Socrates “And further, because omissions and the failure of beauty in things badly made or grown would be most quickly perceived by one who was properly educated in music, and so, feeling distaste¹ rightly, he would praise beautiful things and take delight in them and receive them into his soul to foster its growth and become himself beautiful and good. 402a The ugly he would rightly disapprove of and hate while still young and yet unable to apprehend the reason, but when reason came² the man thus nurtured would be the first to give her welcome, for by this affinity he would know her.” “I certainly think,” he said, “that such is the cause of education in music.” “It is, then,” said I, “as it was when we learned our letters and felt that we knew them sufficiently only when the separate letters did not elude us, appearing as few elements in all the combinations that convey them, and when we did not disregard them 402b in small things or great³ and think it unnecessary to recognize them, but were eager to distinguish them everywhere, in the belief that we should never be literate and letter-perfect till we could do this.” “True.” “And is it not also true that if there are any likenesses⁴ of letters reflected in water or mirrors, we shall never know them until we know the originals, but such knowledge belongs to the same art and discipline⁵?” “By all means.” “Then, by heaven, am I not right in saying that by the same token we shall never be true musicians, either— 402c neither we nor the guardians that we have undertaken to educate—until we are able to recognize the forms of soberness, courage, liberality,⁶ and high-mindedness and all their kindred and their opposites, too, in all the combinations that contain and convey them, and to apprehend them and their images wherever found, disregarding them neither in trifles nor in great things, but believing the knowledge of them to belong to the same art and discipline?” “The conclusion is inevitable,” he said. 402d “Then,” said I, “when there is a coincidence⁷ of a beautiful disposition in the soul and corresponding and harmonious beauties of the same type in the bodily form—is not this the fairest spectacle for one who is capable of its contemplation⁸?” “Far the fairest.” “And surely the fairest is the most lovable.” “Of course.” “The true musician, then, would love by preference persons of this sort; but if there were disharmony he would not love this.” “No,” he said, “not if there was a defect in the soul; but if it were in the body he would bear with it and still be willing to bestow his love.” 402e “I understand,” I said, “that you have or have had favorites of this sort and I grant your distinction. But tell me this—can there be any communion between soberness and extravagant pleasure⁹?” “How could there be,” he said, “since such pleasure puts a man beside himself 403a no less than pain?” “Or between it and virtue generally?”

“By no means.” “But is there between pleasure and insolence and licence?” “Most assuredly.” “Do you know of greater or keener pleasure than that associated with Aphrodite?” “I don’t,” he said, “nor yet of any more insane.” “But is not the right love a sober and harmonious love of the orderly and the beautiful?” “It is indeed,” said he. “Then nothing of madness, nothing akin to licence, must be allowed to come nigh the right love?” “No.” “Then this kind of pleasure 403b may not come nigh, nor may lover and beloved who rightly love and are loved have anything to do with it?” “No, by heaven, Socrates,” he said, “it must not come nigh them.” “Thus, then, as it seems, you will lay down the law in the city that we are founding, that the lover may kiss¹⁰ and pass the time with and touch the beloved as a father would a son, for honorable ends, if he persuade him. But otherwise he must so associate with the objects of his care that there should never be any suspicion of anything further, 403c on penalty of being stigmatized for want of taste and true musical culture.” “Even so,” he said. “Do you not agree, then, that our discourse on music has come to an end? It has certainly made a fitting end, for surely the end and consummation of culture be love of the beautiful.” “I concur,” he said.

“After music our youth are to be educated by gymnastics?” “Certainly.” “In this too they must be carefully trained 403d from boyhood through life, and the way of it is this, I believe; but consider it yourself too. For I, for my part, do not believe that a sound body by its excellence makes the soul good, but on the contrary that a good soul by its virtue renders the body the best that is possible.¹¹ What is your opinion?” “I think so too.” “Then if we should sufficiently train the mind and turn over to it the minutiae of the care of the body, 403e and content ourselves with merely indicating the norms or patterns, not to make a long story of it, we should acting rightly?” “By all means.” “From intoxication¹² we said that they must abstain. For a guardian is surely the last person in the world to whom it is allowable to get drunk and not know where on earth he is.” “Yes,” he said, “it would absurd that a guardian¹³ should need a guard.” “What next about their food? These men are athletes in the greatest of contests,¹⁴ are they not?” “Yes.”

