Socrates and the city of the poor, and in each of these there are many. If you deal with them as one you will altogether miss the mark, but if you treat them as a multiplicity by offering to the one faction the property, the power, the very persons of the other, you will continue always to have few enemies and many allies. And so long as your city is governed soberly in the order just laid down, it will be the greatest of cities. I do not mean greatest in repute, but in reality, even though it have only a thousand defenders. For a city of this size

Socrates that is really one you will not easily discover either among Greeks or barbarians—but of those that seem so you will find many and many times the size of this. Or do you think otherwise?” “No, indeed I don’t,” said he.

“Would not this, then, be the best rule and measure for our governors of the proper size of the city and of the territory that they should mark off for a city of that size and seek no more?” “What is the measure?” “I think,” said I, “that they should let it grow so long as in its growth it consents to remain a unity,

but no further.” “Excellent,” he said. “Then is not this still another injunction that we should lay upon our guardians, to keep guard in every way that the city shall not be too small, nor great only in seeming, but that it shall be a sufficient city and one?” “That behest will perhaps be an easy one for them,” he said. “And still easier, haply,” I said, “is this that we mentioned before when we said that if a degenerate offspring was born to the guardians he must be sent away to the other classes,

and likewise if a superior to the others he must be enrolled among the guardians; and the purport of all this was that the other citizens too must be sent to the task for which their natures were fitted, one man to one work, in order that each of them fulfilling his own function may be not many men, but one, and so the entire city may come to be not a multiplicity but a unity.” “Why yes,” he said, “this is even more trifling than that.” “These are not, my good Adeimantus, as one might suppose, numerous and difficult injunctions that

we are imposing upon them, but they are all easy, provided they guard, as the saying is, the one great thing—or instead of great let us call it sufficient.” “What is that?” he said.

Socrates “Their education and nurture,” I replied. “For if a right education makes of them reasonable men they will easily discover everything of this kind—and other principles that we now pass over, as that the possession of wives and marriage,

Socrates and the procreation of children and all that sort of thing should be made as far as possible the proverbial goods of friends that are common.” “Yes, that would be the best way,” he said. “And, moreover,” said I, “the state, if it once starts well, proceeds as it were in a cycle of growth. I mean that a sound nurture and education if kept up creates good natures in the state, and sound natures in turn receiving an education of this sort develop into better men than their predecessors

Socrates both for other purposes and for the production of offspring as among animals also.” “It is probable,” he said. “To put it briefly, then,” said I, “it is to this that the overseers of our state must cleave and be watchful against its insensible corruption. They must throughout be watchful against innovations in music and gymnastics counter to the established order, and to the best of their power guard against them, fearing when anyone says thatThat song is most regarded among men Which hovers newest on the singer’s lips,

Socrates lest haply it be supposed that the poet means not new songs but a new way of song and is commending this. But we must not praise that sort of thing nor conceive it to be the poet’s meaning. For a change to a new type of music is something to beware of as a hazard of all our fortunes. For the modes of music are never disturbed without unsettling of the most fundamental political and social conventions, as Damon affirms and as I am convinced.” “Set me too down in the number of the convinced,” said Adeimantus.

“It is here, then,” I said, “in music, as it seems, that our guardians must build their guard-house and post of watch.” “It is certain,” he said, “that this is the kind of lawlessness that easily insinuates itself unobserved.” “Yes,” said I, “because it is supposed to be only a form of play and to work no harm.” “Nor does it work any,” he said, “except that by gradual infiltration it softly overflows upon the characters and pursuits of men and from these issues forth grown greater to attack their business dealings, and from these relations

it proceeds against the laws and the constitution with wanton licence, Socrates, till finally it overthrows all things public and private.” “Well,” said I, “are these things so?” “I think so,” he said.

