Socrates “Their case,” said I, “resembles that of a supposititious son reared in abundant wealth and a great and numerous family 538a amid many flatterers, who on arriving at manhood should become aware that he is not the child of those who call themselves his parents, and should I not be able to find his true father and mother. Can you divine what would be his feelings towards the flatterers and his supposed parents in the time when he did not know the truth about his adoption, and, again, when he knew it? Or would you like to hear my surmise?” “I would.”

“Well, then, my surmise is,” I said, “that he would be more likely to honor 538b his reputed father and mother and other kin than the flatterers, and that there would be less likelihood of his allowing them to lack for anything, and that he would be less inclined to do or say to them anything unlawful, and less liable to disobey them in great matters than to disobey the flatterers—during the time when he did not know the truth.” “It is probable,” he said. “But when he found out the truth, I surmise that he would grow more remiss in honor and devotion to them and pay more regard to the flatterers, whom he would heed 538c more than before¹ and would henceforth live by their rule, associating with them openly, while for that former father and his adoptive kin he would not care at all, unless he was naturally of a very good disposition.” “All that you say,” he replied, “would be likely to happen.² But what is the pertinency of this comparison to the novices of dialectic³?” “It is this. We have, I take it, certain convictions⁴ from childhood about the just and the honorable, in which, in obedience and honor to them, we have been bred as children under their parents.” 538d “Yes, we have.” “And are there not other practices going counter to these, that have pleasures attached to them and that flatter and solicit our souls, but do not win over men of any decency; but they continue to hold in honor the teachings of their fathers and obey them?” “It is so” “Well, then,” said I, “when a man of this kind is met by the question,⁵ “What is the honorable?” and on his giving the answer which he learned from the lawgiver, the argument confutes him, and by many and various refutations upsets⁶ his faith 538e and makes him believe that this thing is no more honorable than it is base,⁷ and when he has had the same experience about the just and the good and everything that he chiefly held in esteem, how do you suppose that he will conduct himself thereafter in the matter of respect and obedience to this traditional morality?” “It is inevitable,” he said, “that he will not continue to honor and obey as before.”

“And then,” said I, “when he ceases to honor these principles and to think that they are binding on him,⁸ and cannot discover the true principles, 539a will he be likely to adopt any other way of life than that which flatters his desires⁹?” “He will not,” he said. “He will, then, seem to have become a rebel to law and convention instead of the conformer that he was.” “Necessarily.” “And is not this experience of those who take up dialectics in this fashion to be expected and, as I just now said, deserving of much leniency?” “Yes, and of pity too,” he said. “Then that we may not have to pity thus your thirty-year-old disciples, must you not take every precaution when you introduce them to the study of dialectics?” “Yes, indeed,” he said. “And is it not 539b one chief safeguard not to suffer them to taste of it while young?¹⁰ For I fancy you have not failed to observe that lads, when they first get a taste of disputation, misuse it as a form of sport, always employing it contentiously, and, imitating confuters, they themselves confute others.¹¹ They delight like spies in pulling about and tearing with words all who approach them.” “Exceedingly so,” he said. “And when they have themselves confuted many and been confuted by many, 539c they quickly fall into a violent distrust of all that they formerly held true; and the outcome is that they themselves and the whole business of philosophy are discredited with other men.” “Most true,” he said. “But an older man will not share this craze,¹²” said I, “but rather choose to imitate the one who consents to examine truth dialectically than the one who makes a jest¹³ and a sport of mere contradiction, 539d and so he will himself be more reasonable and moderate, and bring credit rather than discredit upon his pursuit.” “Right,” he said. “And were not all our preceding statements made with a view to this precaution our requirement that those permitted to take part in such discussions must have orderly and stable natures, instead of the present practice¹⁴ of admitting to it any chance and unsuitable applicant?” “By all means,” he said.

“Is it enough, then, to devote to the continuous and strenuous study of dialectics undisturbed by anything else, as in the corresponding discipline in bodily exercises, 539e twice as many years as were allotted to that?” “Do you mean six or four?” he said.

“Well,” I said, “set it down as five.¹⁵ For after that you will have to send them down into the cave¹⁶ again, and compel them to hold commands in war and the other offices suitable to youth, so that they may not fall short of the other type in experience¹⁷ either. And in these offices, too, they are to be tested to see whether they will remain steadfast under diverse solicitations 540a or whether they will flinch and swerve.¹⁸” “How much time do you allow for that?” he said. “Fifteen years,” said I, “and at the age of fifty¹⁹ those who have survived the tests and approved themselves altogether the best in every task and form of knowledge must be brought at last to the goal. We shall require them to turn upwards the vision of their souls²⁰ and fix their gaze on that which sheds light on all, and when they have thus beheld the good itself they shall use it as a pattern²¹ for the right ordering of the state and the citizens and themselves 540b throughout the remainder of their lives, each in his turn,²² devoting the greater part of their time to the study of philosophy, but when the turn comes for each, toiling in the service of the state and holding office for the city’s sake, regarding the task not as a fine thing but a necessity²³; and so, when each generation has educated others²⁴ like themselves to take their place as guardians of the state, they shall depart to the Islands of the Blest²⁵ and there dwell. And the state shall establish public memorials²⁶ 540c and sacrifices for them as to divinities if the Pythian oracle approves²⁷ or, if not, as to divine and godlike men.²⁸” “A most beautiful finish, Socrates, you have put upon your rulers, as if you were a statuary.²⁹” “And on the women³⁰ too, Glaucon,” said I; “for you must not suppose that my words apply to the men more than to all women who arise among them endowed with the requisite qualities.” “That is right,” he said, “if they are to share equally in all things with the men as we laid it down.” 540d “Well, then,” said I, “do you admit that our notion of the state and its polity is not altogether a daydream,³¹ but that though it is difficult,³² it is in a way possible³³ and in no other way than that described—when genuine philosophers,³⁴ many or one, becoming masters of the state scorn³⁵ the present honors, regarding them as illiberal and worthless, but prize the right³⁶ 540e and the honors that come from that above all things, and regarding justice as the chief and the one indispensable thing, in the service and maintenance of that reorganize and administer their city?” “In what way?” he said.

“All inhabitants above the age of ten,” I said, 541a “they will send out into the fields, and they will take over the children,³⁷ remove them from the manners and habits of their parents, and bring them up in their own customs and laws which will be such as we have described. This is the speediest and easiest way in which such a city and constitution as we have portrayed could be established and prosper and bring most benefit to the people 541b among whom it arises.” “Much the easiest,” he said, “and I think you have well explained the manner of its realization if it should ever be realized.” “Then,” said I, “have we not now said enough³⁸ about this state and the corresponding type of man—for it is evident what our conception of him will be?” “It is evident,” he said, “and, to answer your question, I think we have finished.”