when assembled, is the largest and most
powerful class in a democracy.
True, he said; but then the multitude is seldom willing to congregate unless they get a little
honey.
And do they not share? I said. Do not their leaders deprive the rich of their estates and
distribute them among the people; at the same time taking care to reserve the larger part for
themselves?
Why, yes, he said, to that extent the people do share.
And the persons whose property is taken from them are compelled to defend themselves before
the people as they best can?
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What else can they do?
And then, although they may have no desire of change, the others charge them with plotting
against the people and being friends of oligarchy? True.
And the end is that when they see the people, not of their own accord, but through ignorance,
and because they are deceived by informers, seeking to do them wrong, then at last they are
forced to become oligarchs in reality; they do not wish to be, but the sting of the drones
torments them and breeds revolution in them.
That is exactly the truth.
Then come impeachments and judgments and trials of one another.
True.
The people have always some champion whom they set over them and nurse into greatness.
Yes, that is their way.
This and no other is the root from which a tyrant springs; when he first appears above ground
he is a protector.
Yes, that is quite clear.
How then does a protector begin to change into a tyrant? Clearly when he does what the man is
said to do in the tale of the Arcadian temple of Lycaean Zeus.
What tale?
The tale is that he who has tasted the entrails of a single human victim minced up with the
entrails of other victims is destined to become a wolf. Did you never hear it?
Oh, yes.
And the protector of the people is like him; having a mob entirely at his disposal, he is not
restrained from shedding the blood of kinsmen; by the favourite method of false accusation he
brings them into court and murders them, making the life of man to disappear, and with unholy
tongue and lips tasting the blood of his fellow citizen; some he kills and others he banishes, at
the same time hinting at the abolition of debts and partition of lands: and after this, what will be
his destiny? Must he not either perish at the hands of his enemies, or from being a man become
a wolf--that is, a tyrant?
Inevitably.
This, I said, is he who begins to make a party against the rich?
The same.
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After a while he is driven out, but comes back, in spite of his enemies, a tyrant full grown.
That is clear.
And if they are unable to expel him, or to get him condemned to death by a public accusation,
they conspire to assassinate him.
Yes, he said, that is their usual way.
Then comes the famous request for a bodyguard, which is the device of all those who have got
thus far in their tyrannical career--`Let not the people's friend,' as they say, `be lost to them.'
Exactly.
The people readily assent; all their fears are for him-- they have none for themselves.
Very true.
And when a man who is wealthy and is also accused of being an enemy of the people sees this,
then, my friend, as the oracle said to Croesus,
By pebbly Hermus' shore he flees and rests not and is not ashamed to be a coward.
And quite right too, said he, for if he were, he would never be ashamed again.
But if he is caught he dies.
Of course.
And he, the protector of whom we spoke, is to be seen, not `larding the plain' with his bulk, but
himself the overthrower of many, standing up in the chariot of State with the reins in his hand,
no longer protector, but tyrant absolute.
No doubt, he said.
And now let us consider the happiness of the man, and also of the State in which a creature like
him is generated.
Yes, he said, let us consider that.
At first, in the early days of his power, he is full of smiles, and he salutes every one whom he
meets;--he to be called a tyrant, who is making promises in public and also in private! liberating
debtors, and distributing land to the people and his followers, and wanting to be so kind and
good to every one!
Of course, he said.
But when he has disposed of foreign enemies by conquest or treaty, and there is nothing to fear
from them, then he is always stirring up some war or other, in order that the people may require
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a leader.
To be sure.
Has he not also another object, which is that they may be impoverished by payment of taxes,
and thus compelled to devote themselves to their daily wants and therefore less likely to
conspire against him? Clearly.
And if any of them are suspected by him of having notions of freedom, and of resistance to his
authority, he will have a good pretext for destroying them by placing them at the mercy of the
enemy; and for all these reasons the tyrant must be always getting up a war.
He must.
Now he begins to grow unpopular.
A necessary result.
Then some of those who joined in setting him up, and who are in power, speak their minds to
him and to one another, and the more courageous of them cast in his teeth what is being done.
Yes, that may be expected.
And the tyrant, if he means to rule, must get rid of them; he cannot stop while he has a friend or
an enemy who is good for anything.
He cannot.
And therefore he must look about him and see who is valiant, who is high-minded, who is wise,
who is wealthy; happy man, he is the enemy of them all, and must seek occasion against them
whether he will or no, until he has made a purgation of the State.
Yes, he said, and a rare purgation.
Yes, I said, not the sort of purgation which the physicians make of the body; for they take away
the worse and leave the better part, but he does the reverse.
If he is to rule, I suppose that he cannot help himself.
What a blessed alternative, I said:--to be compelled to dwell only with the many bad, and to be
by them hated, or not to live at all!
Yes, that is the alternative.
And the more detestable his actions are to the citizens the more satellites and the greater
devotion in them will he require?
Certainly.
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And who are the devoted band, and where will he procure them?
They will flock to him, he said, of their own accord, if lie pays them.
By the dog! I said, here are more drones, of every sort and from every land.
Yes, he said, there are.
But will he not desire to get them on the spot?
How do you mean?
He will rob the citizens of their slaves; he will then set them free and enrol them in his
bodyguard.
To be sure, he said; and he will be able to trust them best of all.
What a blessed creature, I said, must this tyrant be; he has put to death the others and has
these for his trusted friends.
Yes, he said; they are quite of his sort.
Yes, I said, and these are the new citizens whom he has called into existence, who admire him
and are his companions, while the good hate and avoid him.
Of course.
Verily, then, tragedy is a wise thing and Euripides a great tragedian.
Why so?
Why, because he is the author of the pregnant saying,
Tyrants are wise by living with the wise;
and he clearly meant to say that they are the wise whom the tyrant makes his companions.
Yes, he said, and he also praises tyranny as godlike; and many other things of the same kind
are said by him and by the other poets.
And therefore, I said, the tragic poets being wise men will forgive us and any others who live
after our manner if we do not receive them into our State, because they are the eulogists of
tyranny.
Yes, he said, those who have the wit will doubtless forgive us.
But they will continue to go to other cities and attract mobs, and hire voices fair and loud and
persuasive, and draw the cities over to tyrannies and democracies.
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Very true.
Moreover, they are paid for this and receive honour--the greatest honour, as might be expected,
from tyrants, and the next greatest from democracies; but the higher they ascend our
constitution hill, the more their reputation fails, and seems unable from shortness of breath to
proceed further.
True.
But we are wandering from the subject: Let us therefore return
and enquire how the tyrant will maintain that fair and numerous and various and ever-changing
army of his.
If, he said, there are sacred treasures in the city, he will confiscate and spend them; and in so
far as the fortunes of attainted persons may suffice, he will be able to diminish the taxes which
he would otherwise have to impose upon the people.
And when these fail?
Why, clearly, he said, then he and his boon companions, whether male or female, will be
maintained out of his father's estate.
You mean to say that the people, from whom he has derived his being, will maintain him and his
companions?
Yes, he said; they cannot help themselves.
But what if the people fly into a passion, and aver that a grown-up son ought not to be
supported by his father, but that the father should be supported by the son? The father did not
bring him into being, or settle him in life, in order that when his son became a man he should
himself be the servant of his own servants and should support him and his rabble of slaves and
companions; but that his son should protect him, and that by his help he might be emancipated
from the government of the rich and aristocratic, as they are termed. And so he bids him and his
companions depart, just as any other father might drive out of the house a riotous son and his
undesirable associates.
By heaven, he said, then the parent will discover what a monster he has been fostering in his
bosom; and, when he wants to drive him out, he will find that he is weak and his son strong.
Why, you do not mean to say that the tyrant will use violence? What! beat his father if he
opposes him?
Yes, he will, having first disarmed him.
Then he is a parricide, and a cruel guardian of an aged parent; and this is real tyranny, about
which there can be no longer a mistake: as the saying is, the people who would escape the
smoke which is the slavery of freemen, has fallen into the fire which is the tyranny of slaves.
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Thus liberty, getting out of all order and reason, passes into the harshest and bitterest form of
slavery.
True, he said.
Very well; and may we not rightly say that we have sufficiently discussed the nature of tyranny,
and the manner of the transition from democracy to tyranny?
Yes, quite enough, he said.
BOOK IX
LAST of all comes the tyrannical man; about whom we have once more to ask, how is he
formed out of the democratical? and how does he live, in happiness or in misery?
Yes, he said, he is the only one remaining.
There is, however, I said, a previous question which remains unanswered.
What question?
I do not think that we have adequately determined the nature and number of the appetites, and
until this is accomplished the enquiry will always be confused.
Well, he said, it is not too late to supply the omission.
Very true, I said; and observe the point which I want to understand: Certain of the unnecessary
pleasures and appetites I conceive to be unlawful; every one appears to have them, but in some
persons they are controlled by the laws and by reason, and the better desires prevail over them-
either they are wholly banished or they become few and weak; while in the case of others they
are stronger, and there are more of them.
Which appetites do you mean?
I mean those which are awake when the reasoning and human and ruling power is asleep; then
the wild beast within us, gorged with meat or drink, starts up and having shaken off sleep, goes
forth to satisfy his desires; and there is no conceivable folly or crime-- not excepting incest or
any other unnatural union, or parricide, or the eating of forbidden food--which at such a time,
when he has parted company with all shame and sense, a man may not be ready to commit.
Most true, he said.
But when a man's pulse is healthy and temperate, and when before going to sleep he has
awakened his rational powers, and fed them on noble thoughts and enquiries, collecting himself
in meditation; after having first indulged his appetites neither too much nor too little, but just
enough to lay them to sleep, and prevent them and their enjoyments and pains from interfering
with the higher principle--which he leaves in the solitude of pure abstraction, free to contemplate
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and aspire to the knowledge of the unknown, whether in past, present, or future: when again he
has allayed the passionate element, if he has a quarrel against any one-- I say, when, after
pacifying the two irrational principles, he rouses up the third, which is reason, before he takes
his rest, then, as you know, he attains truth most nearly, and is least likely to be the sport of
fantastic and lawless visions.
I quite agree.
In saying this I have been running into a digression; but the point which I desire to note is that in
all of us, even in good men, there is a lawless wild-beast nature, which peers out in sleep. Pray,
consider whether I am right, and you agree with me.
Yes, I agree.
And now remember the character which we attributed to the democratic man. He was supposed
from his youth upwards to have been trained under a miserly parent, who encouraged the
saving appetites in him, but discountenanced the unnecessary, which aim only at amusement
and ornament?
True.
And then he got into the company of a more refined, licentious sort of people, and taking to all
their wanton ways rushed into the opposite extreme from an abhorrence of his father's
meanness. At last, being a better man than his corruptors, he was drawn in both directions until
he halted midway and led a life, not of vulgar and slavish passion, but of what he deemed
moderate indulgence in various pleasures. After this manner the democrat was generated out of
the oligarch?
Yes, he said; that was our view of him, and is so still.
And now, I said, years will have passed away, and you must conceive this man, such as he is,
to have a son, who is brought up in his father's principles.
I can imagine him.
Then you must further imagine the same thing to happen to the son which has already
happened to the father:--he is drawn into a perfectly lawless life, which by his seducers is
termed perfect liberty; and his father and friends take part with his moderate desires, and the
opposite party assist the opposite ones. As soon as these dire magicians and tyrant-makers find
that they are losing their hold on him, they contrive to implant in him a master passion, to be lord
over his idle and spendthrift lusts--a sort of monstrous winged drone-- that is the only image
which will adequately describe him.
Yes, he said, that is the only adequate image of him.
And when his other lusts, amid clouds of incense and perfumes and garlands and wines, and all
the pleasures of a dissolute life, now let loose, come buzzing around him, nourishing to the
utmost the sting of desire which they implant in his drone-like nature, then at last this lord of the
soul, having Madness for the captain of his guard, breaks out into a frenzy: and if he finds in
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himself any good opinions or appetites in process of formation, and there is in him any sense of
shame remaining, to these better principles he puts an end, and casts them forth until he has
purged away temperance and brought in madness to the full.
Yes, he said, that is the way in which the tyrannical man is generated.
And is not this the reason why of old love has been called a tyrant?
I should not wonder.
Further, I said, has not a drunken man also the spirit of a tyrant?
He has.
And you know that a man who is deranged and not right in his mind, will fancy that he is able to
rule, not only over men, but also over the gods?
That he will.
And the tyrannical man in the true sense of the word comes into being when, either under the
influence of nature, or habit, or both, he becomes drunken, lustful, passionate? O my friend, is
not that so?
Assuredly.
Such is the man and such is his origin. And next, how does he live?
Suppose, as people facetiously say, you were to tell me.
I imagine, I said, at the next step in his progress, that there will be feasts and carousals and
revellings and courtezans, and all that sort of thing; Love is the lord of the house within him, and
orders all the concerns of his soul.
That is certain.
Yes; and every day and every night desires grow up many and formidable, and their demands
are many.
They are indeed, he said.
His revenues, if he has any, are soon spent.
True.
Then comes debt and the cutting down of his property.
Of course.
When he has nothing left, must not his desires, crowding in the nest like young ravens, be
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crying aloud for food; and he, goaded on by them, and especially by love himself, who is in a
manner the captain of them, is in a frenzy, and would fain discover whom he can defraud or
despoil of his property, in order that he may gratify them?
Yes, that is sure to be the case.
He must have money, no matter how, if he is to escape horrid pains and pangs.
He must.
And as in himself there was a succession of pleasures, and the new got the better of the old
and took away their rights, so he being younger will claim to have more than his father and his
mother, and if he has spent his own share of the property, he will take a slice of theirs.
No doubt he will.
And if his parents will not give way, then he will try first of all to cheat and deceive them.
Very true.
And if he fails, then he will use force and plunder them.
Yes, probably.
And if the old man and woman fight for their own, what then, my friend? Will the creature feel
any compunction at tyrannizing over them?
Nay, he said, I should not feel at all comfortable about his parents.
But, O heavens! Adeimantus, on account of some newfangled love of a harlot, who is anything
but a necessary connection, can you believe that he would strike the mother who is his ancient
friend and necessary to his very existence, and would place her under the authority of the other,
when she is brought under the same roof with her; or that, under like circumstances, he would
do the same to his withered old father, first and most indispensable of friends, for the sake of
some newly found blooming youth who is the reverse of indispensable?
Yes, indeed, he said; I believe that he would.
Truly, then, I said, a tyrannical son is a blessing to his father and mother.
He is indeed, he replied.
He first takes their property, and when that falls, and pleasures are beginning to swarm in the
hive of his soul, then he breaks into a house, or steals the garments of some nightly wayfarer;
next he proceeds to clear a temple. Meanwhile the old opinions which he had when a child, and
which gave judgment about good and evil, are overthrown by those others which have just been
emancipated, and are now the bodyguard of love and share his empire. These in his democratic
days, when he was still subject to the laws and to his father, were only let loose in the dreams of
sleep. But now that he is under the dominion of love, he becomes always and in waking reality
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what he was then very rarely and in a dream only; he will commit the foulest murder, or eat
forbidden food, or be guilty of any other horrid act. Love is his tyrant, and lives lordly in him and
lawlessly, and being himself a king, leads him on, as a tyrant leads a State, to the performance
of any reckless deed by which he can maintain himself and the rabble of his associates,
whether those whom evil communications have brought in from without, or those whom he
himself has allowed to break loose within him by reason of a similar evil nature in himself. Have
we not here a picture of his way of life?
Yes, indeed, he said.
And if there are only a few of them in the State, the rest of the people are well disposed, they go
away and become the bodyguard or mercenary soldiers of some other tyrant who may probably
want them for a war; and if there is no war, they stay at home and do many little pieces of
mischief in the city.
What sort of mischief?
For example, they are the thieves, burglars, cutpurses, footpads, robbers of temples, man-
stealers of the community; or if they are able to speak they turn informers, and bear false
witness, and take bribes.
A small catalogue of evils, even if the perpetrators of them are few in number.
Yes, I said; but small and great are comparative terms, and all these things, in the misery and
evil which they inflict upon a State, do not come within a thousand miles of the tyrant; when this
noxious class and their followers grow numerous and become conscious of their strength,
assisted by the infatuation of the people, they choose from among themselves the one who has
most of the tyrant in his own soul, and him they create their tyrant.
Yes, he said, and he will be the most fit to be a tyrant.
If the people yield, well and good; but if they resist him, as he began by beating his own father
and mother, so now, if he has the power, he beats them, and will keep his dear old fatherland or
motherland, as the Cretans say, in subjection to his young retainers whom he has introduced to
be their rulers and masters. This is the end of his passions and desires.
Exactly.
When such men are only private individuals and before they get power, this is their character;
they associate entirely with their own flatterers or ready tools; or if they want anything from
anybody, they in their turn are equally ready to bow down before them: they profess every sort
of affection for them; but when they have gained their point they know them no more.
Yes, truly.
They are always either the masters or servants and never the friends of anybody; the tyrant
never tastes of true freedom or friendship.
Certainly not.
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And may we not rightly call such men treacherous?
No question.
Also they are utterly unjust, if we were right in our notion of justice?
Yes, he said, and we were perfectly right.
Let us then sum up in a word, I said, the character of the worst man: he is the waking reality of
what we dreamed.
Most true.
And this is he who being by nature most of a tyrant bears rule, and the longer he lives the more
of a tyrant he becomes.
SOCRATES - GLAUCON
That is certain, said Glaucon, taking his turn to answer.
And will not he who has been shown to be the wickedest, be also the most miserable? and he
who has tyrannized longest and most, most continually and truly miserable; although this may
not be the opinion of men in general?
Yes, he said, inevitably.
And must not the tyrannical man be like the tyrannical, State, and the democratical man like the
democratical State; and the same of the others?
Certainly.
And as State is to State in virtue and happiness, so is man in relation to man?
To be sure.
Then comparing our original city, which was under a king, and the city which is under a tyrant,
how do they stand as to virtue?
They are the opposite extremes, he said, for one is the very best and the other is the very worst.
There can be no mistake, I said, as to which is which, and therefore I will at once enquire
whether you would arrive at a similar decision about their relative happiness and misery. And
here we must not allow ourselves to be panic-stricken at the apparition of the tyrant, who is only
a unit and may perhaps have a few retainers about him; but let us go as we ought into every
corner of the city and look all about, and then we will give our opinion.
A fair invitation, he replied; and I see, as every one must, that a tyranny is the wretchedest form
of government, and the rule of a king the happiest.
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And in estimating the men too, may I not fairly make a like request, that I should have a judge
whose mind can enter into and see through human nature? He must not be like a child who
looks at the outside and is dazzled at the pompous aspect which the tyrannical nature assumes
to the beholder, but let him be one who has a clear insight. May I suppose that the judgment is
given in the hearing of us all by one who is able to judge, and has dwelt in the same place with
him, and been present at his dally life and known him in his family relations, where he may be
seen stripped of his tragedy attire, and again in the hour of public danger--he shall tell us about
the happiness and misery of the tyrant when compared with other men?
That again, he said, is a very fair proposal.
Shall I assume that we ourselves are able and experienced judges and have before now met
with such a person? We shall then have some one who will answer our enquiries.
By all means.
Let me ask you not to forget the parallel of the individual and the State; bearing this in mind, and
glancing in turn from one to the other of them, will you tell me their respective conditions?
What do you mean? he asked.
Beginning with the State, I replied, would you say that a city which is governed by a tyrant is
free or enslaved?
No city, he said, can be more completely enslaved.
And yet, as you see, there are freemen as well as masters in such a State?
Yes, he said, I see that there are--a few; but the people, speaking generally, and the best of
them, are miserably degraded and enslaved.
Then if the man is like the State, I said, must not the same rule prevail? his soul is full of
meanness and vulgarity--the best elements in him are enslaved; and there is a small ruling part,
which is also the worst and maddest.
Inevitably.
And would you say that the soul of such an one is the soul of a freeman, or of a slave?
He has the soul of a slave, in my opinion.
And the State which is enslaved under a tyrant is utterly incapable of acting voluntarily?
Utterly incapable.
And also the soul which is under a tyrant (I am speaking of the soul taken as a whole) is least
capable of doing what she desires; there is a gadfly which goads her, and she is full of trouble
and remorse?
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Certainly.
And is the city which is under a tyrant rich or poor?
Poor.
And the tyrannical soul must be always poor and insatiable?
True.
And must not such a State and such a man be always full of fear?
Yes, indeed.
Is there any State in which you will find more of lamentation and sorrow and groaning and pain?
Certainly not.
And is there any man in whom you will find more of this sort of misery than in the tyrannical
man, who is in a fury of passions and desires?
Impossible.
Reflecting upon these and similar evils, you held the tyrannical State to be the most miserable
of States?
And I was right, he said.
Certainly, I said. And when you see the same evils in the tyrannical man, what do you say of
him?
I say that he is by far the most miserable of all men.
There, I said, I think that you are beginning to go wrong.
What do you mean?
I do not think that he has as yet reached the utmost extreme of misery.
Then who is more miserable?
One of whom I am about to speak.
Who is that?
He who is of a tyrannical nature, and instead of leading a private life has been cursed with the
further misfortune of being a public tyrant.
From what has been said, I gather that you are right.
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Yes, I replied, but in this high argument you should be a little more certain, and should not
conjecture only; for of all questions, this respecting good and evil is the greatest.
Very true, he said.
Let me then offer you an illustration, which may, I think, throw a light upon this subject.
What is your illustration?
The case of rich individuals in cities who possess many slaves: from them you may form an idea
of the tyrant's condition, for they both have slaves; the only difference is that he has more
slaves.
Yes, that is the difference.
You know that they live securely and have nothing to apprehend from their servants?
What should they fear?
Nothing. But do you observe the reason of this?
Yes; the reason is, that the whole city is leagued together for the protection of each individual.
Very true, I said. But imagine one of these owners, the master say of some fifty slaves, together
with his family and property and slaves, carried off by a god into the wilderness, where there are
no freemen to help him--will he not be in an agony of fear lest he and his wife and children
should be put to death by his slaves?
Yes, he said, he will be in the utmost fear.
The time has arrived when he will be compelled to flatter divers of his slaves, and make many
promises to them of freedom and other things, much against his will--he will have to cajole his
own servants.
Yes, he said, that will be the only way of saving himself.
And suppose the same god, who carried him away, to surround him with neighbours who will
not suffer one man to be the master of another, and who, if they could catch the offender, would
take his life?
His case will be still worse, if you suppose him to be everywhere surrounded and watched by
enemies.
And is not this the sort of prison in which the tyrant will be bound-- he who being by nature such
as we have described, is full of all sorts of fears and lusts? His soul is dainty and greedy, and
yet alone, of all men in the city, he is never allowed to go on a journey, or to see the things
which other freemen desire to see, but he lives in his hole like a woman hidden in the house,
and is jealous of any other citizen who goes into foreign parts and sees anything of interest.
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Very true, he said.
And amid evils such as these will not he who is ill-governed in his own person--the tyrannical
man, I mean--whom you just now decided to be the most miserable of all--will not he be yet
more miserable when, instead of leading a private life, he is constrained by fortune to be a
public tyrant? He has to be master of others when he is not master of himself: he is like a
diseased or paralytic man who is compelled to pass his life, not in retirement, but fighting and
combating with other men.
Yes, he said, the similitude is most exact.
Is not his case utterly miserable? and does not the actual tyrant lead a worse life than he whose
life you determined to be the worst?
Certainly.
He who is the real tyrant, whatever men may think, is the real slave, and is obliged to practise
the greatest adulation and servility, and to be the flatterer of the vilest of mankind. He has
desires which he is utterly unable to satisfy, and has more wants than any one, and is truly
poor, if you know how to inspect the whole soul of him: all his life long he is beset with fear and
is full of convulsions, and distractions, even as the State which he resembles: and surely the
resemblance holds?
Very true, he said.
Moreover, as we were saying before, he grows worse from having power: he becomes and is of
necessity more jealous, more faithless, more unjust, more friendless, more impious, than he
was at first; he is the purveyor and cherisher of every sort of vice, and the consequence is that
he is supremely miserable, and that he makes everybody else as miserable as himself.
No man of any sense will dispute your words.
Come then, I said, and as the general umpire in theatrical contests proclaims the result, do you
also decide who in your opinion is first in the scale of happiness, and who second, and in what
order the others follow: there are five of them in all-- they are the royal, timocratical, oligarchical,
democratical, tyrannical.
The decision will be easily given, he replied; they shall be choruses coming on the stage, and I
must judge them in the order in which they enter, by the criterion of virtue and vice, happiness
and misery.
Need we hire a herald, or shall I announce, that the son of Ariston (the best) has decided that
the best and justest is also the happiest, and that this is he who is the most royal man and king
over himself; and that the worst and most unjust man is also the most miserable, and that this is
he who being the greatest tyrant of himself is also the greatest tyrant of his State?
Make the proclamation yourself, he said.
And shall I add, `whether seen or unseen by gods and men'?

