ARGUMENT.

In the _second book_ he illustrates justice by a pretty long discourse about injustice, its contrary, and the social evils thence arising. From such a comprehensive view of society itself he is not unnaturally led into his main argument, the subject of civil government; carefully distinguishing between the head and the members—the governors and the governed; but also bearing in mind that society is the stage on which alone the virtues of the just man can be seen in perfection. The governors, says he, should be spirited and shrewd, so as to be able both to repel the violence of the state’s enemies, and severely to punish wicked citizens, as well as peaceably to maintain their own subjects or dependants under the law’s protection, and to appoint proper rewards for virtuous and deserving actions. The principal study then should, as respects a state, be devoted jointly to _music_ and _gymnastics_—the former referring to mental, the other to bodily training; but above all these he places _religion_, which though he does not statedly define it, yet he proves to be wholly distinct from the superstition of his own time.

CHAP. I.—Having said these things, I thought to have been relieved from the debate; but this it seems was only the introduction; for Glaucon is on all occasions most courageous, and then especially did not approve of Thrasymachus’s withdrawal from the debate, but said;—Socrates, have you any desire of seeming to have persuaded us, or to succeed in really persuading us that it is in every respect better to be just than unjust? I, for my part, said I, would prefer to do so in reality, if it depended on me. You are not doing then, said he, what you desire: for, tell me, does there appear to you any good of this kind, such as we would accept as a possession, without regard to its results, but embracing it [simply] for its own sake; such as joy and all kinds of harmless pleasures,[54] though for the future no other advantage springs from them than the delight arising from their possession. To me, indeed, said I, there does seem to be something of this kind. But what;—is there not some species of good which we both love for its own sake, and also for what springs from it,—as wisdom, sight, and health?—for such goods we surely embrace on both accounts. Yes, said I. But do you see, said he, a third species of good,—among which are bodily exercise, being healed when sick, the practice of medicine, or any other lucrative employment?—for these things, we should say, are laborious, yet beneficial to us, and we should not choose them for their own sake, but on account of the rewards and other advantages that spring from them. There is, indeed, said I, this third species also: but what then? In which of these species, said he, do you place justice? I think, indeed, said I, in the most beautiful,—as being a good, which, both on its own account and for what springs from it, is desired by a man bent on being happy. It does not seem so, however, said he, to the multitude, but rather to be of that laborious kind which is pursued on account of rewards and honours [gained] through high repute, but on its own account to be shunned, as fraught with trouble.

Footnote 54:

ἀβλαβεῖς means not only _harmless_ pleasures, but those which are pure and unalloyed with pain. We may remark here, that he divides goods (τὰ ἀγαθά) into three classes,—one, to be pursued for its own sake only, without reference to advantage.—another, which is to be loved both for its own sake, and for the advantages thence accruing,—and a third, which of itself perhaps is not worthy to be pursued, but only on account of the advantages thence accruing. In the second or mixed class Socrates places justice.

CHAP. II.—I am aware, said I, that it seems so; and it was in this view, that it was some time since condemned by Thrasymachus, but injustice praised:—it seems, however, that I am one of those who are dull in learning. Come now, said he, listen to me too, if you please; for Thrasymachus seems to me to have been charmed by you just like a snake,[55] more quickly than he ought; while, with respect to myself, the proof has not yet been made to my satisfaction in either case, for I desire to hear what each is, and what intrinsic power it has by itself, when residing in the soul,—letting alone the rewards and what springs from them. I will proceed, in this manner, therefore, if it be your pleasure. I will take up Thrasymachus’s argument in another shape; and, first of all, I will tell you what they say justice is, and whence it arises,—and, secondly, that all who cultivate it, cultivate it unwillingly, as necessary, but not as good,—and thirdly, that they do this with reason, inasmuch as, according to their notion, the life of an unjust man is much better than that of one that is just. Though, for my own part, Socrates, it by no means appears so to me, still I am thrown into a state of doubt, from having my ears stunned by hearing Thrasymachus and innumerable others.—But as for the statement respecting justice, that it is better than injustice, I have never yet heard it explained as I wish. I wish, therefore, to hear it eulogized on its own account, and am quite of opinion that I shall hear it from you: wherefore, by way of opposition,[56] I shall speak in praise of an unjust life, and in so speaking will show you in what manner I want to hear you in turn condemn injustice and commend justice. But see if my proposal be agreeable to you. Quite so, said I; for about what would any man of intellect delight more frequently to speak and hear? You speak excellently well, said he:—and now, as to what I said I would first speak about, listen, both what justice is and whence it springs.

Footnote 55:

Thrasymachus is here, on account of his passionate violence and uncouth manners, aptly compared to a snake, which, as the ancients believed, could be softened and subdued by music:—and we note particularly the elegant use of the verb κηλεῖν, which primarily signifies to _charm_, _sooth_, _subdue_, and then generally, _to soften by persuasion_ or argument.

Footnote 56:

Respecting this use of the verb κατατείνειν, comp. ch. ix. p. 367 b. p. 47 of this translation:—ὡς δύναμαι μάλιστα κατατείνας λέγω. See also, Xen. Anab. ii. 5, s. 30, and Eurip. Hec. v. 132.

