Laws

Ath.This is the special form of nurture to which, as I suppose, our present argument would confine the term education whereas an upbringing which aims only at money-making or physical strength, or even some mental accomplishment devoid of reason and justice, it would term vulgar and illiberal and utterly unworthy of the name education. Let us not, however, quarrel over a name, but let us abide by the statement we agreed upon just now, that those who are rightly educated become, as a rule, good, and that one should in no case disparage education, since it stands first among the finest gifts that are given to the best men; and if ever it errs from the right path, but can be put straight again, to this task every man, so long as he lives, must address himself with all his might.

Clin. You are right, and we agree with what you say.

Ath. Further, we agreed long ago that if men are capable of ruling themselves, they are good, but if incapable, bad.

Clin. Quite true.

Ath. Let us, then, re-state more clearly what we meant by this. With your permission, I will make use of an illustration in the hope of explaining the matter.

Clin. Go ahead.

Ath. May we assume that each of us by himself is a single unit?

Clin. Yes.

Ath. And that each possesses within himself two antagonistic and foolish counsellors, whom we call by the names of pleasure and pain?

Clin. That is so.

Ath. And that, besides these two, each man possesses opinions about the future, which go by the general name of expectations; and of these, that which precedes pain bears the special name of fear, and that which precedes pleasure the special name of confidence; and in addition to all these there is calculation, pronouncing which of them is good, which bad; and calculation, when it has become the public decree of the State, is named law.

Clin. I have some difficulty in keeping pace with you: assume, however, that I do so, and proceed.

Meg. I am in exactly the same predicament.

Ath. Let us conceive of the matter in this way. Let us suppose that each of us living creatures is an ingenious puppet of the gods, whether contrived by way of a toy of theirs or for some serious purpose—for as to that we know nothing; but this we do know, that these inward affections of ours, like sinews or cords, drag us along and, being opposed to each other, pull one against the other to opposite actions; and herein lies the dividing line between goodness and badness.

Ath.For, as our argument declares, there is one of these pulling forces which every man should always follow and nohow leave hold of, counteracting thereby the pull of the other sinews: it is the leading-string, golden and holy, of calculation, entitled the public law of the State; and whereas the other cords are hard and steely and of every possible shape and semblance, this one is flexible and uniform, since it is of gold. With that most excellent leading-string of the law we must needs co-operate always; for since calculation is excellent, but gentle rather than forceful, its leading-string needs helpers to ensure that the golden kind within us may vanquish the other kinds. In this way our story comparing ourselves to puppets will not fall flat, and the meaning of the terms self-superior and self-inferior will become somewhat more clear, and also how necessary it is for the individual man to grasp the true account of these inward pulling forces and to live in accordance therewith, and how necessary for the State (when it has received such an account either from a god or from a man who knows) to make this into a law for itself and be guided thereby in its intercourse both with itself and with all other States. Thus both badness and goodness would be differentiated for us more clearly; and these having become more evident, probably education also and the other institutions will appear less obscure; and about the institution of the wine-party in particular it may very likely be shown that it is by no means, as might be thought, a paltry matter which it is absurd to discuss at great length but rather a matter which folly merits prolonged discussion.

Clin. Quite right: let us go through with every topic that seems important for the present discussion.

Ath. Tell me now: if we give strong drink to this puppet of ours, what effect will it have on its character?

Clin. In reference to what particular do you ask this question?

Ath. To no particular, for the moment: I am putting the question in general terms—when this shares in that, what sort of thing does it become in consequence? I will try to convey my meaning still more clearly: what I ask is this—does the drinking of wine intensify pleasures and pains and passions and lusts?

Clin. Yes, greatly.

Ath. And how about sensations and recollections and opinions and thoughts? Does it make them likewise more intense? Or rather, do not these quit a man entirely if he becomes surfeited with drink?

Clin. Yes, they quit him entirely.

Ath. He then arrives at the same condition of soul as when he was a young child?

Clin. He does.

Ath. So at that moment he will have very little control of himself?

Clin. Very little.

Ath. And such a man is, we say, very bad?

Clin. Very, indeed.

Ath. It appears, then, that not the grey-beard only may be in his second childhood, but the drunkard as well.

Clin. An admirable observation, Stranger.

Ath. Is there any argument which will undertake to persuade us that this is a practice we ought to indulge in, instead of shunning it with all our might so far as we possibly can?

Clin. It appears that there is: at any rate you assert this, and you were ready just now to argue it.

Ath. You are right in your reminder, and I am still ready to do so, now that you and Megillus have both expressed your willingness to listen to me.

Clin. Of course we shall listen, if only on account of the surprising paradox that, of his own free will, a man ought to plunge into the depths of depravity.

Ath. Depravity of soul, you mean, do you not?

Clin. Yes.

Ath. And how about plunging into a bad state of body, such as leanness or ugliness or impotence? Should we be surprised if a man of his own free will ever got into such a state?

