Socrates “The part of the soul, then, that opines in contradiction of measurement could not be the same with that which conforms to it.” “Why, no.” “But, further, that which puts its trust in measurement and reckoning must be the best part of the soul.” “Surely.” “Then that which opposes it must belong to the inferior elements of the soul.” “Necessarily.” “This, then, was what I wished to have agreed upon when I said that poetry, and in general the mimetic art, produces a product that is far removed from truth in the accomplishment of its task, and associates with the part in us 603b that is remote from intelligence, and is its companion and friend¹ for no sound and true purpose.²” “By all means,” said he. “Mimetic art, then, is an inferior thing cohabiting with an inferior and engendering inferior offspring.³” “It seems so.” “Does that,” said I, “hold only for vision or does it apply also to hearing and to what we call poetry?” “Presumably,” he said, “to that also.” “Let us not, then, trust solely to the plausible analogy⁴ from painting, but let us approach in turn 603c that part of the mind to which mimetic poetry appeals and see whether it is the inferior or the nobly serious part.” “So we must.” “Let us, then, put the question thus: Mimetic poetry, we say, imitates human beings acting under compulsion or voluntarily,⁵ and as a result of their actions supposing themselves to have fared well or ill and in all this feeling either grief or joy. Did we find anything else but this?” “Nothing.” “Is a man, then, in all this 603d of one mind with himself, or just as in the domain of sight there was faction and strife and he held within himself contrary opinions at the same time about the same things,⁶ so also in our actions there is division and strife⁷ of the man with himself? But I recall that there is no need now of our seeking agreement on this point, for in our former discussion⁸ we were sufficiently agreed that our soul at any one moment teems with countless such self-contradictions.” “Rightly,” he said. “Yes, rightly,” said I; “but what we then omitted⁹ must now, I think, 603e be set forth.” “What is that?” he said. “When a good and reasonable man,” said I, “experiences such a stroke of fortune as the loss of a son or anything else that he holds most dear, we said, I believe, then too,¹⁰ that he will bear it more easily than the other sort.” “Assuredly.” “But now let us consider this: Will he feel no pain, or, since that is impossible, shall we say that he will in some sort be moderate¹¹ in his grief?” “That,” he said, “is rather the truth.”

604a “Tell me now this about him: Do you think he will be more likely to resist and fight against his grief when he is observed by his equals or when he is in solitude alone by himself?” “He will be much more restrained,” he said, “when he is on view.” “But when left alone, I fancy, he will permit himself many utterances which, if heard by another, would put him to shame, and will do many things which he would not consent to have another see him doing.” “So it is,” he said.

“Now is it not reason and law 604b that exhorts him to resist, while that which urges him to give way to his grief is the bare feeling itself?” “True.” “And where there are two opposite impulses¹² in a man at the same time about the same thing we say that there must needs be two things¹³ in him.” “Of course.” “And is not the one prepared to follow the guidance of the law as the law leads and directs?” “How so?” “The law, I suppose, declares that it is best to keep quiet as far as possible in calamity and not to chafe and repine, because we cannot know what is really good and evil in such things¹⁴ and it advantages us nothing to take them hard, 604c and nothing in mortal life is worthy of great concern,¹⁵ and our grieving checks¹⁶ the very thing we need to come to our aid as quickly as possible in such case.” “What thing,” he said, “do you mean?” “To deliberate,”¹⁷ I said, “about what has happened to us, and, as it were in the fall of the dice,¹⁸ to determine the movements of our affairs with reference to the numbers that turn up, in the way that reason indicates¹⁹ would be the best, and, instead of stumbling like children, clapping one’s hands to the stricken spot²⁰ and wasting the time in wailing, 604d ever to accustom the soul to devote itself at once to the curing of the hurt and the raising up of what has fallen, banishing threnody²¹ by therapy.” “That certainly,” he said, “would be the best way to face misfortune and deal with it.” “Then, we say, the best part of us is willing to conform to these precepts of reason.” “Obviously.” “And shall we not say that the part of us that leads us to dwell in memory on our suffering and impels us to lamentation, and cannot get enough of that sort of thing, is the irrational and idle part of us, the associate of cowardice²²?” “Yes, we will say that.” “And does not 604e the fretful part of us present²³ many and varied occasions for imitation, while the intelligent and temperate disposition, always remaining approximately the same, is neither easy to imitate nor to be understood when imitated, especially by a nondescript mob assembled in the theater? For the representation imitates a type 605a that is alien to them.”

“By all means.” “And is it not obvious that the nature of the mimetic poet is not related to this better part of the soul and his cunning is not framed²⁴ to please it, if he is to win favor with the multitude, but is devoted to the fretful and complicated type of character because it is easy to imitate?” “It is obvious.” “This consideration, then, makes it right for us to proceed to lay hold of him and set him down as the counterpart²⁵ of the painter; for he resembles him in that his creations are inferior in respect of reality; and the fact that his appeal is to the inferior part of the soul 605b and not to the best part is another point of resemblance. And so we may at last say that we should be justified in not admitting him into a well-ordered state, because he stimulates and fosters this element in the soul, and by strengthening it tends to destroy the rational part, just as when in a state²⁶ one puts bad men in power and turns the city over to them and ruins the better sort. Precisely in the same manner we shall say that the mimetic poet sets up in each individual soul a vicious constitution by fashioning phantoms far removed from reality, and by currying favor with the senseless element 605c that cannot distinguish the greater from the less, but calls the same thing now one, now the other.” “By all means.”

“But we have not yet brought our chief accusation against it. Its power to corrupt, with rare exceptions, even the better sort is surely the chief cause for alarm.” “How could it be otherwise, if it really does that?” “ Listen and reflect. I think you know that the very best of us, when we hear Homer²⁷ or some other of the makers of tragedy 605d imitating one of the heroes who is in grief,²⁸ and is delivering a long tirade in his lamentations or chanting and beating his breast, feel pleasure,²⁹ and abandon ourselves and accompany the representation with sympathy and eagerness,³⁰ and we praise as an excellent poet the one who most strongly affects us in this way.” “I do know it, of course.” “But when in our own lives some affliction comes to us, you are also aware that we plume ourselves upon the opposite, on our ability to remain calm and endure, 605e in the belief that this is the conduct of a man, and what we were praising in the theatre that of a woman.³¹” “I do note that.” “Do you think, then,” said I, “that this praise is rightfully bestowed when, contemplating a character that we would not accept but would be ashamed of in ourselves, we do not abominate it but take pleasure and approve?” “No, by Zeus,” he said, “it does not seem reasonable.”

606a “Oh yes,³²” said I, “if you would consider it in this way.” “In what way?” “If you would reflect that the part of the soul that in the former case, in our own misfortunes,³³ was forcibly restrained, and that has hungered for tears and a good cry³⁴ and satisfaction, because it is its nature to desire these things, is the element in us that the poets satisfy and delight, and that the best element in our nature, since it has never been properly educated by reason or even by habit, then relaxes its guard³⁵ over the plaintive part, 606b inasmuch as this is contemplating the woes of others and it is no shame to it to praise and pity another who, claiming to be a good man, abandons himself to excess in his grief; but it thinks this vicarious pleasure is so much clear gain,³⁶ and would not consent to forfeit it by disdaining the poem altogether. That is, I think, because few are capable of reflecting that what we enjoy in others will inevitably react upon ourselves.³⁷ For after feeding fat³⁸ the emotion of pity there, it is not easy to restrain it in our own sufferings.” 606c “Most true,” he said. “Does not the same principle apply to the laughable,³⁹ namely,that if in comic representations,⁴⁰ or for that matter in private talk,⁴¹ you take intense pleasure in buffooneries that you would blush to practise yourself, and do not detest them as base, you are doing the same thing as in the case of the pathetic? For here again what your reason, for fear of the reputation of buffoonery, restrained in yourself when it fain would play the clown, you release in turn, and so, fostering its youthful impudence, let yourself go so far that often ere you are aware you become yourself 606d a comedian in private.” “Yes, indeed,” he said. “And so in regard to the emotions of sex and anger, and all the appetites and pains and pleasures of the soul which we say accompany all our actions,⁴² the effect of poetic imitation is the same. For it waters⁴³ and fosters these feelings when what we ought to do is to dry them up, and it establishes them as our rulers when they ought to be ruled, to the end that we may be better and happier men instead of worse and more miserable.” “I cannot deny it,” said he. 606e “Then, Glaucon,” said I, “when you meet encomiasts of Homer who tell us that this poet has been the educator of Hellas,⁴⁴ and that for the conduct and refinement⁴⁵ of human life he is worthy of our study and devotion, and that we should order our entire lives by the guidance of this poet, 607a we must love⁴⁶ and salute them as doing the best they can,⁴⁷ and concede to them that Homer is the most poetic⁴⁸ of poets and the first of tragedians,⁴⁹ but we must know the truth, that we can admit no poetry into our city save only hymns to the gods and the praises of good men.⁵⁰”