They say, forsooth, that to do injustice is naturally good, and to suffer injustice bad,—but that suffering injustice is attended with greater evil than doing injustice with good; so that, when men do each other injustice, and likewise suffer it, and have a taste of both, it seems advantageous for those, who are not able to avoid the one and choose the other, to agree among themselves neither to act unjustly nor yet to be treated so; and also, that hence they began to form for themselves laws and compacts, and to call what is enjoined by law lawful and just.—This, then, is the origin and essence of justice,—a medium between what is best, namely, when a man acts unjustly with impunity, and what is worst, that is, when one injured is unable to obtain redress;—and this justice being half-way between both these, is desired, not as good, but as being held in honour, owing to an incapacity for doing injustice; because the man who had ability to do so would never, if really a man, agree with any one neither to injure nor be injured; for he would be mad to do so. This, then, Socrates, and such like, is the nature of justice; and such, as they say, is the source whence it arises.

CHAP. III.—Again,—that those who cultivate it through an incapability of doing injustice, cultivate it unwillingly, we shall best be made aware, if we should mentally conceive such a case as follows:—Let us give full liberty to each of them, both the just and the unjust, to do whatever they please,—and then follow them, observing whither inclination will lead each.—We should then detect[57] the just man going the same way with the unjust, through a desire of having more than others,—which every nature naturally pursues as good, but by law and compulsion is led to respect equality.[58] And the liberty of which I speak may be chiefly of such a kind, as if they possessed such a power, as they say once belonged to Gyges (the progenitor of the Lydian king[59]); and of him, forsooth, they say, that he was a hired shepherd with the then governor of Lydia, but when a portion of ground was torn up by a prodigious rain and earthquake, and an opening made in the place where he was grazing [his flocks,]—that, in astonishment at the sight, he descended and saw other wonders besides, which men hand down in fables, especially a brazen horse, hollow, provided with doors, leaning against which, he beheld inside a dead body, apparently larger than that of a man, and that it had nothing else except that it wore a gold ring on its hand, which he took off and came out. And when there was a meeting of the shepherds, as usual, for making their monthly report to the king about their flocks, he also came with the ring; and while sitting with the rest, he happened to turn the stone of the ring towards himself into the inner part of his hand; and when this was done, he became invisible to those who sat beside him, and they talked of him as absent: and astonished at this, he again handled his ring, turned the stone outward, and on turning it became visible. On observing this, then, he made trial of the ring, whether it had this power; and it always happened so, that, when he turned the stone inward, he became invisible,—when outward, visible. Perceiving this, he instantly contrived to be made one of the embassy to the king; and on his arrival he debauched his wife, and, with her, assaulted and killed the king,[60] and took possession of the kingdom. If now, there were two such rings, and the just man had one, and the unjust the other, no one, we should think, would be so case-hardened as to persevere in justice, and dare to refrain from others’ property and not touch it, when it was in his power both to take fearlessly, even from the market-place, whatever he pleased, and to enter houses, and embrace any one he pleased,—both to kill and loose from chains whomever he pleased,—and to do anything else likewise, as a god among men:—acting in this manner, he would in no respect differ from the other, but both would go the same road. This, in truth, one may say, is a strong proof, that no one is willingly just, but only by constraint, as if it were not an intrinsic good, because every one, where he thinks he can, does injustice. Every man, then, thinks that injustice is intrinsically much more profitable than justice, thinking truly, as he says, who argues on such a subject as this: inasmuch as, if any one possessed of such a liberty were never to act unjustly, nor touch others’ property, he would be deemed by men of sense to be most wretched, and most void of understanding; yet would they praise him in each others’ presence, mutually deceiving one another through fear of being injured. Thus much, then, concerning these things.

Footnote 57:

ἐπ’ αὐτοφώρῳ λαβεῖν, lit. _to catch in the fact_.

Footnote 58:

Euripides in his Phœn. v. 545, &c., elegantly expresses a similar notion:—

——κεῖνο κάλλιον, τέκνον, ἰσότητα τιμᾷν, ἣ φίλους ἀεὶ φίλοις πόλεις τε πόλεσι, συμμάχους τε συμμάχοις ξυνδεῖ· τὸ γὰρ ἴσον νόμιμον ἀνθρώποις ἔφυ. τῷ πλέονι δ’ ἀεὶ πολέμιον καθίσταται τοὔλασσον.

To honour justice, and to love the right, Which friends to friends and state to state unite, Be ours. We honour equal aims and ends; But still the greater with the less contends, And evil times begin.

Footnote 59:

The words between brackets are considered spurious by Stallbaum, but admitted as genuine by Bekker and Schneider. The pretty generally received opinion now is, that ὁ Λυδός alludes to Crœsus, who was highly celebrated throughout Greece, and hence was emphatically termed “The Lydian.” Comp., however, Herod. i. 8 (pp. 4, 5. Cary’s Transl.), who tells a somewhat different story.

Footnote 60:

Gyges slew Candaules in the second year of the sixteenth Olympiad, B.C. 614. See Cic. de Offic. iii. 9, where the story is given in nearly the same form.