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Let the words be added.
Then this, I said, will be our first proof; and there is another, which may also have some weight.
What is that?
The second proof is derived from the nature of the soul: seeing that the individual soul, like the
State, has been divided by us into three principles, the division may, I think, furnish a new
demonstration.
Of what nature?
It seems to me that to these three principles three pleasures correspond; also three desires and
governing powers.
How do you mean? he said.
There is one principle with which, as we were saying, a man learns, another with which he is
angry; the third, having many forms, has no special name, but is denoted by the general term
appetitive, from the extraordinary strength and vehemence of the desires of eating and drinking
and the other sensual appetites which are the main elements of it; also money-loving, because
such desires are generally satisfied by the help of money.
That is true, he said.
If we were to say that the loves and pleasures of this third part were concerned with gain, we
should then be able to fall back on a single notion; and might truly and intelligibly describe this
part of the soul as loving gain or money.
I agree with you.
Again, is not the passionate element wholly set on ruling and conquering and getting fame?
True.
Suppose we call it the contentious or ambitious--would the term be suitable?
Extremely suitable.
On the other hand, every one sees that the principle of knowledge is wholly directed to the truth,
and cares less than either of the others for gain or fame.
Far less.
`Lover of wisdom,' `lover of knowledge,' are titles which we may fitly apply to that part of the
soul?
Certainly.
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One principle prevails in the souls of one class of men, another in others, as may happen?
Yes.
Then we may begin by assuming that there are three classes of men-- lovers of wisdom, lovers
of honour, lovers of gain?
Exactly.
And there are three kinds of pleasure, which are their several objects?
Very true.
Now, if you examine the three classes of men, and ask of them in turn which of their lives is
pleasantest, each will be found praising his own and depreciating that of others: the money-
maker will contrast the vanity of honour or of learning if they bring no money with the solid
advantages of gold and silver?
True, he said.
And the lover of honour--what will be his opinion? Will he not think that the pleasure of riches is
vulgar, while the pleasure of learning, if it brings no distinction, is all smoke and nonsense to
him?
Very true.
And are we to suppose, I said, that the philosopher sets any value on other pleasures in
comparison with the pleasure of knowing the truth, and in that pursuit abiding, ever learning, not
so far indeed from the heaven of pleasure? Does he not call the other pleasures necessary,
under the idea that if there were no necessity for them, he would rather not have them?
There can be no doubt of that, he replied.
Since, then, the pleasures of each class and the life of each are in dispute, and the question is
not which life is more or less honourable, or better or worse, but which is the more pleasant or
painless-- how shall we know who speaks truly?
I cannot myself tell, he said.
Well, but what ought to be the criterion? Is any better than experience and wisdom and reason?
There cannot be a better, he said.
Then, I said, reflect. Of the three individuals, which has the greatest experience of all the
pleasures which we enumerated? Has the lover of gain, in learning the nature of essential truth,
greater experience of the pleasure of knowledge than the philosopher has of the pleasure of
gain?
The philosopher, he replied, has greatly the advantage; for he has of necessity always known
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the taste of the other pleasures from his childhood upwards: but the lover of gain in all his
experience has not of necessity tasted--or, I should rather say, even had he desired, could
hardly have tasted--the sweetness of learning and knowing truth.
Then the lover of wisdom has a great advantage over the lover of gain, for he has a double
experience?
Yes, very great.
Again, has he greater experience of the pleasures of honour, or the lover of honour of the
pleasures of wisdom?
Nay, he said, all three are honoured in proportion as they attain their object; for the rich man
and the brave man and the wise man alike have their crowd of admirers, and as they all receive
honour they all have experience of the pleasures of honour; but the delight which is to be found
in the knowledge of true being is known to the philosopher only.
His experience, then, will enable him to judge better than any one?
Far better.
And he is the only one who has wisdom as well as experience?
Certainly.
Further, the very faculty which is the instrument of judgment is not possessed by the covetous
or ambitious man, but only by the philosopher?
What faculty?
Reason, with whom, as we were saying, the decision ought to rest.
Yes.
And reasoning is peculiarly his instrument?
Certainly.
If wealth and gain were the criterion, then the praise or blame of the lover of gain would surely
be the most trustworthy?
Assuredly.
Or if honour or victory or courage, in that case the judgement of the ambitious or pugnacious
would be the truest?
Clearly.
But since experience and wisdom and reason are the judges--
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The only inference possible, he replied, is that pleasures which are approved by the lover of
wisdom and reason are the truest.
And so we arrive at the result, that the pleasure of the intelligent part of the soul is the
pleasantest of the three, and that he of us in whom this is the ruling principle has the
pleasantest life.
Unquestionably, he said, the wise man speaks with authority when he approves of his own life.
And what does the judge affirm to be the life which is next, and the pleasure which is next?
Clearly that of the soldier and lover of honour; who is nearer to himself than the money-maker.
Last comes the lover of gain?
Very true, he said.
Twice in succession, then, has the just man overthrown the unjust in this conflict; and now
comes the third trial, which is dedicated to Olympian Zeus the saviour: a sage whispers in my
ear that no pleasure except that of the wise is quite true and pure-- all others are a shadow only;
and surely this will prove the greatest and most decisive of falls?
Yes, the greatest; but will you explain yourself?
I will work out the subject and you shall answer my questions.
Proceed.
Say, then, is not pleasure opposed to pain?
True.
And there is a neutral state which is neither pleasure nor pain?
There is.
A state which is intermediate, and a sort of repose of the soul about either--that is what you
mean?
Yes.
You remember what people say when they are sick?
What do they say?
That after all nothing is pleasanter than health. But then they never knew this to be the greatest
of pleasures until they were ill.
Yes, I know, he said.

