[Socrates and 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
Well, then, shall we begin the inquiry 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
Let us take any common instance; there are beds and tables
in the world■plenty of them, are there not?
But there are only two ideas or forms of them■one the idea
of a bed, the other of a table.
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?
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?
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?
But then I suppose you will say that what he creates is un-
true. And yet there is a sense in which the painter also creates
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
anyone 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
Suppose now that by the light of the examples just offered
we inquire 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?
There is another which is the work of the carpenter?
And the work of the painter is a third?
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 not 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?
But would you call the painter a creator and maker?
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
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?
As they are or as they appear? you have still to determine
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?
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.
And whenever anyone informs us that he has found a man
who 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 him 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.
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 with-
out 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
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 Charon-
das, 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
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
a Homeric way of life, such as was established by Pythagoras,
who was so greatly beloved for his wisdom, and whose fol-
lowers 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 men 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.
In like manner the poet with his words and phrases may
be said to lay on the colours of the several arts, himself under-
standing 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
Here is another point: The imitator or maker of the image
knows nothing of true existence; he knows appearances only.
Am I not right?
Then let us have a clear understanding, and not be satisfied
with half an explanation.
Of the painter we say that he will paint reins, and he will
paint a bit?
And the worker in leather and brass will make them?
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.
And may we not say the same of all things?
That there are three arts which are concerned with all things:
one which uses, another which makes, a third which imitates
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.
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?
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?
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
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 an-
other who knows and gives him instructions about what he
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.
Socrates] 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
Socrates] 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?
And now tell me, I conjure you, has not imitation been shown
by us to be concerned with that which is thrice removed from
And what is the faculty in man to which imitation is ad-
What do you mean?
I will explain: The body which is large when seen near, appears small
when seen at a distance?
And the same objects appear 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.
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 be-
fore calculation and measure and weight?
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?
But were we not saying that such a contradiction is impossible■the same
faculty cannot have contrary opinions at the
same time about the same thing?
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
And the better part of the soul is likely to be that which
trusts to measure and calculation?
And that which is opposed to them is one of the inferior
principles of the soul?
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.
The imitative art is an inferior who marries an inferior, and
has inferior offspring.
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
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 were
confusion and opposition in his opinions about the same things,
so here also are 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?
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
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 anyone hearing or seeing
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?
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?
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
Yes, I said; and the higher principle is ready to follow this
suggestion of reason?
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
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
rational principle in the soul; but he will prefer the passionate
and fitful temper, which is easily imitated?
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.
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
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 anyone 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 re-
main 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
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 not 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 art 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?
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
Certainly, he said, we shall be 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 anyone 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 anyone 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
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.
I am attending.
There is a thing which you call good and another which you
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
And you admit that everything 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
Yes, he said.
And anything which is infected by any of these evils is made
evil, and at last wholly dissolves and dies?
The vice and evil which are inherent in each are the destruction of
each; and if these do 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.
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,
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 in-
justice, which is an evil of the soul. Take the analogy of the
body: The evil of the body is a disease which wastes and re-
duces 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?
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?
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
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 the food, which is another, and which does
not engender any natural infection■this we shall absolutely
And, on the same principle, unless some bodily evil can pro-
duce 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 con-
sequence 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
And surely, he replied, no one will ever prove that the souls
of men become more unjust in consequence of death.
But if someone 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 in-
justice 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
Yes, that can hardly be.
But the soul which cannot be destroyed by an evil, whether
inherent or external, must exist forever, and, if existing for-
ever, must be immortal?
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 some-
thing mortal, and all things would thus end in immortality.
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
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 sea-weed 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
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 in this life as they are termed: then you would see her as
she is, and know whether she have 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
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 the 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.
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
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
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?
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 anyone 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
And of the unjust may not the opposite be supposed?
Such, then, are the palms of victory which the gods give the
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.
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 re-
citing 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
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
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 afterward, 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 pyre, 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 them, 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 de-
parting 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 inquiring 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 anyone 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 thou-
sand 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 offenses 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 someone 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 extend-
ed 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 (or 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 pre-
ceding; 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
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 will 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 in them, because the soul, when choosing a new life,
must of necessity become different. But there was every other
quality, and they 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 per-
adventure he may be able to learn and may find someone 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 natural and acquired gifts
of 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 un-
just, 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 for-
ward 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 swans 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
in 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 toils 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 same 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 toward
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 for-
got all things. Now after they had gone to rest, about the
middle of the night there were a thunderstorm and earthquake,
and then in an instant they were driven upward 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
And thus, Glaucon, the tale has been saved and has not perished, and
will save us if we are obedient to the word spoken; and we shall pass
safely over the river of Forgetfulness, and our soul will not be defiled.
Wherefore my counsel is that we hold fast ever to the heavenly way and
follow after justice and virtue always, considering that the soul is
immortal and able to endure every sort of good and every sort of evil. Thus
shall we live dear to one another and to the gods, both while remaining
here and when, like conquerors in the games who go round to gather gifts,
we receive our reward. And it shall be well with us both in this life and
in the pilgrimage of a thousand years which we have been describing.
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