CHAP. IV.—With respect, again, to the decision on the life of those of whom we are speaking,—if we distinguish the supremely just and the supremely unjust, we shall be able to come to a right judgment,—but not otherwise; and what, then, is this distinction? It is this;—let us, from the unjust man, take nothing of injustice, nor from the just man, of justice; but let us make each of them perfect in his own pursuit. First, then, let the unjust man act as clever artists [do]. For instance, a skilful pilot or physician comprehends both the possible and impossible in his art, the former of which he attempts, but relinquishes the latter;—and again, if he meet with any failure, he is able to rectify it:—so, in like manner, let the unjust man when he attempts clever acts of injustice, remain concealed, if he intends to be exceedingly unjust; but, as for him that is caught, he must be deemed worthless: for the most complete injustice is—to seem just, when not so.[61] To the completely unjust, then, we must ascribe the most complete injustice, and not take it from him, but allow him, while doing the greatest injustice, to win the highest reputation for justice; and, if he should fail at all, he should be able to rectify it, and be capable of speaking persuasively, if any report of his unjust deeds get abroad, and be able also to effect by force what requires force, owing to his courage and strength, and through the instrumentality of his friends and his wealth; supposing him, then, to be such as this, let us for argument place in contrast with him a just, simple-minded, and generous-hearted man, who, according to Æschylus, desires less the seeming than the reality of goodness:[62] let us take from him, then, the mere seeming of goodness; for, should he seem just, honours and rewards will be his lot, because he merely seems so:—and thus [it may be] uncertain whether he be such for the sake of justice, or rewards and honours. Let him be stripped, then, of everything but justice, and be placed in direct contrast to the other;—without doing injustice too, let him have the reputation of doing the greatest,—in order that he may be put to the test for justice, and not be moved to reproach and its consequences, but rather be unchangeable till death, seeming, indeed, to be unjust through life, though really just; and that thus both arriving at the extreme,—one of justice, the other of injustice, we may judge which of the two is the happier.

Footnote 61:

Comp. here Cicero de Off. i. c. 13. Totius autem injustitiæ nulla capitalior est, quàm eorum, qui, quum maximè fallunt, id agunt, ut viri boni esse videantur.

Footnote 62:

The entire passage here alluded to is from the Septem cont. Thebas, v. 577:—

Οὐ γὰρ δοκεῖν δίκαιος, ἀλλ’ εἶναι θέλων, Βαθεῖαν ἄλοκα διὰ φρενὸς καρπούμενος, Ἐξ ἧς τὰ κεδνὰ βλαστάνει βουλεύματα.

CHAP. V.—Bah, bah, said I, dear Glaucon, how exceedingly anxious you are to cleanse each of these men for trial, just as [you would] a statue! As much, said he, as I can: but, as they are such, there will be no difficulty, I suppose, in ascertaining what life will be the lot of either. It shall be told, then:—and, even if it should be told with more than usual bluntness, think not, that it is I who tell it, Socrates, but those who praise injustice before justice.—This then will they say, that the just man, thus situated, will be scourged, tortured, fettered, have his eyes burnt out, and lastly, suffer all manner of evils, and be crucified;[63] and he will know too, that a man should desire not to be, but to appear just. As for that saying of Æschylus, too, it applied far better against the unjust man: for in reality men will say, that the unjust man, as being in pursuit of an object connected with truth, and not living according to opinion, has no desire to appear, but to be unjust,—

Reaping the hollow furrow of his mind, Whence all his cherished councils blossom forth.

In the first place, he holds the magistracy in the state, because he is thought just,—next, he marries out of whatever family he pleases, and gives his children in marriage to whom he pleases, forms agreements and joins in partnership with whom he likes,—and, besides all this, succeeds in all his projects for gain, because he scruples not to commit injustice. When he engages, therefore, in competitions, he both in private and public surpasses and overreaches his adversaries; and by this overreaching gets rich, serves his friends, hurts his foes; and to the gods, as respects sacrifices and offerings, he not only sufficiently but even magnificently both sacrifices and makes offerings, serving far better than the just man, not only the gods, but of men also whomsoever he pleases; so that it is very likely that he should be a greater favourite of the gods than the just man. Thus, they say, Socrates, that with gods and men a better life awaits the unjust than the just.

Footnote 63:

A similar passage occurs in Cicero de Republ. iii. 17:—Proque hac opinione bonus ille vir vexetur, rapiatur, manus ei denique offerantur, effodiantur oculi, damnetur, vinciatur, uratur, exterminetur, exeat, postremo jure etiam optimo omnibus miserrimus esse videatur.

CHAP. VI.—Glaucon having said this, I was thinking of saying something in reply; but his brother Adimantus said—Do you not think, Socrates, that enough has been already said on the matter? What then? said I. The very point has not been mooted, said he, which ought most especially to have been discussed. Why then, said I, as the saying is, let a brother help a brother,—so that, if he fails at all, do you help him out:—yet, as far as I am concerned, what he has alleged is quite sufficient to defeat me, and disable me from defending justice.