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And when persons are suffering from acute pain, you must. have heard them say that there is
nothing pleasanter than to get rid of their pain?
I have.
And there are many other cases of suffering in which the mere rest and cessation of pain, and
not any positive enjoyment, is extolled by them as the greatest pleasure?
Yes, he said; at the time they are pleased and well content to be at rest.
Again, when pleasure ceases, that sort of rest or cessation will be painful?
Doubtless, he said.
Then the intermediate state of rest will be pleasure and will also be pain?
So it would seem.
But can that which is neither become both?
I should say not.
And both pleasure and pain are motions of the soul, are they not?
Yes.
But that which is neither was just now shown to be rest and not motion, and in a mean between
them?
Yes.
How, then, can we be right in supposing that the absence of pain is pleasure, or that the
absence of pleasure is pain?
Impossible.
This then is an appearance only and not a reality; that is tc say, the rest is pleasure at the
moment and in comparison of what is painful, and painful in comparison of what is pleasant; but
all these representations, when tried by the test of true pleasure, are not real but a sort of
imposition?
Look at the other class of pleasures which have no antecedent pains and you will no longer
suppose, as you perhaps may at present, that pleasure is only the cessation of pain, or pain of
pleasure.
What are they, he said, and where shall I find them?
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There are many of them: take as an example the pleasures, of smell, which are very great and
have no antecedent pains; they come in a moment, and when they depart leave no pain behind
them.
Most true, he said.
Let us not, then, be induced to believe that pure pleasure is the cessation of pain, or pain of
pleasure.
No.
Still, the more numerous and violent pleasures which reach the soul through the body are
generally of this sort--they are reliefs of pain.
That is true.
And the anticipations of future pleasures and pains are of a like nature?
Yes.
Shall I give you an illustration of them?
Let me hear.
You would allow, I said, that there is in nature an upper and lower and middle region?
I should.
And if a person were to go from the lower to the middle region, would he not imagine that he is
going up; and he who is standing in the middle and sees whence he has come, would imagine
that he is already in the upper region, if he has never seen the true upper world?
To be sure, he said; how can he think otherwise?
But if he were taken back again he would imagine, and truly imagine, that he was descending?
No doubt.
All that would arise out of his ignorance of the true upper and middle and lower regions?
Yes.
Then can you wonder that persons who are inexperienced in the truth, as they have wrong
ideas about many other things, should also have wrong ideas about pleasure and pain and the
intermediate state; so that when they are only being drawn towards the painful they feel pain
and think the pain which they experience to be real, and in like manner, when drawn away from
pain to the neutral or intermediate state, they firmly believe that they have reached the goal of
satiety and pleasure; they, not knowing pleasure, err in contrasting pain with the absence of
pain. which is like contrasting black with grey instead of white--can you wonder, I say, at this?
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No, indeed; I should be much more disposed to wonder at the opposite.
Look at the matter thus:--Hunger, thirst, and the like, are inanitions of the bodily state?
Yes.
And ignorance and folly are inanitions of the soul?
True.
And food and wisdom are the corresponding satisfactions of either?
Certainly.
And is the satisfaction derived from that which has less or from that which has more existence
the truer?
Clearly, from that which has more.
What classes of things have a greater share of pure existence in your judgment--those of which
food and drink and condiments and all kinds of sustenance are examples, or the class which
contains true opinion and knowledge and mind and all the different kinds of virtue? Put the
question in this way:--Which has a more pure being-- that which is concerned with the
invariable, the immortal, and the true, and is of such a nature, and is found in such natures; or
that which is concerned with and found in the variable and mortal, and is itself variable and
mortal?
Far purer, he replied, is the being of that which is concerned with the invariable.
And does the essence of the invariable partake of knowledge in the same degree as of
essence?
Yes, of knowledge in the same degree.
And of truth in the same degree?
Yes.
And, conversely, that which has less of truth will also have less of essence?
Necessarily.
Then, in general, those kinds of things which are in the service of the body have less of truth
and essence than those which are in the service of the soul?
Far less.
And has not the body itself less of truth and essence than the soul?
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Yes.
What is filled with more real existence, and actually has a more real existence, is more really
filled than that which is filled with less real existence and is less real?
Of course.
And if there be a pleasure in being filled with that which is according to nature, that which is
more really filled with more real being will more really and truly enjoy true pleasure; whereas
that which participates in less real being will be less truly and surely satisfied, and will
participate in an illusory and less real pleasure?
Unquestionably.
Those then who know not wisdom and virtue, and are always busy with gluttony and sensuality,
go down and up again as far as the mean; and in this region they move at random throughout
life, but they never pass into the true upper world; thither they neither look, nor do they ever find
their way, neither are they truly filled with true being, nor do they taste of pure and abiding
pleasure. Like cattle, with their eyes always looking down and their heads stooping to the earth,
that is, to the dining-table, they fatten and feed and breed, and, in their excessive love of these
delights, they kick and butt at one another with horns and hoofs which are made of iron; and
they kill one another by reason of their insatiable lust. For they fill themselves with that which is
not substantial, and the part of themselves which they fill is also unsubstantial and incontinent.
Verily, Socrates, said Glaucon, you describe the life of the many like an oracle.
Their pleasures are mixed with pains--how can they be otherwise? For they are mere shadows
and pictures of the true, and are coloured by contrast, which exaggerates both light and shade,
and so they implant in the minds of fools insane desires of themselves; and they are fought
about as Stesichorus says that the Greeks fought about the shadow of Helen at Troy in
ignorance of the truth.
Something of that sort must inevitably happen.
And must not the like happen with the spirited or passionate element of the soul? Will not the
passionate man who carries his passion into action, be in the like case, whether he is envious
and ambitious, or violent and contentious, or angry and discontented, if he be seeking to attain
honour and victory and the satisfaction of his anger without reason or sense?
Yes, he said, the same will happen with the spirited element also.
Then may we not confidently assert that the lovers of money and honour, when they seek their
pleasures under the guidance and in the company of reason and knowledge, and pursue after
and win the pleasures which wisdom shows them, will also have the truest pleasures in the
highest degree which is attainable to them, inasmuch as they follow truth; and they will have the
pleasures which are natural to them, if that which is best for each one is also most natural to
him?
Yes, certainly; the best is the most natural.