Socrates “Then, as we were saying in the beginning, our youth must join in a more law-abiding play, since, if play grows lawless and the children likewise,

Socrates it is impossible that they should grow up to be men of serious temper and lawful spirit.” “Of course,” he said. “And so we may reason that when children in their earliest play are imbued with the spirit of law and order through their music, the opposite of the former supposition happens—this spirit waits upon them in all things and fosters their growth, and restores and sets up again whatever was overthrown in the other type of state.” “True, indeed,” he said. “Then such men rediscover for themselves those seemingly trifling conventions which their predecessors abolished altogether.” “Of what sort?” “Such things as

Socrates the becoming silence of the young in the presence of their elders; the giving place to them and rising up before them, and dutiful service of parents, and the cut of the hair and the garments and the fashion of the foot-gear, and in general the deportment of the body and everything of the kind. Don’t you think so?” “I do.” “Yet to enact them into laws would, I think, be silly. For such laws are not obeyed nor would they last, being enacted only in words and on paper.” “How could they?” “At any rate, Adeimantus,” I said, “the direction of the education from whence one starts is likely to determine

Socrates the quality of what follows. Does not like ever summon like?” “Surely.” “And the final outcome, I presume, we would say is one complete and vigorous product of good or the reverse.” “Of course,” said he. “For my part, then,” I said, “for these reasons I would not go on to try to legislate on such matters.” “With good reason,” said he. “But what, in heaven’s name,” said I, “about business matters, the deals that men make with one another in the agora—

Socrates and, if you please, contracts with workmen and actions for foul language and assault, the filing of declarations, the impanelling of juries, the payment and exaction of any dues that may be needful in markets or harbors and in general market, police or harbor regulations and the like, can we bring ourselves to legislate about these?” “Nay, ʼtwould not be fitting,” he said, “to dictate to good and honorable men. For most of the enactments that are needed about these things

Socrates they will easily, I presume, discover.” “Yes, my friend, provided God grants them the preservation of the principles of law that we have already discussed.” “Failing that,” said he, “they will pass their lives multiplying such petty laws and amending them in the expectation of attaining what is best.” “You mean,” said I, “that the life of such citizens will resemble that of men who are sick, yet from intemperance are unwilling to abandon their unwholesome regimen.”

Socrates “By all means.” “And truly,” said I, “these latter go on in a most charming fashion. For with all their doctoring they accomplish nothing except to complicate and augment their maladies. And they are always hoping that some one will recommend a panacea that will restore their health.” “A perfect description,” he said, “of the state of such invalids.” “And isn’t this a charming trait in them, that they hate most in all the world him who tells them the truth that until a man stops drinking and gorging and wenching

Socrates and idling, neither drugs nor cautery nor the knife, no, nor spells nor periapts will be of any avail?” “Not altogether charming,” he said, “for there is no grace or charm in being angry with him who speaks well.” “You do not seem to be an admirer of such people,” said I. “No, by heaven, I am not.”

“Neither then, if an entire city, as we were just now saying, acts in this way, will it have your approval, or don’t you think that the way of such invalids is precisely that of those cities

which being badly governed forewarn their citizens not to meddle with the general constitution of the state, denouncing death to whosoever attempts that—while whoever most agreeably serves them governed as they are and who curries favor with them by fawning upon them and anticipating their desires and by his cleverness in gratifying them, him they will account the good man, the man wise in worthwhile things, the man they will delight to honor?” “Yes,” he said, “I think their conduct is identical, and I don’t approve it in the very least.”

“And what again of those who are willing and eager to serve such states? Don’t you admire their valiance and light-hearted irresponsibility?” “I do,” he said, “except those who are actually deluded and suppose themselves to be in truth statesmen because they are praised by the many.” “What do you mean? Can’t you make allowances for the men? Do you think it possible for a man who does not know how to measure when a multitude of others equally ignorant assure him that he is four cubits tall

not to suppose this to be the fact about himself?” “Why no,” he said, “I don’t think that.” “Then don’t be harsh with them. For surely such fellows are the most charming spectacle in the world when they enact and amend such laws as we just now described and are perpetually expecting to find a way of putting an end to frauds in business and in the other matters of which I was speaking because they can’t see that they are in very truth trying to cut off a Hydra’s head.”