And he in reply said: Oh, it is a mere nothing you allege;—but still hear this in addition;—for we must go through all the arguments in opposition to what he has said, [those, namely,] which praise justice and condemn injustice,—in order that it may be more clearly seen, what, I think, Glaucon means: and perhaps parents tell and exhort their sons, as all those do who care for them, that they ought to be just,—not commending justice for itself, but for the reputation arising therefrom;—and hence to a man reputed to be just, there may accrue from that very repute both state-offices and marriage-connections, and whatever Glaucon just now enumerated as the consequences of being reputed just: these, however, carry this notion of repute too far;—for, throwing in the approbation of the gods, they can speak of abundant blessings, which, they say, the gods bestow on the holy. Just as noble Hesiod and Homer say;—the former, that the gods make oaks produce for just men

Acorns at top, and in the middle bees; Their woolly sheep are laden thick with fleece;[64]

and a great many other good things of the same nature:—similarly, also, the latter:—

[Unrivalled, like the praise] of some great king, Who o’er a numerous people and renown’d Presiding like a deity, maintains Justice and truth. The earth under his sway Her produce yields abundantly; the trees Fruit-laden bend; the lusty flocks bring forth; The ocean teems with finny swarms beneath His joint control, and all the land is blest.[65]

Musæus, too, and his son [Eumolpus] tell us, that the gods give just men far more splendid blessings than these;[66] for carrying them in his poem into Hades, and placing them at table in company with holy men, at a feast prepared for them, they crown them, and make them pass the whole of their time drunken,—deeming eternal inebriation to be the best reward of virtue.—Some, however, extend down still further than these the rewards from the gods; for they say, that children’s children, and a future generation of the holy and faithful, are left on earth. These, then, and such as these, are their eulogies of justice. As for the unholy and unjust, however, they bury them in Hades, in mud, and compel them to carry water in a sieve;—and as for those that are yet living, if they lead them into wrong notions, as Glaucon did in enumerating the punishments of just persons, but reputed unjust,—this they can allege about the unjust, but nothing else. The praise then or blame belongs to either party [as they please].

Footnote 64:

Hesiod. Op. et Di. v. 231. Comp. Virg. Eclog. iv. 30, and Hor. Epod. xvi. 47.

Footnote 65:

Hom. Odyss. xix. 109-113.

Footnote 66:

Eumolpus, the son of Musæus, was a Thracian, who emigrated into Attica, and founded the Eleusinian mysteries,—from whom also the Athenians in charge of the rites were called Eumolpidæ. See Smith’s Dict. of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology,—articles _Musæus_ and _Eumolpus_;—also Kreuzer’s Symbolik. vol. iv. p. 342, &c.

CHAP. VII.—In addition to this, however, consider, Socrates, another species of argument about justice and injustice, referred to both privately and by poets; for all with one mouth celebrate temperance and justice[67] as beautiful, but still difficult and laborious, but intemperance and injustice as sweet and easy of attainment, though by repute only and law disgraceful: and they mostly say, that unjust are more profitable than just actions; and wicked rich men, and such as have power of any kind, either public or private, they are quite willing to pronounce happy and to honour both publicly and privately, but to despise and overlook those who may be at all weak and poor, even though they acknowledge them to be better than the others.—But of all these arguments, the most marvellous are those concerning the gods and virtue,—as if it were a matter of course, that the gods allot misfortunes and an evil life to many good men, and to the opposite, an opposite fate. Pedlar-priests[68] also, and prophets, frequenting the gates of the rich, persuade them, that they possess a power granted them by the gods, of expiating by sacrifices and incantations in the midst of pleasures and feastings, whatever injustice has been committed by any one, or his forefathers: and if he wishes to blast a foe, he can at small expense injure the just, as well as the unjust, by certain blandishments and magic ties, persuading the gods, as they say, to succour them: and to all these discourses they bring the poets as witnesses; who, mentioning man’s predisposition to vice, say,—

How vice at once and easily we choose; The way so smooth, its dwelling too so nigh; Toil before virtue, thus forewill’d the gods—[69]

and a certain road, both long and steep;—while others make Homer witness as to the persuasive power of men over the gods, inasmuch as that poet says,—

... the gods In virtue thy superiors, are themselves Yet placable; and if a mortal man Offend by transgression of their laws. Libation, incense, sacrifice, and prayers In meekness offer’d turn their wrath away.[70]

They bring forward, too, a crowd of books of Musæus and Orpheus, the offspring of the Moon and the Muses, as they say, in accordance with which they perform their sacred rites, persuading not only private individuals, but states likewise, that both absolutions and purgations from iniquities are effected by sacrifices, and sportive pleasures,—and this, too, for the benefit of the living as well as the dead;—which purgations they call _mysteries_,[71] which absolve us from the evils of another life,—whereas a dreadful fate awaits those who perform no sacrifice.

Footnote 67:

Comp. Hesiod. Op. et D. v. 287, &c., and Epicharmus, cited by Xenophon, Mem. II. 1. § 20.

Footnote 68:

The ἀγύρται were a species of itinerant sacrificers, who went about collecting money for the expense of sacrifices to certain gods or goddesses, and contrived to eke out a subsistence by imposing on the vulgar, whom they supplied also with nostrums, and cheated with lying prophecies.

Footnote 69:

Hes. Op. et D. v. 285-288;—and they are cited also in the Laws, iv. p. 718, e.

CHAP. VIII.—As respects all such and so much as has been said, dear Socrates, about virtue and vice, and what reward both men and gods attach thereto,—what do we suppose the souls of our youth do when they hear them, such at least as are of good natural parts, and able to rush, as it were, to all that is said, and thence infer in what sort of character, and by what procedure one may best pass through life? He might probably say to himself, according to Pindar,—

Shall I yon rampart, loftier far Than justice, dare ascend,—or crooked fraud Invite, to cheat the world, and thus Myself live cased in guilt’s base panoply.[72]

For what is said happens to me, if I am just, though I am not reputed so, they say it is no profit, but clearly, mere trouble and punishment,—whereas the unjust man, who has procured for himself the reputation of justice, is said to have a divine life. Since then, as the sages tell me,[73] appearance both does violence to reality, and is the arbiter of happiness, I ought surely to turn wholly thereto, drawing round myself, as a covering and picture, an image of virtue, but still dragging after me the cunning and versatile fox of that very clever Archilochus.[74] Perhaps, however, some one will say,—it is not easy for a bad man always to practise his wickedness in secret.—Neither is anything else easy (will we say) of important matters: but still, would we be happy, thither we must go where the tracks of reasoning lead us: for, with a view to concealment, we shall form conspiracies and associations; and there are masters of persuasion, who teach a popular and forensic wisdom,—by which, partly though persuasion and partly by force, we may escape punishment after all our over-reaching. However, it is not possible either to escape the notice of the gods, or to overpower them.