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And when the whole soul follows the philosophical principle, and there is no division, the several
parts are just, and do each of them their own business, and enjoy severally the best and truest
pleasures of which they are capable?
Exactly.
But when either of the two other principles prevails, it fails in attaining its own pleasure, and
compels the rest to pursue after a pleasure which is a shadow only and which is not their own?
True.
And the greater the interval which separates them from philosophy and reason, the more
strange and illusive will be the pleasure?
Yes.
And is not that farthest from reason which is at the greatest distance from law and order?
Clearly.
And the lustful and tyrannical desires are, as we saw, at the greatest distance? Yes.
And the royal and orderly desires are nearest?
Yes.
Then the tyrant will live at the greatest distance from true or natural pleasure, and the king at
the least?
Certainly.
But if so, the tyrant will live most unpleasantly, and the king most pleasantly?
Inevitably.
Would you know the measure of the interval which separates them?
Will you tell me?
There appear to be three pleasures, one genuine and two spurious: now the transgression of
the tyrant reaches a point beyond the spurious; he has run away from the region of law and
reason, and taken up his abode with certain slave pleasures which are his satellites, and the
measure of his inferiority can only be expressed in a figure.
How do you mean?
I assume, I said, that the tyrant is in the third place from the oligarch; the democrat was in the
middle?
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Yes.
And if there is truth in what has preceded, he will be wedded to an image of pleasure which is
thrice removed as to truth from the pleasure of the oligarch?
He will.
And the oligarch is third from the royal; since we count as one royal and aristocratical?
Yes, he is third.
Then the tyrant is removed from true pleasure by the space of a number which is three times
three?
Manifestly.
The shadow then of tyrannical pleasure determined by the number of length will be a plane
figure.
Certainly.
And if you raise the power and make the plane a solid, there is no difficulty in seeing how vast is
the interval by which the tyrant is parted from the king.
Yes; the arithmetician will easily do the sum.
Or if some person begins at the other end and measures the interval by which the king is parted
from the tyrant in truth of pleasure, he will find him, when the multiplication is complete, living
729 times more pleasantly, and the tyrant more painfully by this same interval.
What a wonderful calculation! And how enormous is the distance which separates the just from
the unjust in regard to pleasure and pain!
Yet a true calculation, I said, and a number which nearly concerns human life, if human beings
are concerned with days and nights and months and years.
Yes, he said, human life is certainly concerned with them.
Then if the good and just man be thus superior in pleasure to the evil and unjust, his superiority
will be infinitely greater in propriety of life and in beauty and virtue?
Immeasurably greater.
Well, I said, and now having arrived at this stage of the argument, we may revert to the words
which brought us hither: Was not some one saying that injustice was a gain to the perfectly
unjust who was reputed to be just?
Yes, that was said.
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Now then, having determined the power and quality of justice and injustice, let us have a little
conversation with him.
What shall we say to him?
Let us make an image of the soul, that he may have his own words presented before his eyes.
Of what sort?
An ideal image of the soul, like the composite creations of ancient mythology, such as the
Chimera or Scylla or Cerberus, and there are many others in which two or more different
natures are said to grow into one.
There are said of have been such unions.
Then do you now model the form of a multitudinous, many-headed monster, having a ring of
heads of all manner of beasts, tame and wild, which he is able to generate and metamorphose
at will.
You suppose marvellous powers in the artist; but, as language is more pliable than wax or any
similar substance, let there be such a model as you propose.
Suppose now that you make a second form as of a lion, and a third of a man, the second
smaller than the first, and the third smaller than the second.
That, he said, is an easier task; and I have made them as you say.
And now join them, and let the three grow into one.
That has been accomplished.
Next fashion the outside of them into a single image, as of a man, so that he who is not able to
look within, and sees only the outer hull, may believe the beast to be a single human creature. I
have done so, he said.
And now, to him who maintains that it is profitable for the human creature to be unjust, and
unprofitable to be just, let us reply that, if he be right, it is profitable for this creature to feast the
multitudinous monster and strengthen the lion and the lion-like qualities, but to starve and
weaken the man, who is consequently liable to be dragged about at the mercy of either of the
other two; and he is not to attempt to familiarize or harmonize them with one another-- he ought
rather to suffer them to fight and bite and devour one another.
Certainly, he said; that is what the approver of injustice says.
To him the supporter of justice makes answer that he should ever so speak and act as to give
the man within him in some way or other the most complete mastery over the entire human
creature.
He should watch over the many-headed monster like a good husbandman, fostering and
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cultivating the gentle qualities, and preventing the wild ones from growing; he should be making
the lion-heart his ally, and in common care of them all should be uniting the several parts with
one another and with himself.
Yes, he said, that is quite what the maintainer of justice say.
And so from every point of view, whether of pleasure, honour, or advantage, the approver of
justice is right and speaks the truth, and the disapprover is wrong and false and ignorant.
Yes, from every point of view.
Come, now, and let us gently reason with the unjust, who is not intentionally in error. `Sweet
Sir,' we will say to him, what think you of things esteemed noble and ignoble? Is not the noble
that which subjects the beast to the man, or rather to the god in man; and the ignoble that which
subjects the man to the beast?' He can hardly avoid saying yes--can he now?
Not if he has any regard for my opinion.
But, if he agree so far, we may ask him to answer another question: `Then how would a man
profit if he received gold and silver on the condition that he was to enslave the noblest part of
him to the worst? Who can imagine that a man who sold his son or daughter into slavery for
money, especially if he sold them into the hands of fierce and evil men, would be the gainer,
however large might be the sum which he received? And will any one say that he is not a
miserable caitiff who remorselessly sells his own divine being to that which is most godless and
detestable? Eriphyle took the necklace as the price of her husband's life, but he is taking a bribe
in order to compass a worse ruin.'
Yes, said Glaucon, far worse--I will answer for him.
Has not the intemperate been censured of old, because in him the huge multiform monster is
allowed to be too much at large?
Clearly.
And men are blamed for pride and bad temper when the lion and serpent element in them
disproportionately grows and gains strength?
Yes.
And luxury and softness are blamed, because they relax and weaken this same creature, and
make a coward of him?
Very true.
And is not a man reproached for flattery and meanness who subordinates the spirited animal to
the unruly monster, and, for the sake of money, of which he can never have enough, habituates
him in the days of his youth to be trampled in the mire, and from being a lion to become a
monkey?
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True, he said.
And why are mean employments and manual arts a reproach Only because they imply a natural
weakness of the higher principle; the individual is unable to control the creatures within him, but
has to court them, and his great study is how to flatter them.
Such appears to be the reason.
And therefore, being desirous of placing him under a rule like that of the best, we say that he
ought to be the servant of the best, in whom the Divine rules; not, as Thrasymachus supposed,
to the injury of the servant, but because every one had better be ruled by divine wisdom
dwelling within him; or, if this be impossible, then by an external authority, in order that we may
be all, as far as possible, under the same government, friends and equals.
True, he said.
And this is clearly seen to be the intention of the law, which is the ally of the whole city; and is
seen also in the authority which we exercise over children, and the refusal to let them be free
until we have established in them a principle analogous to the constitution of a state, and by
cultivation of this higher element have set up in their hearts a guardian and ruler like our own,
and when this is done they may go their ways.
Yes, he said, the purpose of the law is manifest.
From what point of view, then, and on what ground can we say that a man is profited by
injustice or intemperance or other baseness, which will make him a worse man, even though he
acquire money or power by his wickedness?
From no point of view at all.
What shall he profit, if his injustice be undetected and unpunished? He who is undetected only
gets worse, whereas he who is detected and punished has the brutal part of his nature silenced
and humanized; the gentler element in him is liberated, and his whole soul is perfected and
ennobled by the acquirement of justice and temperance and wisdom, more than the body ever
is by receiving gifts of beauty, strength and health, in proportion as the soul is more honourable
than the body.
Certainly, he said.
To this nobler purpose the man of understanding will devote the energies of his life. And in the
first place, he will honour studies which impress these qualities on his soul and disregard
others?
Clearly, he said.
In the next place, he will regulate his bodily habit and training, and so far will he be from yielding
to brutal and irrational pleasures, that he will regard even health as quite a secondary matter;
his first object will be not that he may be fair or strong or well, unless he is likely thereby to gain
temperance, but he will always desire so to attemper the body as to preserve the harmony of
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the soul?
Certainly he will, if he has true music in him.
And in the acquisition of wealth there is a principle of order and harmony which he will also
observe; he will not allow himself to be dazzled by the foolish applause of the world, and heap
up riches to his own infinite harm?
He will look at the city which is within him, and take heed that no disorder occur in it, such as
might arise either from superfluity or from want; and upon this principle he will regulate his
property and gain or spend according to his means.
Very true.
And, for the same reason, he will gladly accept and enjoy such honours as he deems likely to
make him a better man; but those, whether private or public, which are likely to disorder his life,
he will avoid?
Then, if that is his motive, he will not be a statesman.
By the dog of Egypt, he will! in the city which is his own he certainly will, though in the land of
his birth perhaps not, unless he have a divine call.
I understand; you mean that he will be a ruler in the city of which we are the founders, and
which exists in idea only; for I do not believe that there is such an one anywhere on earth?
In heaven, I replied, there is laid up a pattern of it, methinks, which he who desires may behold,
and beholding, may set his own house in order. But whether such an one exists, or ever will
exist in fact, is no matter; for he will live after the manner of that city, having nothing to do with
any other.
I think so, he said.
BOOK X
SOCRATES - GLAUCON
OF THE many excellences which I perceive in the order of our State, there is none which upon
reflection pleases me better than the rule about poetry.
To what do you refer?
To the rejection of imitative poetry, which certainly ought not to be received; as I see far more
clearly now that the parts of the soul have been distinguished.
What do you mean?
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Speaking in confidence, for I should not like to have my words repeated to the tragedians and
the rest of the imitative tribe-- but I do not mind saying to you, that all poetical imitations are
ruinous to the understanding of the hearers, and that the knowledge of their true nature is the
only antidote to them.
Explain the purport of your remark.
Well, I will tell you, although I have always from my earliest youth had an awe and love of
Homer, which even now makes the words falter on my lips, for he is the great captain and
teacher of the whole of that charming tragic company; but a man is not to be reverenced more
than the truth, and therefore I will speak out.
Very good, he said.
Listen to me then, or rather, answer me.
Put your question.
Can you tell me what imitation is? for I really do not know.
A likely thing, then, that I should know.
Why not? for the duller eye may often see a thing sooner than the keener.
Very true, he said; but in your presence, even if I had any faint notion, I could not muster
courage to utter it. Will you enquire yourself?
Well then, shall we begin the enquiry in our usual manner: Whenever a number of individuals
have a common name, we assume them to have also a corresponding idea or form. Do you
understand me?
I do.
Let us take any common instance; there are beds and tables in the world-- plenty of them, are
there not?
Yes.
But there are only two ideas or forms of them--one the idea of a bed, the other of a table.
True.
And the maker of either of them makes a bed or he makes a table for our use, in accordance
with the idea--that is our way of speaking in this and similar instances--but no artificer makes the
ideas themselves: how could he?
Impossible.
And there is another artist,--I should like to know what you would say of him.
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Who is he?
One who is the maker of all the works of all other workmen.
What an extraordinary man!
Wait a little, and there will be more reason for your saying so. For this is he who is able to make
not only vessels of every kind, but plants and animals, himself and all other things--the earth
and heaven, and the things which are in heaven or under the earth; he makes the gods also.
He must be a wizard and no mistake.
Oh! you are incredulous, are you? Do you mean that there is no such maker or creator, or that
in one sense there might be a maker of all these things but in another not? Do you see that
there is a way in which you could make them all yourself?
What way?
An easy way enough; or rather, there are many ways in which the feat might be quickly and
easily accomplished, none quicker than that of turning a mirror round and round--you would
soon enough make the sun and the heavens, and the earth and yourself, and other animals and
plants, and all the, other things of which we were just now speaking, in the mirror.
Yes, he said; but they would be appearances only.
Very good, I said, you are coming to the point now. And the painter too is, as I conceive, just
such another--a creator of appearances, is he not?
Of course.
But then I suppose you will say that what he creates is untrue. And yet there is a sense in which
the painter also creates a bed?
Yes, he said, but not a real bed.
And what of the maker of the bed? Were you not saying that he too makes, not the idea which,
according to our view, is the essence of the bed, but only a particular bed?
Yes, I did.
Then if he does not make that which exists he cannot make true existence, but only some
semblance of existence; and if any one were to say that the work of the maker of the bed, or of
any other workman, has real existence, he could hardly be supposed to be speaking the truth.
At any rate, he replied, philosophers would say that he was not speaking the truth.
No wonder, then, that his work too is an indistinct expression of truth.
No wonder.
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Suppose now that by the light of the examples just offered we enquire who this imitator is?
If you please.
Well then, here are three beds: one existing in nature, which is made by God, as I think that we
may say--for no one else can be the maker?
No.
There is another which is the work of the carpenter?
Yes.
And the work of the painter is a third?
Yes.
Beds, then, are of three kinds, and there are three artists who superintend them: God, the
maker of the bed, and the painter?
Yes, there are three of them.
God, whether from choice or from necessity, made one bed in nature and one only; two or more
such ideal beds neither ever have been nor ever will be made by God.
Why is that?
Because even if He had made but two, a third would still appear behind them which both of
them would have for their idea, and that would be the ideal bed and the two others.
Very true, he said.
God knew this, and He desired to be the real maker of a real bed, not a particular maker of a
particular bed, and therefore He created a bed which is essentially and by nature one only.
So we believe.
Shall we, then, speak of Him as the natural author or maker of the bed?
Yes, he replied; inasmuch as by the natural process of creation He is the author of this and of
all other things.
And what shall we say of the carpenter--is not he also the maker of the bed?
Yes.
But would you call the painter a creator and maker?
Certainly not.
