Chapter VII: Book II: Argument (2)

CHAP. XV.—Therefore, said I, by how much more important is the work of the state-guardians, by so much will it require the greatest leisure from other pursuits, and likewise the greatest art and study! I really think so, replied he. And will it not also require natural talents suited to this particular profession? Of course. I think, then, we should make it our special business, if possible, to choose what men and what talents are suited for the guardianship of a state. Aye, our special business. By Zeus, said I, in that case we have undertaken no trifling business; but, still we must not despair, as long, at least, as we have any ability. Of course not, said he. Think you, then, said I, that the genius of a high-bred whelp at all differs as respects guardianship, from that of a high-bred youth? What do you mean? For instance, must not each of them be acute in perception, swift in pursuing what he perceives, and strong likewise, if he wants, when he has taken, to overcome it? Of all these there is great need, said he. And surely he must be brave also, if he is to fight well. Of course. But is he likely to be brave, who has not a high spirit;[83] whether horse, or dog, or any other animal? Have you not observed, how irresistible and invincible is anger, and, when it is present, that every soul is fearless of everything and indomitable? I have. It is plain, then, what species of guardian we ought to have, as respects the body? Yes. And with reference to his soul moreover, that he should be spirited. That is clear, also. How then, said I, Glaucon, can they be otherwise than savage towards each other and the other citizens, when of such a temper? By Zeus, said he, not easily. Still it is necessary, that towards their friends they should be mild, but towards their enemies fierce:—for otherwise they would not wait for others to destroy them, but rather be beforehand with them in doing it. True, said he. What shall we do, then, said I;—whence shall we find a disposition at the same time mild and magnanimous?—for the mild nature is surely opposed to the high-spirited? It appears so. Nevertheless, if he be deprived of either of these, he cannot be a good guardian; but this seems to be impossible:—and thus it turns out that it is impossible there should be a good guardian. It seems so, said he. Then I, being at a loss, and considering what had passed, said:—We very justly hesitate, my friend, for we have departed from the image that we first established. How say you? Did we not observe that there are such kinds of tempers as we imagined did not exist, having these opposite qualities? Where? One may see it also in other animals, and not a little in that, to which we compared our guardian; for you know it is the natural temper of generous dogs to be as gentle as possible towards their intimates and their acquaintances, but the reverse to those whom they know not. Aye,—I know it. This then, said I, is quite possible; and we do not unnaturally require our guardian to be so. It seems not.

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Footnote 83:

Gr. ἐθελήσει, in the sense of μέλλει or δύναται.

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CHAP. XVI.—Are you, further, of opinion, that he who is to be our guardian should, besides being spirited, have a philosophic nature also? How? said he:—for I do not understand. This too, said I, you will observe in dogs, what is also well worthy of admiration in the brute. What? He is angry at every unknown person that he sees, though he has never suffered ill from him before; but one that is known he fawns upon, even though he may never have received any good from him. Did you never wonder at this? I never, said he, thought of it before; but he does so, it is clear. Moreover, this affection of his nature appears elegant at least, and truly philosophic. In what respect? Because, said I, it distinguishes a friendly and unfriendly aspect by nothing else but this,—that it knows the one, but not the other:—and how can we refuse to consider that as the love of learning, which defines the friendly and the foreign by intelligence and ignorance? By no means, said he:—it cannot be otherwise. Nevertheless, said I, to be a lover of learning and a philosopher, are the same. The same, said he. May we not then boldly lay down [the principle,] that in man too, if any one be mild towards his intimates and acquaintances, he must by nature be a philosopher and a lover of learning? Let us so lay it down, said he.

He, then, who intends to be a good and worthy state-guardian, should be by nature a philosopher, spirited, swift, and strong. By all means, said he. Let him, then, be just such as this, said I. In what manner, then, shall they be trained and instructed? and will the consideration of this at all aid us in perceiving the object, for the sake of which we are considering all these things; that is to say, how justice and injustice arise in a state? that we may not omit any necessary part of our argument, or wade through what is superfluous? Then, said Glaucon’s brother: I, for my part, quite expect, that this inquiry will conduce to this end. By Zeus, said I, friend Adimantus, we must not dismiss it; even though it be somewhat too long. No, truly. Come then, let us, as if we were talking in the way of fable, and at our leisure, give some ideal training to these men.[84] It is right to do so.