Clin. Of course we should.

Ath. Well then, do we suppose that persons who go of themselves to dispensaries to drink medicines are not aware that soon afterwards, and for many days to come, they will find themselves in a bodily condition such as would make life intolerable[*](Evidently, drastic purgatives were commonly prescribed.) if it were to last for ever? And we know, do we not, that men who go to the gymnasia for hard training commence by becoming weaker?

Clin. All this we know.

Ath. We know also that they go there voluntarily for the sake of the subsequent benefit ?

Clin. Quite true.

Ath. Should one not take the same view of the other institutions also?

Clin. Certainly.

Ath. Then one must also take the same view of the practice of wine-drinking, if one can rightly class it amongst the others.

Clin. Of course one must.

Ath. If then this practice should be shown to be quite as beneficial for us as bodily training, certainly at the outset it is superior to it, in so far as it is not, like bodily training, accompanied by pain.

Clin. That is true; but I should be surprised if we succeeded in discovering in it any benefit.

Ath. That is precisely the point which we must at once try to make plain. Tell me now: can we discern two kinds of fear, of which the one is nearly the opposite of the other?

Clin. What kinds do you mean?

Ath. These: when we expect evils to occur, we fear them.

Clin. Yes.

Ath. And often we fear reputation, when we think we shall gain a bad repute for doing or saying something base; and this fear we (like everybody else, I imagine) call shame.

Clin. Of course.

Ath. These are the two fears I was meaning; and of these the second is opposed to pains and to all other objects of fear, and opposed also to the greatest and most numerous pleasures.[*](i.e. shame, which is fear of disgrace, induces fortitude under pain and the power of resisting vicious pleasures.)

Clin. Very true.

Ath. Does not, then, the lawgiver, and every man who is worth anything, hold this kind of fear in the highest honor, and name it modesty; and to the confidence which is opposed to it does he not give the name immodesty, and pronounce it to be for all, both publicly and privately, a very great evil?

Clin. Quite right.

Ath. And does not this fear, besides saving us in many other important respects, prove more effective than anything else in ensuring for us victory in war and security? For victory is, in fact, ensured by two things, of which the one is confidence towards enemies, the other, fear of the shame of cowardice in the eyes of friends.

Clin. That is so.

Ath. Thus each one of us ought to become both fearless and fearful; and that for the several reasons we have now explained.

Clin. Certainly.

Ath. Moreover, when we desire to make a person fearless in respect of a number of fears, it is by drawing him, with the help of the law, into fear that we make him such.

Clin. Apparently.

Ath. And how about the opposite case, when we attempt with the aid of justice to make a man fearful? Is it not by pitting him against shamelessness and exercising him against it that we must make him victorious in the fight against his own pleasures? Or shall we say that, whereas in the case of courage it is only by fighting and conquering his innate cowardice that a man can become perfect, and no one unversed and unpracticed in contests of this sort can attain even half the excellence of which he is capable,—in the case of temperance, on the other hand, a man may attain perfection without a stubborn fight against hordes of pleasures and lusts which entice towards shamelessness and wrong-doing, and without conquering them by the aid of speech and act and skill, alike in play and at work,—and, in fact, without undergoing any of these experiences?

Clin. It would not be reasonable to suppose so.

Ath. Well then:

Ath.in the case of fear does there exist any specific, given by God to men, such that, the more a man likes to drink of it, the more, at every draught, he fancies himself plunged in misfortune and finally, though he be the bravest of men, he arrives at a state of abject terror; whereas, when he has once got relieved of the potion and slept it off, he always becomes his normal self again?

Clin. What potion of the kind can we mention, Stranger, as existing anywhere?

Ath. There is none. Supposing, however, that there had been one, would it have been of any service to the lawgiver for promoting courage? For instance, we might quite well have addressed him concerning it in this wise: Come now, O lawgiver,—whether it be Cretans you are legislating for or anyone else, would not your first desire be to have a test of courage and of cowardice which you might apply to your citizens?

Clin. Obviously everyone of them would say Yes.

Ath.And would you desire a test that was safe and free from serious risks, or the reverse?

Clin. All will agree, also, that the test must be safe.

Ath.And would you utilize the test by bringing men into these fears and proving them while thus affected, so as to compel them to become fearless; employing exhortations admonitions and rewards,— but degradation for all those that refused to conform wholly to the character you prescribed? And would you acquit without penalty everyone who had trained himself manfully and well, but impose a penalty on everyone who had done so badly? Or would you totally refuse to employ the potion as a test, although you have no objection to it on other grounds?

Clin. Of course he would employ it, Stranger.