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Yet if he is not the maker, what is he in relation to the bed?
I think, he said, that we may fairly designate him as the imitator of that which the others make.
Good, I said; then you call him who is third in the descent from nature an imitator?
Certainly, he said.
And the tragic poet is an imitator, and therefore, like all other imitators, he is thrice removed
from the king and from the truth?
That appears to be so.
Then about the imitator we are agreed. And what about the painter?-- I would like to know
whether he may be thought to imitate that which originally exists in nature, or only the creations
of artists?
The latter.
As they are or as they appear? You have still to determine this.
What do you mean?
I mean, that you may look at a bed from different points of view, obliquely or directly or from any
other point of view, and the bed will appear different, but there is no difference in reality. And the
same of all things.
Yes, he said, the difference is only apparent.
Now let me ask you another question: Which is the art of painting designed to be--an imitation
of things as they are, or as they appear-- of appearance or of reality?
Of appearance.
Then the imitator, I said, is a long way off the truth, and can do all things because he lightly
touches on a small part of them, and that part an image. For example: A painter will paint a
cobbler, carpenter, or any other artist, though he knows nothing of their arts; and, if he is a good
artist, he may deceive children or simple persons, when he shows them his picture of a
carpenter from a distance, and they will fancy that they are looking at a real carpenter.
Certainly.
And whenever any one informs us that he has found a man knows all the arts, and all things
else that anybody knows, and every single thing with a higher degree of accuracy than any
other man-- whoever tells us this, I think that we can only imagine to be a simple creature who is
likely to have been deceived by some wizard or actor whom he met, and whom he thought all-
knowing, because he himself was unable to analyse the nature of knowledge and ignorance
and imitation.
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Most true.
And so, when we hear persons saying that the tragedians, and Homer, who is at their head,
know all the arts and all things human, virtue as well as vice, and divine things too, for that the
good poet cannot compose well unless he knows his subject, and that he who has not this
knowledge can never be a poet, we ought to consider whether here also there may not be a
similar illusion. Perhaps they may have come across imitators and been deceived by them; they
may not have remembered when they saw their works that these were but imitations thrice
removed from the truth, and could easily be made without any knowledge of the truth, because
they are appearances only and not realities? Or, after all, they may be in the right, and poets do
really know the things about which they seem to the many to speak so well?
The question, he said, should by all means be considered.
Now do you suppose that if a person were able to make the original as well as the image, he
would seriously devote himself to the image-making branch? Would he allow imitation to be the
ruling principle of his life, as if he had nothing higher in him?
I should say not.
The real artist, who knew what he was imitating, would be interested in realities and not in
imitations; and would desire to leave as memorials of himself works many and fair; and, instead
of being the author of encomiums, he would prefer to be the theme of them.
Yes, he said, that would be to him a source of much greater honour and profit.
Then, I said, we must put a question to Homer; not about medicine, or any of the arts to which
his poems only incidentally refer: we are not going to ask him, or any other poet, whether he
has cured patients like Asclepius, or left behind him a school of medicine such as the
Asclepiads were, or whether he only talks about medicine and other arts at second hand; but
we have a right to know respecting military tactics, politics, education, which are the chiefest
and noblest subjects of his poems, and we may fairly ask him about them. `Friend Homer,' then
we say to him, ìf you are only in the second remove from truth in what you say of virtue, and not
in the third-- not an image maker or imitator--and if you are able to discern what pursuits make
men better or worse in private or public life, tell us what State was ever better governed by your
help? The good order of Lacedaemon is due to Lycurgus, and many other cities great and small
have been similarly benefited by others; but who says that you have been a good legislator to
them and have done them any good? Italy and Sicily boast of Charondas, and there is Solon
who is renowned among us; but what city has anything to say about you?' Is there any city
which he might name?
I think not, said Glaucon; not even the Homerids themselves pretend that he was a legislator.
Well, but is there any war on record which was carried on successfully by him, or aided by his
counsels, when he was alive?
There is not.
Or is there any invention of his, applicable to the arts or to human life, such as Thales the
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Milesian or Anacharsis the Scythian, and other ingenious men have conceived, which is
attributed to him?
There is absolutely nothing of the kind.
But, if Homer never did any public service, was he privately a guide or teacher of any? Had he
in his lifetime friends who loved to associate with him, and who handed down to posterity an
Homeric way of life, such as was established by Pythagoras who was so greatly beloved for his
wisdom, and whose followers are to this day quite celebrated for the order which was named
after him?
Nothing of the kind is recorded of him. For surely, Socrates, Creophylus, the companion of
Homer, that child of flesh, whose name always makes us laugh, might be more justly ridiculed
for his stupidity, if, as is said, Homer was greatly neglected by him and others in his own day
when he was alive?
Yes, I replied, that is the tradition. But can you imagine, Glaucon, that if Homer had really been
able to educate and improve mankind-- if he had possessed knowledge and not been a mere
imitator--can you imagine, I say, that he would not have had many followers, and been
honoured and loved by them? Protagoras of Abdera, and Prodicus of Ceos, and a host of
others, have only to whisper to their contemporaries: `You will never be able to manage either
your own house or your own State until you appoint us to be your ministers of education'-- and
this ingenious device of theirs has such an effect in making them love them that their
companions all but carry them about on their shoulders. And is it conceivable that the
contemporaries of Homer, or again of Hesiod, would have allowed either of them to go about as
rhapsodists, if they had really been able to make mankind virtuous? Would they not have been
as unwilling to part with them as with gold, and have compelled them to stay at home with
them? Or, if the master would not stay, then the disciples would have followed him about
everywhere, until they had got education enough?
Yes, Socrates, that, I think, is quite true.
Then must we not infer that all these poetical individuals, beginning with Homer, are only
imitators; they copy images of virtue and the like, but the truth they never reach? The poet is
like a painter who, as we have already observed, will make a likeness of a cobbler though he
understands nothing of cobbling; and his picture is good enough for those who know no more
than he does, and judge only by colours and figures.
Quite so.
In like manner the poet with his words and phrases may be said to lay on the colours of the
several arts, himself understanding their nature only enough to imitate them; and other people,
who are as ignorant as he is, and judge only from his words, imagine that if he speaks of
cobbling, or of military tactics, or of anything else, in metre and harmony and rhythm, he speaks
very well-- such is the sweet influence which melody and rhythm by nature have. And I think that
you must have observed again and again what a poor appearance the tales of poets make
when stripped of the colours which music puts upon them, and recited in simple prose.
Yes, he said.
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They are like faces which were never really beautiful, but only blooming; and now the bloom of
youth has passed away from them?
Exactly.
Here is another point: The imitator or maker of the image knows nothing of true existence; he
knows appearances only. Am I not right?
Yes.
Then let us have a clear understanding, and not be satisfied with half an explanation.
Proceed.
Of the painter we say that he will paint reins, and he will paint a bit?
Yes.
And the worker in leather and brass will make them?
Certainly.
But does the painter know the right form of the bit and reins? Nay, hardly even the workers in
brass and leather who make them; only the horseman who knows how to use them--he knows
their right form.
Most true.
And may we not say the same of all things?
What?
That there are three arts which are concerned with all things: one which uses, another which
makes, a third which imitates them?
Yes.
And the excellence or beauty or truth of every structure, animate or inanimate, and of every
action of man, is relative to the use for which nature or the artist has intended them.
True.
Then the user of them must have the greatest experience of them, and he must indicate to the
maker the good or bad qualities which develop themselves in use; for example, the flute-player
will tell the flute-maker which of his flutes is satisfactory to the performer; he will tell him how he
ought to make them, and the other will attend to his instructions?
Of course.
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The one knows and therefore speaks with authority about the goodness and badness of flutes,
while the other, confiding in him, will do what he is told by him?
True.
The instrument is the same, but about the excellence or badness of it the maker will only attain
to a correct belief; and this he will gain from him who knows, by talking to him and being
compelled to hear what he has to say, whereas the user will have knowledge?
True.
But will the imitator have either? Will he know from use whether or no his drawing is correct or
beautiful? Or will he have right opinion from being compelled to associate with another who
knows and gives him instructions about what he should draw?
Neither.
Then he will no more have true opinion than he will have knowledge about the goodness or
badness of his imitations?
I suppose not.
The imitative artist will be in a brilliant state of intelligence about his own creations?
Nay, very much the reverse.
And still he will go on imitating without knowing what makes a thing good or bad, and may be
expected therefore to imitate only that which appears to be good to the ignorant multitude?
Just so.
Thus far then we are pretty well agreed that the imitator has no knowledge worth mentioning of
what he imitates. Imitation is only a kind of play or sport, and the tragic poets, whether they write
in iambic or in Heroic verse, are imitators in the highest degree?
Very true.
And now tell me, I conjure you, has not imitation been shown by us to be concerned with that
which is thrice removed from the truth?
Certainly.
And what is the faculty in man to which imitation is addressed?
What do you mean?
I will explain: The body which is large when seen near, appears small when seen at a distance?
True.
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And the same object appears straight when looked at out of the water, and crooked when in the
water; and the concave becomes convex, owing to the illusion about colours to which the sight
is liable. Thus every sort of confusion is revealed within us; and this is that weakness of the
human mind on which the art of conjuring and of deceiving by light and shadow and other
ingenious devices imposes, having an effect upon us like magic.
True.
And the arts of measuring and numbering and weighing come to the rescue of the human
understanding-there is the beauty of them-- and the apparent greater or less, or more or
heavier, no longer have the mastery over us, but give way before calculation and measure and
weight?
Most true.
And this, surely, must be the work of the calculating and rational principle in the soul
To be sure.
And when this principle measures and certifies that some things are equal, or that some are
greater or less than others, there occurs an apparent contradiction?
True.
But were we not saying that such a contradiction is the same faculty cannot have contrary
opinions at the same time about the same thing?
Very true.
Then that part of the soul which has an opinion contrary to measure is not the same with that
which has an opinion in accordance with measure?
True.
And the better part of the soul is likely to be that which trusts to measure and calculation?
Certainly.
And that which is opposed to them is one of the inferior principles of the soul?
No doubt.
This was the conclusion at which I was seeking to arrive when I said that painting or drawing,
and imitation in general, when doing their own proper work, are far removed from truth, and the
companions and friends and associates of a principle within us which is equally removed from
reason, and that they have no true or healthy aim.
Exactly.
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The imitative art is an inferior who marries an inferior, and has inferior offspring.
Very true.
And is this confined to the sight only, or does it extend to the hearing also, relating in fact to
what we term poetry?
Probably the same would be true of poetry.
Do not rely, I said, on a probability derived from the analogy of painting; but let us examine
further and see whether the faculty with which poetical imitation is concerned is good or bad.
By all means.
We may state the question thus:--Imitation imitates the actions of men, whether voluntary or
involuntary, on which, as they imagine, a good or bad result has ensued, and they rejoice or
sorrow accordingly. Is there anything more?
No, there is nothing else.
But in all this variety of circumstances is the man at unity with himself--or rather, as in the
instance of sight there was confusion and opposition in his opinions about the same things, so
here also is there not strife and inconsistency in his life? Though I need hardly raise the
question again, for I remember that all this has been already admitted; and the soul has been
acknowledged by us to be full of these and ten thousand similar oppositions occurring at the
same moment?
And we were right, he said.
Yes, I said, thus far we were right; but there was an omission which must now be supplied.
What was the omission?
Were we not saying that a good man, who has the misfortune to lose his son or anything else
which is most dear to him, will bear the loss with more equanimity than another?
Yes.
But will he have no sorrow, or shall we say that although he cannot help sorrowing, he will
moderate his sorrow?
The latter, he said, is the truer statement.
Tell me: will he be more likely to struggle and hold out against his sorrow when he is seen by his
equals, or when he is alone?
It will make a great difference whether he is seen or not.
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When he is by himself he will not mind saying or doing many things which he would be
ashamed of any one hearing or seeing him do?
True.
There is a principle of law and reason in him which bids him resist, as well as a feeling of his
misfortune which is forcing him to indulge his sorrow?
True.
But when a man is drawn in two opposite directions, to and from the same object, this, as we
affirm, necessarily implies two distinct principles in him?
Certainly.
One of them is ready to follow the guidance of the law?
How do you mean?
The law would say that to be patient under suffering is best, and that we should not give way to
impatience, as there is no knowing whether such things are good or evil; and nothing is gained
by impatience; also, because no human thing is of serious importance, and grief stands in the
way of that which at the moment is most required.
What is most required? he asked.
That we should take counsel about what has happened, and when the dice have been thrown
order our affairs in the way which reason deems best; not, like children who have had a fall,
keeping hold of the part struck and wasting time in setting up a howl, but always accustoming
the soul forthwith to apply a remedy, raising up that which is sickly and fallen, banishing the cry
of sorrow by the healing art.
Yes, he said, that is the true way of meeting the attacks of fortune.
Yes, I said; and the higher principle is ready to follow this suggestion of reason?
Clearly.
And the other principle, which inclines us to recollection of our troubles and to lamentation, and
can never have enough of them, we may call irrational, useless, and cowardly?
Indeed, we may.
And does not the latter--I mean the rebellious principle-- furnish a great variety of materials for
imitation? Whereas the wise and calm temperament, being always nearly equable, is not easy
to imitate or to appreciate when imitated, especially at a public festival when a promiscuous
crowd is assembled in a theatre. For the feeling represented is one to which they are strangers.
Certainly.
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Then the imitative poet who aims at being popular is not by nature made, nor is his art intended,
to please or to affect the principle in the soul; but he will prefer the passionate and fitful temper,
which is easily imitated?
Clearly.
And now we may fairly take him and place him by the side of the painter, for he is like him in two
ways: first, inasmuch as his creations have an inferior degree of truth--in this, I say, he is like