CHAP. XVII.—What then is the education?—Is it difficult to discover a better than has been discovered for a long time? that is, surely, gymnastics for the body, and music for the mind? It is. Must we not first, then, begin by teaching music, rather than gymnastics? Of course. When you say music, you mean arguments, do you not? I do. But of arguments there are two kinds,—the one true, the other false. Yes. And they must be instructed in both,—but first in the false. I do not understand, said he, what you mean. Know you not, said I, that first of all we tell children fables;—and this, [surely,] to speak generally, is falsehood; though there is some truth in it; but we employ fables with children before gymnastic exercises. We do. This was what I meant, then, by saying that we must begin music before gymnastics. Right, said he. And know you not, that the beginning of every work is most important, especially to any one young and tender;—because then that particular impression is most easily instilled and formed, which any one may wish to imprint on each individual. Entirely so. Shall we then let children hear any kind of fables composed by any kind of persons, and receive into their minds opinions in a great measure contrary to those which we think they should have when they are grown up? We should by no means allow it. First of all, then, as it seems, we must exercise control over the fable-makers; and whatever beautiful fable they may invent, we should select, and what is not so, we should reject:—and we are to prevail on nurses and mothers to repeat to the children such fables as are selected, and fashion their minds by fables, much more than their bodies by their hands. But very many of those that they now tell them must be cast aside. What, for instance? said he. In the more important fables, said I, we shall see the lesser likewise:—for the fashion of them must be the same; and both the greater and the less must have the same kind of influence:—do not you think so? I do, said he: but I do not at all understand, which of them you call the greater. Those, said I, which both Hesiod and Homer told us, and the other poets also:—for they composed and related false fables for mankind, and do still relate them. What class, said he, do you mean;—and what do you blame in them? That, said I, which ought first and most of all to be blamed,—especially when one does not falsify well. What is that? When a poet, in his composition, exhibits bad representations of the nature of gods and heroes,—just as a painter draws a picture not at all resembling what he was intending to paint. Yes, it is quite right, said he, that such as these should be blamed:—but how do we say, and in what respect? First of all, said I, with reference to that greatest falsehood, in matters of grave importance too, in saying which he did not falsify well, that Uranus made what Hesiod says he did; and then again how Kronos punished him, and what Kronos did, and suffered from his son:[85] for though these things were true, yet I think they should not be so readily told to the unwise and the young, but rather concealed from them;—and were there need to tell them, they should be heard in secrecy, by as few as possible, after sacrificing not a [valueless] hog,[86] but some great and wonderful sacrifice, in order that it may fall to the lot of the fewest possible to hear them. These fables, said he, are indeed injurious. Neither are they to be told, Adimantus, said I, in our state:—nor should it be said in the hearing of a youth, that he who commits the most extreme injustice, or that he who punishes in every possible way a father who commits injustice, does nothing strange, but only does the same as the first and the greatest of the gods. No truly, said he, nor do such things as these seem to me proper to be said. Neither, generally, said I, must it be told, how gods war with gods, and plot and fight against one another (for such assertions are not true),—if, at least, it be the duty of those who are to guard the state to esteem it most shameful to hate each other on slight grounds. As little ought we to describe in fables, and with ornamental aids, the battles of the giants, and other many and various feuds, both of gods and heroes, with their own kindred and relations:—but if we would persuade them that never at all should one citizen hate another, and that it is not holy, such things as these are rather to be told them in early childhood, by the old men and women and those well advanced in life; and the poets should be obliged to compose consistently with these views. And [the fables of] Hera fettered by her son,[87] and Hephæstus hurled from heaven by his father for going to assist his mother when beaten,[88] and all those battles of the gods which Homer has composed, we must not admit into our state;—either in allegory or without allegory; for young persons are not able to judge what is allegory and what is not, but whatever opinions they receive at such an age are wont to be obliterated with difficulty, and immovable. Hence, one would think, we should of all things endeavour, that what they first hear be composed in the best manner for exciting them to virtue.

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Footnote 84:

Gr. λόγῳ παιδεύωμεν. Comp. ch. iv. 361 b, and De Legg. iv. p. 712
a:—πλάττειν τῷ λόγῳ νόμους.

Footnote 85:

Comp. Hesiod. Theogon. v. 154-6, and 178-80.

Footnote 86:

Allusion is here made to the mysteries of Eleusis, in which all about
to be initiated sacrificed a hog,—a circumstance referred to by
Aristophanes, Pax, v. 373-5; Acharn. vv. 747 and 764. The verb ἀκοῦσαι
refers to the cabalistic oaths and secrets that were listened to
during the process of initiation.

Footnote 87:

Suidas tells us, under the word Ἥρα, that the myth here alluded to was
mentioned in a passage of Pindar, and that it was to be found also in
a comedy of Epicharmus, both now lost.

Footnote 88:

Comp. Hom. Il. i. v. 588.

