Socrates “Indeed,” he said, “that is exactly what they are doing.” “I, then,” said I, “should not have supposed that the true lawgiver ought to work out matters of that kind in the laws and the constitution either of an ill-governed or a well-governed state—in the one because they are useless and accomplish nothing, in the other because some of them anybody could discover and others will result spontaneously from the pursuits already described.”

“What part of legislation, then,” he said, “is still left for us?” And I replied, “For us nothing, but for the Apollo of Delphi, the chief, the fairest and the first of enactments.” “What are they?” he said. “The founding of temples, and sacrifices, and other forms of worship of gods, daemons, and heroes; and likewise the burial of the dead and the services we must render to the dwellers in the world beyond to keep them gracious. For of such matters

we neither know anything nor in the founding of our city if we are wise shall we entrust them to any other or make use of any other interpreter than the God of our fathers. For this God surely is in such matters for all mankind the interpreter of the religion of their fathers who from his seat in the middle and at the very navel of the earth delivers his interpretation.” “Excellently said,” he replied; “and that is what we must do.”

“At last, then, son of Ariston,” said I, “your city may be considered as established. The next thing is to procure a sufficient light somewhere and to look yourself, and call in the aid of your brother and of Polemarchus and the rest, if we may in any wise discover where justice and injustice should be in it, wherein they differ from one another and which of the two he must have who is to be happy, alike whether his condition is known or not known to all gods and men.” “Nonsense,” said Glaucon, “you promised that you would carry on the search yourself,

admitting that it would be impious for you not to come to the aid of justice by every means in your power.” “A true reminder,” I said, “and I must do so, but you also must lend a hand.” “Well,” he said, “we will.” “I expect then,” said I, “that we shall find it in this way. I think our city, if it has been rightly founded is good in the full sense of the word.” “Necessarily,” he said. “Clearly, then, it will be wise, brave, sober, and just.” “Clearly.” “Then if we find any of these qualities in it, the remainder will be that which we have not found?”

Socrates “Surely.” “Take the case of any four other things. If we were looking for any one of them in anything and recognized the object of our search first, that would have been enough for us, but if we had recognized the other three first, that in itself would have made known to us the thing we were seeking. For plainly there was nothing left for it to be but the remainder.” “Right,” he said. “And so, since these are four, we must conduct the search in the same way.” “Clearly.” “And, moreover,

Socrates the first thing that I think I clearly see therein is the wisdom, and there is something odd about that, it appears.” “What?” said he. “Wise in very deed I think the city that we have described is, for it is well counselled, is it not?” “Yes.” “And surely this very thing, good counsel, is a form of wisdom. For it is not by ignorance but by knowledge that men counsel well.” “Obviously.” “But there are many and manifold knowledges or sciences in the city.” “Of course.” “Is it then owing to the science of her carpenters that

Socrates a city is to be called wise and well advised?” “By no means for that, but rather mistress of the arts of building.” “Then a city is not to be styled wise because of the deliberations of the science of wooden utensils for their best production?” “No, I grant you.” “Is it, then, because of that of brass implements or any other of that kind?” “None whatsoever,” he said. “Nor yet because of the science of the production of crops from the soil, but the name it takes from that is agricultural.” “I think so.” “Then,” said I, “is there any science in the city just founded by us residing in any of its citizens which does not take counsel about some particular thing

Socrates in the city but about the city as a whole and the betterment of its relations with itself and other states?” “Why, there is.” “What is it,” said I, “and in whom is it found?” “It is the science of guardianship or government and it is to be found in those rulers to whom we just now gave the name of guardians in the full sense of the word.” “And what term then do you apply to the city because of this knowledge?” “Well advised,” he said, “and truly wise.” “Which class, then,” said I,

Socrates “do you suppose will be the more numerous in our city, the smiths or these true guardians?” “The smiths, by far,” he said. “And would not these rulers be the smallest of all the groups of those who possess special knowledge and receive distinctive appellations?” “By far.”

