ARGUMENT.
In the _third book_ he continues to dilate on music and gymnastics, and
then proceeds to treat of the talents, habits, and education
suitable for the inferior magistrates of a state. Lastly, from the
interpretation of a certain Phœnician fable, he demonstrates the
need of a community and general harmony between citizens, as being
truly brethren and members of the same family. It is quite
necessary, however, that there should be a distinct and well-ordered
εὐταξία, because some are capable of being χρύσος, others only
ἄργυρος, and so on, according to caste, talent, and conduct, all
together composing the state;—and lastly, he expresses
disapprobation at the great weight given to the sayings of poets,
whom accordingly he wishes to be excluded from his ideal republic,
though he willingly accords them honour on account of their great
learning.
CHAP. I.—Concerning the gods, then, said I, such things as these are, it
seems, to be both heard, and not heard, from childhood upwards, by those
who will honour the gods and parents, and not lightly esteem mutual
friendship. Aye,—and methinks, said he, these things are rightly so
understood. But what then?—If men are to be brave, must not these things
be told them, and such others likewise, as may make them least of all
afraid of death; or, think you, that any one can ever be brave, who has
this fear within him? Not I, truly, said he. But what? think you any one
can be free from the fear of death, while he conceives that there is
Hades—and a dreadful place, too,—and that in battles he will choose
death in preference to defeat and slavery? Surely not.
We ought then, it seems, to take the command, also, of those who
undertake to discourse about these fables, and entreat them not so
sweepingly to abuse what is in Hades, but rather to praise it;—since
they neither speak what is true, nor what is expedient for those who
mean to be soldiers. We ought indeed, said he. Beginning then, said I,
at this verse, we will omit all such as these:—
I had rather live
The servile hind for hire, and eat the bread
Of some man scantily, himself sustained,
Than sovereign empire hold o’er all the shades;[92]—
And this—
Lest Neptune o’er his head
Shattering the vaulted earth, should wide disclose
To mortal and immortal eyes his realm
Terrible, squalid, to the gods themselves
A dreaded spectacle;—
And—
Oh, then, ye gods! there doubtless are below,
The soul and semblance both, but empty forms;[93]—
And—
He’s wise alone, the rest are flutt’ring shades;[94]—
And—
Down into Hades from his limbs dismiss’d
His spirit fled sorrowful, of youth’s prime
And vigorous manhood suddenly bereft;[95]—
And—
... His soul, like smoke, down to the shades
Fled howling....[96]
And—
As when the bats within some hallow’d cave
Flit screaming all around; for if but one
Fall from the rock, the rest all follow him;
In such connexion mutual they adhere;
So ... the ghosts
Troop’d downward, gibbering all the dreary way.[97]
As to these and all such like passages, we must request Homer and the
other poets not to be offended at our erasing them,—not as unpoetical
and displeasing to the ears of the multitude;—for the more poetical they
are, the less should they be listened to by children, or men either, who
would be free, and fear slavery more than death. Aye, by all means.
-----
Footnote 92:
Odyss. xi. v. 488-91.
Footnote 93:
Il. xxiii. v. 103.
Footnote 94:
Il. xxii. v. 265.
Footnote 95:
Il. xvi. v. 856.
Footnote 96:
Il. xxii. v. 100.
Footnote 97:
Odyss. xxiv. v. 6.
-----
CHAP. II.—Further, are not all dreadful and frightful titles also, about
these things, to be rejected;—Cocytus and Styx, the infernals, the
life-lorn, and many other appellations of this character, such as make
all hearers shudder?—and perhaps they may well serve some other purpose;
but we fear for our guardians, lest by such terror they be made more
effeminate and soft than is fitting. We are in the right too, to be
afraid of that, said he. Are these then to be suppressed? Yes. And must
they speak, then, and compose on a contrary model to these? Plainly so.
And are we likewise to suppress the wailings and lamentations of
illustrious men? We must, said he, if we do the former. Consider then,
said I, whether we shall suppress them rightly or not,—and do we say,
that the virtuous man to another virtuous man—whose friend he is—deems
death dreadful? We do. He would not then, at any rate, lament over him,
as if he had suffered something dreadful? No, indeed. And we say this
likewise, that such an one is most of all self-sustained as regards
living happily, and distinctively above all others, least in need of
foreign aid. True, said he. To him, then, it is least dreadful to be
deprived of a son, a brother, or property, or other like things? Aye,
least of all so. Least of all then will he lament, but rather endure
with the utmost meekness whatever trouble may befal him? Certainly. We
should be right then in suppressing the lamentations of famous men, and
should assign them to women, (and among these even not to the better
sort), and to such men as are cowards; in order that, as regards those
whom we propose to educate for the guardianship of the country, they may
disdain to act thus. Right, said he. Again, then, we will entreat Homer
and the rest of the poets not to say in their compositions about
Achilles, the son of a goddess, that
Now on his side he lay, now lay supine,
Now prone; then starting from his couch he roam’d
Forlorn the beach....[98]
Nor how—
... grasping with both hands the ashes,
Down he pour’d them burning on his head....[99]
Nor the rest of his lamentation and wailing,—of whatever kind and
quantity he made them;—nor Priam, near as he was to the gods, who—
... to all—kneel’d
In turn, then roll’d himself in dust, and each
By name solicited to give him way.[100]
Still much more must we entreat them not to represent the gods as
bewailing, and saying,
Ah me, forlorn! ah me, parent in vain
Of an illustrious birth.[101]
And if they are not thus to introduce the gods, far less should they
dare thus unbecomingly to represent the greatest of those gods:
Ah! I behold a warrior dear to me,
Around the walls of Ilium driven, and grieve
For Hector,—
And again,—
Alas, he falls! my most beloved of men,
Sarpedon, vanquished by Patroclus, falls:
So will the Fates![102]
-----
Footnote 98:
Il. xxiv. v. 10.
Footnote 99:
Il. xviii. v. 23, 24.
Footnote 100:
Il. xxii. v. 414.
Footnote 101:
Il. xviii. v. 54.
-----
CHAP. III.—Supposing then, friend Adimantus, our youths should seriously
hear such things as these, and not ridicule them as spoken
unworthily,—hardly any one would think it unworthy of himself as a man,
or reprove himself [for it,] if he should chance either to say or do
anything of the kind,—but would rather, without shame or endurance, sing
many lamentations and moanings over trifling sufferings. You speak most
truly, replied he. But they must not,—as our argument has just evinced;
which we must believe, till some one persuades us by some better. They
must not, of course. Neither ought we, moreover, to be over fond of
laughing:—for commonly where a man gives himself to violent laughter,
such a disposition requires a violent change. I think so, said he.
Neither, if any one should represent worthy men as overcome by laughter,
should we allow it, much less if [he thus represent] the gods. Much,
indeed, said he. Neither, then, ought we to receive such statements as
these of Homer concerning the gods:—
Heaven rang with laughter inextinguishable—
Peal after peal, such pleasure all conceived
At sight of Vulcan in his new employ.[103]
This cannot be admitted, according to your reasoning. If you please to
call it my reasoning, said he,—this, indeed, cannot be admitted. Besides
this, however, the truth must be held of great importance:—for if we
just now argued rightly,[104] and falsehood be really of no service to
the gods, but useful to men, in the form of a drug, it is plain that
such a thing should be trusted only to physicians, but not meddled with
by private persons. Quite plain, said he. To the governors of the state,
then, if to any, it especially belongs to speak falsely either about
enemies or citizens, for the good of the state; whereas, for all the
rest, they must venture on no such a thing. For a private person,
moreover, to speak falsely against such governors, we shall deem the
same and even a greater offence, than for a patient not to speak the
truth to his physician, or for one who is learning his exercises to his
gymnastic master about the ailments of his body,—or for one not to tell
the pilot the real state of what concerns the ship and sailors, how
himself and the other sailors are performing their duty. Most true, said
he. If, however, he should detect any other citizen in a falsehood—
... of those, who by profession serve
The public, prophet, healer of disease,
Or him who makes the shafts of spears,[105]
he will punish him; as introducing a practice subversive and destructive
of the city, as well as of a ship. If, at least, it is on speech that
actions are completed.[106] But what;—will our youths have no need of
temperance? Certainly. And are not such as these in general the
principal parts of temperance; namely, obedience to governors,—and also,
that the governors themselves be temperate in drinking, feasting, and
pleasures of love? I am quite of that opinion. And we shall say, I
believe, that such views are just,—just as in Homer Diomedes says:
Sit thou in silence, and obey my speech,[107]—
and what is in connexion therewith,—thus:
So moved the Greeks successive, ev’ry chief
His loud command proclaiming, while the rest,
As voice in all those thousands none had been,
Heard mute....[108]
and so on. Well spoken. But what of such as these?—
Oh! charged with wine, in steadfastness of face.
Dog unabash’d, and yet at heart a deer,[109]—
and as respects what follows, and whatever other childish effusions are
uttered in prose or verse by private individuals, are they well
[pronounced]? No, not well:—for, methinks, even as respects temperance,
such [discourses] are not fit for the young to hear; and supposing they
do afford some other sort of pleasure, it is no wonder:—but what is your
notion of the matter? The same as your own, said he.
-----
Footnote 102:
Il. xxii. v. 168.
Footnote 103:
Namely as cupbearer to the gods.—Il. i. v. 599.
Footnote 104:
Comp. B. ii. ch. 21.
Footnote 105:
Hom. Od. xvii. v. 383.