Footnote 70:

Il. ix. 493.

Footnote 71:

Gr. τελετάς.

Footnote 72:

See _Boeckh_, _Pindari Fragm._ ccxxxii. p. 671.

Footnote 73:

_Simonidis Fragm._ cxxiii. ed. Gaisford, i. p. 394.

Wherefore, if they have no existence, and have no care about human affairs, neither need we care about concealment; and as respects their existence and care for us, we neither know nor have heard of them otherwise than from traditions, and from the poets who write their genealogies;[75] and these very persons tell us, that they are to be moved and persuaded by sacrifices and propitiatory vows, and offerings,—both of which we are to believe, or neither. If, however, we are to believe both, we may do injustice, and offer sacrifice from the fruits of unjust deeds. For if we be just, we shall escape punishment from the gods, and then deprive ourselves of the gains of injustice: but if, on the other hand, we be unjust, we shall make gain, and after transgressing and offending, shall appease them by prayers, and so escape punishment. Nevertheless, we shall suffer in Hades the punishment of our misdeeds here, either ourselves, or our children’s children. But the reasoner may say, Friend, the mysteries again can do much, and the gods who expiate,—as say the mightiest states, and those children of the gods,—the poets and prophets, who declare that these things are so.

Footnote 74:

That is, apparently, _virtue_; but, in reality, mere _cunning_. Archilochus has written more than one piece, in which the fox plays the part of a cunning and deceitful personage. See _Archil. Fragm._ ed. Gaisf. i. pp. 307, 308.

Footnote 75:

That the gods exercise no care over human affairs was a favourite doctrine of the sophists, and especially of Protagoras. Comp. Theæt. p. 162, d. with Cicero de Nat. Deor. i. ch. 23. See also De Legg. p. 885, d. e.—ἡμῶν μὲν γὰρ οἱ μὲν τὸ παράπαν θεοὺς οὐδαμῶς νομίζουσιν, οἱ δὲ μηδὲν ἡμῶν φροντίζειν, οἱ δὲ εὐχαῖς παράγεσθαι ... νῦν μὲν γὰρ ταῦτα ἀκούοντές τε καὶ τοιαῦθ’ ἕτερα τῶν λεγομένων ἀρίστων εἶναι ποιητῶν τε καὶ ῥητόρων καὶ μαντέων καὶ ἱερέων καὶ ἄλλων πολλακισμυρίων, οὐκ ἐπὶ τὸ μὴ δρᾷν τὰ ἄδικα τρεπόμεθα οἱ πλεῖστοι, δράσαντες δὲ ἐξακεῖσθαι πειρώμεθα.

CHAP. IX.—For what reason, then, should we prefer justice before the greatest injustice?—Should we acquire it by any unfair pretences, we shall, both with reference to gods and men, fare according to our wishes both in life and death, as we are told by the sayings both of the multitude and the learned too.—From all that has been said, then, Socrates, how shall a man contrive to acquire a will for honouring justice, who has any power of mind, or wealth, or body, or birth, and not rather laugh at hearing its praises? Although, therefore, a man be able even to show what we have said to be false, and fully knows that justice is best, he will, perhaps, greatly excuse and not be angry with the unjust, because he knows, that unless a man through a divine instinct abhor injustice, or from knowledge abstain from it,—of all the rest not one is willingly just, but either through cowardice, old age, or some other weakness, condemns injustice, when unable to do it. That it is so, is plain;—for the first of such persons, who arrives at the power, is the first to commit injustice, as far as he is able.