Ath. At any rate, my friend, the training involved would be wonderfully simple, as compared with our present methods, whether it were applied to individuals singly, or to small groups, or to groups ever so large. Suppose, then, that a man, actuated by a feeling of shame and loth to show himself in public before he was in the best of condition, should remain alone by himself while undergoing this training against fears and relying on the potion alone for his solitary equipment, instead of endless exercises,—he would be acting quite rightly: so too would he who, trusting in himself that by nature and practice he is already well equipped, should have no hesitation in training in company with a number of drinking companions and showing off how for speed and strength he is superior to the potency of the draughts he is obliged to drink, with the result that because of his excellence he neither commits any grave impropriety nor loses his head, and who, before they came to the last round, should quit the company, through fear of the defeat inflicted on all men by the wine-cup.

Clin. Yes, Stranger, this man too would be acting temperately.

Ath. Once more let us address the lawgiver and say: Be it so, O lawgiver, that for producing fear no such drug apparently has been given to men by God, nor have we devised such ourselves (for quacks I count not of our company); but does there exist a potion for inducing fearlessness and excessive and untimely confidence,—of what shall we say about this?

Clin. Presumably, he will assert that there is one,—naming wine.

Ath. And is not this exactly the opposite of the potion described just now? For, first, it makes the person who drinks it more jovial than he was before, and the more he imbibes it, the more he becomes filled with high hopes and a sense of power, till finally, puffed up with conceit, he abounds in every kind of licence of speech and action and every kind of audacity, without a scruple as to what he says or what he does. Everyone, I imagine, would agree that this is so.

Clin. Undoubtedly.

Ath. Let us recall our previous statement that we must cultivate in our souls two things—namely, the greatest possible confidence, and its opposite, the greatest possible fear.

Clin. Which you called, I think, the marks of modesty.

Ath. Your memory serves you well. Since courage and fearlessness ought to be practised amidst fears, we have to consider whether the opposite quality ought to be cultivated amidst conditions of the opposite kind.

Clin. It certainly seems probable.

Ath. It appears then that we ought to be placed amongst those conditions which naturally tend to make us exceptionally confident and audacious when we are practising how to be as free as possible from shamelessness and excessive audacity, and fearful of ever daring to say or suffer or do anything shameful.

Clin. So it appears.

Ath. And are not these the conditions in which we are of the character described,—anger, lust, insolence, ignorance, covetousness, and extravagance; and these also,—wealth, beauty, strength, and everything which intoxicates a man with pleasure and turns his head? And for the purpose, first, of providing a cheap and comparatively harmless test of these conditions, and, secondly, of affording practice in them, what more suitable pleasure can we mention than wine, with its playful testing—provided that it is employed at all carefully?

Ath. For consider: in the case of a man whose disposition is morose and savage (whence spring numberless iniquities), is it not more dangerous to test him by entering into money transactions with him, at one’s own personal risk, than by associating with him with the help of Dionysus and his festive insight? And when a man is a slave to the pleasures of sex, is it not a more dangerous test to entrust to him one’s own daughters and sons and wife, and thus imperil one’s own nearest and dearest, in order to discover the disposition of his soul? In fact, one might quote innumerable instances in a vain endeavor to show the full superiority of this playful method of inspection which is without either serious consequence or costly damage. Indeed, so far as that is concerned, neither the Cretans, I imagine, nor any other people would dispute the fact that herein we have a fair test of man by man, and that for cheapness, security and speed it is superior to all other tests.

Clin. That certainly is true.

Ath. This then—the discovery of the natures and conditions of men’s souls—will prove one of the things most useful to that art whose task it is to treat them; and that art is (as I presume we say) the art of politics: is it not so?

Clin. Undoubtedly.

Ath. In the next place, we probably ought to enquire, regarding this subject, whether the discerning of men’s natural dispositions is the only gain to be derived from the right use of wine-parties, or whether it entails benefits so great as to be worthy of serious consideration. What do we say about this? Our argument evidently tends to indicate that it does entail such benefits; so how and wherein it does so let us now hear, and that with minds attentive, lest haply we be led astray by it.

Clin. Say on.

Ath. I want us to call to mind again our definition of right education. For the safekeeping of this depends, as I now conjecture, upon the correct establishment of the institution mentioned.

Clin. That is a strong statement!

Ath. What I state is this,—that in children the first childish sensations are pleasure and pain, and that it is in these first that goodness and badness come to the soul; but as to wisdom and settled true opinions, a man is lucky if they come to him even in old age and; he that is possessed of these blessings, and all that they comprise, is indeed a perfect man. I term, then, the goodness that first comes to children education. When pleasure and love, and pain and hatred, spring up rightly in the souls of those who are unable as yet to grasp a rational account; and when, after grasping the rational account, they consent thereunto that they have been rightly trained in fitting practices:—this consent, viewed as a whole, is goodness, while the part of it that is rightly trained in respect of pleasures and pains, so as to hate what ought to be hated, right from the beginning up to the very end, and to love what ought to be loved, if you were to mark this part off in your definition and call it education, you would be giving it, in my opinion, its right name.