“Is, then, the bodily habit of the athletes we see about us suitable for such?” 404a “Perhaps.” “Nay,” said I, “that is a drowsy habit and precarious for health. Don’t you observe that they sleep away their lives,¹⁵ and that if they depart ever so little from their prescribed regimen these athletes are liable to great and violent diseases?” “I do.” “Then,” said I, “we need some more ingenious form of training for our athletes of war, since these must be as it were sleepless hounds, and have the keenest possible perceptions of sight and hearing, and in their campaigns undergo many changes¹⁶ 404b in their drinking water, their food, and in exposure to the heat of the sun and to storms,¹⁷ without disturbance of their health.” “I think so.” “Would not, then, the best gymnastics be akin to the music that we were just now describing?” “What do you mean?” “It would be a simple and flexible¹⁸ gymnastic, and especially so in the training for war.” “In what way?” “One could learn that,” said I, “even from Homer.¹⁹ For you are aware that in the banqueting of the heroes on campaign he does not 404c feast them on fish,²⁰ nor on boiled meat, but only on roast, which is what soldiers could most easily procure. For everywhere, one may say, it is of easier provision to use the bare fire than to convey pots and pans²¹ along.” “Indeed it is.” “Neither, as I believe, does Homer ever make mention of sweet meats. Is not that something which all men in training understand—that if one is to keep his body in good condition he must abstain from such things altogether?” “They are right,” 404d he said, “in that they know it and do abstain.” “Then, my friend, if you think this is the right way, you apparently do not approve of a Syracusan table²² and Sicilian variety of made dishes.” “I think not.” “You would frown, then, on a little Corinthian maid as the chère amie of men who were to keep themselves fit?” “Most certainly.” “And also on the seeming delights of Attic pastry?” “Inevitably.” “In general, I take it, if we likened that kind of food and regimen to music and song expressed in the pan-harmonic mode and 404e in every variety of rhythm it would be a fair comparison.” “Quite so.” “And here variety engendered licentiousness, did it not, but here disease? While simplicity in music begets sobriety in the souls, and in gymnastic training it begets health in bodies.” “Most true,” he said.

“And when licentiousness 405a and disease multiply in a city, are not many courts of law and dispensaries opened, and the arts of chicane²³ and medicine give themselves airs when even free men in great numbers take them very seriously?” “How can they help it?” he said.

“Will you be able to find a surer proof of an evil and shameful state of education in a city than the necessity of first-rate physicians and judges, not only for the base and mechanical, but for those who claim to have been bred in the fashion of free men? Do you not think 405b it disgraceful and a notable mark of bad breeding to have to make use of a justice imported from others, who thus become your masters and judges, from lack of such qualities in yourself²⁴?” “The most shameful thing in the world.” “Is it?” said I, “or is this still more shameful²⁵—when a man only wears out the better part of his days in the courts of law as defendant or accuser, but from the lack of all true sense of values²⁶ is led to plume himself on this very thing, as being a smart fellow to “put over” an unjust act 405c and cunningly to try every dodge and practice,²⁷ every evasion, and wriggle²⁸ out of every hold in defeating justice, and that too for trifles and worthless things, because he does not know how much nobler and better it is to arrange his life so as to have no need²⁹ of a nodding juryman?” “That is,” said he, “still more shameful than the other.” “And to require medicine,” said I, “not merely for wounds or the incidence of some seasonal maladies, 405d but, because of sloth and such a regimen as we described, to fill one’s body up with winds and humors like a marsh and compel the ingenious sons of Aesculapius to invent for diseases such names as fluxes and flatulences—don’t you think that disgraceful?³⁰” “Those surely are,” he said, “new-fangled and monstrous strange names of diseases.” “There was nothing of the kind, I fancy,” said I, “in the days of Aesculapius. I infer this from the fact that at Troy his sons 405e did not find fault with the damsel who gave to the wounded Eurypylus³¹ to drink a posset of Pramnian wine plentifully sprinkled with barley and gratings of cheese, 406a inflammatory ingredients of a surety, nor did they censure Patroclus, who was in charge of the case.”