him; and he is also like him in being concerned with an inferior part of the soul; and therefore we
shall be right in refusing to admit him into a well-ordered State, because he awakens and
nourishes and strengthens the feelings and impairs the reason. As in a city when the evil are
permitted to have authority and the good are put out of the way, so in the soul of man, as we
maintain, the imitative poet implants an evil constitution, for he indulges the irrational nature
which has no discernment of greater and less, but thinks the same thing at one time great and
at another small-he is a manufacturer of images and is very far removed from the truth.
Exactly.
But we have not yet brought forward the heaviest count in our accusation:-- the power which
poetry has of harming even the good (and there are very few who are not harmed), is surely an
awful thing?
Yes, certainly, if the effect is what you say.
Hear and judge: The best of us, as I conceive, when we listen to a passage of Homer, or one of
the tragedians, in which he represents some pitiful hero who is drawling out his sorrows in a
long oration, or weeping, and smiting his breast--the best of us, you know, delight in giving way
to sympathy, and are in raptures at the excellence of the poet who stirs our feelings most.
Yes, of course I know.
But when any sorrow of our own happens to us, then you may observe that we pride ourselves
on the opposite quality--we would fain be quiet and patient; this is the manly part, and the other
which delighted us in the recitation is now deemed to be the part of a woman.
Very true, he said.
Now can we be right in praising and admiring another who is doing that which any one of us
would abominate and be ashamed of in his own person?
No, he said, that is certainly not reasonable.
Nay, I said, quite reasonable from one point of view.
What point of view?
If you consider, I said, that when in misfortune we feel a natural hunger and desire to relieve our
sorrow by weeping and lamentation, and that this feeling which is kept under control in our own
calamities is satisfied and delighted by the poets;-the better nature in each of us, not having
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been sufficiently trained by reason or habit, allows the sympathetic element to break loose
because the sorrow is another's; and the spectator fancies that there can be no disgrace to
himself in praising and pitying any one who comes telling him what a good man he is, and
making a fuss about his troubles; he thinks that the pleasure is a gain, and why should he be
supercilious and lose this and the poem too? Few persons ever reflect, as I should imagine, that
from the evil of other men something of evil is communicated to themselves. And so the feeling
of sorrow which has gathered strength at the sight of the misfortunes of others is with difficulty
repressed in our own.
How very true!
And does not the same hold also of the ridiculous? There are jests which you would be
ashamed to make yourself, and yet on the comic stage, or indeed in private, when you hear
them, you are greatly amused by them, and are not at all disgusted at their unseemliness;-- the
case of pity is repeated;--there is a principle in human nature which is disposed to raise a laugh,
and this which you once restrained by reason, because you were afraid of being thought a
buffoon, is now let out again; and having stimulated the risible faculty at the theatre, you are
betrayed unconsciously to yourself into playing the comic poet at home.
And the same may be said of lust and anger and all the other affections, of desire and pain and
pleasure, which are held to be inseparable from every action--in all of them poetry feeds and
waters the passions instead of drying them up; she lets them rule, although they ought to be
controlled, if mankind are ever to increase in happiness and virtue.
I cannot deny it.
Therefore, Glaucon, I said, whenever you meet with any of the eulogists of Homer declaring that
he has been the educator of Hellas, and that he is profitable for education and for the ordering
of human things, and that you should take him up again and again and get to know him and
regulate your whole life according to him, we may love and honour those who say these
things--they are excellent people, as far as their lights extend; and we are ready to acknowledge
that Homer is the greatest of poets and first of tragedy writers; but we must remain firm in our
conviction that hymns to the gods and praises of famous men are the only poetry which ought to
be admitted into our State. For if you go beyond this and allow the honeyed muse to enter,
either in epic or lyric verse, not law and the reason of mankind, which by common consent have
ever been deemed best, but pleasure and pain will be the rulers in our State.
And now since we have reverted to the subject of poetry, let this our defence serve to show the
reasonableness of our former judgment in sending away out of our State an art having the
tendencies which we have described; for reason constrained us. But that she may impute to us
any harshness or want of politeness, let us tell her that there is an ancient quarrel between
philosophy and poetry; of which there are many proofs, such as the saying of `the yelping
hound howling at her lord,' or of one `mighty in the vain talk of fools,' and `the mob of sages
circumventing Zeus,' and the `subtle thinkers who are beggars after all'; and there are
innumerable other signs of ancient enmity between them. Notwithstanding this, let us assure our
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sweet friend and the sister arts of imitation that if she will only prove her title to exist in a well-
ordered State we shall be delighted to receive her--we are very conscious of her charms; but we
may not on that account betray the truth. I dare say, Glaucon, that you are as much charmed by
her as I am, especially when she appears in Homer?
Yes, indeed, I am greatly charmed.
Shall I propose, then, that she be allowed to return from exile, but upon this condition only--that
she make a defence of herself in lyrical or some other metre?
Certainly.
And we may further grant to those of her defenders who are lovers of poetry and yet not poets
the permission to speak in prose on her behalf: let them show not only that she is pleasant but
also useful to States and to human life, and we will listen in a kindly spirit; for if this can be
proved we shall surely be the gainers--I mean, if there is a use in poetry as well as a delight?
Certainly, he said, we shall the gainers.
If her defence fails, then, my dear friend, like other persons who are enamoured of something,
but put a restraint upon themselves when they think their desires are opposed to their interests,
so too must we after the manner of lovers give her up, though not without a struggle. We too are
inspired by that love of poetry which the education of noble States has implanted in us, and
therefore we would have her appear at her best and truest; but so long as she is unable to
make good her defence, this argument of ours shall be a charm to us, which we will repeat to
ourselves while we listen to her strains; that we may not fall away into the childish love of her
which captivates the many. At all events we are well aware that poetry being such as we have
described is not to be regarded seriously as attaining to the truth; and he who listens to her,
fearing for the safety of the city which is within him, should be on his guard against her
seductions and make our words his law.
Yes, he said, I quite agree with you.
Yes, I said, my dear Glaucon, for great is the issue at stake, greater than appears, whether a
man is to be good or bad. And what will any one be profited if under the influence of honour or
money or power, aye, or under the excitement of poetry, he neglect justice and virtue?
Yes, he said; I have been convinced by the argument, as I believe that any one else would have
been.
And yet no mention has been made of the greatest prizes and rewards which await virtue.
What, are there any greater still? If there are, they must be of an inconceivable greatness.
Why, I said, what was ever great in a short time? The whole period of threescore years and ten
is surely but a little thing in comparison with eternity?
Say rather `nothing,' he replied.
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And should an immortal being seriously think of this little space rather than of the whole?
Of the whole, certainly. But why do you ask?
Are you not aware, I said, that the soul of man is immortal and imperishable?
He looked at me in astonishment, and said: No, by heaven: And are you really prepared to
maintain this?
Yes, I said, I ought to be, and you too--there is no difficulty in proving it.
I see a great difficulty; but I should like to hear you state this argument of which you make so
light.
Listen then.
I am attending.
There is a thing which you call good and another which you call evil?
Yes, he replied.
Would you agree with me in thinking that the corrupting and destroying element is the evil, and
the saving and improving element the good?
Yes.
And you admit that every thing has a good and also an evil; as ophthalmia is the evil of the eyes
and disease of the whole body; as mildew is of corn, and rot of timber, or rust of copper and
iron: in everything, or in almost everything, there is an inherent evil and disease?
Yes, he said.
And anything which is infected by any of these evils is made evil, and at last wholly dissolves
and dies?
True.
The vice and evil which is inherent in each is the destruction of each; and if this does not
destroy them there is nothing else that will; for good certainly will not destroy them, nor again,
that which is neither good nor evil.
Certainly not.
If, then, we find any nature which having this inherent corruption cannot be dissolved or
destroyed, we may be certain that of such a nature there is no destruction?
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Well, I said, and is there no evil which corrupts the soul?
Yes, he said, there are all the evils which we were just now passing in review: unrighteousness,
intemperance, cowardice, ignorance.
But does any of these dissolve or destroy her?--and here do not let us fall into the error of
supposing that the unjust and foolish man, when he is detected, perishes through his own
injustice, which is an evil of the soul. Take the analogy of the body: The evil of the body is a
disease which wastes and reduces and annihilates the body; and all the things of which we
were just now speaking come to annihilation through their own corruption attaching to them and
inhering in them and so destroying them. Is not this true?
Yes.
Consider the soul in like manner. Does the injustice or other evil which exists in the soul waste
and consume her? Do they by attaching to the soul and inhering in her at last bring her to death,
and so separate her from the body ?
Certainly not.
And yet, I said, it is unreasonable to suppose that anything can perish from without through
affection of external evil which could not be destroyed from within by a corruption of its own?
It is, he replied.
Consider, I said, Glaucon, that even the badness of food, whether staleness, decomposition, or
any other bad quality, when confined to the actual food, is not supposed to destroy the body;
although, if the badness of food communicates corruption to the body, then we should say that
the body has been destroyed by a corruption of itself, which is disease, brought on by this; but
that the body, being one thing, can be destroyed by the badness of food, which is another, and
which does not engender any natural infection-- this we shall absolutely deny?
Very true.
And, on the same principle, unless some bodily evil can produce an evil of the soul, we must not
suppose that the soul, which is one thing, can be dissolved by any merely external evil which
belongs to another?
Yes, he said, there is reason in that.
Either then, let us refute this conclusion, or, while it remains unrefuted, let us never say that
fever, or any other disease, or the knife put to the throat, or even the cutting up of the whole
body into the minutest pieces, can destroy the soul, until she herself is proved to become more
unholy or unrighteous in consequence of these things being done to the body; but that the soul,
or anything else if not destroyed by an internal evil, can be destroyed by an external one, is not
to. be affirmed by any man.
And surely, he replied, no one will ever prove that the souls of men become more unjust in
consequence of death.
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But if some one who would rather not admit the immortality of the soul boldly denies this, and
says that the dying do really become more evil and unrighteous, then, if the speaker is right, I
suppose that injustice, like disease, must be assumed to be fatal to the unjust, and that those
who take this disorder die by the natural inherent power of destruction which evil has, and which
kills them sooner or later, but in quite another way from that in which, at present, the wicked
receive death at the hands of others as the penalty of their deeds?
Nay, he said, in that case injustice, if fatal to the unjust, will not be so very terrible to him, for he
will be delivered from evil. But I rather suspect the opposite to be the truth, and that injustice
which, if it have the power, will murder others, keeps the murderer alive--aye, and well awake
too; so far removed is her dwelling-place from being a house of death.
True, I said; if the inherent natural vice or evil of the soul is unable to kill or destroy her, hardly
will that which is appointed to be the destruction of some other body, destroy a soul or anything
else except that of which it was appointed to be the destruction.
Yes, that can hardly be.
But the soul which cannot be destroyed by an evil, whether inherent or external, must exist for
ever, and if existing for ever, must be immortal?
Certainly.
That is the conclusion, I said; and, if a true conclusion, then the souls must always be the same,
for if none be destroyed they will not diminish in number. Neither will they increase, for the
increase of the immortal natures must come from something mortal, and all things would thus
end in immortality.
Very true.
But this we cannot believe--reason will not allow us-- any more than we can believe the soul, in
her truest nature, to be full of variety and difference and dissimilarity.
The soul, I said, being, as is now proven, immortal, must be the fairest of compositions and
cannot be compounded of many elements?
Certainly not.
Her immortality is demonstrated by the previous argument, and there are many other proofs; but
to see her as she really is, not as we now behold her, marred by communion with the body and
other miseries, you must contemplate her with the eye of reason, in her original purity; and then
her beauty will be revealed, and justice and injustice and all the things which we have described
will be manifested more clearly. Thus far, we have spoken the truth concerning her as she
appears at present, but we must remember also that we have seen her only in a condition which
may be compared to that of the sea-god Glaucus, whose original image can hardly be
discerned because his natural members are broken off and crushed and damaged by the waves
in all sorts of ways, and incrustations have grown over them of seaweed and shells and stones,
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so that he is more like some monster than he is to his own natural form. And the soul which we
behold is in a similar condition, disfigured by ten thousand ills. But not there, Glaucon, not there
must we look.
Where then?
At her love of wisdom. Let us see whom she affects, and what society and converse she seeks
in virtue of her near kindred with the immortal and eternal and divine; also how different she
would become if wholly following this superior principle, and borne by a divine impulse out of the
ocean in which she now is, and disengaged from the stones and shells and things of earth and
rock which in wild variety spring up around her because she feeds upon earth, and is overgrown
by the good things of this life as they are termed: then you would see her as she is, and know
whether she has one shape only or many, or what her nature is. Of her affections and of the
forms which she takes in this present life I think that we have now said enough.
True, he replied.
And thus, I said, we have fulfilled the conditions of the argument; we have not introduced the
rewards and glories of justice, which, as you were saying, are to be found in Homer and Hesiod;
but justice in her own nature has been shown to be best for the soul in her own nature. Let a
man do what is just, whether he have the ring of Gyges or not, and even if in addition to the ring
of Gyges he put on the helmet of Hades.
Very true.
And now, Glaucon, there will be no harm in further enumerating how many and how great are
the rewards which justice and the other virtues procure to the soul from gods and men, both in
life and after death.
Will you repay me, then, what you borrowed in the argument?
What did I borrow?
The assumption that the just man should appear unjust and the unjust just: for you were of
opinion that even if the true state of the case could not possibly escape the eyes of gods and
men, still this admission ought to be made for the sake of the argument, in order that pure
justice might be weighed against pure injustice. Do you remember?
I should be much to blame if I had forgotten.
Then, as the cause is decided, I demand on behalf of justice that the estimation in which she is
held by gods and men and which we acknowledge to be her due should now be restored to her
by us; since she has been shown to confer reality, and not to deceive those who truly possess
her, let what has been taken from her be given back, that so she may win that palm of
appearance which is hers also, and which she gives to her own.
The demand, he said, is just.