Footnote 106:
Gr. ἐάνπερ ἐπί γε λόγῳ ἔργα τελῆται.
Footnote 107:
Il. iv. v. 412.
Footnote 108:
Il. iv. v. 431.
-----
CHAP. IV.—What?—To make the wisest man say, that it appears to him
supremely beautiful, when
... the steaming table’s spread
With plenteous viands, while the cups, with wine
From brimming beakers fill’d, pass brisk around,[110]—
does it seem proper to you that a youth should hear, in order to obtain
a command over himself;—or yet this:—
... most miserable it is,
To die of famine and have adverse fate;[111]—
or that Zeus, through desire for the pleasures of love, could easily
forget all that in solitary watching he had revolved in his mind, while
other gods and men were asleep, and could be so struck on seeing Hera,
as not even to care to enter his chamber, but to desire connexion with
her on the very spot, to embrace her on the ground, and at the same time
to declare that he was possessed with a desire, exceeding even what he
felt on their first acquaintance,
... Hidden from their parents dear;[112]—
nor yet how Ares and Aphrodite were bound by Hephæstus,[113] and other
such things? No, by Zeus, said he; these seem quite unfit. But if, said
I, any instances of self-denial in all matters are both to be spoken of
and practised by men of eminence, these should be held up for a
spectacle and celebrated in verse,—such as this:[114]—
... Smiting on his breast, thus he reproved
The mutinous inhabitant within.[115]
Just so, by all means, said he. Of course, then, we cannot by any means
allow men to receive bribes, or be covetous. By no means. Neither must
we sing to them, that
Gifts gain the gods and venerable kings;[116]—
neither can we commend Phœnix, the tutor of Achilles, as if he spoke
correctly, when counselling him to accept of presents and assist the
Greeks, but, without presents, not to desist from his wrath:[117]—nor
again, should we commend Achilles himself, or approve of his being so
covetous as to receive presents from Agamemnon, and, likewise for giving
up the dead body of Hector, on receiving a ransom, when otherwise he
would not do so. Of course it is not right, said he, to commend such
conduct as this. I am loath, said I, for Homer’s sake, to say, that it
is not allowable to allege these things against Achilles, or to believe
them, when said by others; nor, again, that he spoke thus to Apollo:—
Oh! of all the powers above,
To me most adverse, archer of the skies!
Thou hast beguiled me, leading me away ...
And hast defrauded me of great renown.
Ah! had I power, I would requite thee well,[118]—
and how he disobeyed the river [Xanthus,] though a divinity, and was
ready to fight; and again, how he says to that other river, Spercheius,
with his sacred locks,
Thy lock to great Patroclus I could give,
Who now is dead...[119]
Now, that he actually did this, we cannot believe. And again, the
dragging of Hector round the tomb of Patroclus, and the murder of the
captives at his funeral pile,—we shall deny that all this is spoken
truly; nor shall we suffer our people to believe, that Achilles, the son
of a goddess, and of Peleus, the most wise of men, and the third from
Jupiter, educated also by that sage Chiron, could be of so disordered a
constitution as to have within him two positively opposite moral
ailments,—illiberality and covetousness, and moreover a contempt both of
gods and men. You say right, replied he.
-----
Footnote 109:
Il. i. v. 225.
Footnote 110:
Od. ix. v. 8.
Footnote 111:
Od. xi. v. 342.
Footnote 112:
Il. xiv. v. 291.
Footnote 113:
Od. viii. v. 266.
Footnote 114:
θεατέον τε καὶ ἀκουστέον, which we have somewhat paraphrastically
rendered, in order to give the full meaning of the words.
Footnote 115:
Od. xx. v. 17.
Footnote 116:
This verse is not to be found in any of Homer’s writings; and Suidas
ascribes it to Hesiod. Euripides has a similar sentiment, Med. v. 934.
Footnote 117:
Comp. Il. xix. v. 278, &c. with Il. xxiv. v. 175, &c.
Footnote 118:
Il. xxii. v. 15, 16.
Footnote 119:
Il. xxiii. v. 151.
-----
CHAP. V.—Let us not then believe these things, said I, nor yet suffer
any to say, that Theseus, son of Poseidon, and Pirithous, son of Zeus,
were impelled to such dire abductions; nor that any other son of a
deity, or hero either, would dare to commit horrible and impious deeds,
such as now they falsely ascribe to them; but let us compel the poets to
say, either that the actions do not belong to these persons, or that
these persons are not the children of gods,—but not to say both, nor yet
try to persuade our youth that the gods are the origin of evil, and
heroes no better than men:—for just as we said before, these
[statements] are neither holy nor true; inasmuch as we have somewhere or
other shown, that evils cannot possibly proceed from the gods. Of course
not. But, besides this, they are hurtful to the hearers also; for every
one will pardon his own depravity, through the persuasion that even the
near relatives of the gods, near to Zeus himself, do, and have done,
things of a similar nature, of whom it has been written,—
They, on the top of Ida, have uprear’d
To parent Jupiter an altar;—
And,
Whose blood derived from gods is not extinct.
Wherefore, we should suppress all such fables, lest they create in our
youth a great readiness for committing wickedness. We should so, of
course, replied he. What other species of argument, then, said I,—since
we are speaking about arguments,—have we still remaining, which ought,
or ought not, to be maintained?—For in what manner we ought to speak of
the gods we have already mentioned, and likewise of demons and heroes,
and those too in Hades. Certainly. Does it not remain, then, to speak
concerning men? Clearly so. Still it is impossible for us, my friend, to
regulate this at present. How? Because we shall say, I think, that the
poets and orators speak amiss in most important respects concerning
mankind, as [for instance,] that many are unjust, and yet happy, while
the just are miserable; and that injustice is profitable, if it escape
observation, while justice is another’s gain indeed, but injury to one’s
self; such things, as these, we must forbid them to say, but yet bid
them sing and compose in fable the very contrary. Do you not think so? I
know it well, said he. If then you acknowledge that I am right, shall I
conclude that you have admitted what all along we were seeking for? You
judge right, said he. Shall we not allow, then, that such arguments may
be stated about men, whenever we shall have discovered the nature of
justice,—and how it is naturally profitable for the just man to be such,
whether he seem so or not? Most true, replied he.
CHAP. VI.—Concerning the arguments, then, let what we have said suffice,
and now we should consider, methinks, the manner of stating them; and
then we shall have completely considered, both what is to be spoken, and
the manner how. Adimantus here said;—What you now say, I do not
understand. Nevertheless, replied I, it needs you should.—Perhaps then
you will understand it better in this way:—is not everything told by the
mythologists or poets, a narrative of the past, present, or future?[120]
Of course, replied he. And do not they execute it, either in simple
narrative, or through the medium of imitation, or both? This too,
replied he, I yet require to understand more plainly. I appear, said I,
to be a ridiculous and dull instructor:—like those, then, who are unable
to speak, I will endeavour to explain my meaning,—not the whole
generally, but by a particular case. And tell me,—are you acquainted
with the opening of the Iliad, where the poet says, Chryses entreated
Agamemnon to ransom his daughter; but that he was angry, whereupon the
former, since he did not obtain his request, besought the god, against
the Greeks? I know it. You know, then, that down to these verses,—
His supplication was at large to all
The host of Greece; but most of all to two,
The sons of Atreus, highest in command,—
the poet himself speaks, and does not attempt to divert our attention
elsewhere, as if any other person were speaking except himself; but as
to what he says after this, he speaks as though he himself were Chryses,
and tries all he can to make us think that the speaker is not Homer, but
the priest, an old man:—and thus he has composed nearly all the rest of
the narrative of what happened at Troy, and in Ithaca, and the
adventures throughout the Odyssey. Yes, certainly, replied he. Is it not
narrative, then, when he recites the several speeches, and also when [he
recites] what intervenes between the speeches? Of course. But when he
speaks in the person of another, do we not say, that then he assimilates
his speech as much as possible to each person whom he introduces as
speaking? We will grant it;—why not? And is not [a poet’s] assimilation
of himself to another, either in voice or figure, an imitation of that
person to whom he assimilates himself? Of course. In such a case as
this, then, it seems, both he and the other poets execute their
narrative by means of imitation? Certainly. But if the poet were not to
conceal himself at all, his whole action and narrative would be without
imitation.—That you may not say, however, that you do not again
understand how this can be, I will tell you.—If, for instance, in
relating how Chryses came with his daughter’s ransom, beseeching the
Greeks, but chiefly the kings, Homer had subsequently spoken, not in the
character of Chryses, but still as Homer, you know it would not be
imitation, but only simple narrative:—and it would have been somehow
thus (I shall speak without metre, for I am no poet):—“The priest came
and prayed, that the gods would allow them to take Troy, and return in
safety; and begged them also to restore him his daughter, and accept the
presents, out of respect to the god. When he had said this, all the rest
showed respect, and consented; but Agamemnon became enraged, and charged
him to depart instantly, and not return, lest his sceptre and the
garlands of the god should not avail him, and added also, that, before
his daughter should be ransomed she should grow old with him in Argos;
and he ordered him to be gone, and not irritate him, if he would get
home in safety. The old man on hearing this was terrified and went away
in silence. And after his retiring from the camp he offered numerous
prayers to Apollo, calling on the god by his various names, and
reminding as well as imploring him, that, if ever, either in the
building of temples, or the offering of sacrifices, he had made any
acceptable presents,—for the sake of these then, he besought him, to
avenge with his shafts on the Greeks the tears [that had been shed] by
himself.”[121]—Thus far, said I, friend, the narrative is simple,
without imitation. I understand, said he.