The reason of all this, again, is no other than that, from whence all this discussion set out between my brother and me and you, Socrates, because, among all of you, my wonderful man, who call yourselves the eulogists of justice, from these ancient heroes downwards, of all whose arguments are left to the men of the present time, no one has ever yet condemned injustice, nor praised justice, otherwise than as respects the repute, honours, and emoluments arising therefrom; while, as respects either of them in itself, and subsisting by its own power in the soul of the possessor, and concealed both from gods and men, no one has yet sufficiently investigated, either in poetry or prose-writing,—how, namely, that the one is the greatest of all the evils that the soul has within it, and justice the greatest good: for had it from the beginning been thus stated by you all, and you had so persuaded us from our youth, we should not need to guard against injustice from our fellows, but every man would be the best guardian over himself, through fear, lest by doing injustice he should dwell with the greatest evil. These things, Socrates, and, perhaps also, yet more than these, Thrasymachus, and others too, might say respecting justice and injustice, perverting their power, disagreeably as I conceive:[76]—but, I, for I wish to conceal nothing from you, am very anxious to hear your refutation, and so say the most I can by way of opposition.—Do not, therefore, merely show us in your reasoning, that justice is better than injustice, but in what way each by itself affects the mind, the one as in itself evil, and the other as good; and put out of the question mere opinion, as Glaucon recommended; for if you do not set aside the true opinions on both sides, and add those that are false, we will say you do not praise justice, but its appearance, and do not condemn injustice, but its appearance,—advising the unjust man to hide himself, and agreeing with Thrasymachus that justice is a foreign good expedient for the more powerful, while injustice is what is expedient and profitable for one’s self, but inexpedient for the inferior. Since, then, you have granted that justice is one of those greatest goods, which on account of their results are worthy to be possessed, but yet far more in themselves for their own sake,—such as sight, hearing, wisdom, health, and all other genuine goods, such as are so in their own nature, and not merely in opinion; for this very reason we may praise justice, as intrinsically, in itself, profitable to its owner, and injustice harmful; but as for rewards and repute, let others sing their praises.—I could endure, perhaps, that the rest of the world should thus praise justice and condemn injustice, complimenting and reviling the opinions and rewards that concern them; but certainly [I could not endure] it in you (except you absolutely require it), because you have passed the whole of life, engaged in no other inquiry but this.—Show us, then, in course of the discussion, not only that justice is better than injustice, but also what either intrinsically by itself makes its owner, whether concealed or not from gods and men, the one being good, and the other evil.

Footnote 76:

φορτικῶς, ὥς γ’ ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ.

CHAP. X.—On hearing this, pleased, as I always am, with the disposition of Glaucon and Adimantus, I was then, in particular, perfectly delighted, and replied: O sons of that worthy sire [the Sophist,[77]] with good reason does the lover of Glaucon thus begin his elegies [which he made] on you, when you distinguished yourselves in the battle of Megara.[78]

Ariston’s sons! of sire renown’d afar, That race divine....

Footnote 77:

The phrase ἐκείνου τοῦ ἀνδρός does not refer to their father Cephalus, but to some sophist of whom they were the disciples, and whose dogmas they defended. The words are similarly used in the Philebus. Comp. also παῖδες ζωγράφων in Legg. vi. p. 769, b.

Footnote 78:

A battle fought near Megara between the Athenians and Corinthians, in which the former were victors; Ol. 80, 4 (B.C. 453). Comp. Thuc. i. 105; Diod. Sic. xi. 79.

This, friends, seems well observed; for you must be under some influence quite divine, if you are not persuaded that injustice is better than justice, when you can thus speak in its defence. Still methinks, you are not really persuaded; and I reason from the rest of your behaviour; because, according to your mode of talking, I should certainly have disbelieved you:—but the more I trust you, the more I am at a loss, as to the kind of argument I should use. I know not, indeed, how I am to defend it,—as I seem unable:—and the proof of it is, that, as respects what I thought I had clearly shown in arguing with Thrasymachus, that justice is better than injustice, you did not admit my proofs;—nor, on the other hand, have I any excuse for not defending it; because I fear it may be impious to abandon justice, and see it accused when I am present, without defending it, so long as I have breath and am able to speak. It is best then to assist it in such a manner as I can. Hereupon Glaucon and the rest entreated me by all means to defend it, and not relinquish the discussion, but rather investigate thoroughly the nature of each, and what the truth is, as to their respective advantages. I then stated what I thought,—that the inquiry we were attempting was no trifling one, but one, as appears to me, suited for sharp-sighted persons. Since then, said I, we are not very expert, it seems proper to make such an investigation of it, as if a person should order persons not very sharp-sighted to read small letters at a distance, and then find out that the same letters are rather larger elsewhere, and in a larger field;—it would then appear desirable, methinks, first to read these, and then examine the lesser, whether they happen to be the same. By all means, said Adimantus. But what analogy do you perceive, Socrates, in the inquiry about justice? I will tell you, said I:—do we not say that justice affects an individual man and an entire state also? Certainly, replied he. Is not a state a greater object than an individual? Greater, said he. Perhaps, then, justice will be more fully developed in what is greater, and also more easily intelligible:—we will first, then, if you please, inquire what it is in states; and then, we will in like manner examine it in the individual, searching for the similitude of the greater in the idea of the less. Yes,—you seem to me, said he, to speak rightly. If then, said I, we contemplate in argument the rise of a state, shall we not also perceive the rise of justice and injustice? Perhaps so, said he. Well then, if this be the case, is there no ground for hoping that we shall more easily find the object of our inquiry? Just so. Does it not seem, then, that we ought to try after success? for I imagine this is a work of no small importance. Consider then. We have considered, said Adimantus, and do you the same.