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In the first place, I said--and this is the first thing which you will have to give back--the nature
both of the just and unjust is truly known to the gods.
Granted.
And if they are both known to them, one must be the friend and the other the enemy of the
gods, as we admitted from the beginning?
True.
And the friend of the gods may be supposed to receive from them all things at their best,
excepting only such evil as is the necessary consequence of former sins?
Certainly.
Then this must be our notion of the just man, that even when he is in poverty or sickness, or any
other seeming misfortune, all things will in the end work together for good to him in life and
death: for the gods have a care of any one whose desire is to become just and to be like God,
as far as man can attain the divine likeness, by the pursuit of virtue?
Yes, he said; if he is like God he will surely not be neglected by him.
And of the unjust may not the opposite be supposed?
Certainly.
Such, then, are the palms of victory which the gods give the just?
That is my conviction.
And what do they receive of men? Look at things as they really are, and you will see that the
clever unjust are in the case of runners, who run well from the starting-place to the goal but not
back again from the goal: they go off at a great pace, but in the end only look foolish, slinking
away with their ears draggling on their shoulders, and without a crown; but the true runner
comes to the finish and receives the prize and is crowned. And this is the way with the just; he
who endures to the end of every action and occasion of his entire life has a good report and
carries off the prize which men have to bestow.
True.
And now you must allow me to repeat of the just the blessings which you were attributing to the
fortunate unjust. I shall say of them, what you were saying of the others, that as they grow older,
they become rulers in their own city if they care to be; they marry whom they like and give in
marriage to whom they will; all that you said of the others I now say of these. And, on the other
hand, of the unjust I say that the greater number, even though they escape in their youth, are
found out at last and look foolish at the end of their course, and when they come to be old and
miserable are flouted alike by stranger and citizen; they are beaten and then come those things
unfit for ears polite, as you truly term them; they will be racked and have their eyes burned out,
as you were saying. And you may suppose that I have repeated the remainder of your tale of
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horrors. But will you let me assume, without reciting them, that these things are true?
Certainly, he said, what you say is true.
These, then, are the prizes and rewards and gifts which are bestowed upon the just by gods
and men in this present life, in addition to the other good things which justice of herself
provides.
Yes, he said; and they are fair and lasting.
And yet, I said, all these are as nothing, either in number or greatness in comparison with those
other recompenses which await both just and unjust after death. And you ought to hear them,
and then both just and unjust will have received from us a full payment of the debt which the
argument owes to them.
Speak, he said; there are few things which I would more gladly hear.
SOCRATES
Well, I said, I will tell you a tale; not one of the tales which Odysseus tells to the hero Alcinous,
yet this too is a tale of a hero, Er the son of Armenius, a Pamphylian by birth. He was slain in
battle, and ten days afterwards, when the bodies of the dead were taken up already in a state of
corruption, his body was found unaffected by decay, and carried away home to be buried. And
on the twelfth day, as he was lying on the funeral pile, he returned to life and told them what he
had seen in the other world. He said that when his soul left the body he went on a journey with a
great company, and that they came to a mysterious place at which there were two openings in
the earth; they were near together, and over against them were two other openings in the
heaven above. In the intermediate space there were judges seated, who commanded the just,
after they had given judgment on them and had bound their sentences in front of them, to
ascend by the heavenly way on the right hand; and in like manner the unjust were bidden by
them to descend by the lower way on the left hand; these also bore the symbols of their deeds,
but fastened on their backs. He drew near, and they told him that he was to be the messenger
who would carry the report of the other world to men, and they bade him hear and see all that
was to be heard and seen in that place. Then he beheld and saw on one side the souls
departing at either opening of heaven and earth when sentence had been given on them; and at
the two other openings other souls, some ascending out of the earth dusty and worn with travel,
some descending out of heaven clean and bright. And arriving ever and anon they seemed to
have come from a long journey, and they went forth with gladness into the meadow, where they
encamped as at a festival; and those who knew one another embraced and conversed, the
souls which came from earth curiously enquiring about the things above, and the souls which
came from heaven about the things beneath. And they told one another of what had happened
by the way, those from below weeping and sorrowing at the remembrance of the things which
they had endured and seen in their journey beneath the earth (now the journey lasted a
thousand years), while those from above were describing heavenly delights and visions of
inconceivable beauty. The Story, Glaucon, would take too long to tell; but the sum was this:--
He said that for every wrong which they had done to any one they suffered tenfold; or once in a
hundred years--such being reckoned to be the length of man's life, and the penalty being thus
paid ten times in a thousand years. If, for example, there were any who had been the cause of
many deaths, or had betrayed or enslaved cities or armies, or been guilty of any other evil
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behaviour, for each and all of their offences they received punishment ten times over, and the
rewards of beneficence and justice and holiness were in the same proportion. I need hardly
repeat what he said concerning young children dying almost as soon as they were born. Of
piety and impiety to gods and parents, and of murderers, there were retributions other and
greater far which he described. He mentioned that he was present when one of the spirits asked
another, `Where is Ardiaeus the Great?' (Now this Ardiaeus lived a thousand years before the
time of Er: he had been the tyrant of some city of Pamphylia, and had murdered his aged father
and his elder brother, and was said to have committed many other abominable crimes.) The
answer of the other spirit was: `He comes not hither and will never come. And this,' said he,
`was one of the dreadful sights which we ourselves witnessed. We were at the mouth of the
cavern, and, having completed all our experiences, were about to reascend, when of a sudden
Ardiaeus appeared and several others, most of whom were tyrants; and there were also besides
the tyrants private individuals who had been great criminals: they were just, as they fancied,
about to return into the upper world, but the mouth, instead of admitting them, gave a roar,
whenever any of these incurable sinners or some one who had not been sufficiently punished
tried to ascend; and then wild men of fiery aspect, who were standing by and heard the sound,
seized and carried them off; and Ardiaeus and others they bound head and foot and hand, and
threw them down and flayed them with scourges, and dragged them along the road at the side,
carding them on thorns like wool, and declaring to the passers-by what were their crimes, and
that they were being taken away to be cast into hell.' And of all the many terrors which they had
endured, he said that there was none like the terror which each of them felt at that moment, lest
they should hear the voice; and when there was silence, one by one they ascended with
exceeding joy. These, said Er, were the penalties and retributions, and there were blessings as
great.
Now when the spirits which were in the meadow had tarried seven days, on the eighth they
were obliged to proceed on their journey, and, on the fourth day after, he said that they came to
a place where they could see from above a line of light, straight as a column, extending right
through the whole heaven and through the earth, in colour resembling the rainbow, only brighter
and purer; another day's journey brought them to the place, and there, in the midst of the light,
they saw the ends of the chains of heaven let down from above: for this light is the belt of
heaven, and holds together the circle of the universe, like the under-girders of a trireme. From
these ends is extended the spindle of Necessity, on which all the revolutions turn. The shaft and
hook of this spindle are made of steel, and the whorl is made partly of steel and also partly of
other materials. Now the whorl is in form like the whorl used on earth; and the description of it
implied that there is one large hollow whorl which is quite scooped out, and into this is fitted
another lesser one, and another, and another, and four others, making eight in all, like vessels
which fit into one another; the whorls show their edges on the upper side, and on their lower
side all together form one continuous whorl. This is pierced by the spindle, which is driven home
through the centre of the eighth. The first and outermost whorl has the rim broadest, and the
seven inner whorls are narrower, in the following proportions-- the sixth is next to the first in
size, the fourth next to the sixth; then comes the eighth; the seventh is fifth, the fifth is sixth, the
third is seventh, last and eighth comes the second. The largest (of fixed stars) is spangled, and
the seventh (or sun) is brightest; the eighth (or moon) coloured by the reflected light of the
seventh; the second and fifth (Saturn and Mercury) are in colour like one another, and yellower
than the preceding; the third (Venus) has the whitest light; the fourth (Mars) is reddish; the sixth
(Jupiter) is in whiteness second. Now the whole spindle has the same motion; but, as the whole
revolves in one direction, the seven inner circles move slowly in the other, and of these the
swiftest is the eighth; next in swiftness are the seventh, sixth, and fifth, which move together;
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third in swiftness appeared to move according to the law of this reversed motion the fourth; the
third appeared fourth and the second fifth. The spindle turns on the knees of Necessity; and on
the upper surface of each circle is a siren, who goes round with them, hymning a single tone or
note. The eight together form one harmony; and round about, at equal intervals, there is another
band, three in number, each sitting upon her throne: these are the Fates, daughters of
Necessity, who are clothed in white robes and have chaplets upon their heads, Lachesis and
Clotho and Atropos, who accompany with their voices the harmony of the sirens-- Lachesis
singing of the past, Clotho of the present, Atropos of the future; Clotho from time to time
assisting with a touch of her right hand the revolution of the outer circle of the whorl or spindle,
and Atropos with her left hand touching and guiding the inner ones, and Lachesis laying hold of
either in turn, first with one hand and then with the other.
When Er and the spirits arrived, their duty was to go at once to Lachesis; but first of all there
came a prophet who arranged them in order; then he took from the knees of Lachesis lots and
samples of lives, and having mounted a high pulpit, spoke as follows: `Hear the word of
Lachesis, the daughter of Necessity. Mortal souls, behold a new cycle of life and mortality. Your
genius will not be allotted to you, but you choose your genius; and let him who draws the first lot
have the first choice, and the life which he chooses shall be his destiny. Virtue is free, and as a
man honours or dishonours her he will have more or less of her; the responsibility is with the
chooser--God is justified.' When the Interpreter had thus spoken he scattered lots indifferently
among them all, and each of them took up the lot which fell near him, all but Er himself (he was
not allowed), and each as he took his lot perceived the number which he had obtained. Then
the Interpreter placed on the ground before them the samples of lives; and there were many
more lives than the souls present, and they were of all sorts. There were lives of every animal
and of man in every condition. And there were tyrannies among them, some lasting out the
tyrant's life, others which broke off in the middle and came to an end in poverty and exile and
beggary; and there were lives of famous men, some who were famous for their form and beauty
as well as for their strength and success in games, or, again, for their birth and the qualities of
their ancestors; and some who were the reverse of famous for the opposite qualities. And of
women likewise; there was not, however, any definite character them, because the soul, when
choosing a new life, must of necessity become different. But there was every other quality, and
the all mingled with one another, and also with elements of wealth and poverty, and disease
and health; and there were mean states also. And here, my dear Glaucon, is the supreme peril
of our human state; and therefore the utmost care should be taken. Let each one of us leave
every other kind of knowledge and seek and follow one thing only, if peradventure he may be
able to learn and may find some one who will make him able to learn and discern between good
and evil, and so to choose always and everywhere the better life as he has opportunity. He
should consider the bearing of all these things which have been mentioned severally and
collectively upon virtue; he should know what the effect of beauty is when combined with
poverty or wealth in a particular soul, and what are the good and evil consequences of noble
and humble birth, of private and public station, of strength and weakness, of cleverness and
dullness, and of all the soul, and the operation of them when conjoined; he will then look at the
nature of the soul, and from the consideration of all these qualities he will be able to determine
which is the better and which is the worse; and so he will choose, giving the name of evil to the
life which will make his soul more unjust, and good to the life which will make his soul more just;
all else he will disregard. For we have seen and know that this is the best choice both in life and
after death. A man must take with him into the world below an adamantine faith in truth and
right, that there too he may be undazzled by the desire of wealth or the other allurements of evil,
lest, coming upon tyrannies and similar villainies, he do irremediable wrongs to others and
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suffer yet worse himself; but let him know how to choose the mean and avoid the extremes on
either side, as far as possible, not only in this life but in all that which is to come. For this is the
way of happiness.
And according to the report of the messenger from the other world this was what the prophet
said at the time: Èven for the last comer, if he chooses wisely and will live diligently, there is
appointed a happy and not undesirable existence. Let not him who chooses first be careless,
and let not the last despair.' And when he had spoken, he who had the first choice came
forward and in a moment chose the greatest tyranny; his mind having been darkened by folly
and sensuality, he had not thought out the whole matter before he chose, and did not at first
sight perceive that he was fated, among other evils, to devour his own children. But when he
had time to reflect, and saw what was in the lot, he began to beat his breast and lament over his
choice, forgetting the proclamation of the prophet; for, instead of throwing the blame of his
misfortune on himself, he accused chance and the gods, and everything rather than himself.
Now he was one of those who came from heaven, and in a former life had dwelt in a well-
ordered State, but his virtue was a matter of habit only, and he had no philosophy. And it was
true of others who were similarly overtaken, that the greater number of them came from heaven
and therefore they had never been schooled by trial, whereas the pilgrims who came from earth,
having themselves suffered and seen others suffer, were not in a hurry to choose. And owing to
this inexperience of theirs, and also because the lot was a chance, many of the souls
exchanged a good destiny for an evil or an evil for a good. For if a man had always on his
arrival in this world dedicated himself from the first to sound philosophy, and had been
moderately fortunate in the number of the lot, he might, as the messenger reported, be happy
here, and also his journey to another life and return to this, instead of being rough and
underground, would be smooth and heavenly. Most curious, he said, was the spectacle--sad
and laughable and strange; for the choice of the souls was in most cases based on their
experience of a previous life. There he saw the soul which had once been Orpheus choosing
the life of a swan out of enmity to the race of women, hating to be born of a woman because
they had been his murderers; he beheld also the soul of Thamyras choosing the life of a
nightingale; birds, on the other hand, like the swan and other musicians, wanting to be men.
The soul which obtained the twentieth lot chose the life of a lion, and this was the soul of Ajax
the son of Telamon, who would not be a man, remembering the injustice which was done him
the judgment about the arms. The next was Agamemnon, who took the life of an eagle,
because, like Ajax, he hated human nature by reason of his sufferings. About the middle came
the lot of Atalanta; she, seeing the great fame of an athlete, was unable to resist the temptation:
and after her there followed the soul of Epeus the son of Panopeus passing into the nature of a
woman cunning in the arts; and far away among the last who chose, the soul of the jester
Thersites was putting on the form of a monkey. There came also the soul of Odysseus having
yet to make a choice, and his lot happened to be the last of them all. Now the recollection of
former tolls had disenchanted him of ambition, and he went about for a considerable time in
search of the life of a private man who had no cares; he had some difficulty in finding this, which
was lying about and had been neglected by everybody else; and when he saw it, he said that he
would have done the had his lot been first instead of last, and that he was delighted to have it.
And not only did men pass into animals, but I must also mention that there were animals tame
and wild who changed into one another and into corresponding human natures-- the good into
the gentle and the evil into the savage, in all sorts of combinations.
All the souls had now chosen their lives, and they went in the order of their choice to Lachesis,
who sent with them the genius whom they had severally chosen, to be the guardian of their lives
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and the fulfiller of the choice: this genius led the souls first to Clotho, and drew them within the
revolution of the spindle impelled by her hand, thus ratifying the destiny of each; and then, when
they were fastened to this, carried them to Atropos, who spun the threads and made them
irreversible, whence without turning round they passed beneath the throne of Necessity; and
when they had all passed, they marched on in a scorching heat to the plain of Forgetfulness,
which was a barren waste destitute of trees and verdure; and then towards evening they
encamped by the river of Unmindfulness, whose water no vessel can hold; of this they were all
obliged to drink a certain quantity, and those who were not saved by wisdom drank more than
was necessary; and each one as he drank forgot all things. Now after they had gone to rest,
about the middle of the night there was a thunderstorm and earthquake, and then in an instant
they were driven upwards in all manner of ways to their birth, like stars shooting. He himself was
hindered from drinking the water. But in what manner or by what means he returned to the body
he could not say; only, in the morning, awaking suddenly, he found himself lying on the pyre.
And thus, Glaucon, the tale has been saved and has not perished, and will save us if we are
obedient to the word spoken; and we shall pass safely over the river of Forgetfulness and our
soul will not be defiled. Wherefore my counsel is that we hold fast ever to the heavenly way and
follow after justice and virtue always, considering that the soul is immortal and able to endure
every sort of good and every sort of evil. Thus shall we live dear to one another and to the gods,
both while remaining here and when, like conquerors in the games who go round to gather gifts,
we receive our reward. And it shall be well with us both in this life and in the pilgrimage of a
thousand years which we have been describing.
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translated by Benjamin Jowett