Clin. You are quite right, Stranger, as it seems to us, both in what you said before and in what you say now about education.

Ath. Very good. Now these forms of child-training, which consist in right discipline in pleasures and pains, grow slack and weakened to a great extent in the course of men’s lives; so the gods, in pity for the human race thus born to misery, have ordained the feasts of thanksgiving as periods of respite from their troubles; and they have granted them as companions in their feasts the Muses and Apollo the master of music, and Dionysus, that they may at least set right again their modes of discipline by associating in their feasts with gods. We must consider, then, whether the account that is harped on nowadays is true to nature? What it says is that, almost without exception, every young creature is able of keeping either its body or its tongue quiet, and is always striving to move and to cry, leaping and skipping and delighting in dances and games, and uttering, also, noises of every description.

Ath. Now, whereas all other creatures are devoid of any perception of the various kinds of order and disorder in movement (which we term rhythm and harmony), to men the very gods, who were given, as we said, to be our fellows in the dance, have granted the pleasurable perception of rhythm and harmony, whereby they cause us to move and lead our choirs, linking us one with another by means of songs and dances; and to the choir they have given its name from the cheer implanted therein.[*](Here χορός is fancifully derived from χαρά, joy. For similar etymologies, see the Cratylus, passim.) Shall we accept this account to begin with, and postulate that education owes its origin to Apollo and the Muses?

Clin. Yes.

Ath. Shall we assume that the uneducated man is without choir-training, and the educated man fully choir-trained?

Clin. Certainly.

Ath. Choir-training, as a whole, embraces of course both dancing and song.

Clin. Undoubtedly.

Ath. So the well-educated man will be able both to sing and dance well.

Clin. Evidently.

Ath. Let us now consider what this last statement of ours implies.

Clin. Which statement?

Ath. Our words are,—he sings well and dances well: ought we, or ought we not, to add,—provided that he sings good songs and dances good dances?

Clin. We ought to add this.

Ath. How then, if a man takes the good for good and the bad for bad and treats them accordingly? Shall we regard such a man as better trained in choristry and music when he is always able both with gesture and voice to represent adequately that which he conceives to be good, though he feels neither delight in the good nor hatred of the bad,—or when, though not wholly able to represent his conception rightly by voice and gesture, he yet keeps right in his feelings of pain and pleasure, welcoming everything good and abhorring everything not good.

Clin. There is a vast difference between the two cases, Stranger, in point of education.

Ath. If, then, we three understand what constitutes goodness in respect of dance and song, we also know who is and who is not rightly educated but without this knowledge we shall never be able to discern whether there exists any safeguard for education or where it is to be found. Is not that so?

Clin. It is.

Ath. What we have next to track down, like hounds on the trail, is goodness of posture and tunes in relation to song and dance; if this eludes our pursuit, it will be in vain for us to discourse further concerning right education, whether of Greeks or of barbarians.

Clin. Yes.

Ath. Well then, however shall we define goodness of posture or of tune? Come, consider: when a manly soul is beset by troubles, and a cowardly soul by troubles identical and equal, are the postures and utterances that result in the two cases similar?

Clin. How could they be, when even their complexions differ in color?

Ath. Well said, my friend. But in, fact, while postures and tunes do exist in music,[*](Music comprises both dance and song (including instrumental accompaniment), whether executed by single performers or by groups (χορεία). The postures are those of the dancer, the tunes those of the singer.) which deals with rhythm and harmony, so that one can rightly speak of a tune or posture being rhythmical or harmonious, one cannot rightly apply the choir masters metaphor well-colored to tune and posture; but one can use this language about the posture and tune of the brave man and the coward, and one is right in calling those of the brave man good, and those of the coward bad. To avoid a tediously long disquisition, let us sum up the whole matter by saying that the postures and tunes which attach to goodness of soul or body, or to some image thereof, are universally good, while those which attach to badness are exactly the reverse.

Clin. Your pronouncement is correct, and we now formally endorse it.

Ath. Another point:—do we all delight equally in choral dancing, or far from equally?

Clin. Very far indeed.

Ath. Then what are we to suppose it is that misleads us? Is it the fact that we do not all regard as good the same things, or is it that, although they are the same, they are thought not to be the same? For surely no one will maintain that the choric performance of vice are better than those of virtue, or that he himself enjoys the postures of turpitude, while all others delight in music of the opposite kind. Most people, however, assert that the value of music consists in its power of affording pleasure to the soul.[*]( i.e. music is commonly judged solely by the amount of pleasure it affords, without any regard to the quality of the pleasure. The Athenian proceeds to show how dangerous a doctrine this is: music, he maintains, should not be used merely to pander to the low tastes of the populace, but rather treated as an educational instrument for the elevation of public morals.) But such an assertion is quite intolerable, and it is blasphemy even to utter it. The fact which misleads us is more probably the following—

Clin. What?