-----
Footnote 120:
This threefold distinction of poetry is mentioned likewise by
Aristotle; Poet. ch. iii. § 2.
Footnote 121:
The Greek form—τὰ ἃ δάκρυα is unquestionably archaic; but, as
Stallbaum well observes, was still extant among the Athenians in
colloquial language.
-----
CHAP. VII.—Understand, then, said I, that the opposite of this happens,
when one takes out the poet’s words between the speeches, and leaves
only the dialogue. This too, said he, I understand, that something like
this takes place with tragedies. You have apprehended my meaning quite
correctly, said I. And methinks, I can now make plain to you what before
I could not,—that in poetry, and all fabulous writing, one species of it
is wholly imitative, as, for instance (just as you say), tragedy and
comedy; another species employs the narration of the poet himself, (you
will find this chiefly in dithyrambics;) and another again by both, as
in epic poetry, and many other kinds besides:—if you understand me.
Aye,—I now understand, replied he, what you meant before. Remember, too,
that we were before saying, that it had already been settled what were
to be the subjects of speech, but it yet remained to be considered how
they should be spoken. I do remember. This then, is the very thing that
I was saying,—namely, that we ought to have agreed, whether we will
allow the poets to make us narratives wholly through the medium of
imitation, or partly through imitation, partly not so,—and, of what kind
in each,—or lastly whether they are not to employ imitation at all. I
guess, said he, you are inquiring, whether we are to receive tragedy and
comedy into our state, or not. Perhaps so, said I, and something more
too,—for I as yet know not; but wherever our reason, wind-like, carries
us, there must we go. You say well, said he. Let us then consider,
Adimantus, whether our guardians ought to be practised imitators or
not:—does not this follow, from what has been above stated, that each
may exercise one business well, but many, not,—and should he attempt it,
that, in grasping at many things, he will fail in all, and excel,
perhaps, in none?[122] Of course he will. Well then, does not the same
reasoning apply to imitation, that the same man cannot so well imitate
many things as one? Of course he cannot. In that case he can perform
scarcely any of the more eminent employments, and at the same time
imitate many things, and be an apt imitator,—since the same persons
cannot well execute two different sorts of imitations, apparently
similar to each other; as, for instance, comedy and tragedy:—and as for
that, did you not, just now, call both of these imitations? I did; and
you are right in saying, that the same persons cannot succeed [in both].
Nor can they, at the same time, be rhapsodists and actors? True. Nor can
the same persons be actors in comedies and in tragedies:—and all these
are imitations, are they not? Aye,—surely. The genius of man, Adimantus,
seems to have been cut up even into a still greater number of minute
particles,—so much so, indeed,[123] that it cannot properly imitate many
things, or perform [in earnest] those very things, of which even the
imitations are the resemblances. Most true, said he.
-----
Footnote 122:
Gr. ὥστ’ εἶναι ἐλλόγιμος.
Footnote 123:
Gr. εἰς ἀμικρότερα κατακεκερματίσθαι.
-----
CHAP. VIII.—If we are to hold to our first reasoning, therefore, that
our guardians, though unoccupied in any productive art whatever, ought
to be the most skilful labourers for the liberty of the state, and to
mind nothing but what refers thereto, it were surely proper that they
should neither perform nor imitate anything else,—but, should they
imitate at all, to imitate from their childhood upwards just what
correspond with these,—brave, temperate, pious, generous-hearted men,
and the like;—but neither to perform, nor desire to imitate what is
illiberal or base, lest from the very imitation they come to experience
the positive reality.[124] Have you not also observed, that imitations,
if from earliest youth onwards they be long continued, become
established in the manners and natural temper, both as to body and
voice, and intellect too? Very much so, replied he. Surely we are not to
allow those, said I, for whom we profess to be anxious, and who ought to
be good men, to imitate a woman either young or old, whether reviling
her husband, or contending against the gods, and speaking boastingly
from the idea of her own happiness;—neither should we imitate her in her
misfortunes, sorrows, and lamentations, when sick, or in love, or in the
throes of child-birth; we shall be far from allowing this. By all means,
replied he. Nor to imitate male or female servants in doing servants’
duties? Nor this either. Nor yet, it seems, depraved men, dastards, and
those who do the contrary of what has been just mentioned, who revile
and rail at one another; and speak abominable things, whether drunk or
sober, or [do] any other misdeeds, such as this class of persons are
guilty of, either in words or actions, either as respects themselves or
others?—I think too, that they should not even accustom themselves to
resemble madmen, in words or actions, for one may know both the mad and
wicked, whether men or women;—yet we must not either do or imitate any
one of their actions. Most true, said he. But what, said I;—are braziers
or other craftsmen, or such as row vessels, or pilot the sailors, or any
others connected therewith to be imitated? How can it be so, said he, by
those at least who are not allowed to give their mind up to those
pursuits? But what,—are they to imitate horses neighing, or bulls
lowing, or rivers murmuring, or the sea roaring, or thunder, and all
such like things? No surely, said he:—we have forbidden them either to
get mad, or resemble madmen. If then I understand what you mean, replied
I, there is a sort of speech and narrative in which the truly good and
worthy man expresses himself, when required to say anything,—and another
again quite dissimilar, to which a person quite oppositely born and bred
always adheres, and in which [he always] expresses himself. But what
sorts are they? asked he. That man, said I, seems a worthy man, who on
coming in his narrative to any speech or action of a good man, will
willingly tell it, as if he were himself the man, and not be ashamed of
such an imitation,—the more especially, if he be imitating a good man
acting cautiously and sensibly, one who is seldom and but little led
astray through ailments, or love, or drink, or any other mishap. But
when there arises [in his narrative] anything unworthy of himself, he
will not be in any hurry to assimilate himself to one that is worse,
except it be for a short time when he is doing some good; and besides,
he will be ashamed of it, both as being unpractised in the imitation of
such characters, and also, as unwilling to mould himself, and stand
among the models of baser men, whom all the while he despises in his
heart, [bearing with them] only for mere amusement. Probably, said he.
-----
Footnote 124:
Gr. ἵνα μὴ ἐκ τῆς μιμήσεως τοῦ εἶναι ἀπολαύσωσιν.
-----
CHAP. IX.—Will he employ a narrative such as that we not long since
described in the case of Homer’s poems; and will his language partake
both of imitation and simple narrative, but have only a small portion of
imitation inserted in a great quantity [of plain narrative?]—Do you
think I speak to the purpose or not? Yes, certainly, replied he; that
must needs be the type of such an orator. In that case, said I, will not
such a man, the more he is depraved, the more readily narrate any matter
whatever, thinking nothing unworthy of him,—so much so, indeed, that he
will undertake to imitate everything zealously and in public, and such
especially as we just mentioned, thunderings and noises of winds and
tempests, and of axles and wheels, and of trumpets, pipes, whistles, and
sounds of all kinds of instruments, and the cries of dogs likewise, and
sheep, and birds?—and of course the whole expression of this is to be by
imitation, both in voice and gestures, partaking but slightly of
narrative. This too, said he, is a matter of course. These, said I, are
what I termed the two kinds of diction. Yes, they are, replied he. Has
not one of the two, then, very trifling variations; and to give the
diction a becoming harmony and rhythm, he who would speak correctly must
always speak in the same style, in one harmony,—for the variations are
but trifling,—and of course in a rhythm closely corresponding?[125] It
is so, clearly, replied he. But as to the other kind, does it not
require the contrary,—all kinds of harmonies, and all kinds of rhythms,
if, indeed, it is to be naturally expressed, on account of its having
all sorts and shades of variation? That is precisely the case. Do not,
then, all the poets, and writers of narrative generally,[126] use one or
other of these models of diction, or a blending of the other two? They
must, replied he. What are we to do then, said I:—shall we admit into
our state all of these [models,] or only one of the unmixed, or the one
compounded? If my opinion, replied he, is to prevail, [you should
employ] that uncompounded one, which imitates only what is worthy. But
surely, Adimantus, the mixed is at least pleasant:—the most pleasant of
all, both to children and pedagogues, is the opposite of what you
choose, and it is so to the crowd likewise. Yes, it is the most
pleasant. But probably, said I, you will not deem it suited to our civil
establishment, because with us no man can be engaged in two or more
occupations, but each individual is employed in one only? Of course, it
is not fit. Shall we not find then, that in such a state alone, a
shoemaker is only a shoemaker, and not a pilot as well as a shoemaker;
and that the husbandman is only a husbandman, and not a judge as well as
a husbandman; and that the soldier is a soldier, and not a money-maker
as well; and so with the rest? True, replied he. With respect to the man
then, who is enabled by his talents to become everything and imitate
everything, if that person were to come into our state and wish to show
us his poems, we should respect him as a pious, wonderful, and pleasant
person, but would say that we have no such person in our state, nor
could such be allowed; and then we should send him to some other state,
pouring oil on his head, and crowning him with a woollen chaplet,[127]
while we ourselves would call in, to our advantage, a more austere and
less pleasing poet and mythologist, to imitate for us the diction of
what is becoming, and say whatever he says, in accordance with those
models which we regularly set forth on first undertaking the education
of our soldiers. So we should do, replied he, if it depended on us. Now
then, friend, it seems that we have thoroughly discussed that part of
music which concerns oratory and fable; for what is to be spoken, and
how spoken, we have already considered. I think so too, observed he.
-----
Footnote 125:
Gr. καὶ δὴ ἐν ῥυθμῷ ὡσαύτως παραπλησίῳ τινί.
Footnote 126:
Gr. καὶ οἵ τι λέγοντες.
Footnote 127:
Gr. ἀποπέμποιμέν τε ἂν εἰς ἄλλην πόλιν μύρον κατὰ τῆς κεφαλῆς
καταχέαντες καὶ ἐρίῳ στέψαντες. This passage with all its beauty is
somewhat obscure. It plainly refers to that kind of poet, who was used
to treat all kinds of characters and subjects;—and yet the ancient
writers evidently understood it, as referring to Homer. Comp. Dion.
Halic. Epist. de Plat. vol. vi. d. 756:—ἦν τῇ Πλάτωνος φύσει πολλὰς
ἀρετὰς ἐχούσῃ τὸ φιλότιμον· ἐδήλωσε δὲ τοῦτο μάλιστα διὰ τῆς πρὸς
Ὅμηρον ζηλοτυπίας, ὃν ἐκ τῆς κατασκευαζομένης ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ πολιτείας
ἐκβάλλει, στεφανώσας καὶ μύρῳ χρίσας. So also Aristides, Orat. Plat.
111; vol. ii. p. 326:—Ὅμηρον μύρῳ χρίσας ἐκπέμπει χελιδόνος τιμὴν
καταθείς. Josephus, Minucius Felix, Theodoret, and Chrysostom bear
similar testimony to its meaning.
-----
CHAP. X.—Are we not next to speak, said I, about the style of song and
melody?[128] Clearly so. Cannot one already find out, then, what we
ought to say about these things, and of what kind they should be, if we
would be consistent with what we have above said? Here Glaucon, smiling,
said,—I seem, indeed, Socrates, to be a stranger to the whole business,
for I cannot at present conceive what we ought to say, though I have
some inkling. You can, surely, said I, at any rate, fully state this
much,—that melody has three constituents,—sentiment, harmony, and
rhythm?[129] Yes, replied he, this much, at any rate. And as concerns
the sentiment,—that differs in nothing from the sentiment which is not
sung, inasmuch as it ought to be performed on the same models, as we
just said, and after the same fashion. True, said he. Surely, then, the
harmony and rhythm should correspond with the sentiment? Of course. But
yet we said there was no need for wailings and lamentations in written
compositions? None, certainly. Which then are the querulous
harmonies?[130] Tell me,—for you are a musician. The mixed Lydian,[131]
replied he, and the sharp Lydian, and some others of this kind. Are not
these, then, said I, to be rejected, as being useless even to
well-conducted women, not to speak of men? Certainly. Drunkenness,
moreover, is highly unbecoming in our guardians, as well as effeminacy
and idleness? Of course. Which then are the effeminate and convivial
harmonies? The Ionic, replied he, and the Lydian, which are called
relaxing. Can you use these, my friend, for military men? By no means,
replied he; but it seems you have yet the Doric remaining, and the
Phrygian. I am not learned, said I, in harmonies; but let us put out of
the question that harmony, which would fitly imitate the voice and
accents of a brave man, engaged in military action, and every sort of
rough adventure, and, should he fail of success, rushing on wounds or
death, or any other distress, all the while regularly and resolutely
battling with fortune:—let us put out of the question, also, that kind
of harmony which suits what is peaceable, where there is no violence,
but everything is voluntary, where a man either persuades or beseeches
any one, about anything,—either God by prayer, or man by instruction and
admonition; or, on the other hand, where one submits to another’s
entreaties, instructions, or persuasion, and in all these points acts in
accordance with intellect, and does not behave haughtily, but demeans
himself soberly and moderately, gladly embracing whatever may
happen:—put out of the question, too, these two harmonies, the vehement
and the voluntary,[132] which so capitally imitate the voice both of the
unfortunate and fortunate,—the moderate and brave. Aye, you are anxious,
replied he, to leave no others but those I now mentioned. We shall have
no need, then, said I, in our songs and melodies, for many strings or
instruments expressive of all the harmonies. We shall not, it seems,
replied he. We are not to maintain, then, such craftsmen, as make harps
and spinets, and instruments of many strings that produce a variety of
harmony. We are not, it seems. But what,—will you admit into your city
flute-makers or flute-players? for, are not those instruments which
consist of the greatest number of strings,[133] and those that produce
all kinds of harmony, imitations of the flute? Plainly so, replied he.
There are still left you, then, said I, the lyre and the harp, as useful
for your city; and, as respects the fields again, a reed or so for the
shepherds? This is quite reasonable, said he. We are doing nothing new
then, replied I, in preferring Apollo and Apollo’s instruments, to
Marsyas[134] and his instruments. Truly not, it seems, replied he. By
the dog, too, said I, we have been once more unconsciously cleansing our
city, which, we just now said, had become luxurious. Aye; we were wise
to do so, replied he.
-----
Footnote 128:
It has been rightly stated by Ger. Voss. in his Institut. Poet. ii.
ch. ix. § 2, that the word μέλος is equivalent to λόγος ᾀδόμενος.
Comp. also Plato de Legg. ii. p. 655 a.
Footnote 129:
The distinction between harmony and rhythm is well explained in the
Laws, ii. p. 655 a:—τῇ δὲ τῆς κινήσεως τάξει ῥυθμὸς ὄνομα· τῇ δ’ αὖ
τῆς φωνῆς, τοῦ τε ὀξέος ἅμα καὶ βαρέος συκεραννυμένων, ἁρμονίας ὄνομα
προσαγορεύοιτο.
Footnote 130:
On the power and character of the several kinds of melody, comp.
Heraclides Ponticus in Athenæus, xiv. p. 624 d, and Aristotle’s Polit.
viii. ch. 5-7. Boeckh also in his work on the metres of Pindar (vol.
i. pt. 2), has learnedly discussed the variety of ancient Greek
melodies.
Footnote 131:
Aristoxenus quoted by Plutarch (de Musicâ, p. 1136 d), thus explains
the word μιξολυδιστί:—καὶ ἡ μιξολύδιος δὲ παθητική τίς ἐστι,
τραγῳδίαις ἁρμόζουσα. Ἀριστόξενος δέ φησι Σαπφὼ πρώτην εὕρασθαι τὴν
μιξολυδιστί, παρ’ ἧς τοὺς τραγῳδοποιοὺς μαθεῖν.
Footnote 132:
A harmony is here termed βίαιος, which (to use the words in the Laws,
viii. 814 e):—ἐν βιαίῳ ἐργασίᾳ πρεπόντως ἂν μιμήσαιτο φθόγγους τε καὶ
προσῳδίας, &c.;—and that is called ἑκούσιος, which becomes a man who
is engaged ἐν ἑκουσίῳ πράξει.
Footnote 133:
All musical instruments are here rejected, which, from having many
chords, have the power of soothing the ear with a variety of
harmonies, and yet do not improve the mind, but rather render it
effeminate and fill it with sensual desires. Among these is classed
the lyre,—which is rejected also by Pythagoras, who (according to
Iamblichus) τοὺς αὐλοὺς ὑπελάμβανεν ὑβριστικόν τε καὶ πανηγυρικὸν καὶ
οὐδαμῶς ἐλευθέριον τὸν ἦχον ἔχειν. See also Plato’s Gorgias, p. 501 e,
where he conceives the art of flute-playing—τὴν ἡδονὴν ἡμῶν μόνον
διώκειν, ἄλλο δ’ οὐδὲν φροντίζειν.
Footnote 134:
On the contest of Marsyas with Apollo, comp. Herodot. vii. 26, and
Diodor. Sic. iii. p. 192.
-----
CHAP. XI.—Come then, said I, and let us cleanse the remainder; for what
concerns rhythm will follow after harmonies,—namely, that our citizens
pursue not ever-varying rhythms having a variety of cadences, but
observe what are the rhythms of an orderly and manly life; and observing
these, should compel the time and the melody to subserve the sentiment,
and not the sentiment to subserve the time and melody.—Now, what these
rhythms are, it is your business to tell, as you did with the harmonies.
Nay, by Zeus, replied he, I cannot tell:—so far, indeed, as that there
are three forms from which all measures are composed, just as there are
four primitive sounds, from which all harmony is derived, this I can say
from observation; but what kind of imitations they are, and of what kind
of life, I am not able to tell. These things, however, said I, with
Damon’s[135] aid we will consider,—what measures suit illiberality and
insolence, or madness and any other ill disposition,—and what rhythms
also must be left for their opposites. And I have a confused
recollection of having heard him call a certain [measure] enoplion,
which was compound, another a dactyl, and a third an heroic
measure,—embellishing them I know not how,—making them equal above and
below, in breadth and length: and methinks he called one an iambus, and
another a trochee, and regulated also the long and short measures. In
some of these, too, I fancy, he both blamed and praised the measure of
the foot, no less than the numbers themselves, or something compounded
of both. As for these matters, however, as I said, let them be thrown on
Damon: for to define them distinctly, indeed, would require no small
discourse: do not you think so? No small one, truly. But as for this
point,—whether the propriety or impropriety is dependent on the good or
ill rhythm,—can you at all discern that? Of course. Moreover, with
respect to good or ill rhythm, the one depends on elegant expression,
and conforms to it, while the other is the reverse; and, in the same
way, as to the harmonious and discordant, the rhythm and harmony being
subservient to the sentiment, as we just said, and not the sentiment to
the former. These, indeed, said he, should subserve the sentiment. And
what, said I, as to the manner of expression, and as to the sentiment
itself, must it not be suited to the temper of the soul? Of course. And
all the rest to the expression? Yes. Well then, fine expression, fine
harmony, perfect propriety, and perfect rhythm, are dependent on good
disposition,—not that dulness which in flattering language we call good
temper, but the intellect itself, adorned with excellent and amiable
moral feelings? Surely, altogether so, replied he. Must not all these
then be always pursued by the youth, if they would perform their duties?
They should, indeed, be so pursued. Painting, indeed, is, somehow, full
of these things, and so is every other such kind of craftsmanship; and
weaving, too, is full thereof, and embroidery and architecture, and all
craftship of all kinds of implements; and yet further, the nature of
animal bodies and of all plants,—for in all these is found either
propriety or impropriety: and moreover, impropriety, want of rhythm, and
want of harmony, are close akin to bad language and depraved
manners,—their opposites being likewise related, and imitations of
discretion and good morals. Entirely so, replied he.
-----
Footnote 135:
A celebrated musician who instructed Pericles in that art. Comp. Rep.
iv. ch. 3, p. 424 c. See also Plutarch, Life of Pericles, ch. 4.
-----
CHAP. XII.—Must we, then, merely superintend the poets, and oblige them
to present in their poems the idea of good morals, or else not write at
all with us;—or should we superintend all other craftsmen also, and
restrain this immoral, undisciplined, illiberal, indecent style, so as
not to exhibit it either in the representation of animals, or in
buildings, or in any other craftsmanship,—so that he who cannot do this
may not be suffered to work with us?—[This we must do,] for fear that
our guardians, being trained by images of evil, as in bad pasture-land,
by every day plucking and eating many different things, should establish
imperceptibly, by little and little, some mighty evil in their soul;—but
rather should we seek for such craftsmen, as, by the help of a good
natural genius, can investigate the nature of the beautiful and
becoming,—in order that our youths, dwelling, as it were, in a healthful
place, may receive advantage on all sides, and so receive some service,
either by sight or hearing, from fine productions, just as a breeze
brings health from healthy places, and imperceptibly lead them from
childhood onwards to resemblance, friendship, and harmony with right
reason. Thus indeed, said he, they would be brought up in the best
possible manner. In this case, then, Glaucon, said I;—is not musical
training of the utmost importance, inasmuch as rhythm and harmony enter
largely into the inward part of the soul, and most powerfully affect it,
at the same time introducing decorum, and rendering every one becoming,
if properly trained, and, if not so, the reverse?—Moreover, the man, who
has thus been brought up as he ought, very soon perceives whatever
workmanship is defective and badly executed, or what productions are of
such description,—and through a right feeling of disgust will praise and
rejoice in the beautiful, and receiving it in his soul will be fostered
thereby, and thus become a worthy, good man,—while, as to all that is
base, he will rightly despise and hate it, even from early youth, and
before he can partake of reason; and again, when reason comes, having
been thus trained, he will heartily embrace it, because he clearly
recognises it from its intimate familiarity with himself. This appears
to me, replied he, the very reason, why there should be musical
training. Just as in learning our letters, said I, we are only then
sufficiently instructed, when we are acquainted, on meeting them, with
the few elementary letters through their various combinations, and do
not more or less despise them as unnecessary to be learnt, but take all
pains to understand them thoroughly,—as we cannot be good grammarians
till we do so. True. And supposing the images of letters were seen
anywhere, either in water or in mirrors, should we not recognise them
before the letters themselves?—or is this a part of the same art and
study? Surely. Is it then true, what I say, by the gods, that in this
case we shall never become musicians, neither ourselves nor the
guardians we talk of training, unless we understand the ideas of
temperance, fortitude, liberality, and magnificence, and whatever are
akin to these, are acquainted also with their contraries, so familiar to
all, and unless, wheresoever they are, we observe both the virtues
themselves and the images thereof, and despise them neither in small nor
great instances, but conceive them to be rather a part of the same art
and study. It must be so, said he. Must not that person, then, said I,
whose lot it is to have virtuous habits in his soul, and what is
proportioned and corresponding thereto in his appearance, partake of the
same impression and be a fine spectacle to any one who is able to behold
him? Quite so. Yet, what is most beautiful is most lovely? Of course.
He, then, who is most musical should surely love those men, who are most
eminent in this way; but if a man be unmusical, he will not love them?
He will not, replied he, if he be at all defective in his soul: still,
if it were in his body, he would bear with it, and be willing to
associate with him. I understand, said I, that your favourites are or
have been of this kind: and I too agree to that; but tell me this,—is
there any communion between temperance and excessive pleasure? How can
there? said he, for such pleasure causes a privation of intellect, not
less than grief. But has it communion with any other virtue? Not at all.
What then,—has it communion with insolence and intemperance? Most
certainly. Can you mention a greater and more acute pleasure than what
respects the matters of love? I cannot, said he, nor yet one that is
more insane. But right love is of a nature to love the beautiful and the
good temperately and harmoniously? Certainly. Nothing, then, which is
mad, or allied to intemperance, may approach real and right love. It may
not approach it. Nor may pleasure approach it; neither may the lover and
the person he loves have communion with it, if they are rightly to love
and be beloved? No, truly, said he; they may not, Socrates. Thus, then,
it seems, you will lay down a law in the city you are establishing, that
the lover shall love, converse, and associate with the objects of his
love, as with a son,—from a virtuous motive and with his consent; and as
to everything else, every one will so converse with him whose love he
solicits, as never to wish to associate for any other purpose but what
we have said;—for otherwise he would undergo the reproach of being
unmusical and unacquainted with the beautiful. It must be so, replied
he. Do not you think then, said I, that our discourse concerning music
is now concluded?—For it has now terminated where it ought,—as what is
concerned with the art of music somehow ought to terminate in the love
of the beautiful. I agree, said he.
CHAP. XIII.—After music, then, our youths must be trained in gymnastics.
What then? In this likewise they must needs be accurately trained, from
infancy upwards through their whole life:—For the matter, methinks,
stands somehow thus;—and do you also consider.—I do not think that any
sound body can, by its own virtue, render the soul good; and
contrariwise, that a good soul can, by its own virtue, render the body
the best possible: what think you? I think so too, replied he. If then,
after having sufficiently trained the intellect, we commit to it the
careful management of what concerns the body, shall we not, as we are
only laying down patterns, (that we may not be tedious,) act in a right
manner? Entirely so. We say then, that they must abstain from
drunkenness; for any one, rather than a guardian, might be allowed to
get drunk, and not know where he is. It were ridiculous, said he, for a
guardian to need a guardian himself. But what as respects meats;—for
these men are wrestlers in most important combats;—are they not? Yes.
Would not then the bodily state of the wrestlers suit such as these?
Perhaps so. But, said I, they are a sluggish set, and of dubious
health:—do you not observe, that they sleep out their life; and, that if
they only ever so little depart from their regular diet, such wrestlers
become extensively and deeply diseased? I do observe it. But a more
elegant kind of exercise, said I, is required for our military
wrestlers,—who, as dogs, ought to be wakeful, and see and hear most
acutely, and endure, in their expeditions, many changes of water and
food, of heat and cold, that so they may not fail in their health? I
think so. Is not then the best kind of gymnastic exercise very like the
simple music which we just before described? How mean you? That the
gymnastics should be simple and moderate, and of that kind most
especially which concern war. Of what kind? Even from Homer, said I, one
may learn such things as these: for you know, that in their military
expeditions, at their heroes’ banquets, he never feasts them with fish,
not even while they were by the sea at the Hellespont, nor yet with
boiled flesh, but only with roast meat, as what soldiers can most easily
procure: for, in short, one can everywhere more easily use fire, than
carry vessels about? Yes. Neither does Homer, I think, make any mention
of seasonings: and this is what every wrestler knows,—that the body, to
be in good condition, must abstain from these. They are right, said he,
and do abstain. You do not then approve, friend, it would seem, of the
Syracusan table, and the various Sicilian made-dishes, since you think
the other right? It seems I do not. You will disapprove also of a
Corinthian girl, as a mistress, for such as would be in good bodily
condition? By all means. And likewise of those celebrated delicacies of
Attic confections? Surely. As respects all such feeding and dieting, if
we compare it to the melody and song produced in full harmony and
universal rhythm, will not the comparison hold good? Of course. And does
not that diversity cause insubordination in this case—disease in the
other? But simplicity in music, engenders temperance in the soul,—and in
gymnastics, bodily health. True, said he. And when insubordination and
diseases multiply in a city, must not many law-courts and medicine-halls
be opened; and will not the forensic and medicinal arts be in request,
when many, even of the free, will earnestly apply to them? Of course.
CHAP. XIV.—Can you then adduce any greater proof of bad and shameful
training in a city, than the fact of their needing physicians and
supreme magistrates, and these too, not only for base and low craftsmen,
but for those also, who boast of having been liberally educated;—and
again, does it not seem base, and a great proof of defective education,
to be obliged to see justice pronounced on us by others, as our masters
and judges, and yet to have no sense of it in ourselves? This, replied
he, is of all things the most base. And deem you not this far more base,
said I; when a person not only spends a great part of his life in courts
of justice, as defendant or plaintiff,—but, from ignorance of the
beautiful, thinks he is renowned for his very dexterity in doing
injustice, and his cleverness at turning through all sorts of windings,
and using every kind of subterfuge, with the idea of evading
justice,—and all this for the sake of small and contemptible
things,—ignorant how much better and more noble it were so to regulate
life as not to need a sleepy judge? This, replied he, is still baser
than the other. And to need the medicinal art, said I, not on account of
wounds, or some incidental epidemic complaint, but through sloth, and
such diet as we mentioned, being filled with rheums and wind, like
lakes, and obliging the skilful sons of Æsculapius to invent new names
for diseases,—such as dropsies and catarrhs:—do not you think this
abominable? Truly, replied he, those are very new and strange names of
diseases. Such, said I, as I think, existed not in the days of
Æsculapius: and I guess so from this, that when Eurypylus was wounded at
Troy, and was getting Pramnian wine to drink with much flour sprinkled
in it, and cheese grated (all which seem to be of inflammatory
tendency), the sons of Æsculapius neither blamed the woman who presented
it, nor reproved Patroclus, for presenting the cure. Surely such a
potion, said he, is absurdly improper for one in such a case. Not so,
said I, if you consider, that the descendants of Æsculapius, as they
tell us, did not, before the time of Herodicus, practise the method of
cure now in use, which puts the patient on a regimen;—whereas Herodicus,
being a teacher of youth, and in weak health too, confounded gymnastics
and medicine, and made himself first very uncomfortable, and afterwards
many others besides. How was that? said he. By procuring himself a
lingering death, said I; for while he was constantly attending to his
disease, which was mortal, he was not able, as I imagine, to cure
himself; though, to the neglect of everything else, he was constantly
using medicines, and thus passed his life, always most uneasy, if he
departed in the least from his usual diet; and through this wisdom of
his, struggling long with death, he arrived at old age. A mighty reward,
said he, he reaped for his cleverness! Such as became one, said I, who
was unconscious that it was not from ignorance or inexperience of this
method of cure, that Æsculapius did not discover it to his descendants,
but simply because he was aware, that in all well-regulated states there
every one had a certain work enjoined him, necessary to be done, and no
one could be permitted to have time or leisure to get sick throughout
life, or busy himself with taking medicine;—a fact that we amusingly
discover in the case of labouring people, but do not see it in that of
the rich, and those reputed happy. How? said he.
CHAP. XV.—A builder, replied I, when he falls sick, gets from the
physician some potion for throwing up his disease, or purging it
downwards, or else, by means of caustic or amputation, for getting freed
from trouble; but if any one prescribe him a system of regimen, putting
caps on his head and so on, he quickly tells him that he has no leisure
to lie sick, and it does not suit him to live in that manner, attending
to his troubles, and neglecting his duty; and so, bidding the physician
farewell, he returns to his ordinary diet, and, should he recover, he
goes on managing his affairs, but should his body be unable to bear up
against the disease, he dies, and gets rid of his troubles. Such an one,
said he, ought to use the art of medicine just in this manner. Is it
not, said I, because he has a certain business,—and which, if he does
not do it, it is no profit for him to live? Plainly, replied he. But the
rich man, as we say, has no such work allotted him, from which, when
compelled to refrain, life is not worth the having? It is said so of
him, at least. You do not mind, said I, what Phocylides says,—that one
ought, throughout life, to practise virtue. I think, replied he, we
attended to that formerly. We shall not differ on this point, said I.
But let us learn, whether excessive attention to one’s disease is to be
the business of the rich, and life is not worth keeping, if he does not
give this attention; inasmuch, as such a life hinders the mind from
attending to building and other arts,—but, as respects the exhortation
of Phocylides, it is no hinderance. Yes, by Zeus, said he, it is, and
that in the greatest degree, when this unusual care of the body goes
beyond gymnastics. It agrees neither with attention to private economy,
or military expeditions, or sedentary magistracies in the city. But what
is of most importance is, that such application to health ill suits any
sort of learning and inquiry and solitary study, because one is then
perpetually dreading certain pains and swimmings of the head, and
blaming philosophy as the cause thereof,—so that, where there is this
attention to health, it greatly hinders the practice of virtue and
improvement therein, as it makes us always imagine that we are ill and
ailing. Very probably, said he. And shall we not say, that Æsculapius
too understood these things, when to persons in health, and such as used
a wholesome diet, but were afflicted by some particular disease, to
these and such kind of constitution he prescribed medicine, resisting
their ailments by drugs and incisions, but still ordering them their
usual diet, that the public might not be injured; but he did not
attempt, either by low or nourishing diet, to cure thoroughly diseased
systems; and so to afford a long and miserable life to the man himself,
and his descendants too, who would probably be of the same kind: for he
did not think that a man ought to be cured, who could not live in the
ordinary course, as in that case he would be of no service either to
himself or the state. You make Æsculapius, a politician, observed he.
Plainly so, said I; and his sons may evince that he was so.[136] See you
not again, that at Troy they proved their bravery in war, and, as I say,
practised medicine likewise? And do not you remember, that when Menelaus
was wounded by Pandarus,—
... they sucked the wound, then spread it o’er
With drugs of balmy power;[137]—
but as for what he wanted to eat or drink afterwards, they prescribed
for him no more than for Eurypylus, because they deemed external
applications sufficient to heal men, who, before they were wounded, had
been healthy and moderate in their diet, whatever potion they might have
drunk at the time, but conceived, that a diseased constitution and an
intemperate life were beneficial neither to the men themselves nor to
others, and that their art ought not to be employed on, nor minister to
them, even were they richer than Midas.[138] How vastly clever, said he,
you are making the sons of Æsculapius!
-----
Footnote 136:
Viz. Machaon and Podalirius.
Footnote 137:
Hom. Il. iv. 218, though somewhat modified by Plato.
Footnote 138:
Plato is here alluding to Tyrtæus, Eleg. iii. v. 6:—
Οὐδ’ εἰ Τιθωνοῖο φύην χαριέστερος εἴη
Πλουτοίη δὲ Μίδεω καὶ κινύρῳ βάθιον.
-----
CHAP. XVI.—It is quite right, replied I;—though in opposition to us,
the tragedy-writers, and Pindar also, say that Æsculapius was the son
of Apollo,[139] and was induced by gold to undertake the cure of a
rich man, already in a dying state,—for which indeed he was struck
with a thunderbolt:—but we, in accordance with what has been before
said, will not believe them as to both these statements, but assert,
that were he really a god’s son, he would not have been given to
filthy lucre,—or else, if he were given to filthy lucre, he was not a
god’s son. This at least, said he, is quite correct. But what say you
to this, Socrates?—-Must we not provide good physicians for the state;
and must not these probably be such as have been conversant with great
numbers both of healthy and sick people; and judges also, who have had
experience of all varieties of dispositions? I am speaking
particularly, said I, of those who are good: but [tell me,]—are you
aware who they are, that I deem such? [I shall be,] if you will tell
me, replied he. I will try to do so, said I; but you are inquiring in
one and the same question about two different things. As how? said he.
Physicians, replied I, would become extremely skilled, if, from
childhood upwards, they would, in course of learning their art, gain
experience from a large number of bodies, and these too of a very
sickly character,—especially if they should be themselves afflicted
with all kinds of maladies, and not be altogether of a healthy
constitution,—for it is not by the body, methinks, that they cure the
body (else their own bodies would never be allowed to be diseased, or
become so), but they cure the body by the soul, which, while in a
diseased state, or becoming so, is incapable of properly performing
any cure whatever. Right, said he. But as for the judge, friend, said
I, he governs the soul by the soul; and if it has been bred up from
childhood with depraved souls, has constantly associated with them,
and has itself committed all sorts of crime, it cannot so far
emancipate itself, as of itself to judge correctly about others’ ill
deeds, just as happens with respect to bodily ailments:—no, it must
even in youth be unacquainted with and unpolluted by bad habits, if it
would be fair and honourable itself and judge correctly of what is
just. Hence, therefore, the virtuous, even in youth, appear simple,
and easily deceived by the unjust, because they have within them,
forsooth, no dispositions corresponding in sentiment with those of the
wicked. Aye, indeed, said he, this very often happens to them. For
this reason, said I, the good judge must not be a youth, but old,—one
who has been late in learning the nature of wickedness, which he
apprehends not as a peculiar quality resident in his own soul, but
from having, as a foreign one, long studied it in the souls of others,
and from having ascertained the nature of its evil by positive
science, rather than personal experience. Such an one as this, said
he, is likely to be a very noble judge. And a good one too, said I;
the very thing you required: for the man with a good soul is
good;—while on the other hand, the clever, slyly suspicious man,—he,
namely, who has himself committed much sin, and is deemed subtle and
wise when in the society of his equals, has the repute of being a
clever, wary kind of person, because he has constantly in his eye
those models that reside within himself:—but whenever he approaches
the good, who are his seniors, he appears mightily inferior,
unseasonably suspicious, and wholly ignorant of moral integrity,
having within him no models of any such quality; but, on the other
hand, as he has more frequent intercourse with the wicked than with
the wise, he appears, both to himself and others, unusually wise,
rather than ignorant. Quite true, said he.
-----
Footnote 139:
Respecting this power of Æsculapius to raise the dead, comp. Pind.
Pyth. iii. v. 96, &c. Euripides, also, in the opening lines of the
Alcestis, remarks, that Æsculapius was struck with lightning, but
without assigning any reason.
-----
CHAP. XVII.—We must not then, said I, in such a man as this, look for
a wise and good judge, but in the former one. Vice, indeed, can never
know both itself and virtue; but virtue, where the moral temper is
gradually instructed, will attain to a scientific knowledge both of
itself and depravity also:—this man, then, and not the wicked one, is,
as I think, wise. I, too, said he, am of the same opinion. You will
establish, then, in your state a science of medicine such as we have
described, and along with it a corresponding system of judicature,
both of which together may carefully provide for such of your citizens
as are naturally well disposed both in body and in mind; while, as
regards the opposite, such as are diseased in their bodies, they
should let die; but as for those who are thoroughly evil and incurable
as to the soul, these they are themselves to put to death? It seems,
at any rate, the best, said he, that can happen, both for those who
are thus afflicted and for the state itself. As respects your youths,
however, it is quite plain, said I, that they will be cautious in
calling in the aid of judicial science, so long as they are employed
on that simple music, which, we said, generates temperance. Of course,
said he. Will not then, the musician who pursues gymnastics, on the
very same principles as his own art, prefer doing so in such a way as
not to want medicine except when absolutely necessary? I think so. His
exercises too, and his labours, he will perform with reference more to
the spirited portion[140] of his nature thus stirred into action, than
to mere physical strength,—differently, indeed, from all other
wrestlers, who take food and undergo toil with a view to the promotion
of bodily strength? Most true, said he. In that case, said I, Glaucon,
they who propose to teach music and gymnastics, propose them, not for
what some imagine, namely, to cure the body by the one, and the soul
by the other. If not, what is their motive? asked he. They seem to
propose them both, said I, chiefly on the soul’s account. As how?
Perceive you not, said I, how those persons have regulated their
intellect itself, who have all their life been conversant with
gymnastics, yet never studied music,—or how those are affected who
have lived in a manner quite the reverse of this? What are you
speaking about? said he. Of savageness and fierceness, said I, and
again of effeminacy and mildness. Yes, I understand, said he;—that is,
persons who apply themselves to unmixed gymnastics become more savage
than they ought; and those again [who attend] to music alone, are
softer than becomes them. And moreover, said I, this very savageness
imparts probably a certain spirit to the disposition, and, if rightly
disciplined, will become fortitude; but when stretched too far, it
will probably become indecently fierce and troublesome. So I think,
said he. But what;—will not the philosophic nature partake of the mild
also; and when this disposition is carried to excess, may it not prove
softer than it ought, and if rightly disciplined, both mild and
modest? Just so. We say also, that our guardians ought naturally to be
possessed of both. They ought. Ought they not, then, to be made to
suit one another? Of course. And the soul of the person thus suited is
temperate and brave? Certainly. But the soul of a person not so suited
is cowardly and savage? Especially so.
-----
Footnote 140:
Τὸ θυμοειδές. This refers to Plato’s division of the mental faculties
into τὸ λογιστικόν and τὸ ἄλογον, the latter of which is again divided
into τὸ θυμικόν and τὸ ἐπιθυμητικόν. The art of gymnastics, he
conceives then, has for its object—not so much the promotion of the
bodily strength as the excitement of the spirited part of our
nature,—τὸ θυμοειδές.
-----
CHAP. XVIII.—As a matter of course, then, when one consents to be
soothed with the charms of music, and to have poured into his soul
through his ears (as through a pipe) those lately called the sweet,
effeminate, and doleful harmonies, and spends the whole of his life
humming ditties and charmed with melody,[141]—such an one, first of
all,—should he possess any spirit,—softens it like iron, and makes it
serviceable, instead of useless and harsh. When, however, he
positively declines desisting, and becomes the victim of a kind of
fascination,—after this, he is melted and dissolved, till his spirit
is quite spent, and the nerves are, as it were, cut out from his soul,
making him an effeminate warrior.[142] Quite so indeed, said he.
Aye,—said I; if he had originally possessed a nature devoid of spirit,
he would quickly have done thus; but, if [he possesses] one of high
spirit, it makes the mind weak, and causes it to be quickly
overbalanced, speedily either excited and overcome; and hence men
become outrageous and ill-tempered, rather than high-spirited. Quite
so, indeed. But what;—if a man labour much in gymnastics and live on
extremely good diet, but pay no attention to music and philosophy; is
he not first of all, from having his body in good condition,
abundantly filled with prudence and spirit, and does he not become
braver than he was before? Surely. But what;—supposing he does nothing
else, and has no commerce with the Muses, not even if he had any love
of learning in his soul, as neither having a taste for investigation,
nor sharing in any inquiry or reasoning, or other musical pursuit
whatever, does it not become feeble, deaf, and blind, as being neither
awakened, nor nurtured, nor his perceptions purified? Just so. Such an
one then becomes, I suppose, a hater of argument, and indisposed to
music,—one who cannot at all be reasoned into anything, but conducts
himself in all matters with violence and ferocity, like a wild beast;
and thus he lives in ignorance and barbarity, out of measure, and
unpolished? Quite so, said he. Corresponding then to these two
tempers, it seems, I would say, that some deity has furnished men with
two arts,—music and gymnastics,—relating respectively to the
high-spirited and the philosophic nature,—not indeed, for the soul and
body, otherwise than as a by-work and accessory, but with a view to
those two tempers, that they may be mutually suitable to each other by
being tightened and loosened at pleasure. Aye,—it seems so. Whoever
then can most cleverly mingle gymnastics with music, and introduce
them in justest measure into the soul, this person we may most
properly call completely musical, and most harmoniously disposed,—far
more, indeed, than the man who puts in tune the strings of an
instrument. Very likely, Socrates, said he. Shall we not then, always
need, Glaucon, such a president in our city, if its government is to
be kept entire? It will indeed be quite needful, as far at least as we
can.
-----
Footnote 141:
Gr. ὅταν μέν τις μουσικῇ παρεχῇ καταυλεῖν καὶ καταχεῖν διὰ τῶν ὤτων,
ὥσπερ διὰ χώνης, ἃς νῦν δὴ ἡμεῖς ἐλέγομεν τὰς γλυκείας τε καὶ μαλακὰς
καὶ θρηνώδεις ἁρμονίας καὶ μινυρίζων τε καὶ γεγανωμένος ὑπὸ τῆς ᾠδῆς
διατελῇ τὸν βίον ὅλον, &c. The verb μινυρίζειν signifies _to sing in a
high and plaintive key_,—sometimes, also, _to whine_; γανοῦν is
derived from γάνος, _splendour_, _joy_, and hence means _to be radiant
with pleasure, to be of joyful countenance_.
Footnote 142:
Allusion is here made to Hom. Il. xvii. v. 586:—
Ἕκτορ, τίς κέ σ’ ἔτ’ ἄλλος Ἀχαιῶν ταρβήσειεν;
Οἷον δὴ Μενέλαον ὑπέτρεσας, ὃς τὸ πάρος περ
Μαλθακὸς αἰχμητής·
What chiefs of all the Grecians shall henceforth
Fear Hector, who from Menelaus shrinks
Once deemed effeminate. _Cowper._
-----
CHAP. XIX.—The above then are probably the true models both of education
and discipline:—for why should one go through the dances, the hunts of
wild beasts with dogs and nets, the wrestlings and the horse-races
expedient for such persons?—for it is almost manifest that they follow
as a matter of course, nor are they at all hard to discover. Well, said
he, perhaps they are not difficult. Granted, said I:—but after this,
what had we next to determine?—Is it not, which of these shall govern,
and be governed? What else? Is it not plain that the governors should be
the elder, and the governed the younger? Plain. And also, that the best
of them [should govern?] Aye,—that too. And the best husbandmen;—are
they not the cleverest in tillage? Yes. Now, if it be fit that our
guardians be the best, will they not be most strictly watchful over the
city? Yes. With this view should we not make them prudent, and able, and
careful also of the city? It is the fact. At any rate a man would be
most careful of what he happens to love? Necessarily so. And this at
least one must especially love,—namely, what he deems to have a
community of interest with himself, especially when he conceives, that
in another’s good fortune he may find good fortune too,—but if
otherwise, the reverse? Just so, said he. We must choose then, from the
rest of the guardians such men, as on inquiry most of all seem to
perform with all cheerfulness through an entire life whatever they deem
expedient for the state,—while, as to the inexpedient, they will not do
it by any means at all. These are just the proper persons, said he. I
really think that they ought to be observed at all stages of life,
whether they act consistently with this opinion, without either being
reduced or forcibly compelled inconsiderately to throw up the opinion,
of its being a duty to do what is best for the state. What throwing up
do you mean? said he. I will tell you, said I. Opinion seems to me to
come from the intellect either voluntarily or involuntarily,—voluntarily
indeed as regards false opinion, [when it comes] from him who unlearns
it,—but involuntarily, as regards every true one. The case of the
voluntary one, replied he, I understand; but that of the involuntary I
want to learn. What;—are not even you of opinion, said I, that men are
deprived of good things involuntarily, but of evil things voluntarily?
Is being deceived respecting the truth no evil, and the attainment of
truth no good? and think you not, that to form opinions respecting
things as they really exist is attaining the truth? Aye, said he, you
speak correctly:—they do indeed seem to me to be deprived unwillingly of
true opinion. Are they then thus affected by being robbed, or enchanted,
or forced? Now, at any rate, said he, I do not understand you. I am
probably expressing myself, said I, just like the tragedians:[143] for,
I say, that those [have their opinions] stolen, who change them through
persuasion, or else forget them; because, in the one case, they are
imperceptibly removed by time, and in the other by reasoning:—now
perhaps you understand? Yes. And those, I say, are forced out of their
opinions, whom grief or agony obliges to change them? This too, said he,
I understand, and you are right in saying so. Those, moreover, methinks,
you will say, are enchanted out of their opinions, who change them,
either bewitched by pleasure or appalled by fear. For whatever deceives,
said he, seems to exercise a kind of magical enchantment.
-----
Footnote 143:
Plato here alludes to the obscure style sometimes adopted by them to
mystify the hearers. Comp. viii. ch. 3, where they are spoken of as
πρὸς παῖδας ἡμᾶς παιζούσας καὶ ἐρεσχελούσας ὑψηλολογουμένας.
Aristophanes all through “the Frogs” caricatures this mystifying,
bombastic tendency.
-----
CHAP. XX.—We must now then inquire,—as I was saying before,—who are the
best guardians of their own particular maxim, that they should do
whatever they deem to be best for the state; and they should observe
them too quite from childhood, setting before them such work, as may
lead them most readily to forget such a matter and delude themselves;
and we should choose one who is mindful and hard to be deluded, while
one who is not so we should reject:—is that it? Yes. And we must appoint
them labours and pains and contests, in which we must observe these very
same things. Right, said he. Should we not, also, said I, appoint a
third contest, that of the mountebank kind; and look to see, just as
persons lead young colts amidst noises and tumults, to find out whether
they are frightened?—and thus, while yet young, they must be led into
various fearful situations, and again be thrown back into pleasures,
trying them far more than gold in the fire, whether a person appears
hard to be beguiled by mountebank tricks, and is of composed demeanour
amidst all, because he is a good guardian of himself, and of that music
in which he had been instructed, proving himself in all these respects
to be in just rhythm and harmony. Being of such character, he would
truly be most useful both to himself and the state. And he who in
childhood, youth, and manhood, has been thus tried, and come out pure,
may be appointed governor and guardian of the state; honours are to be
paid him while he lives, and at his death he should receive the highest
rewards of public burial and other memorials:—while one that is not such
we must reject. Somewhat like this, methinks, Glaucon, said I,—for we
have only drawn it in outline, not defined it accurately,[144]—should be
the mode of choosing and establishing our governors and guardians. I
think so too, rejoined he. Is it not then really most correct to call
these the perfect guardians, both as to what relates to enemies abroad
and friends at home, for taking from one party the will, and from the
other the power of doing mischief, while the youth (whom we just now
called guardians) will be allies and auxiliaries to the decrees of the
governors? Yes, I think so, replied he.
-----
Footnote 144:
Gr. ὡς ἐν τύπῳ, μὴ δι’ ἀκριβείας, εἰρῆσθαι. Comp. vi. ch. 6—ἔχεις γὰρ
τὸν τύπον ὧν λέγω, where τύπον, as here means _a general notion_ or
_sketch_, like ὑπογραφὴν in ch. 16 of the same book.
-----
CHAP. XXI.—What then, said I, should be our plan, when we are falsifying
by one of the well-intentioned and necessary untruths, such as we just
mentioned, with a view to persuade chiefly the governors
themselves;—but, if not these, the rest of the state? What kind of
untruth do you mean? Nothing new, said I, but something like the
Phœnician fable,[145] which has often taken place heretofore, as the
poets say and have persuaded us, but which has not happened in our
times, nor do I know whether it is likely to happen,—to persuade one of
which indeed requires great suasive power. You seem to me, said he, to
hesitate to tell it! I shall appear to you, said I, to hesitate with
very good reason, whenever I shall tell it. Speak, said he, and be not
afraid. I will tell you then, though I know not with what courage, or
what words I am to use in telling you;—and I will attempt, first of all
to persuade the governors themselves, and the soldiers, and then also
the rest of the state, that, whatever training or education we gave
them, all these particulars seemed to affect and befal them like dreams,
while really they were in course of formation and development beneath
the earth, where are fabricated not only themselves, but also their
armour and other equipments:—but after they were completely fashioned,
the earth, who is their mother, brought them forth; and now they ought
to consult the interests of the country in which they reside as for a
mother and nurse, and to defend her in case of invasion, and to look
upon the rest of the citizens as their brethren, and sprung from the
same soil. It is not without reason, said he, that some time back, you
were ashamed to tell this falsehood. Quite so, said I:—but still hear
the remainder of the fable. All of you in the state truly are brethren
(as we shall tell them by way of fable); but the God, in forming you,
mixed gold in the formation of such of you as are able to govern;—on
which account they are the most honourable;—in such as are auxiliaries,
silver;—and in the husbandmen and other craftsmen, iron and brass. Since
then you are all of the same kindred, you would for the most part beget
children resembling yourselves; and sometimes perhaps silver will be
generated out of gold, and out of silver there might be a golden
offspring; and thus in all other ways [are they generated] out of one
another.[146] Governors then, first and chiefly, the God charges, that
over nothing are they to be such good guardians, or to keep such
vigilant watch, as over their children;—[to know] with which of these
principles their souls are imbued;—and should their descendants be of
brass or iron, they will show them no indulgence whatever, but assigning
them honour just proportioned to their natural temper, will thrust them
down to the rank of craftsmen or husbandmen. And if again any from among
these latter shall exhibit a golden or silver sort of nature, they are
to pay them honour and elevate them;—some to the guardianship, others to
the rank of auxiliaries,—the oracle having declared that the state shall
perish whenever iron or brass shall hold its guardianship. With respect
to this fable then, have you any means of persuading them of its truth?
None, said he, of persuading these men themselves; but I have as
respects their sons and posterity, and the rest of mankind afterwards.
Even this, said I, would act well in making them more anxious about the
state’s welfare, and for one another; for I almost understand what you
mean;—and this truly will lead the same way as the oracle.
-----
Footnote 145:
The scholiast tells us that the Phœnician fable had reference to the
myths related about the dragon and the sown men that arose at the
bidding of Cadmus, the son of Agenor, and grandson of Poseidon and
Libya, whose native country was Phœnicia.
Footnote 146:
Aristotle makes some rather strong remarks on these views in his
Polit. ch. 2, § 15, ed. Schneid.
-----
CHAP. XXII.—As for ourselves, having armed these earth-born sons, let us
lead them forward under the conduct of their leaders; and when they are
come into the city, let them consider where they may best pitch their
camp, so as best to keep in order those within it, should any one be
unwilling to obey the laws; and likewise how they may defend it against
those without, should any enemy come, like a wolf, on the fold. And when
they have pitched their camp, and sacrificed to the proper divinities,
let them erect their tents: is that the way? Just so, said he. They
should be such then as may suffice to defend them, both from winter’s
cold and summer-heat? Of course; for I think, said he, you are alluding
to houses. Yes, said I, those of the military class, not those of the
money-makers. How, replied he, do you say that the latter differs from
the former? I will try to tell you, said I; for, of all things, it is
the most dreadful, and disgraceful to shepherds, to breed, as guardians
of the flocks, such kind of dogs, and in such a manner, as that, either
through want of discipline, or hunger, or some other ill habit, the dogs
should themselves attempt to hurt the sheep, and so resemble wolves
rather than dogs. It is dreadful, of course, said he. Must we not then
take all care, lest our allies act thus towards our citizens, as being
the more powerful, and, instead of generous allies, resemble savage
masters? We must take care, said he. Would they not be prepared to
exercise the greatest caution, if they were really well educated? They
are so, moreover, replied he. I then, for my part, observed: that you
cannot properly insist on, friend Glaucon; but what we were just now
saying is proper; namely, that they should have a good education,
whatever its nature, if they are to possess what is most important
towards rendering them mild, both among themselves and towards those
under their guardianship. Right, said he. In addition then to this
training, any intelligent person would say, that their houses and all
other effects ought to be so contrived, as neither to impede their
guardians in becoming the very best possible, nor to excite them to the
injury of the other citizens. Aye, and he will say true. If then they
intend to be such, consider, said I, whether they ought to live and
arrange their household in some such manner, as follows: First, let none
possess any private property unless it be absolutely necessary: next,
let none have any dwelling, or store-house, into which any one that
pleases may not enter: then, as for necessaries, let them be such as
both temperate and brave champions in war may require; making for
themselves this law, not to receive such a reward of their guardianship
from the other citizens, as to have either surplus or deficiency at the
year’s end. Let them also frequent public meals, as in camps, and live
in common; and we must tell them, that they have ever in their souls
from the gods a divine gold and silver, and therefore have no need of
that which is human; and that it were profane to pollute the possession
of the divine ore, by mixing it with the alloy of the mortal metal;
because the money of the vulgar has produced many impious deeds, while
that which they have is pure; and that of all men in the city, they
alone should not be allowed to handle or touch gold or silver, or
harbour it under their roof, or carry it about, nor to drink out of
silver or gold. By such means they will be likely to preserve both
themselves and the state; but whenever they shall possess private lands
and houses, and money, they will become stewards and farmers instead of
guardians, and hateful masters instead of allies to the other citizens;
in hating indeed, and being hated, in plotting, and being plotted
against, they will pass the whole of their life; much more frequently
and more really terrified by the enemies from within than by those from
without, as they and the rest of the state are hastening very near to
destruction. For all these reasons, said I, we must say, that our
guardians should be thus regulated, both as to their houses and all
other matters. And let us consider these things as law; shall we not? By
all means, said Glaucon.