And Adeimantus broke in and said, “What will be your defence, Socrates, if anyone objects that you are not making these men very happy, and that through their own fault? For the city really belongs to them and yet they get no enjoyment out of it as ordinary men do by owning lands and building fine big houses and providing them with suitable furniture and winning the favor of the gods by private sacrifices and entertaining guests and enjoying too those possessions which you just now spoke of, gold and silver and all that is customary for those who are expecting to be happy?”

Socrates “But they seem, one might say, to be established in idleness in the city,

Socrates exactly like hired mercenaries, with nothing to do but keep guard.” “Yes,” said I, “and what is more, they serve for board-wages and do not even receive pay in addition to their food as others do, so that they will not even be able to take a journey on their own account, if they wish to, or make presents to their mistresses, or spend money in other directions according to their desires like the men who are thought to be happy. These and many similar counts of the indictment you are omitting.” “Well,” said he, “assume these counts too.”

Socrates “What then will be our apology you ask?” “Yes.” “By following the same path I think we shall find what to reply. For we shall say that while it would not surprise us if these men thus living prove to be the most happy, yet the object on which we fixed our eyes in the establishment of our state was not the exceptional happiness of any one class but the greatest possible happiness of the city as a whole. For we thought that in a state so constituted we should be most likely to discover justice as we should injustice

Socrates in the worst governed state, and that when we had made these out we could pass judgement on the issue of our long inquiry. Our first task then, we take it, is to mold the model of a happy state—we are not isolating a small class in it and postulating their happiness, but that of the city as a whole. But the opposite type of state we will consider presently. It is as if we were coloring a statue and someone approached and censured us, saying that we did not apply the most beautiful pigments to the most beautiful parts of the image, since the eyes, which are the most beautiful part, have not been painted with purple but with black—

Socrates we should think it a reasonable justification to reply, “Don’t expect us, quaint friend, to paint the eyes so fine that they will not be like eyes at all, nor the other parts. But observe whether by assigning what is proper to each we render the whole beautiful.” And so in the present case you must not require us to attach to the guardians a happiness that will make them anything but guardians.

Socrates For in like manner we could clothe the farmers in robes of state and deck them with gold and bid them cultivate the soil at their pleasure, and we could make the potters recline on couches from left to right before the fire drinking toasts and feasting with their wheel alongside to potter with when they are so disposed, and we can make all the others happy in the same fashion, so that thus the entire city may be happy.”

“But urge us not to this,

Socrates since, if we yield, the farmer will not be a farmer nor the potter a potter, nor will any other of the types that constitute state keep its form. However, for the others it matters less. For cobblers who deteriorate and are spoiled and pretend to be the workmen that they are not are no great danger to a state. But guardians of laws and of the city who are not what they pretend to be, but only seem, destroy utterly, I would have you note, the entire state, and on the other hand, they alone are decisive of its good government and happiness. If then we are forming true guardians

Socrates and keepers of our liberties, men least likely to harm the commonwealth, but the proponent of the other ideal is thinking of farmers and “happy” feasters as it were in a festival and not in a civic community, he would have something else in mind than a state. Consider, then, whether our aim in establishing the guardians is the greatest possible happiness among them or whether that is something we must look to see develop in the city as a whole, but these helpers and guardians

Socrates are to be constrained and persuaded to do what will make them the best craftsmen in their own work, and similarly all the rest. And so, as the entire city develops and is ordered well, each class is to be left, to the share of happiness that its nature comports.”

“Well,” he said, “I think you are right.” “And will you then,” I said, “also think me reasonable in another point akin to this?” “What pray?” “Consider whether

these are the causes that corrupt other craftsmen too so as positively to spoil them.” “What causes?” “Wealth and poverty,” said I. “How so?” “Thus! do you think a potter who grew rich would any longer be willing to give his mind to his craft?” “By no means,” said he. “But will he become more idle and negligent than he was?” “Far more.” “Then he becomes a worse potter?” “Far worse too.” “And yet again, if from poverty he is unable to provide himself with tools and other requirements of his art,

the work that he turns out will be worse, and he will also make inferior workmen of his sons or any others whom he teaches.” “Of course.” “From both causes, then, poverty and wealth, the products of the arts deteriorate, and so do the artisans?” “So it appears.” “Here, then, is a second group of things it seems that our guardians must guard against and do all in their power to keep from slipping into the city without their knowledge.” “What are they?”

Socrates “Wealth and poverty,” said I, “since the one brings luxury, idleness and innovation, and the other illiberality and the evil of bad workmanship in addition to innovation.” “Assuredly,” he said; “yet here is a point for your consideration, Socrates, how our city, possessing no wealth, will be able to wage war, especially if compelled to fight a large and wealthy state.” “Obviously,” said I, “it would be rather difficult to fight one such,

Socrates but easier to fight two.” “What did you mean by that?” he said. “Tell me first,” I said, “whether, if they have to fight, they will not be fighting as athletes of war against men of wealth?” “Yes, that is true,” he said. “Answer me then, Adeimantus. Do you not think that one boxer perfectly trained in the art could easily fight two fat rich men who knew nothing of it?” “Not at the same time perhaps,” said he. “Not even,” said I, “if he were allowed to retreat

Socrates and then turn and strike the one who came up first, and if he repeated the procedure many times under a burning and stifling sun? Would not such a fighter down even a number of such opponents?” “Doubtless,” he said; “it wouldn’t be surprising if he did.” “Well, don’t you think that the rich have more of the skill and practice of boxing than of the art of war?” “I do,” he said. “It will be easy, then, for our athletes in all probability to fight with double and triple their number.” “I shall have to concede the point,”

Socrates he said, “for I believe you are right.” “Well then, if they send an embassy to the other city and say what is in fact true: “We make no use of gold and silver nor is it lawful for us but it is for you: do you then join us in the war and keep the spoils of the enemy,”—do you suppose any who heard such a proposal would choose to fight against hard and wiry hounds rather than with the aid of the hounds against fat and tender sheep?” “I think not.” “Yet consider whether the accumulation

Socrates of all the wealth of other cities in one does not involve danger for the state that has no wealth.” “What happy innocence,” said I, “to suppose that you can properly use the name city of any other than the one we are constructing.” “Why, what should we say?” he said. “A greater predication,” said I, “must be applied to the others. For they are each one of them many cities, not a city, as it goes in the game.”