Ath. Inasmuch as choric performances are representations of character, exhibited in actions and circumstances of every kind, in which, the several performers enact their parts by habit and imitative art, whenever the choric performances are congenial to them in point of diction, tune or other features (whether from natural bent or from habit, or from all these causes combined), then these performers invariably delight in such, performances and extol them as excellent; whereas those who find them repugnant to their nature, disposition or habits cannot possibly delight in them or praise them, but call them bad.

Ath.And when men are right in their natural tastes but wrong in those acquired by habituation, or right in the latter but wrong in the former, then by their expressions of praise they convey the opposite of their real sentiments; for whereas they say of a performance that it is pleasant but bad, and feel ashamed to indulge in such bodily motions before men whose wisdom they respect, or to sing such songs (as though they seriously approved of them), they really take a delight in them in private.

Clin. Very true.

Ath. Does the man who delights in bad postures and tunes suffer any damage thereby, or do those who take pleasure in the opposite gain therefrom any benefit?

Clin. Probably.

Ath. Is it not probable or rather inevitable that the result here will be exactly the same as what takes place when a man who is living amongst the bad habits of wicked men, though he does not really abhor but rather accepts and delights in those habits, yet censures them casually, as though dimly aware of his own turpitude? In such a case it is, to be sure, inevitable that the man thus delighted becomes assimilated to those habits, good or bad, in which he delights, even though he is ashamed to praise them. Yet what blessing could we name, or what curse, greater than that of assimilation which befalls us so inevitably?

Clin. There is none, I believe.

Ath. Now where laws are, or will be in the future, rightly laid down regarding musical education and recreation, do we imagine that poets will be granted such licence that they may teach whatever form of rhythm or tune they best like themselves to the children of law-abiding citizens and the young men in the choirs, no matter what the result may be in the way of virtue or depravity?

Clin. That would be unreasonable, most certainly.

Ath. But at present this licence is allowed in practically every State, with the exception of Egypt.

Clin. How, then, does the law stand in Egypt?

Ath. It is marvellous, even in the telling. It appears that long ago they determined on the rule of which we are now speaking, that the youth of a State should practise in their rehearsals postures and tunes that are good: these they prescribed in detail and posted up in the temples, and outside this official list it was, and still is, forbidden to painters and all other producers of postures and representations to introduce any innovation or invention, whether in such productions or in any other branch of music, over and above the traditional forms.

Ath. And if you look there, you will find that the things depicted or graven there 10,000 years ago (I mean what I say, not loosely but literally 10,000) are no whit better or worse than the productions of today, but wrought with the same art.

Clin. A marvellous state of affairs!

Ath. Say rather, worthy in the highest degree of a statesman and a legislator. Still, you would find in Egypt other things that are bad. This, however, is a true and noteworthy fact, that as regards music it has proved possible for the tunes which possess a natural correctness to be enacted by law and permanently consecrated. To effect this would be the task of a god or a godlike man,—even as in Egypt they say that the tunes preserved throughout all this lapse of time are the compositions of Isis. Hence, as I said, if one could by any means succeed in grasping no principle of correctness in tune, one might then with confidence reduce them to legal form and prescription, since the tendency of pleasure and pain to indulge constantly in fresh music has, after all, no very great power to corrupt choric forms that are consecrated, by merely scoffing at them as antiquated. In Egypt, at any rate, it seems to have had no such power of corrupting,—in fact, quite the reverse.

Clin. Such would evidently be the case, judging from what you now say.

Ath. May we confidently describe the correct method in music and play, in connection with choristry, in some such terms as this: we rejoice whenever we think we are prospering, and, conversely, whenever we rejoice we think we are prospering? Is not that so?

Clin. Yes, that is so.

Ath. Moreover, when in this state of joy we are unable to keep still.

Clin. True.

Ath. Now while our young men are fitted for actually dancing themselves, we elders regard ourselves as suitably employed in looking on at them, and enjoying their sport and merrymaking, now that our former nimbleness is leaving us; and it is our yearning regret for this that causes us to propose such contests for those who can best arouse in us through recollection, the dormant emotions of youth.

Clin. Very true.

Ath. Thus we shall not dismiss as entirely groundless the opinion now commonly expressed about merrymakers,—namely, that he who best succeeds in giving us joy and pleasure should be counted the most skilful and be awarded the prize. For, seeing that we give ourselves up on such occasions of recreation, surely the highest honor and the prize of victory, as I said just now, should be awarded to the performer who affords the greatest enjoyment to the greatest number.

Ath. Is not this the right view, and the right mode of action too, supposing it were carried out?

Clin. Possibly.

Ath. But, my dear sir, we must not decide this matter hastily; rather we must analyze it thoroughly and examine it in some such fashion as this: suppose a man were to organize a competition, without qualifying or limiting it to gymnastic, musical or equestrian sports; and suppose that he should assemble the whole population of the State and, proclaiming that this is purely a pleasure-contest in which anyone who chooses may compete, should offer a prize to the competitor who gives the greatest amusement to the spectators,— without any restrictions as to the methods employed,—and who excels others just in doing this in the highest possible degree, and is adjudged the most pleasure-giving of the competitors: what do we suppose would be the effect of such a proclamation?

Clin. In what respect do you mean?

Ath. The natural result would be that one man would, like Homer, show up a rhapsody, another a harp-song, one a tragedy and another a comedy; nor should we be surprised if someone were even to fancy that he had the best chance of winning with a puppet-show. So where such as these and thousands others enter the competition, can we say who will deserve to win the prize?

Clin. An absurd question; for who could possibly pretend to know the answer before he had himself actually heard each of the competitors?

Ath. Very well, then; do you wish me to supply you with the answer to this absurd question?

Clin. By all means.

Ath. If the tiniest children are to be the judges, they will award the prize to the showman of puppets, will they not?

Clin. Certainly they will.

Ath. And older lads to the exhibitor of comedies; while the educated women and the young men, and the mass of the people in general, will award it to the shower of tragedies.

Clin. Most probably.

Ath. And we old men would very likely take most delight in listening to a rhapsode giving a fine recitation of the Iliad or the Odyssey or of a piece from Hesiod, and declare that he is easily the winner. Who then would rightly be the winner of the prize? That is the next question, is it not?

Clin. Yes.

Ath. Evidently we three cannot avoid saying that those who are adjudged the winners by our own contemporaries would win rightly. For in our opinion epic poetry is by far the best to be found nowadays anywhere in any State in the world.

Clin. Of course.

Ath. Thus much I myself am willing to concede to the majority of men,—that the criterion of music should be pleasure not, however, the pleasure of any chance person; rather I should regard that music which pleases the best men and the highly educated as about the best, and as quite the best if it pleases the one man who excels all others in virtue and education. And we say that the judges of these matters need virtue for the reason that they need to possess not only wisdom in general, but especially courage. For the true judge should not take his verdicts from the dictation of the audience, nor yield weakly to the uproar of the crowd or his own lack of education; nor again, when he knows the truth, should he give his verdict carelessly through cowardice and lack of spirit, thus swearing falsely out of the same mouth with which he invoked Heaven when he first took his seat as judge.[*]( Judges at musical and gymnastic contests, like all state officials, took an oath to discharge their duties with fidelity. See further, Plat. Laws 6.764.) For, rightly speaking, the judge sits not as a pupil, but rather as a teacher of the spectators, being ready to oppose those who offer them pleasure in a way that is unseemly or wrong; and that is what the present law of Sicily and Italy actually does: by entrusting the decision to the spectators, who award the prize by show of hands, not only has it corrupted the poets (since they adapt their works to the poor standard of pleasure of the judges, which means that the spectators are the teachers of the poets), but it has corrupted also the pleasures of the audience; for whereas they ought to be improving their standard of pleasure by listening to characters superior to their own, what they now do has just the opposite effect. What, then, is the conclusion to be drawn from this survey? Is it this, do you suppose?

Clin. What?

Ath. This is, I imagine, the third or fourth time that our discourse has described a circle and come back to this same point—namely, that education is the process of drawing and guiding children towards that principle which is pronounced right by the law and confirmed as truly right by the experience of the oldest and the most just. So in order that the soul of the child may not become habituated to having pains and pleasures in contradiction to the law and those who obey the law, but in conformity thereto, being pleased and pained at the same things as the old man,— for this reason we have what we call chants, which evidently are in reality incantations[*](i.e. charms or magic formulae, canted over sick persons (or over snakes, Euthyd. 290A): cp. 664 B.) seriously designed to produce in souls that conformity and harmony of which we speak. But inasmuch as the souls of the young are unable to endure serious study, we term these plays and chants, and use them as such,—

Ath.just as, when people suffer from bodily ailments and infirmities, those whose office it is try to administer to them nutriment that is wholesome in meats and drinks that are pleasant, but unwholesome nutriment in the opposite, so that they may form the right habit of approving the one kind and detesting the other. Similarly in dealing with the poet, the good legislator will use noble and laudable phrases to persuade him—and, failing persuasion, he will compel him—to portray by his rhythms the gestures, and by his harmonies the tunes, of men who are temperate, courageous, and good in all respects, and thereby to compose poems aright.

Clin. In Heaven’s name, Stranger, do you believe that that is the way poetry is composed nowadays in other States? So far as my own observation goes, I know of no practices such as you describe except in my own country and in Lacedaemon; but I do know that novelties are always being introduced in dancing and all other forms of music, which changes due not to the laws, but to disorderly tastes and these are so far from being constantly uniform and stable—like the Egyptian ones you describe—that they are never for a moment uniform.

Ath. Nobly spoken, O Clinias! If, however, I seemed to you to say that the practices you refer to are in use now, very likely our mistake arose from my own failure to express my meaning clearly; probably I stated my own desires with regard to music in such a way that you imagined me to be stating present facts. To denounce things that are beyond remedy and far gone in error is a task that is by no means pleasant; but at times it is unavoidable. And now that you hold the same opinion on this subject, come, tell me, do you assert that such practices are more general among the Cretans and the Lacedaemonians than among the other Greeks?

Clin. Certainly.

Ath. Suppose now that they were to become general among the rest also,—should we say that the method of procedure then would be better than it is now?

Clin. The improvement would be immense, if things were done as they are in my country and in that of our friends here, and as, moreover, you yourself said just now they ought to be done.

Ath. Come now, let us come to an understanding on this matter. In all education and music in your countries, is not this your teaching? You oblige the poets to teach that the good man, since he is temperate and just, is fortunate and happy, whether he be great or small, strong or weak, rich or poor; whereas, though he be richer even

than Cinyras or Midas,

Ath.Your poet says—if he speaks the truth—I would spend no word on the man, and hold him in no esteem, who without justice performs or acquires all the things accounted good; and again he describes how the just man drives his spear against the foe at close quarters, whereas the unjust man dares not to look upon the face of bloody death, nor does he outpace in speed of foot the north wind out of Thrace, nor acquire any other of the things called good. For the things which most men call good are wrongly so described. Men say that the chief good is health, beauty the second, wealth the third; and they call countless other things goods—such as sharpness of sight and hearing, and quickness in perceiving all the objects of sense; being a king, too, and doing exactly as you please; and to possess the whole of these goods and become on the spot an immortal, that, as they say, is the crown and top of all felicity. But what you and I say is this,—that all these things are very good as possessions for men who are just and holy, but for the unjust they are (one and all, from health downwards) very bad; and we say too that sight and hearing and sensation and even of itself are very great evils for the man endowed with all the so-called goods, but lacking in justice and all virtue, if he is immortal forever, but a lesser evil for such a man if he survives but a short time. This, I imagine, is what you (like myself) will persuade or compel your poets to teach, and compel them also to educate your youth by furnishing them with rhythms and harmonies in consonance with this teaching. Am I not right? Just consider: what I assert is that what are called evils are good for the unjust, but evil for the just, while the so-called goods are really good for the good, but bad for the bad. Are you in accord with me, then,—that was my question,—or how stands the matter?

Clin. We are, apparently, partly in accord, but partly quite the reverse.

Ath. Take the case of a man who has health and wealth and absolute power in perpetuity,—in addition to which I bestow on him, if you like, matchless strength and courage, together with immortality and freedom from all the other evils so called,—but a man who has within him nothing but injustice and insolence: probably I fail to convince you that the man who lives such a life is obviously not happy but wretched?

Clin. Quite true.

Ath. Well, then, what ought I to say next? Do you not think that if a man who is courageous, strong, beautiful, and rich, and who does exactly as he likes all his life long, is really unjust and insolent, he must necessarily be living a base life? Probably you will agree at any rate to call it base?

Clin. Certainly.

Ath. And also a bad life[*](κακῶς ζῆν, to live badly may mean either to live wickedly or to live wretchedly: Clinias takes it in this latter sense.)?

Clin. We would not go so far as to admit that.

Ath. Well, would you admit the epithets unpleasant and unprofitable to himself?

Clin. How could we agree to such further descriptions?

Ath.How? do you ask? Only (as it seems, my friend) if some god were to grant us concord, since at present we are fairly at discord one with another. In my opinion these facts are quite indisputable even more plainly so, my dear Clinias, than the fact that Crete is an island; and were I a legislator, I should endeavor to compel the poets and all the citizens to speak in this sense; and I should impose all but the heaviest of penalties on anyone in the land who should declare that any wicked men lead pleasant lives, or that things profitable and lucrative are different from things just; and there are many other things contrary to what is now said, as it seems, by Cretans and Lacedaemonians,—and of course by the rest of mankind,—which I should persuade my citizens to proclaim. For, come now, my most excellent sirs, in the name of Zeus and Apollo, suppose we should interrogate those very gods themselves who legislated for you, and ask: Is the most just life the most pleasant; or are there two lives, of which the one is most pleasant, the other most just? If they replied that there were two, we might well ask them further, if we were to put the correct question; Which of the two ought one to describe as the happier, those that live the most just or those that live the most pleasant life? If they replied, Those that live the most pleasant life, that would be a monstrous statement in their mouths. But I prefer not to ascribe such statements to gods, but rather to ancestors and lawgivers: imagine, then, that the questions I have put have been put to an ancestor and lawgiver, and that he has stated that the man who lives the most pleasant life is the happiest. In the next place I would say to him this: O father, did you not desire me to live as happily as possible? Yet you never ceased bidding me constantly to live as justly as possible.

Ath. And hereby, as I think, our lawgiver or ancestor would be shown up as illogical and incapable of speaking consistently with himself, but if, on the other hand, he were to declare the most just life to be the happiest, everyone who heard him would, I suppose, enquire what is the good and charm it contains which is superior to pleasure, for which the lawgiver praises it. For, apart from pleasure, what good could accrue to a just man? Come, tell me, is fair fame and praise from the mouths of men and gods a noble and good thing, but unpleasant, while ill-fame is the opposite? By no means, my dear lawgiver, we shall say. And is it unpleasant, but noble and good, neither to injure anyone nor be injured by anyone, while the opposite is pleasant, but ignoble and bad?

Clin. By no means.

Ath. So then the teaching which refuses to separate the pleasant from the just helps, if nothing else, to induce a man to live the holy and just life, so that any doctrine which denies this truth is, in the eyes of the lawgiver, most shameful and most hateful; for no one would voluntarily consent to be induced to commit an act, unless it involves as its consequence more pleasure than pain. Now distance has the effect of befogging the vision of nearly everybody, and of children especially; but our lawgiver will reverse the appearance by removing the fog,[*]( i.e. the lawgiver will make justice clear and distinct by bringing citizens close up to it: discipline in just actions will give them a near and true view of it, and correct the wrong impression due to distance.) and by one means or another—habituation, commendation, or argument—will persuade people that their notions of justice and injustice are illusory pictures, unjust objects appearing pleasant and just objects most unpleasant to him who is opposed to justice, through being viewed from his own unjust and evil standpoint, but when seen from the standpoint of justice, both of them appear in all ways entirely the opposite.

Clin. So it appears.

Ath. In point of truth, which of the two judgements shall we say is the more authoritative,—that of the worse soul or that of the better.

Clin. That of the better, undoubtedly.

Ath. Undoubtedly, then, the unjust life is not only more base and ignoble, but also in very truth more unpleasant, than the just and holy life.

Clin. It would seem so, my friends, from our present argument.

Ath. And even if the state of the case were different from what it has now been proved to be by our argument, could a lawgiver who was worth his salt find any more useful fiction than this (if he dared to use any fiction at all in addressing the youths for their good), or one more effective in persuading all men to act justly in all things willingly and without constraint?

Clin. Truth is a noble thing, Stranger, and an enduring; yet to persuade men of it seems no easy matter.

Ath. Be it so; yet it proved easy to persuade men of the Sidonian fairy-tale,[*]( About Cadmus; cp. Plat. Rep. 414c.) incredible though it was, and of numberless others.

Clin. What tales?

Ath. The tale of the teeth that were sown, and how armed men sprang out of them. Here, indeed, the lawgiver has a notable example of how one can, if he tries, persuade the souls of the young of anything, so that the only question he has to consider in his inventing is what would do most good to the State, if it were believed; and then he must devise all possible means to ensure that the whole of the community constantly, so long as they live, use exactly the same language, so far as possible, about these matters, alike in their songs, their tales, and their discourses. If you, however, think otherwise, I have no objection to your arguing in the opposite sense.

Clin. Neither of us, I think, could possibly argue against your view.

Ath. Our next subject I must handle myself. I maintain that all the three choirs[*]( At Spartan festivals it was customary to have three choirs—of boys, young men, and older men.) must enchant the souls of the children, while still young and tender, by rehearsing all the noble things which we have already recounted, or shall recount hereafter; and let this be the sum of them: in asserting that one and the same life is declared by the gods to be both most pleasant and most just, we shall not only be saying what is most true, but we shall also convince those who need convincing more forcibly than we could by any other assertion.

Clin. We must assent to what you say.

Ath. First, then, the right order of procedure will be for the Muses’ choir of children to come forward first to sing these things with the utmost vigor and before the whole city; second will come the choir of those under thirty, invoking Apollo Paian[*]( i.e. the Healer. Cp. the medicinal sense of ἐπᾴδειν, enchant, in B4 above. Music is to be a medicine of the soul.) as witness of the truth of what is said, and praying him of grace to persuade the youth. The next singers will be the third choir, of those over thirty and under sixty; and lastly, there were left those who, being no longer able to uplift the song, shall handle the same moral themes in stories and by oracular speech.

Clin. Whom do you mean, Stranger, by these third choristers. For we do not grasp very clearly what you intend to convey about them.

Ath. Yet they are in fact the very people to whom most of our previous discourse was intended to lead up.

Clin. We are still in the dark: try to explain yourself more clearly still.

Ath. At the commencement of our discourse we said, if we recollect, that since all young creatures are by nature fiery, they are unable to keep still either body or voice, but are always crying and leaping in disorderly fashion; we said also that none of the other creatures attains a sense of order, bodily and vocal, and that this is possessed by man alone;