Thus in a succession of characters Plato represents the successive stages of morality,

I turned round, and asked him where his master was.

SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS - GLAUCON - ADEIMANTUS

You are not far wrong, I said.

But do you see, he rejoined, how many we are?

But can you persuade us, if we refuse to listen to you? he said.

Certainly not, replied Glaucon.

Then we are not going to listen; of that you may be assured.

Glaucon said: I suppose, since you insist, that we must.

Very good, I replied.

GLAUCON - CEPHALUS - SOCRATES

You are quite right, he replied.

CEPHALUS - SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS

Quite correct, Socrates, if Simonides is to be believed, said Polemarchus interposing.

Is not Polemarchus your heir? I said.

To be sure, he answered, and went away laughing to the sacrifices.

And are enemies also to receive what we owe to them?

That must have been his meaning, he said.

And what due or proper thing is given by cookery, and to what?

And what is that which justice gives, and to whom?

That is his meaning then?

Or when they are on a voyage, amid the perils of the sea?

But when a man is well, my dear Polemarchus, there is no need of a physician?

And he who is not on a voyage has no need of a pilot?

Then in time of peace justice will be of no use?

I am very far from thinking so.

You think that justice may be of use in peace as well as in war?

Like husbandry for the acquisition of corn?

Or like shoemaking for the acquisition of shoes,--that is what you mean?

In contracts, Socrates, justice is of use.

And by contracts you mean partnerships?

The skilful player.

Quite the reverse.

When you want a deposit to be kept safely.

You mean when money is not wanted, but allowed to lie?

That is to say, justice is useful when money is useless?

That is the inference.

That is the inference.

Then he who is a good keeper of anything is also a good thief?

That, I suppose, is to be inferred.

That is implied in the argument.

He was excellent above all men in theft and perjury.

But the good are just and would not do an injustice?

Then according to your argument it is just to injure those who do no wrong?

Nay, Socrates; the doctrine is immoral.

I like that better.

fallen in the use of the words `friend' and `enemy.'

What was the error, Polemarchus? I asked.

We assumed that he is a friend who seems to be or who is thought good.

And how is the error to be corrected?

Yes, that appears to me to be the truth.

But ought the just to injure any one at all?

When horses are injured, are they improved or deteriorated?

Deteriorated, that is to say, in the good qualities of horses, not of dogs?

And that human virtue is justice?

Then men who are injured are of necessity made unjust?

That is the result.

But can the musician by his art make men unmusical?