“Then it is by virtue of its smallest class and minutest part of itself, and the wisdom that resides therein, in the part which takes the lead and rules, that a city established on principles of nature would be wise as a whole. And as it appears

Socrates these are by nature the fewest, the class to which it pertains to partake of the knowledge which alone of all forms of knowledge deserves the name of wisdom.” “Most true,” he said. “This one of our four, then, we have, I know not how, discovered, the thing itself and its place in the state.” “I certainly think,” said he, “that it has been discovered sufficiently.”

“But again there is no difficulty in seeing bravery itself and the part of the city in which it resides for which the city is called brave.” “How so?” “Who,” said I,

“in calling a city cowardly or brave would fix his eyes on any other part of it than that which defends it and wages war in its behalf?” “No one at all,” he said. “For the reason, I take it,” said I, “that the cowardice or the bravery of the other inhabitants does not determine for it the one quality or the other.” “It does not.” “Bravery too, then, belongs to a city by virtue of a part of itself owing to its possession in that part of a quality that under all conditions will preserve the conviction

that things to be feared are precisely those which and such as the lawgiver inculcated in their education. Is not that what you call bravery?” “I don’t altogether understand what you said,” he replied; “but say it again.” “A kind of conservation,” I said, “is what I mean by bravery.” “What sort of a conservation?” “The conservation of the conviction which the law has created by education about fearful things—what and what sort of things are to be feared. And by the phrase “under all conditions” I mean that the brave man preserves it both in pain

and pleasures and in desires and fears and does not expel it from his soul. And I may illustrate it by a similitude if you please.” “I do.” “You are aware that dyers when they wish to dye wool so as to hold the purple hue begin by selecting from the many colors there be the one nature of the white and then give it a careful preparatory treatment so that it will take the hue in the best way, and after the treatment, then and then only, dip it in the dye.

And things that are dyed by this process become fast-colored and washing either with or without lyes cannot take away the sheen of their hues. But otherwise you know what happens to them, whether anyone dips other colors or even these without the preparatory treatment.” “I know,” he said, “that they present a ridiculous and washed-out appearance.”

Socrates “By this analogy, then,” said I, “you must conceive what we too to the best of our ability were doing when we selected our soldiers and educated them in music

Socrates and exercises of the body. The sole aim of our contrivance was that they should be convinced and receive our laws like a dye as it were, so that their belief and faith might be fast-colored both about the things that are to be feared and all other things because of the fitness of their nature and nurture, and that so their dyes might not be washed out by those lyes that have such dread power to scour our faiths away, pleasure more potent than any detergent or abstergent

Socrates to accomplish this, and pain and fear and desire more sure than any lye. This power in the soul, then, this unfailing conservation of right and lawful belief about things to be and not to be feared is what I call and would assume to be courage, unless you have something different to say.” “No, nothing,” said he; “for I presume that you consider mere right opinion about the same matters not produced by education, that which may manifest itself in a beast or a slave, to have little or nothing to do with law and that you would call it by another name than courage.”

Socrates “That is most true,” said I. “Well then,” he said, “I accept this as bravery.” “Do so,” said I, “and you will be right with the reservation that it is the courage of a citizen. Some other time, if it please you, we will discuss it more fully. At present we were not seeking this but justice; and for the purpose of that inquiry I believe we have done enough.” “You are quite right,” he said.

“Two things still remain,” said I, “to make out in our city, soberness and the object of the whole inquiry, justice.” “Quite so.” “If there were only some way to discover justice so that we need not further concern ourselves about soberness.” “Well, I, for my part,” he said, “neither know of any such way nor would I wish justice to be discovered first if that means that we are not to go on to the consideration of soberness. But if you desire to please me, consider this before that.” “It would certainly

be very wrong of me not to desire it,” said I. “Go on with the inquiry then,” he said. “I must go on,” I replied, “and viewed from here it bears more likeness to a kind of concord and harmony than the other virtues did.” “How so?” “Soberness is a kind of beautiful order and a continence of certain pleasures and appetites, as they say, using the phrase “master of himself” I know not how; and there are other similar expressions that as it were point us to the same trail. Is that not so?” “Most certainly.”