Socrates “as, for example, a body by food and drink and toil, and plants¹ by the heat of the sun and winds and similar influences—is it not true that the healthiest and strongest is least altered?” 381a “Certainly.” “And is it not the soul that is bravest and most intelligent, that would be least disturbed² and altered by any external affection?” “Yes.” “And, again, it is surely true of all composite implements, edifices, and habiliments, by parity of reasoning, that those which are well made and in good condition are least liable to be changed by time and other influences.” “That is so.” “It is universally³ true, then, that that which is in the best state by nature or 381b art or both admits least alteration by something else.” “So it seems.” “But God, surely, and everything that belongs to God is in every way in the best possible state.” “Of course.” “From this point of view, then, it would be least of all likely that there would be many forms in God.” “Least indeed.”

“But would he transform and alter himself?” “Obviously,” he said, “if he is altered.” “Then does he change himself for the better and to something fairer, or for the worse⁴ and to something uglier than himself?” 381c “It must necessarily,” said he, “be for the worse if he is changed. For we surely will not say that God is deficient in either beauty or excellence.” “Most rightly spoken,” said I. “And if that were his condition, do you think, Adeimantus, that any one god or man would of his own will worsen himself in any way?” “Impossible,” he replied. “It is impossible then,” said I, “even for a god to wish to alter himself, but, as it appears, each of them being the fairest and best possible abides⁵ for ever simply in his own form.” “An absolutely necessary conclusion to my thinking.” “No poet then,” 381d I said, “my good friend, must be allowed to tell us that The gods, in the likeness of strangers, Many disguises assume as they visit the cities of mortals. ^{6 7} Nor must anyone tell falsehoods about Proteus⁸ and Thetis, nor in any tragedy or in other poems bring in Hera disguised as a priestess collecting almsfor the life-giving sons of Inachus, the Argive stream. ^{9 10} 381e And many similar falsehoods they must not tell. Nor again must mothers under the influence of such poets terrify their children¹¹ with harmful tales, how that there are certain gods whose apparitions haunt the night in the likeness of many strangers from all manner of lands, lest while they speak evil of the gods they at the same time make cowards of children.” “They must not,” he said. “But,” said I, “may we suppose that while the gods themselves are incapable of change they cause us to fancy that they appear in many shapes deceiving and practising magic upon us?” “Perhaps,” said he.

“Consider,” 382a said I; “would a god wish to deceive, or lie, by presenting in either word or action what is only appearance?” “I don’t know,” said he. “Don’t you know,” said I, “that the veritable lie, if the expression is permissible, is a thing that all gods and men abhor?” “What do you mean?” he said. “This,” said I, “that falsehood in the most vital part of themselves, and about their most vital concerns, is something that no one willingly accepts, but it is there above all that everyone fears it.” “I don’t understand yet either.” “That is because you suspect me of some grand meaning,” 382b I said; “but what I mean is, that deception in the soul about realities, to have been deceived and to be blindly ignorant and to have and hold the falsehood there, is what all men would least of all accept, and it is in that case that they loathe it most of all.” “Quite so,” he said. “But surely it would be most wholly right, as I was just now saying, to describe this as in very truth falsehood—ignorance namely in the soul of the man deceived. For the falsehood in words is a copy¹² of the affection in the soul, 382c an after-rising image of it and not an altogether unmixed falsehood. Is not that so?” “By all means.”

“Essential falsehood, then, is hated not only by gods but by men.” “I agree.” “But what of the falsehood in words, when and for whom is it serviceable so as not to merit abhorrence? Will it not be against enemies? And when any of those whom we call friends owing to madness or folly attempts to do some wrong, does it not then become useful 382d to avert the evil—as a medicine? And also in the fables of which we were just now speaking owing to our ignorance of the truth about antiquity, we liken the false to the true as far as we may and so make it edifying.¹³” “We most certainly do,” he said. “Tell me, then, on which of these grounds falsehood would be serviceable to God. Would he because of his ignorance of antiquity make false likenesses of it?” “An absurd supposition, that,” he said. “Then there is no lying poet in God.” “I think not.” 382e “Well then, would it be through fear of his enemies that he would lie?” “Far from it.” “Would it be because of the folly or madness of his friends?” “Nay, no fool or madman is a friend of God.” “Then there is no motive for God to deceive.” “None.” “From every point of view¹⁴ the divine and the divinity are free from falsehood.” “By all means.”

“Then God is altogether simple and true in deed and word, and neither changes himself nor deceives others by visions or words or the sending of signs 383a in waking or in dreams.” “I myself think so,” he said, “when I hear you say it.” “You concur then,” I said, “this as our second norm or canon for speech and poetry about the gods,—that they are neither wizards in shape-shifting nor do they mislead us by falsehoods in words or deed?” “I concur.” “Then, though there are many other things that we praise in Homer, this we will not applaud, the sending of the dream by Zeus¹⁵ to Agamemnon, nor shall we approve of Aeschylus when his Thetis¹⁶ avers that 383b Apollo singing at her wedding, foretold the happy fortunes of her issue ¹⁷ — Their days prolonged, from pain and sickness free, And rounding out the tale of heaven’s blessings, Raised the proud paean, making glad my heart. And I believed that Phoebus’ mouth divine, Filled with the breath of prophecy, could not lie. But he himself, the singer, himself who sat At meat with us, himself who promised all, Is now himself the slayer of my son. ¹⁸ 383c When anyone says that sort of thing about the gods, we shall be wroth with him, we will refuse him a chorus, neither will we allow teachers to use him for the education of the young if our guardians are to be god-fearing men and god-like in so far as that is possible for humanity.” “By all means,” he said, “I accept these norms and would use them as canons and laws.”