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CHAP. XVIII.—There is reason for it, said he:—but, if any one should ask us about these, what they are, and what kind of fables, which should we name? Adimantus, I replied, you and I are not poets at present, but founders of a city, and it is the founder’s business to know the models on which the poets are to compose their fables, contrary to which they are not to be tolerated; but it is not our province to make fables for them. Right, said he. But as to this very thing,—namely, the models to be taken in speaking about the gods, what must they be? Some such as these, said I:—God is always to be represented such as he is, whether we represent him in epic, in song, or in tragedy. Necessarily so. Is not God essentially good, and is he not to be described as such? Without doubt. But nothing that is good is hurtful, is it? I do not think so. Does then what is not hurtful ever hurt? By no means. Does that, which hurts not, do any evil? Nor this either. And what does no evil cannot be the cause of any evil? Of course not. But what?—good is beneficial. Yes. It is, therefore, the cause of prosperity? Yes. Good, therefore, is not the cause of all things, but the cause of those things only which are in a right state,—not the cause of those things which are in a wrong state. Entirely so, said he. Neither, then, can God, said I, since he is good, be the cause of all things, as the many say, but only the cause of a few things to men, but of many things not the cause; for our blessings are much fewer than our troubles: and no other must be assigned as the cause of our blessings; whereas of our troubles we must seek some other causes, and not God. You seem to me, said he, to speak most truly. We must not admit, then, said I, that error of Homer or any other poet who foolishly errs with respect to the gods, and says how—

Fast by the threshold of Jove’s courts are placed
Two casks; one stored with evil, one with good,
From which the God dispenses as he wills.
For whom the glorious Thund’rer mingles both,
He leads a life chequer’d with good and ill
Alternate; but to whom he gives unmix’d
The bitter cup, he makes that man a curse,
His name becomes a by-word of reproach,
His strength is hunger-bitten, and he walks
The blessed earth unblest, go where he may,—[89]

Nor, that Zeus—

Grants mortal man both happiness and woe.

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Footnote 89:

Hom. Il. xxiv. v. 527-31.

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CHAP. XIX.—As regards the violation of oaths and treaties which Pandarus effected, if any should say it was done by the agency of Athena and Zeus, we cannot approve;—neither [if he were to relate] the dissension among the gods, and the judgment by Themis and Zeus; nor yet must we suffer the youth to hear what Æschylus says; how,

Forthwith to mortals God invents a cause,
Whene’er he wills their dwellings to destroy;—

and, besides, if any one is making poetical compositions, in which are these iambics, the sufferings of Niobe, of the Pelopides, or the Trojans, or others of a like nature, we must either not suffer him to say, that they are the works of God,—or, if of God, we must discover that principle of action which we now require, and say, that God did what was just and good, and that they were benefited by being chastised: and we must not let a poet say, that those are miserable who are punished, and that it is God who does these things. If they say, however, that the wicked, as being miserable, need correction, and that, in being punished, they are benefited by God, we may suffer the assertion.—To say, however, that God, who is good, is the cause of ill to any one, this we must by all means oppose, and suffer no one to say so in our state; if at any rate we wish it well governed;—neither must we allow any one, young or old, to hear such things told in fable, either in verse or prose,—as their relation is neither consistent with holiness, nor profitable to us, nor consistent with themselves.

I vote along with you, said he, as respects this law,—for it quite pleases me. This, then, said I, is probably one of the laws and models as respects the gods, by which it will be necessary for those who speak to speak and for those who compose to compose, that God is not the cause of all things, but of good. Yes, said he, of course. But what as to this second law?—Think you that God is a sorcerer, and appears designedly, at different times, in different shapes,—sometimes like himself,—and, at other times, changing his form into many shapes,—sometimes deceiving us and making us conceive false opinions of him;—or, that he is simple, and that he by no means quits his proper form? I cannot, now, at least, say so, replied he. But what as to this;—if anything be changed from its proper form, must it not be necessarily changed by itself, or by another? Undoubtedly. Are not those things which are in the best state, changed and moved least of all other by another;—as the body, by meats and drinks, and labours, and all kinds of plants by droughts and winds, and such like accidents? Is not the most healthy and vigorous least of all changed? Surely. And as to the soul itself, will not external accidents least of all disorder and change the bravest and wisest? Yes. And surely all manufactured vessels, and buildings, and vestments, such as are properly made and in a right state, are according to the same reasoning least of all changed by time, or other accidents? Such is the case. Everything then, which is in a good state, either by nature or art, or both, receives the smallest change from another. It seems so. But God, and all that belongs to divinity, are in the best state? Of course. In this way, then, God should least of all have many shapes? Least of all, truly.

CHAP. XX.—Again,—should he change and alter himself? Clearly so, said he, if he be changed at all. Does he then change himself to what is better, and fairer, or to the worse, and more deformed? To the worse, surely, replied he,—if he be changed at all; for we can never say, that God is at all deficient in beauty or excellence. You speak most correctly, said I. And this being so, think you, Adimantus, that any one, either of gods or men, would willingly make himself any way worse? Impossible, said he. It is impossible, then, said I, for a god to desire to change himself; but, as it seems, each being most beautiful and excellent, continues always to the utmost of his power invariably in his own form. This seems a necessary conclusion, said he. Well then, said I, most excellent Adimantus, let not any of the poets tell us, how

... in similitude of strangers oft
The gods, who can with ease all shapes assume,
Repair to populous cities....[90]

Neither let any one belie Proteus and Thetis, nor introduce Hera in tragedies or other poems, as having transformed herself into a priestess, collecting for

Those life-sustaining sons
Of Inachus, the Argive streams;—

nor let them tell us many other such falsehoods:—nor again, let mothers, persuaded by them, terrify their children, telling the stories wrong,—as, that certain gods wander by night,

Resembling various guests, in various forms,—

lest they should, at one and the same time, blaspheme against the gods, and make their children cowards. Surely not, said he. But do the gods, said I, who in themselves never change, still make us imagine that they appear in various forms, deceiving us, and playing the sorcerer? Perhaps they do, said he. What, said I;—can a god wish to deceive,—holding up a mere phantom, either in word or deed? I know not, said he. Know you not, said I, that a real falsehood (if we be allowed to say so), both all the gods and men abhor? How mean you? replied he. Thus, said I: that to be deceived in the most excellent part of oneself, and that about one’s highest interests, is what no one wishes of his own accord; but, of all things, every one is most afraid of this happening to him. Even yet, said he, I do not understand you. Because, said I, you think I am saying something awful:—but I am saying, that for the soul to be deceived with respect to realities, and to be so deceived and ignorant, and in that to have obtained and to maintain a falsehood, is what every one would least of all choose; and would most hate it in the soul. Most especially, said he. But this, as I was now saying, might very correctly be termed a real falsehood—ignorance in the soul of the deceived person; for imitation in words is a kind of image of the affection the soul feels, and springs up afterwards, and is not altogether a pure falsehood:—is it not so? Assuredly.

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Footnote 90:

Odyss. xvii. v. 485, 6.

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CHAP. XXI.—But a real falsehood is not only hated by the gods, but also by men. It appears so to me. But what as to a falsehood in words? when is it of such service, so as not to deserve hatred?—Is it not when employed towards enemies, and some even of those called friends,—when during madness, or other folly, they attempt to do some mischief;—in that case, is it not useful for dissuasion as a drug;—and in the fables we just mentioned, because we know not how the truth stands about ancient things, do we not forge a falsehood resembling the truth as much as possible, and so make it useful? It certainly is so, said he. In which of these cases, then, is a falsehood useful to God?—Does he invent a falsehood resembling the truth, because he is ignorant of ancient things? That were ridiculous, said he. In God, then, there is not a lying poet? I think not. But would he invent a falsehood through fear of his enemies? Far from it. Or on account of the folly or madness of his friends? No, said he, none of the foolish and mad are beloved of God. There is no occasion at all, then, for a god to invent a falsehood? None. The divine and godlike nature, then, is altogether free from falsehood? Entirely so, said he. God, then, is quite simple and true, both in word and deed; neither is he changed himself, nor does he deceive others,—neither by visions, nor discourse, nor the pomp of signs, neither when we are awake nor when we sleep? So it appears to me, said he, just as you say. You agree then, said I, that this shall be the second principle which we are to lay down both in speaking and composing concerning the gods,[91]—namely, that they are neither sorcerers and change themselves, nor mislead us by falsehoods, either in word or deed? I agree. While, then, we commend many other things in Homer, this we shall not commend,—namely, the dream sent by Jupiter to Agamemnon; nor that in Æschylus, when he makes Thetis say that Apollo had sung at her marriage, that

... her happy lot should be
To bear an offspring fair, from ailment free,
And blest with lengthen’d days; and then the God,
Unfolding all, with pæans high proclaim’d
Thy heaven-blest fortunes, welcome to my soul
I hoped that all was true that Phœbus sang!
So sweetly tuned with high prophetic art;—
But he who at my nuptials joy foretold,
The same is he, who now hath slain my child.

When any one alleges such things as these about the gods, we must show disapproval, and not grant them the privilege of a chorus; neither should we suffer teachers to employ them in the training of youth,—if at least our guardians are to be pious and divine men, as far as man can be. As to all these models, I entirely agree with you, said he, and I should adopt them as laws.

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Footnote 91:

Gr. τοῦτον δεύτερον τύπον εἶναι ἐν ᾧ δεῖ περὶ θεῶν καὶ λέγειν καὶ
ποιεῖν.

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THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK.