"The Republic
(Book X)"
by Plato
translated by Benjamin Jowett
Editor's Note: This essay and the translation are in the
public domain and may be freely reproduced.
The discussion questions, bibliographic references, and hyperlinks
have been added by Julie Van Camp. (Copyright Julie C. Van Camp
1997) They too may be freely reproduced, so long as this complete
citation is included with any such reproductions.
About the Author: Plato
lived in Athens from c. 429 - 347 B.C. Much of his writing is
in the form of dialogues, which introduced philosophical argument
and debate in the West.
Paragraph numbering below has been added to facilitate class
discussion.
It was not included in the original text or translation.
[DISCUSSION QUESTIONS]
SOCRATES - GLAUCON
- OF THE many excellences which I perceive in the order of our
State, there is none which upon reflection pleases me better than
the rule about poetry.
- To what do you refer?
- To the rejection of imitative poetry, which certainly ought
not to be received; as I see far more clearly now that the parts
of the soul have been distinguished.
- What do you mean?
- Speaking in confidence, for I should not like to have my words
repeated to the tragedians and the rest of the imitative tribe
--but I do not mind saying to you, that all poetical imitations
are ruinous to the understanding of the hearers, and that the
knowledge of their true nature is the only antidote to them.
- Explain the purport of your remark.
- Well, I will tell you, although I have always from my earliest
youth had an awe and love of Homer, which even now makes the words
falter on my lips, for he is the great captain and teacher of
the whole of that charming tragic company; but a man is not to
be reverenced more than the truth, and therefore I will speak
out.
- Very good, he said.
- Listen to me then, or rather, answer me.
- Put your question.
- Can you tell me what imitation is? for I really do not know.
- A likely thing, then, that I should know.
- Why not? for the duller eye may often see a thing sooner than
the keener.
- Very true, he said; but in your presence, even if I had any
faint notion, I could not muster courage to utter it. Will you
enquire yourself?
- Well then, shall we begin the enquiry in our usual manner:
Whenever a number of individuals have a common name, we assume
them to have also a corresponding idea or form. Do you understand
me?
- I do.
- Let us take any common instance; there are beds and tables
in the world --plenty of them, are there not?
- Yes.
- But there are only two ideas or forms of them --one the idea
of a bed, the other of a table.
- True.
- And the maker of either of them makes a bed or he makes a
table for our use, in accordance with the idea --that is our way
of speaking in this and similar instances --but no artificer makes
the ideas themselves: how could he?
- Impossible.
- And there is another artist, --I should like to know what
you would say of him.
- Who is he?
- One who is the maker of all the works of all other workmen.
- What an extraordinary man!
- Wait a little, and there will be more reason for your saying
so. For this is he who is able to make not only vessels of every
kind, but plants and animals, himself and all other things --the
earth and heaven, and the things which are in heaven or under
the earth; he makes the gods also.
- He must be a wizard and no mistake.
- Oh! you are incredulous, are you? Do you mean that there is
no such maker or creator, or that in one sense there might be
a maker of all these things but in another not? Do you see that
there is a way in which you could make them all yourself?
- What way?
- An easy way enough; or rather, there are many ways in which
the feat might be quickly and easily accomplished, none quicker
than that of turning a mirror round and round --you would soon
enough make the sun and the heavens, and the earth and yourself,
and other animals and plants, and all the, other things of which
we were just now speaking, in the mirror.
- Yes, he said; but they would be appearances only.
- Very good, I said, you are coming to the point now. And the
painter too is, as I conceive, just such another --a creator of
appearances, is he not?
- Of course.
- But then I suppose you will say that what he creates is untrue.
And yet there is a sense in which the painter also creates a bed?
- Yes, he said, but not a real bed.
- And what of the maker of the bed? Were you not saying that
he too makes, not the idea which, according to our view, is the
essence of the bed, but only a particular bed?
- Yes, I did.
- Then if he does not make that which exists he cannot make
true existence, but only some semblance of existence; and if any
one were to say that the work of the maker of the bed, or of any
other workman, has real existence, he could hardly be supposed
to be speaking the truth.
- At any rate, he replied, philosophers would say that he was
not speaking the truth.
- No wonder, then, that his work too is an indistinct expression
of truth.
- No wonder.
- Suppose now that by the light of the examples just offered
we enquire who this imitator is?
- If you please.
- Well then, here are three beds: one existing in nature, which
is made by God, as I think that we may say --for no one else can
be the maker?
- No.
- There is another which is the work of the carpenter?
- Yes.
- And the work of the painter is a third?
- Yes.
- Beds, then, are of three kinds, and there are three artists
who superintend them: God, the maker of the bed, and the painter?
- Yes, there are three of them.
- God, whether from choice or from necessity, made one bed in
nature and one only; two or more such ideal beds neither ever
have been nor ever will be made by God.
- Why is that?
- Because even if He had made but two, a third would still appear
behind them which both of them would have for their idea, and
that would be the ideal bed and the two others.
- Very true, he said.
- God knew this, and He desired to be the real maker of a real
bed, not a particular maker of a particular bed, and therefore
He created a bed which is essentially and by nature one only.
- So we believe.
- Shall we, then, speak of Him as the natural author or maker
of the bed?
- Yes, he replied; inasmuch as by the natural process of creation
He is the author of this and of all other things.
- And what shall we say of the carpenter --is not he also the
maker of the bed?
- Yes.
- But would you call the painter a creator and maker?
- Certainly not.
- Yet if he is not the maker, what is he in relation to the
bed?
- I think, he said, that we may fairly designate him as the
imitator of that which the others make.
- Good, I said; then you call him who is third in the descent
from nature an imitator?
- Certainly, he said.
- And the tragic poet is an imitator, and therefore, like all
other imitators, he is thrice removed from the king and from the
truth?
- That appears to be so.
- Then about the imitator we are agreed. And what about the
painter? --I would like to know whether he may be thought to imitate
that which originally exists in nature, or only the creations
of artists?
- The latter.
- As they are or as they appear? You have still to determine
this.
- What do you mean?
- I mean, that you may look at a bed from different points of
view, obliquely or directly or from any other point of view, and
the bed will appear different, but there is no difference in reality.
And the same of all things.
- Yes, he said, the difference is only apparent.
- Now let me ask you another question: Which is the art of painting
designed to be --an imitation of things as they are, or as they
appear --of appearance or of reality?
- Of appearance.
- Then the imitator, I said, is a long way off the truth, and
can do all things because he lightly touches on a small part of
them, and that part an image. For example: A painter will paint
a cobbler, carpenter, or any other artist, though he knows nothing
of their arts; and, if he is a good artist, he may deceive children
or simple persons, when he shows them his picture of a carpenter
from a distance, and they will fancy that they are looking at
a real carpenter.
- Certainly.
- And whenever any one informs us that he has found a man knows
all the arts, and all things else that anybody knows, and every
single thing with a higher degree of accuracy than any other man
--whoever tells us this, I think that we can only imagine to be
a simple creature who is likely to have been deceived by some
wizard or actor whom he met, and whom he thought all-knowing,
because he himself was unable to analyse the nature of knowledge
and ignorance and imitation.
- Most true.
- And so, when we hear persons saying that the tragedians, and
Homer, who is at their head, know all the arts and all things
human, virtue as well as vice, and divine things too, for that
the good poet cannot compose well unless he knows his subject,
and that he who has not this knowledge can never be a poet, we
ought to consider whether here also there may not be a similar
illusion. Perhaps they may have come across imitators and been
deceived by them; they may not have remembered when they saw their
works that these were but imitations thrice removed from the truth,
and could easily be made without any knowledge of the truth, because
they are appearances only and not realities? Or, after all, they
may be in the right, and poets do really know the things about
which they seem to the many to speak so well?
- The question, he said, should by all means be considered.
- Now do you suppose that if a person were able to make the
original as well as the image, he would seriously devote himself
to the image-making branch? Would he allow imitation to be the
ruling principle of his life, as if he had nothing higher in him?
- I should say not.
- The real artist, who knew what he was imitating, would be
interested in realities and not in imitations; and would desire
to leave as memorials of himself works many and fair; and, instead
of being the author of encomiums, he would prefer to be the theme
of them.
- Yes, he said, that would be to him a source of much greater
honour and profit.
- Then, I said, we must put a question to Homer; not about
medicine,
or any of the arts to which his poems only incidentally refer:
we are not going to ask him, or any other poet, whether he has
cured patients like Asclepius, or left behind him a school of
medicine such as the Asclepiads were, or whether he only talks
about medicine and other arts at second hand; but we have a right
to know respecting military tactics, politics, education, which
are the chiefest and noblest subjects of his poems, and we may
fairly ask him about them. 'Friend Homer,' then we say to him,
'if you are only in the second remove from truth in what you say
of virtue, and not in the third --not an image maker or imitator
--and if you are able to discern what pursuits make men better
or worse in private or public life, tell us what State was ever
better governed by your help? The good order of Lacedaemon is
due to Lycurgus, and many other cities great and small have been
similarly benefited by others; but who says that you have been
a good legislator to them and have done them any good? Italy and
Sicily boast of Charondas, and there is Solon who is renowned
among us; but what city has anything to say about you?' Is there
any city which he might name?
- I think not, said Glaucon; not even the Homerids themselves
pretend that he was a legislator.
- Well, but is there any war on record which was carried on
successfully by him, or aided by his counsels, when he was alive?
- There is not.
- Or is there any invention of his, applicable to the arts or
to human life, such as Thales the Milesian or Anacharsis the Scythian,
and other ingenious men have conceived, which is attributed to
him?
- There is absolutely nothing of the kind.
- But, if Homer never did any public service, was he privately
a guide or teacher of any? Had he in his lifetime friends who
loved to associate with him, and who handed down to posterity
an Homeric way of life, such as was established by Pythagoras
who was so greatly beloved for his wisdom, and whose followers
are to this day quite celebrated for the order which was named
after him?
- Nothing of the kind is recorded of him. For surely, Socrates,
Creophylus, the companion of Homer, that child of flesh, whose
name always makes us laugh, might be more justly ridiculed for
his stupidity, if, as is said, Homer was greatly neglected by
him and others in his own day when he was alive?
- Yes, I replied, that is the tradition. But can you imagine,
Glaucon, that if Homer had really been able to educate and improve
mankind --if he had possessed knowledge and not been a mere imitator
--can you imagine, I say, that he would not have had many followers,
and been honoured and loved by them? Protagoras of Abdera, and
Prodicus of Ceos, and a host of others, have only to whisper to
their contemporaries: 'You will never be able to manage either
your own house or your own State until you appoint us to be your
ministers of education' --and this ingenious device of theirs
has such an effect in making them love them that their companions
all but carry them about on their shoulders. And is it conceivable
that the contemporaries of Homer, or again of Hesiod, would have
allowed either of them to go about as rhapsodists, if they had
really been able to make mankind virtuous? Would they not have
been as unwilling to part with them as with gold, and have compelled
them to stay at home with them? Or, if the master would not stay,
then the disciples would have followed him about everywhere, until
they had got education enough?
- Yes, Socrates, that, I think, is quite true.
- Then must we not infer that all these poetical individuals,
beginning with Homer, are only imitators; they copy images of
virtue and the like, but the truth they never reach? The poet
is like a painter who, as we have already observed, will make
a likeness of a cobbler though he understands nothing of cobbling;
and his picture is good enough for those who know no more than
he does, and judge only by colours and figures.
- Quite so.
- In like manner the poet with his words and phrases may be
said to lay on the colours of the several arts, himself understanding
their nature only enough to imitate them; and other people, who
are as ignorant as he is, and judge only from his words, imagine
that if he speaks of cobbling, or of military tactics, or of anything
else, in metre and harmony and rhythm, he speaks very well --such
is the sweet influence which melody and rhythm by nature have.
And I think that you must have observed again and again what a
poor appearance the tales of poets make when stripped of the colours
which music puts upon them, and recited in simple prose.
- Yes, he said.
- They are like faces which were never really beautiful, but
only blooming; and now the bloom of youth has passed away from
them?
- Exactly.
- Here is another point: The imitator or maker of the image
knows nothing of true existence; he knows appearances only. Am
I not right?
- Yes.
- Then let us have a clear understanding, and not be satisfied
with half an explanation.
- Proceed.
- Of the painter we say that he will paint reins, and he will
paint a bit?
- Yes.
- And the worker in leather and brass will make them?
- Certainly.
- But does the painter know the right form of the bit and reins?
Nay, hardly even the workers in brass and leather who make them;
only the horseman who knows how to use them --he knows their right
form.
- Most true.
- And may we not say the same of all things?
- What?
- That there are three arts which are concerned with all things:
one which uses, another which makes, a third which imitates them?
- Yes.
- And the excellence or beauty or truth of every structure,
animate or inanimate, and of every action of man, is relative
to the use for which nature or the artist has intended them.
- True.
- Then the user of them must have the greatest experience of
them, and he must indicate to the maker the good or bad qualities
which develop themselves in use; for example, the flute-player
will tell the flute-maker which of his flutes is satisfactory
to the performer; he will tell him how he ought to make them,
and the other will attend to his instructions?
- Of course.
- The one knows and therefore speaks with authority about the
goodness and badness of flutes, while the other, confiding in
him, will do what he is told by him?
- True.
- The instrument is the same, but about the excellence or badness
of it the maker will only attain to a correct belief; and this
he will gain from him who knows, by talking to him and being compelled
to hear what he has to say, whereas the user will have knowledge?
- True.
- But will the imitator have either? Will he know from use whether
or no his drawing is correct or beautiful? Or will he have right
opinion from being compelled to associate with another who knows
and gives him instructions about what he should draw?
- Neither.
- Then he will no more have true opinion than he will have
knowledge
about the goodness or badness of his imitations?
- I suppose not.
- The imitative artist will be in a brilliant state of intelligence
about his own creations?
- Nay, very much the reverse.
- And still he will go on imitating without knowing what makes
a thing good or bad, and may be expected therefore to imitate
only that which appears to be good to the ignorant multitude?
- Just so.
- Thus far then we are pretty well agreed that the imitator
has no knowledge worth mentioning of what he imitates. Imitation
is only a kind of play or sport, and the tragic poets, whether
they write in iambic or in Heroic verse, are imitators in the
highest degree?
- Very true.
- And now tell me, I conjure you, has not imitation been shown
by us to be concerned with that which is thrice removed from the
truth?
- Certainly.
- And what is the faculty in man to which imitation is addressed?
- What do you mean?
- I will explain: The body which is large when seen near, appears
small when seen at a distance?
- True.
- And the same object appears straight when looked at out of
the water, and crooked when in the water; and the concave becomes
convex, owing to the illusion about colours to which the sight
is liable. Thus every sort of confusion is revealed within us;
and this is that weakness of the human mind on which the art of
conjuring and of deceiving by light and shadow and other ingenious
devices imposes, having an effect upon us like magic.
- I see that is true.
- And the arts of measuring and numbering and weighing come
to the rescue of the human understanding-there is the beauty of
them --and the apparent greater or less, or more or heavier, no
longer have the mastery over us, but give way before calculation
and measure and weight?
- Most true.
- And this, surely, must be the work of the calculating and
rational principle in the soul
- To be sure.
- And when this principle measures and certifies that some things
are equal, or that some are greater or less than others, there
occurs an apparent contradiction?
- True.
- But were we not saying that such a contradiction is the same
faculty cannot have contrary opinions at the same time about the
same thing?
- Very true.
- Then that part of the soul which has an opinion contrary to
measure is not the same with that which has an opinion in accordance
with measure?
- True.
- And the better part of the soul is likely to be that which
trusts to measure and calculation?
- Certainly.
- And that which is opposed to them is one of the inferior
principles
of the soul?
- No doubt.
- This was the conclusion at which I was seeking to arrive when
I said that painting or drawing, and imitation in general, when
doing their own proper work, are far removed from truth, and the
companions and friends and associates of a principle within us
which is equally removed from reason, and that they have no true
or healthy aim.
- Exactly.
- The imitative art is an inferior who marries an inferior,
and has inferior offspring.
- Very true.
- And is this confined to the sight only, or does it extend
to the hearing also, relating in fact to what we term poetry?
- Probably the same would be true of poetry.
- Do not rely, I said, on a probability derived from the analogy
of painting; but let us examine further and see whether the faculty
with which poetical imitation is concerned is good or bad.
- By all means.
- We may state the question thus: --Imitation imitates the actions
of men, whether voluntary or involuntary, on which, as they imagine,
a good or bad result has ensued, and they rejoice or sorrow
accordingly.
Is there anything more?
- No, there is nothing else.
- But in all this variety of circumstances is the man at unity
with himself --or rather, as in the instance of sight there was
confusion and opposition in his opinions about the same things,
so here also is there not strife and inconsistency in his life?
Though I need hardly raise the question again, for I remember
that all this has been already admitted; and the soul has been
acknowledged by us to be full of these and ten thousand similar
oppositions occurring at the same moment?
- And we were right, he said.
- Yes, I said, thus far we were right; but there was an omission
which must now be supplied.
- What was the omission?
- Were we not saying that a good man, who has the misfortune
to lose his son or anything else which is most dear to him, will
bear the loss with more equanimity than another?
- Yes.
- But will he have no sorrow, or shall we say that although
he cannot help sorrowing, he will moderate his sorrow?
- The latter, he said, is the truer statement.
- Tell me: will he be more likely to struggle and hold out against
his sorrow when he is seen by his equals, or when he is alone?
- It will make a great difference whether he is seen or not.
- When he is by himself he will not mind saying or doing many
things which he would be ashamed of any one hearing or seeing
him do?
- True.
- There is a principle of law and reason in him which bids him
resist, as well as a feeling of his misfortune which is forcing
him to indulge his sorrow?
- True.
- But when a man is drawn in two opposite directions, to and
from the same object, this, as we affirm, necessarily implies
two distinct principles in him?
- Certainly.
- One of them is ready to follow the guidance of the law?
- How do you mean?
- The law would say that to be patient under suffering is best,
and that we should not give way to impatience, as there is no
knowing whether such things are good or evil; and nothing is gained
by impatience; also, because no human thing is of serious importance,
and grief stands in the way of that which at the moment is most
required.
- What is most required? he asked.
- That we should take counsel about what has happened, and when
the dice have been thrown order our affairs in the way which reason
deems best; not, like children who have had a fall, keeping hold
of the part struck and wasting time in setting up a howl, but
always accustoming the soul forthwith to apply a remedy, raising
up that which is sickly and fallen, banishing the cry of sorrow
by the healing art.
- Yes, he said, that is the true way of meeting the attacks
of fortune.
- Yes, I said; and the higher principle is ready to follow this
suggestion of reason?
- Clearly.
- And the other principle, which inclines us to recollection
of our troubles and to lamentation, and can never have enough
of them, we may call irrational, useless, and cowardly?
- Indeed, we may.
- And does not the latter --I mean the rebellious principle
--furnish a great variety of materials for imitation? Whereas
the wise and calm temperament, being always nearly equable, is
not easy to imitate or to appreciate when imitated, especially
at a public festival when a promiscuous crowd is assembled in
a theatre. For the feeling represented is one to which they are
strangers.
- Certainly.
- Then the imitative poet who aims at being popular is not by
nature made, nor is his art intended, to please or to affect the
principle in the soul; but he will prefer the passionate and fitful
temper, which is easily imitated?
- Clearly.
- And now we may fairly take him and place him by the side of
the painter, for he is like him in two ways: first, inasmuch as
his creations have an inferior degree of truth --in this, I say,
he is like him; and he is also like him in being concerned with
an inferior part of the soul; and therefore we shall be right
in refusing to admit him into a well-ordered State, because he
awakens and nourishes and strengthens the feelings and impairs
the reason. As in a city when the evil are permitted to have authority
and the good are put out of the way, so in the soul of man, as
we maintain, the imitative poet implants an evil constitution,
for he indulges the irrational nature which has no discernment
of greater and less, but thinks the same thing at one time great
and at another small-he is a manufacturer of images and is very
far removed from the truth.
- Exactly.
- But we have not yet brought forward the heaviest count in
our accusation: --the power which poetry has of harming even the
good (and there are very few who are not harmed), is surely an
awful thing?
- Yes, certainly, if the effect is what you say.
- Hear and judge: The best of us, as I conceive, when we listen
to a passage of Homer, or one of the tragedians, in which he represents
some pitiful hero who is drawling out his sorrows in a long oration,
or weeping, and smiting his breast --the best of us, you know,
delight in giving way to sympathy, and are in raptures at the
excellence of the poet who stirs our feelings most.
- Yes, of course I know.
- But when any sorrow of our own happens to us, then you may
observe that we pride ourselves on the opposite quality --we would
fain be quiet and patient; this is the manly part, and the other
which delighted us in the recitation is now deemed to be the part
of a woman.
- Very true, he said.
- Now can we be right in praising and admiring another who is
doing that which any one of us would abominate and be ashamed
of in his own person?
- No, he said, that is certainly not reasonable.
- Nay, I said, quite reasonable from one point of view.
- What point of view?
- If you consider, I said, that when in misfortune we feel a
natural hunger and desire to relieve our sorrow by weeping and
lamentation, and that this feeling which is kept under control
in our own calamities is satisfied and delighted by the poets;-the
better nature in each of us, not having been sufficiently trained
by reason or habit, allows the sympathetic element to break loose
because the sorrow is another's; and the spectator fancies that
there can be no disgrace to himself in praising and pitying any
one who comes telling him what a good man he is, and making a
fuss about his troubles; he thinks that the pleasure is a gain,
and why should he be supercilious and lose this and the poem too?
Few persons ever reflect, as I should imagine, that from the evil
of other men something of evil is communicated to themselves.
And so the feeling of sorrow which has gathered strength at the
sight of the misfortunes of others is with difficulty repressed
in our own.
- How very true!
- And does not the same hold also of the ridiculous? There are
jests which you would be ashamed to make yourself, and yet on
the comic stage, or indeed in private, when you hear them, you
are greatly amused by them, and are not at all disgusted at their
unseemliness; --the case of pity is repeated; --there is a principle
in human nature which is disposed to raise a laugh, and this which
you once restrained by reason, because you were afraid of being
thought a buffoon, is now let out again; and having stimulated
the risible faculty at the theatre, you are betrayed unconsciously
to yourself into playing the comic poet at home.
- Quite true, he said.
- And the same may be said of lust and anger and all the other
affections, of desire and pain and pleasure, which are held to
be inseparable from every action ---in all of them poetry feeds
and waters the passions instead of drying them up; she lets them
rule, although they ought to be controlled, if mankind are ever
to increase in happiness and virtue.
- I cannot deny it.
- Therefore, Glaucon, I said, whenever you meet with any of
the eulogists of Homer declaring that he has been the educator
of Hellas, and that he is profitable for education and for the
ordering of human things, and that you should take him up again
and again and get to know him and regulate your whole life according
to him, we may love and honour those who say these things --they
are excellent people, as far as their lights extend; and we are
ready to acknowledge that Homer is the greatest of poets and first
of tragedy writers; but we must remain firm in our conviction
that hymns to the gods and praises of famous men are the only
poetry which ought to be admitted into our State. For if you go
beyond this and allow the honeyed muse to enter, either in epic
or lyric verse, not law and the reason of mankind, which by common
consent have ever been deemed best, but pleasure and pain will
be the rulers in our State.
- That is most true, he said.
- And now since we have reverted to the subject of poetry, let
this our defence serve to show the reasonableness of our former
judgment in sending away out of our State an art having the tendencies
which we have described; for reason constrained us. But that she
may impute to us any harshness or want of politeness, let us tell
her that there is an ancient quarrel between philosophy and poetry;
of which there are many proofs, such as the saying of 'the yelping
hound howling at her lord,' or of one 'mighty in the vain talk
of fools,' and 'the mob of sages circumventing Zeus,' and the
'subtle thinkers who are beggars after all'; and there are innumerable
other signs of ancient enmity between them. Notwithstanding this,
let us assure our sweet friend and the sister arts of imitation
that if she will only prove her title to exist in a well-ordered
State we shall be delighted to receive her --we are very conscious
of her charms; but we may not on that account betray the truth.
I dare say, Glaucon, that you are as much charmed by her as I
am, especially when she appears in Homer?
- Yes, indeed, I am greatly charmed.
- Shall I propose, then, that she be allowed to return from
exile, but upon this condition only --that she make a defence
of herself in lyrical or some other metre?
- Certainly.
- And we may further grant to those of her defenders who are
lovers of poetry and yet not poets the permission to speak in
prose on her behalf: let them show not only that she is pleasant
but also useful to States and to human life, and we will listen
in a kindly spirit; for if this can be proved we shall surely
be the gainers --I mean, if there is a use in poetry as well as
a delight?
- Certainly, he said, we shall the gainers.
- If her defence fails, then, my dear friend, like other persons
who are enamoured of something, but put a restraint upon themselves
when they think their desires are opposed to their interests,
so too must we after the manner of lovers give her up, though
not without a struggle. We too are inspired by that love of poetry
which the education of noble States has implanted in us, and therefore
we would have her appear at her best and truest; but so long as
she is unable to make good her defence, this argument of ours
shall be a charm to us, which we will repeat to ourselves while
we listen to her strains; that we may not fall away into the childish
love of her which captivates the many. At all events we are well
aware that poetry being such as we have described is not to be
regarded seriously as attaining to the truth; and he who listens
to her, fearing for the safety of the city which is within him,
should be on his guard against her seductions and make our words
his law.
- Yes, he said, I quite agree with you.
- Yes, I said, my dear Glaucon, for great is the issue at stake,
greater than appears, whether a man is to be good or bad. And
what will any one be profited if under the influence of honour
or money or power, aye, or under the excitement of poetry, he
neglect justice and virtue?
- Yes, he said; I have been convinced by the argument, as I
believe that any one else would have been.
- And yet no mention has been made of the greatest prizes and
rewards which await virtue.
- What, are there any greater still? If there are, they must
be of an inconceivable greatness.
- Why, I said, what was ever great in a short time? The whole
period of threescore years and ten is surely but a little thing
in comparison with eternity?
- Say rather 'nothing,' he replied.
- And should an immortal being seriously think of this little
space rather than of the whole?
- Of the whole, certainly. But why do you ask?
- Are you not aware, I said, that the soul of man is immortal
and imperishable?
- He looked at me in astonishment, and said: No, by heaven:
And are you really prepared to maintain this?
- Yes, I said, I ought to be, and you too --there is no difficulty
in proving it.
- I see a great difficulty; but I should like to hear you state
this argument of which you make so light.
- Listen then.
- I am attending.
- There is a thing which you call good and another which you
call evil?
- Yes, he replied.
- Would you agree with me in thinking that the corrupting and
destroying element is the evil, and the saving and improving element
the good?
- Yes.
- And you admit that every thing has a good and also an evil;
as ophthalmia is the evil of the eyes and disease of the whole
body; as mildew is of corn, and rot of timber, or rust of copper
and iron: in everything, or in almost everything, there is an
inherent evil and disease?
- Yes, he said.
- And anything which is infected by any of these evils is made
evil, and at last wholly dissolves and dies?
- True.
- The vice and evil which is inherent in each is the destruction
of each; and if this does not destroy them there is nothing else
that will; for good certainly will not destroy them, nor again,
that which is neither good nor evil.
- Certainly not.
- If, then, we find any nature which having this inherent
corruption
cannot be dissolved or destroyed, we may be certain that of such
a nature there is no destruction?
- That may be assumed.
- Well, I said, and is there no evil which corrupts the soul?
- Yes, he said, there are all the evils which we were just now
passing in review: unrighteousness, intemperance, cowardice, ignorance.
- But does any of these dissolve or destroy her? --and here
do not let us fall into the error of supposing that the unjust
and foolish man, when he is detected, perishes through his own
injustice, which is an evil of the soul. Take the analogy of the
body: The evil of the body is a disease which wastes and reduces
and annihilates the body; and all the things of which we were
just now speaking come to annihilation through their own corruption
attaching to them and inhering in them and so destroying them.
Is not this true?
- Yes.
- Consider the soul in like manner. Does the injustice or other
evil which exists in the soul waste and consume her? Do they by
attaching to the soul and inhering in her at last bring her to
death, and so separate her from the body ?
- Certainly not.
- And yet, I said, it is unreasonable to suppose that anything
can perish from without through affection of external evil which
could not be destroyed from within by a corruption of its own?
- It is, he replied.
- Consider, I said, Glaucon, that even the badness of food,
whether staleness, decomposition, or any other bad quality, when
confined to the actual food, is not supposed to destroy the body;
although, if the badness of food communicates corruption to the
body, then we should say that the body has been destroyed by a
corruption of itself, which is disease, brought on by this; but
that the body, being one thing, can be destroyed by the badness
of food, which is another, and which does not engender any natural
infection --this we shall absolutely deny?
- Very true.
- And, on the same principle, unless some bodily evil can produce
an evil of the soul, we must not suppose that the soul, which
is one thing, can be dissolved by any merely external evil which
belongs to another?
- Yes, he said, there is reason in that.
- Either then, let us refute this conclusion, or, while it remains
unrefuted, let us never say that fever, or any other disease,
or the knife put to the throat, or even the cutting up of the
whole body into the minutest pieces, can destroy the soul, until
she herself is proved to become more unholy or unrighteous in
consequence of these things being done to the body; but that the
soul, or anything else if not destroyed by an internal evil, can
be destroyed by an external one, is not to. be affirmed by any
man.
- And surely, he replied, no one will ever prove that the souls
of men become more unjust in consequence of death.
- But if some one who would rather not admit the immortality
of the soul boldly denies this, and says that the dying do really
become more evil and unrighteous, then, if the speaker is right,
I suppose that injustice, like disease, must be assumed to be
fatal to the unjust, and that those who take this disorder die
by the natural inherent power of destruction which evil has, and
which kills them sooner or later, but in quite another way from
that in which, at present, the wicked receive death at the hands
of others as the penalty of their deeds?
- Nay, he said, in that case injustice, if fatal to the unjust,
will not be so very terrible to him, for he will be delivered
from evil. But I rather suspect the opposite to be the truth,
and that injustice which, if it have the power, will murder others,
keeps the murderer alive --aye, and well awake too; so far removed
is her dwelling-place from being a house of death.
- True, I said; if the inherent natural vice or evil of the
soul is unable to kill or destroy her, hardly will that which
is appointed to be the destruction of some other body, destroy
a soul or anything else except that of which it was appointed
to be the destruction.
- Yes, that can hardly be.
- But the soul which cannot be destroyed by an evil, whether
inherent or external, must exist for ever, and if existing for
ever, must be immortal?
- Certainly.
- That is the conclusion, I said; and, if a true conclusion,
then the souls must always be the same, for if none be destroyed
they will not diminish in number. Neither will they increase,
for the increase of the immortal natures must come from something
mortal, and all things would thus end in immortality.
- Very true.
- But this we cannot believe --reason will not allow us --any
more than we can believe the soul, in her truest nature, to be
full of variety and difference and dissimilarity.
- What do you mean? he said.
- The soul, I said, being, as is now proven, immortal, must
be the fairest of compositions and cannot be compounded of many
elements?
- Certainly not.
- Her immortality is demonstrated by the previous argument,
and there are many other proofs; but to see her as she really
is, not as we now behold her, marred by communion with the body
and other miseries, you must contemplate her with the eye of reason,
in her original purity; and then her beauty will be revealed,
and justice and injustice and all the things which we have described
will be manifested more clearly. Thus far, we have spoken the
truth concerning her as she appears at present, but we must remember
also that we have seen her only in a condition which may be compared
to that of the sea-god Glaucus, whose original image can hardly
be discerned because his natural members are broken off and crushed
and damaged by the waves in all sorts of ways, and incrustations
have grown over them of seaweed and shells and stones, so that
he is more like some monster than he is to his own natural form.
And the soul which we behold is in a similar condition, disfigured
by ten thousand ills. But not there, Glaucon, not there must we
look.
- Where then?
- At her love of wisdom. Let us see whom she affects, and what
society and converse she seeks in virtue of her near kindred with
the immortal and eternal and divine; also how different she would
become if wholly following this superior principle, and borne
by a divine impulse out of the ocean in which she now is, and
disengaged from the stones and shells and things of earth and
rock which in wild variety spring up around her because she feeds
upon earth, and is overgrown by the good things of this life as
they are termed: then you would see her as she is, and know whether
she has one shape only or many, or what her nature is. Of her
affections and of the forms which she takes in this present life
I think that we have now said enough.
- True, he replied.
- And thus, I said, we have fulfilled the conditions of the
argument; we have not introduced the rewards and glories of justice,
which, as you were saying, are to be found in Homer and Hesiod;
but justice in her own nature has been shown to be best for the
soul in her own nature. Let a man do what is just, whether he
have the ring of Gyges or not, and even if in addition to the
ring of Gyges he put on the helmet of Hades.
- Very true.
- And now, Glaucon, there will be no harm in further enumerating
how many and how great are the rewards which justice and the other
virtues procure to the soul from gods and men, both in life and
after death.
- Certainly not, he said.
- Will you repay me, then, what you borrowed in the argument?
- What did I borrow?
- The assumption that the just man should appear unjust and
the unjust just: for you were of opinion that even if the true
state of the case could not possibly escape the eyes of gods and
men, still this admission ought to be made for the sake of the
argument, in order that pure justice might be weighed against
pure injustice. Do you remember?
- I should be much to blame if I had forgotten.
- Then, as the cause is decided, I demand on behalf of justice
that the estimation in which she is held by gods and men and which
we acknowledge to be her due should now be restored to her by
us; since she has been shown to confer reality, and not to deceive
those who truly possess her, let what has been taken from her
be given back, that so she may win that palm of appearance which
is hers also, and which she gives to her own.
- The demand, he said, is just.
- In the first place, I said --and this is the first thing which
you will have to give back --the nature both of the just and unjust
is truly known to the gods.
- Granted.
- And if they are both known to them, one must be the friend
and the other the enemy of the gods, as we admitted from the beginning?
- True.
- And the friend of the gods may be supposed to receive from
them all things at their best, excepting only such evil as is
the necessary consequence of former sins?
- Certainly.
- Then this must be our notion of the just man, that even when
he is in poverty or sickness, or any other seeming misfortune,
all things will in the end work together for good to him in life
and death: for the gods have a care of any one whose desire is
to become just and to be like God, as far as man can attain the
divine likeness, by the pursuit of virtue?
- Yes, he said; if he is like God he will surely not be neglected
by him.
- And of the unjust may not the opposite be supposed?
- Certainly.
- Such, then, are the palms of victory which the gods give the
just?
- That is my conviction.
- And what do they receive of men? Look at things as they really
are, and you will see that the clever unjust are in the case of
runners, who run well from the starting-place to the goal but
not back again from the goal: they go off at a great pace, but
in the end only look foolish, slinking away with their ears draggling
on their shoulders, and without a crown; but the true runner comes
to the finish and receives the prize and is crowned. And this
is the way with the just; he who endures to the end of every action
and occasion of his entire life has a good report and carries
off the prize which men have to bestow.
- True.
- And now you must allow me to repeat of the just the blessings
which you were attributing to the fortunate unjust. I shall say
of them, what you were saying of the others, that as they grow
older, they become rulers in their own city if they care to be;
they marry whom they like and give in marriage to whom they will;
all that you said of the others I now say of these. And, on the
other hand, of the unjust I say that the greater number, even
though they escape in their youth, are found out at last and look
foolish at the end of their course, and when they come to be old
and miserable are flouted alike by stranger and citizen; they
are beaten and then come those things unfit for ears polite, as
you truly term them; they will be racked and have their eyes burned
out, as you were saying. And you may suppose that I have repeated
the remainder of your tale of horrors. But will you let me assume,
without reciting them, that these things are true?
- Certainly, he said, what you say is true.
- These, then, are the prizes and rewards and gifts which are
bestowed upon the just by gods and men in this present life, in
addition to the other good things which justice of herself provides.
- Yes, he said; and they are fair and lasting.
- And yet, I said, all these are as nothing, either in number
or greatness in comparison with those other recompenses which
await both just and unjust after death. And you ought to hear
them, and then both just and unjust will have received from us
a full payment of the debt which the argument owes to them.
- Speak, he said; there are few things which I would more gladly
hear.
- SOCRATES
- Well, I said, I will tell you a tale; not one of the tales
which Odysseus tells to the hero Alcinous, yet this too is a tale
of a hero, Er the son of Armenius, a Pamphylian by birth. He was
slain in battle, and ten days afterwards, when the bodies of the
dead were taken up already in a state of corruption, his body
was found unaffected by decay, and carried away home to be buried.
And on the twelfth day, as he was lying on the funeral pile, he
returned to life and told them what he had seen in the other world.
He said that when his soul left the body he went on a journey
with a great company, and that they came to a mysterious place
at which there were two openings in the earth; they were near
together, and over against them were two other openings in the
heaven above. In the intermediate space there were judges seated,
who commanded the just, after they had given judgment on them
and had bound their sentences in front of them, to ascend by the
heavenly way on the right hand; and in like manner the unjust
were bidden by them to descend by the lower way on the left hand;
these also bore the symbols of their deeds, but fastened on their
backs. He drew near, and they told him that he was to be the messenger
who would carry the report of the other world to men, and they
bade him hear and see all that was to be heard and seen in that
place. Then he beheld and saw on one side the souls departing
at either opening of heaven and earth when sentence had been given
on them; and at the two other openings other souls, some ascending
out of the earth dusty and worn with travel, some descending out
of heaven clean and bright. And arriving ever and anon they seemed
to have come from a long journey, and they went forth with gladness
into the meadow, where they encamped as at a festival; and those
who knew one another embraced and conversed, the souls which came
from earth curiously enquiring about the things above, and the
souls which came from heaven about the things beneath. And they
told one another of what had happened by the way, those from below
weeping and sorrowing at the remembrance of the things which they
had endured and seen in their journey beneath the earth (now the
journey lasted a thousand years), while those from above were
describing heavenly delights and visions of inconceivable beauty.
The Story, Glaucon, would take too long to tell; but the sum was
this: --He said that for every wrong which they had done to any
one they suffered tenfold; or once in a hundred years --such being
reckoned to be the length of man's life, and the penalty being
thus paid ten times in a thousand years. If, for example, there
were any who had been the cause of many deaths, or had betrayed
or enslaved cities or armies, or been guilty of any other evil
behaviour, for each and all of their offences they received punishment
ten times over, and the rewards of beneficence and justice and
holiness were in the same proportion. I need hardly repeat what
he said concerning young children dying almost as soon as they
were born. Of piety and impiety to gods and parents, and of murderers,
there were retributions other and greater far which he described.
He mentioned that he was present when one of the spirits asked
another, 'Where is Ardiaeus the Great?' (Now this Ardiaeus lived
a thousand years before the time of Er: he had been the tyrant
of some city of Pamphylia, and had murdered his aged father and
his elder brother, and was said to have committed many other abominable
crimes.) The answer of the other spirit was: 'He comes not hither
and will never come. And this,' said he, 'was one of the dreadful
sights which we ourselves witnessed. We were at the mouth of the
cavern, and, having completed all our experiences, were about
to reascend, when of a sudden Ardiaeus appeared and several others,
most of whom were tyrants; and there were also besides the tyrants
private individuals who had been great criminals: they were just,
as they fancied, about to return into the upper world, but the
mouth, instead of admitting them, gave a roar, whenever any of
these incurable sinners or some one who had not been sufficiently
punished tried to ascend; and then wild men of fiery aspect, who
were standing by and heard the sound, seized and carried them
off; and Ardiaeus and others they bound head and foot and hand,
and threw them down and flayed them with scourges, and dragged
them along the road at the side, carding them on thorns like wool,
and declaring to the passers-by what were their crimes, and that
they were being taken away to be cast into hell.' And of all the
many terrors which they had endured, he said that there was none
like the terror which each of them felt at that moment, lest they
should hear the voice; and when there was silence, one by one
they ascended with exceeding joy. These, said Er, were the penalties
and retributions, and there were blessings as great.
- Now when the spirits which were in the meadow had tarried
seven days, on the eighth they were obliged to proceed on their
journey, and, on the fourth day after, he said that they came
to a place where they could see from above a line of light, straight
as a column, extending right through the whole heaven and through
the earth, in colour resembling the rainbow, only brighter and
purer; another day's journey brought them to the place, and there,
in the midst of the light, they saw the ends of the chains of
heaven let down from above: for this light is the belt of heaven,
and holds together the circle of the universe, like the under-girders
of a trireme. From these ends is extended the spindle of Necessity,
on which all the revolutions turn. The shaft and hook of this
spindle are made of steel, and the whorl is made partly of steel
and also partly of other materials. Now the whorl is in form like
the whorl used on earth; and the description of it implied that
there is one large hollow whorl which is quite scooped out, and
into this is fitted another lesser one, and another, and another,
and four others, making eight in all, like vessels which fit into
one another; the whorls show their edges on the upper side, and
on their lower side all together form one continuous whorl. This
is pierced by the spindle, which is driven home through the centre
of the eighth. The first and outermost whorl has the rim broadest,
and the seven inner whorls are narrower, in the following proportions
--the sixth is next to the first in size, the fourth next to the
sixth; then comes the eighth; the seventh is fifth, the fifth
is sixth, the third is seventh, last and eighth comes the second.
The largest (of fixed stars) is spangled, and the seventh (or
sun) is brightest; the eighth (or moon) coloured by the reflected
light of the seventh; the second and fifth (Saturn and Mercury)
are in colour like one another, and yellower than the preceding;
the third (Venus) has the whitest light; the fourth (Mars) is
reddish; the sixth (Jupiter) is in whiteness second. Now the whole
spindle has the same motion; but, as the whole revolves in one
direction, the seven inner circles move slowly in the other, and
of these the swiftest is the eighth; next in swiftness are the
seventh, sixth, and fifth, which move together; third in swiftness
appeared to move according to the law of this reversed motion
the fourth; the third appeared fourth and the second fifth. The
spindle turns on the knees of Necessity; and on the upper surface
of each circle is a siren, who goes round with them, hymning a
single tone or note. The eight together form one harmony; and
round about, at equal intervals, there is another band, three
in number, each sitting upon her throne: these are the Fates,
daughters of Necessity, who are clothed in white robes and have
chaplets upon their heads, Lachesis and Clotho and Atropos, who
accompany with their voices the harmony of the sirens --Lachesis
singing of the past, Clotho of the present, Atropos of the future;
Clotho from time to time assisting with a touch of her right hand
the revolution of the outer circle of the whorl or spindle, and
Atropos with her left hand touching and guiding the inner ones,
and Lachesis laying hold of either in turn, first with one hand
and then with the other.
- When Er and the spirits arrived, their duty was to go at once
to Lachesis; but first of all there came a prophet who arranged
them in order; then he took from the knees of Lachesis lots and
samples of lives, and having mounted a high pulpit, spoke as follows:
'Hear the word of Lachesis, the daughter of Necessity. Mortal
souls, behold a new cycle of life and mortality. Your genius will
not be allotted to you, but you choose your genius; and let him
who draws the first lot have the first choice, and the life which
he chooses shall be his destiny. Virtue is free, and as a man
honours or dishonours her he will have more or less of her; the
responsibility is with the chooser --God is justified.' When the
Interpreter had thus spoken he scattered lots indifferently among
them all, and each of them took up the lot which fell near him,
all but Er himself (he was not allowed), and each as he took his
lot perceived the number which he had obtained. Then the Interpreter
placed on the ground before them the samples of lives; and there
were many more lives than the souls present, and they were of
all sorts. There were lives of every animal and of man in every
condition. And there were tyrannies among them, some lasting out
the tyrant's life, others which broke off in the middle and came
to an end in poverty and exile and beggary; and there were lives
of famous men, some who were famous for their form and beauty
as well as for their strength and success in games, or, again,
for their birth and the qualities of their ancestors; and some
who were the reverse of famous for the opposite qualities. And
of women likewise; there was not, however, any definite character
them, because the soul, when choosing a new life, must of necessity
become different. But there was every other quality, and the all
mingled with one another, and also with elements of wealth and
poverty, and disease and health; and there were mean states also.
And here, my dear Glaucon, is the supreme peril of our human state;
and therefore the utmost care should be taken. Let each one of
us leave every other kind of knowledge and seek and follow one
thing only, if peradventure he may be able to learn and may find
some one who will make him able to learn and discern between good
and evil, and so to choose always and everywhere the better life
as he has opportunity. He should consider the bearing of all these
things which have been mentioned severally and collectively upon
virtue; he should know what the effect of beauty is when combined
with poverty or wealth in a particular soul, and what are the
good and evil consequences of noble and humble birth, of private
and public station, of strength and weakness, of cleverness and
dullness, and of all the soul, and the operation of them when
conjoined; he will then look at the nature of the soul, and from
the consideration of all these qualities he will be able to determine
which is the better and which is the worse; and so he will choose,
giving the name of evil to the life which will make his soul more
unjust, and good to the life which will make his soul more just;
all else he will disregard. For we have seen and know that this
is the best choice both in life and after death. A man must take
with him into the world below an adamantine faith in truth and
right, that there too he may be undazzled by the desire of wealth
or the other allurements of evil, lest, coming upon tyrannies
and similar villainies, he do irremediable wrongs to others and
suffer yet worse himself; but let him know how to choose the mean
and avoid the extremes on either side, as far as possible, not
only in this life but in all that which is to come. For this is
the way of happiness.
- And according to the report of the messenger from the other
world this was what the prophet said at the time: 'Even for the
last comer, if he chooses wisely and will live diligently, there
is appointed a happy and not undesirable existence. Let not him
who chooses first be careless, and let not the last despair.'
And when he had spoken, he who had the first choice came forward
and in a moment chose the greatest tyranny; his mind having been
darkened by folly and sensuality, he had not thought out the whole
matter before he chose, and did not at first sight perceive that
he was fated, among other evils, to devour his own children. But
when he had time to reflect, and saw what was in the lot, he began
to beat his breast and lament over his choice, forgetting the
proclamation of the prophet; for, instead of throwing the blame
of his misfortune on himself, he accused chance and the gods,
and everything rather than himself. Now he was one of those who
came from heaven, and in a former life had dwelt in a well-ordered
State, but his virtue was a matter of habit only, and he had no
philosophy. And it was true of others who were similarly overtaken,
that the greater number of them came from heaven and therefore
they had never been schooled by trial, whereas the pilgrims who
came from earth, having themselves suffered and seen others suffer,
were not in a hurry to choose. And owing to this inexperience
of theirs, and also because the lot was a chance, many of the
souls exchanged a good destiny for an evil or an evil for a good.
For if a man had always on his arrival in this world dedicated
himself from the first to sound philosophy, and had been moderately
fortunate in the number of the lot, he might, as the messenger
reported, be happy here, and also his journey to another life
and return to this, instead of being rough and underground, would
be smooth and heavenly. Most curious, he said, was the spectacle
--sad and laughable and strange; for the choice of the souls was
in most cases based on their experience of a previous life. There
he saw the soul which had once been Orpheus choosing the life
of a swan out of enmity to the race of women, hating to be born
of a woman because they had been his murderers; he beheld also
the soul of Thamyras choosing the life of a nightingale; birds,
on the other hand, like the swan and other musicians, wanting
to be men. The soul which obtained the twentieth lot chose the
life of a lion, and this was the soul of Ajax the son of Telamon,
who would not be a man, remembering the injustice which was done
him the judgment about the arms. The next was Agamemnon, who took
the life of an eagle, because, like Ajax, he hated human nature
by reason of his sufferings. About the middle came the lot of
Atalanta; she, seeing the great fame of an athlete, was unable
to resist the temptation: and after her there followed the soul
of Epeus the son of Panopeus passing into the nature of a woman
cunning in the arts; and far away among the last who chose, the
soul of the jester Thersites was putting on the form of a monkey.
There came also the soul of Odysseus having yet to make a choice,
and his lot happened to be the last of them all. Now the recollection
of former tolls had disenchanted him of ambition, and he went
about for a considerable time in search of the life of a private
man who had no cares; he had some difficulty in finding this,
which was lying about and had been neglected by everybody else;
and when he saw it, he said that he would have done the had his
lot been first instead of last, and that he was delighted to have
it. And not only did men pass into animals, but I must also mention
that there were animals tame and wild who changed into one another
and into corresponding human natures --the good into the gentle
and the evil into the savage, in all sorts of combinations.
- All the souls had now chosen their lives, and they went in
the order of their choice to Lachesis, who sent with them the
genius whom they had severally chosen, to be the guardian of their
lives and the fulfiller of the choice: this genius led the souls
first to Clotho, and drew them within the revolution of the spindle
impelled by her hand, thus ratifying the destiny of each; and
then, when they were fastened to this, carried them to Atropos,
who spun the threads and made them irreversible, whence without
turning round they passed beneath the throne of Necessity; and
when they had all passed, they marched on in a scorching heat
to the plain of Forgetfulness, which was a barren waste destitute
of trees and verdure; and then towards evening they encamped by
the river of Unmindfulness, whose water no vessel can hold; of
this they were all obliged to drink a certain quantity, and those
who were not saved by wisdom drank more than was necessary; and
each one as he drank forgot all things. Now after they had gone
to rest, about the middle of the night there was a thunderstorm
and earthquake, and then in an instant they were driven upwards
in all manner of ways to their birth, like stars shooting. He
himself was hindered from drinking the water. But in what manner
or by what means he returned to the body he could not say; only,
in the morning, awaking suddenly, he found himself lying on the
pyre.
- And thus, Glaucon, the tale has been saved and has not perished,
and will save us if we are obedient to the word spoken; and we
shall pass safely over the river of Forgetfulness and our soul
will not be defiled. Wherefore my counsel is that we hold fast
ever to the heavenly way and follow after justice and virtue always,
considering that the soul is immortal and able to endure every
sort of good and every sort of evil. Thus shall we live dear to
one another and to the gods, both while remaining here and when,
like conquerors in the games who go round to gather gifts, we
receive our reward. And it shall be well with us both in this
life and in the pilgrimage of a thousand years which we have been
describing.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
- To understand Plato's views on art, it is necessary to place
them into the context of his theory of "forms." First
read the explanations in Plato
of "theory of forms," "theory of knowledge,"
"nature of forms," and "art."
- Plato's concept of "forms" or "ideas"
is introduced beginning at paragraph 16. What is the difference
between "beds in the world" and "the idea of a
bed." Where does "art" fit into his hierarchical
scheme of reality?
- Plato is critical of "imitative" art. Use the "find"
command on your web browser to find all the passages in the text
using the word "imitative." What is the nature of Plato's
criticism of "imitative" art? (To use the "find"
command, see instructions below.)
- Plato's theory of forms distinguishes "appearance"
and "reality." Use the "find" command to look
for passages where he discusses these concepts. What does he see
as the difference between them? Where does art fall into this
schema?
- Use the "find" command to look for all the passages
where Plato discusses "art" and "artist."
Does his use of "art" coincide with our use of the concept
in the twentieth century? Does he seem to characterize certain
things as "art" that you would not?
- Plato criticizes art for being "deceptive." Use
the "find" command to look for the word "deceive."
How does art deceive us, according to Plato? Do you agree with
this criticism? How might you develop arguments against him on
this? What examples from art might be cited as counter-examples
to Plato's claim?
To use the "find" command on your
browser:
- Click the "find" button, located on the far right
of the button-bar across the top. Alternatively, go to the "edit"
pull-down menu in the upper top left of the screen, pull it down
and click on "find." Alternatively, hold down the "control"
key and hit "F."
- Any of these three methods will open a dialogue box for "find."
It will ask "find what." In the blank line, type in
the word you want to search.
- Click "find next" with your mouse or hit the "enter"
key. It will search the document until it finds the word you have
asked for. You can repeat this procedure and quickly scan a long
document to find all the passages with "imitative."
(Many word-processing programs, including WordPerfect and Word,
also have a "find" or "search" command that
operates on the same principle. It should be located on the button
bars and/or pull-down menus across the top. Look in the "help"
section or the documentation for your program if you can't find
it.)
- When you start a new search, go back to the top of the document.
Note that on the dialogue box, it asks which direction you want
to search, "down" or "up." If you start from
the top of the document, the "down" box should be clicked
so you search down to the end. If you start at the end of the
document, click the "up" box so you search upwards toward
the beginning.
WRITING BY PLATO (Selected)
Virtually all of Plato's writing is available on-line, e.g.:
MIT
Classics Archive: Plato
This page was put on-line and is maintained by Julie Van Camp,
Professor of Philosophy, California State University,
Long Beach.
Your comments, questions, and suggestions are welcome: jvancamp@csulb.edu
Last updated: November 23, 2006