CHAP. XI.—A state then, said I, takes its rise, methinks,—because none of us individually happens to be self-sufficient, but stands in need of many things; do you think that there is any other origin of the settlement of a state?[79] None, said he. Thus, then, one assisting one person for the want of one thing, and another another for the want of another, as we stand in need of many things, we collect into one dwelling many companions and assistants, and to this joint dwelling we give the name of city; do we not? Certainly. One then imparts to another, if he does impart anything, or receives in exchange, thinking it will be for his advantage? Certainly. Come then, said I, let us, for argument’s sake, form a city from the beginning;—our necessity, as it seems, will form it? Of course. But the first and the greatest of wants is the provision of food, in order that we may subsist and live? Assuredly. The second is of lodging, the third of clothing, and the like? Just so. But come, said I, how will the city be able to make so great a provision?—Shall not one be a husbandman, another a builder, a third a weaver;—and must we not add to them a shoemaker, or some one else of those that minister to our bodily wants? Certainly. The state then, that is most in need, will consist of only four or five men?[80] It appears so. What then? must each of these contribute his work for the whole in common?—as, for instance, must the husbandman, though only one, provide food for four, and spend fourfold time and labour in providing food and sharing it with others; or is he, without any care for them, to prepare for himself alone the fourth part of this food in the fourth part of the time, while of the other three parts of his time, he employs one in the providing a house, another clothing, the other shoes,—and not trouble himself to share with others, but give his whole attention to his own affairs? And Adimantus said—Aye, but perhaps the former way, Socrates, is easier than the latter. By Zeus, that is not amiss, said I:—for, while you are speaking, I am thinking that first of all we are born not each perfectly alike to each, but differing in disposition,—one fitted for doing one thing, and another for another;—does it not seem so to you? It does. What then?—Will a man do better, when, as a single individual, he works in many arts, or only in one? When one works in one, said he. This, moreover, is also plain, methinks;—that if one miss the seasonable time for any work, it is ruined? Clearly. Aye,—for the work, methinks, will not wait on the leisure of the workman, but the workman must necessarily attend closely on his work, not in the way of a by-job? He must. And hence more will be done, and better, and with greater ease, when every one does but one thing, according to his genius, at the proper time, and when at leisure from all other pursuits. Quite so, said he. Surely, Adimantus, we need more citizens than four for the provisions that we mentioned: for the husbandman, it seems, will not himself make his own plough, if it is to be good, nor yet a spade or any other instruments of agriculture:—neither, again, will the builder,—for he, likewise, needs many things; and in the same way, the weaver also and the shoemaker:—is it not so? True. Carpenters, then, and smiths, and many other such workmen, by becoming members of our little city, make it throng? Certainly. Yet it would be no very great matter, either, if we added to them herdsmen also, and shepherds, and all other sorts of graziers,—in order that both the husbandmen may have oxen for ploughing, and the builders by aid of the husbandmen may have cattle for their carriages, and the weavers also, and shoemakers, hides and wool. Yet it would be no very small city, said he, that had all these. Moreover, said I, it is all but impossible to settle the city itself in such a place that it will not require imported goods. Impossible. Surely, then, it will require others in addition, to bring to it what it needs from other cities. It will require them. And, moreover, if the servant were to go empty, taking with him nothing that they need from whom what they themselves require is imported, he will return empty; will he not? I think so. It is necessary for them, then, not only to produce what is sufficient for themselves, but such and as many things also, as are required by those whose services they require. It ought. Our city, then, certainly wants many more husbandmen and other kinds of workmen. Aye, many more. And all other servants besides, to import and export the several articles; and these are merchants, are they not? Yes. We shall want merchants then, as well? Certainly. And if the traffic is carried on by sea, it will want many others besides, skilled in navigation. Many others, truly.

Footnote 79:

Aristotle has made some unnecessarily severe strictures on this notion in his Polit. iv. ch. 4, which are ingeniously refuted by Morgenstern, Comment. de Plat. Rep. on this passage.

Footnote 80:

Comp. here the strictures in Aristotle’s Polit. iv. 3 and 4.

CHAP. XII.—What then;—in the city itself, how will they exchange with one another what each has produced, for the sake of which, we have formed a city and established a community? It is plain, said he, that by selling and buying [they will do so]. A market-place, therefore, and an established coinage, as a symbol for the purposes of exchange, must spring up from hence. Certainly. If then the husbandman, or any other workman, bring any of his work to the market, but does not come at the same time as those who want to make exchanges with him, will he not, while sitting in the market, be unoccupied at his trade? By no means, said he; for there are some, who, observing this, devote themselves to this service; and, in well-regulated cities, they are chiefly such, as are weakest in body and unfit for any other work;—these then should attend about the market, to give money in exchange for what people wish to sell, and goods in exchange for money to such as want to buy. It is this want, said I, that provides our city with a race of shopkeepers; for do we not call those shopkeepers, who sit in the market, and serve both in selling and buying; whereas such as travel to other cities we call merchants? Certainly. There are certain other servants still, I conceive, who, though as regards intellectual power unworthy to be taken into society, yet possess bodily strength adequate for labour; and these selling the use of their strength, and calling the reward of it hire, are called, I think, hired labourers;—are they not? Just so. Hired labourers then, as it seems, form the complement of a city. Aye, it seems so. Has our city then, Adimantus, so increased on us already, as to be complete? Perhaps. Where, then, will justice and injustice be placed in it; and, in which of the matters that we have considered is it engendered? I do not know, said he, Socrates, unless it be somehow in a certain use of these very things with one another. Perhaps, said I, you are right:—but yet we must consider the point, and not avoid it. First, then, let us consider how the persons thus procured are to be supported.—In making bread and wine, and clothes, and shoes, and building houses, will they not work in summer, chiefly without clothes and shoes, but in winter, sufficiently clad and shod? and will they be supported partly on barley made into meal, and partly on wheat made into loaves, partly boiled and partly toasted, with fine loaves and cakes placed over a fire of stubble or dried leaves, and will they feast, they and their children, resting on couches strewed with smilax and myrtle-leaves,—drinking wine, crowned, and singing to the gods, pleasantly living together, begetting children not beyond their means, and cautiously guarding against poverty or war?

CHAP. XIII.—Glaucon then, in answer, said: You make the men feast, it seems, without esculents.[81] You say true, said I: I forgot that they were to have esculents too;—and they will clearly have salt, and olives, and cheese, and will boil bulbous roots, and potherbs, such as are cooked in the fields: and we will set before them desserts of figs, peas, and beans; and they will toast at the fire myrtle-berries and beech-nuts, drinking in moderation; and thus passing their life in peace healthily, they will die in old age, probably, and leave a similar mode of life to their children. Socrates, said he, if you had been making a city of hogs, on what else but these would you have fed them? But what ought we to do then, Glaucon? said I. What is usual, said he: let them lie down on beds, I think, unless they are to live miserably, and take their meals from tables, and have esculents, as the present men have, and desserts. Be it so, said I:—I understand. We are considering, it seems, not only how a city, but how a luxurious city may exist; and perhaps it is not amiss: for, in considering one of this character, we may probably see how justice and injustice arise in cities. But the true city, which we have lately described, seems to me just like a person that is in health; but if you are desirous that we should inspect, also, a city that is inflated, there can be no objection to it: for these things [that concern a merely simple mode of life] will not of course suffice for some, nor will this sort of life satisfy them; but there must be beds, tables, and all other articles of furniture,—seasonings, unguents, and perfumes, mistresses, confections, and many miscellaneous articles of this description. And especially as to what we before mentioned, we must no longer consider these as alone necessary,—namely, houses, and clothes, and shoes; but we must set in operation painting too, and all the refined arts, and must possess gold, and ivory, and all things of that kind; must we not? Yes, said he.

Footnote 81:

The Greek ὄψον is not to be translated, except by a periphrasis. It strictly means _boiled meat_, as opposed to bread,—but more generally, as here, anything eaten with bread or other food to give it flavour and relish.

CHAP. XIV.—Must we not, then, increase the size of our city?—For that healthy one is no longer sufficient, but already full of repletion and abundance of such things as are in nowise requisite for cities,—such as all kinds of sportsmen, and imitative artists, many of whom imitate in figures and colours, and many in music: poets too, and their assistants, rhapsodists, actors, dancers, contractors,[82] and manufacturers of all sorts of trinkets, especially of those belonging to female attire; and in that case, too, we shall require many more servants; and think you not they will require teachers, nurses, tutors, hair-dressers, barbers, confectioners, too, and cooks? Aye, and further still, we shall want swine-herds. Of these, indeed, there were none in the other state (for there needed none); but in this we shall need these also; and shall require, too, many other sorts of cattle, if any one eats them; shall we not? Of course. Shall we not, then, in this mode of life, require physicians far more than in the former one? Much more.

Footnote 82:

Gr. ἐργολάβοι, i. e. persons undertaking for a certain sum to complete a house or any other given task.

And the land, perhaps, which at first sufficed to support the inhabitants, will, instead of being sufficient, become too little; or how shall we say? Just so, said he. Must we not then cut off a part from the neighbouring country, if we would have enough for arable and pasture, and they in turn from ours, if they on their part devote themselves to the accumulation of boundless wealth, going beyond the limits of mere necessity?

We must, Socrates, said he. Shall we go to war afterwards, Glaucon, or how shall we do? Certainly, said he. But let us not yet, said I, consider the question, whether war produces harm or good,—but thus much only, that we have found the origin of war, and whence especially arise mischiefs to cities, both privately and publicly. Aye, indeed. We shall require, then, friend, a still larger city,—not for a small, but for a large army, which may go out and fight with those who assail it, for their whole substance and everything that we have now mentioned. What, said he, are not these sufficient to fight? No, said I;—not if you and all of us were rightly agreed, when we formed our state: and we agreed, if you remember, that it was impossible for a single person to practise many arts well. True, said he. What then, said I, do not struggles in war seem to require art? Very much so, said he. Ought we then to take more care of the shoemaking art than of that of warfare? By no means. But we charged the shoemaker not to attempt to be at the same time a husbandman, or a weaver, or a builder, in order that the work of shoemaking might be well done; and in like manner we allotted to each of the others a single calling, to which each was adapted by nature, and at which, each by abstaining from the rest, and applying to it the whole of his life, and not neglecting the proper opportunities, he would be likely to work well; but is it not of the greatest importance that what concerns war should be well performed? or is it so easy that one who is a husbandman may also be a soldier, and a shoemaker, and one who practises any other art,—while no one could become a skilful chess or dice player, who does not study it from childhood, but makes it a mere by-work? and can a person who takes a spear or other warlike arms and instruments, instantly become an expert combatant in an armed encounter or aught else relating to war; while, as respects the tools of any other art whatever, one cannot become a good artist, or even a wrestler to any useful extent, without having correct knowledge and bestowing sufficient attention? In that case, such tools, said he, would truly be very valuable.

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

Footnote 83:

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

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

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

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

Footnote 84:

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

Footnote 85:

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

Footnote 86:

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

Footnote 87:

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

Footnote 88:

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

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

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

Nor, that Zeus—

Grants mortal man both happiness and woe.

Footnote 89:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resembling various guests, in various forms,—

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

Footnote 90:

Odyss. xvii. v. 485, 6.

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

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

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

Footnote 91:

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

THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK.