Fluent Essays

PHIL 1301 ESSAY 1 TOPIC  The Republic begins with Socrates attempting to persuade his interlocutors to release him.  Implicit in Socrates’s response is the idea that the meaning of words refers to a truer and/or better way of acting.  Also, it implies that rational persuasion (i.e. using logic) should have the power to  compel  someone to resist their fleeting, egoistical, and base desires.  Explain how Plato understands the problem of (rational) persuasion and how he develops his philosophy to overcome the problem.  Do you believe he is successful; defend your conclusion?  You should structure your paper to discuss how, for Plato, knowledge is power.  Here are some possible sections of The Republic that express this point:    1. In Book 1, Socrates uses the example of medical knowledge.   How does Socrates’s example help to explain the idea that knowledge is power?  2. At the end of Book 2, Socrates argues that there cannot be a chaotic or evil God which everyone could use as an ideal. 3. Explain how the attainment of education’s goal, i.e. truth and/or complete meaning, can perfect an individual’s existence.  Use the allegory of the cave and the idea of the Good in Book 7 to explain this. 4. Why does he in Book 10 argue that an ideal world provides the only good, but this requires giving up on bodily goods? You may wish to focus on one or more of the above topics to make your argument and interpretation about Plato. Your paper should be 3 full pages double-spaced with standard margins. The paper is due Tuesday, October 5th by midnight (NOTE: This is an extended deadline due to the storm). LATE PAPERS will not be accepted. Papers will only be accepted if submitted through the TurnItIn Paper 1 Link in the Course Content section of Blackboard (Your name on the paper is all that is required since you will be submitting electronically. A lengthy paper header is not required.) Please consult the syllabus for additional paper requirements and for the grading rubric for assigned papers in the course. To submit the paper, go to the Course Content section of Blackboard and upload an appropriate file (.doc or .pdf) via TurnItIn Assignments Paper 1 link.    Note: extensive use of secondary sources in your paper is discouraged and will result in a lower grade. Engagement and analysis of the primary texts (i.e. the pdfs provided for free by the course) is expected in the paper. Citing lengthy primary text quotes without thorough explanation does not consitute engagement with the text. Additionally, papers will be checked for plagiarism. It is your responsibility to make sure your paper is free of copied and improperly cited material. Citation of the primary text does not have to follow rigorously the MLA or Chicago standards, since the readings were provided as free pdfs. For example, you can cite a passage with the (author, page number) format. Finally, there will be an Argumentation video posted in the Course Content section of the Blackboard, which explains how to construct an argument. Your paper should be written following its guidance; you should have a thesis which you propose and defend with logic/analysis in your paper.  BOOK I Socrates: I went down to the Piraeus^ yesterday with Glaucon, son of Ariston,^ to pray to the goddess; and, at the same time, I wanted to ob- serve how they would put on the festival,^ since they were now hold- ing it for the first time. Now, in my opinion, the procession of the native inhabitants was fine; but the one the Thracians conducted was no less fitting a show. After we had prayed and looked on, we went off toward town. Catching sight of us from afar as we were pressing homewards, Polemarchus, son of Cephalus, ordered his slave boy to run after us and order us to wait for him. The boy took hold of my cloak from behind and said, "Polemarchus orders you to wait." And I turned around and asked him where his master was. "He is coming up behind," he said, "just wait." "Of course we'll wait," said Glaucon. A moment later Polemarchus came along with Adeimantus, Glau- con's brother, Niceratus, son of Nicias, and some others—apparently from the procession. Polemarchus said, "Socrates, I guess you two are hurrying to get away to town." "That's not a bad guess," I said. "Well, " he said, "do you see how many of us there are? " "Of course." "Well, then," he said, "either prove stronger than these men or stay here." [3] socrates/polemarchus/glaucon/adeimantus/cephalus the RErUBLIC 227 c "Isn't there still one other possibility . . . ," I said, "our per- suading you that you must let us go?" "Could you really persuade," he said, "if we don't listen?" "There's no way," said Glaucon. "Well, then, think it over, bearing in mind we won't listen." 328 a Then Adeimantus said, "Is it possible you don't know that at sun- set there will be a torch race on horseback for the goddess?" "On horseback?" I said. "That is novel. Will they hold torches and pass them to one another while racing the horses, or what do you mean?" "That's it," said Polemarchus, "and, besides, they'll put on an all- night festival that will be worth seeing. We'll get up after dinner and go to see it; there we'll be together with many of the young men and we'll b talk. So stay and do as I tell you." And Glaucon said, "It seems we must stay." "Well, if it is so resolved,"^ I said, "that's how we must act." Then we went to Polemarchus' home; there we found Lysias'^ and Euthydemus, Polemarchus' brothers, and, in addition, Thrasymachus,^ the Chalcedonian and Charmantides, the Paeanian,^ and Cleito- phonji** the son of Aristonymus. Cephalus,!! Polemarchus' father, was also at home; and he c seemed very old to me, for I had not seen him for some time. He was seated on a sort of cushioned stool and was crowned with a wreath, for he had just performed a sacrifice in the courtyard. We sat down beside him, for some stools were arranged in a circle there. As soon as Ceph- alus saw me, he greeted me warmly and said: "Socrates, you don't come down to us in the Piraeus very often, yet you ought to. Now if I still had the strength to make the trip to town easily, there would be no need for you to come here; rather we d would come to you. As it is, however, you must come here more fre- quently. I want you to know that as the other pleasures, those con- nected with the body, wither away in me, the desires and pleasures that have to do with speeches grow the more. Now do as I say: be with these young men, but come here regularly to us as to friends and your very own kin." "For my part, Cephalus, I am really delighted to discuss with the e very old," I said. "Since they are like men who have proceeded on a certain road that perhaps we too will have to take, one ought, in my opinion, to learn from them what sort of road it is—^whether it is rough and hard or easy and smooth. From you in particular I should like to learn how it looks to you, for you are now at just the time of life the [ 4 ] Book 1 1 327c-330a socrates/cephalus poets call 'the threshold of old age.''^ is it a hard time of life, or what 328 c have you to report of it?" "By Zeus, I shall tell you just how it looks to me, Socrates," he said. "Some of us who are about the same age often meet together and 329 a keep up the old proverb. '^^ Now then, when they meet, most of the members of our group lament, longing for the pleasures of youth and reminiscing about sex, about drinking bouts and feasts and all that goes with things of that sort; they take it hard as though they were deprived of something very important and had then lived well but are now not even alive. Some also bewail the abuse that old age receives from b relatives, and in this key they sing a refrain about all the evils old age has caused them. But, Socrates, in my opinion these men do not put their fingers on the cause. For, if this were the cause, I too would have suffered these same things insofar as they depend on old age and so would everyone else who has come to this point in life. But as it is, I have encountered others for whom it was not so, especially Sophocles. I was once present when the poet was asked by someone, 'Sophocles, how are you in sex? Can you still have intercourse with a woman?' c 'Silence, man,' he said. 'Most joyfully did I escape it, as though I had run away from a sort of frenzied and savage master.' I thought at the time that he had spoken well and I still do. For, in every way, old age brings great peace and freedom from such things. When the desires cease to strain and finally relax, then what Sophocles says comes to pass in every way; it is possible to be rid of very many mad masters. But of d these things and of those that concern relatives, there is one just cause: not old age, Socrates, but the character of the human beings. ^4 If they are orderly and content with themselves, ^^ even old age is only moderately troublesome; if they are not, then both age, Socrates, and youth alike turn out to be hard for that sort." Then I was full of wonder at what he said and, wanting him to say still more, I stirred him up, saying: "Cephalus, when you say these e things, I suppose that the manyi^ do not accept them from you, but believe rather that it is not due to character that you bear old age so easily but due to possessing great substance. They say that for the rich there are many consolations. ' "What you say is true," he said. "They do not accept them. And they do have something there, but not, however, quite as much as they think; rather, the saying of Themistocles holds good. When a Seriphian abused him—saying that he was illustrious not thanks to himself but 330 a thanks to the city—he answered that if he himself had been a Seriphian he would not have made a name, nor would that man have made one [ 5] CEPHALUS/SOCRATIES THE REPUBLIC 330 a had he been an Athenian. And the same argument also holds good for those who are not wealthy and bear old age with difficulty: the decent man would not bear old age with poverty very easily, nor would the one who is not a decent sort ever be content with himself even if he were wealthy." "Cephalus," I said, "did you inherit or did you earn most of what you possess?" b "What do you mean, earned, Socrates!" he said. "As a money- maker, I was a sort of mean between my grandfather and my father. For my grandfather, whose namesake I am, inherited pretty nearly as much substance as I now possess, and he increased it many times over. Lysanias, my father, used it to a point where it was still less than it is now. I am satisfied if I leave not less, but rather a bit more than I inherited, to my sons here." "The reason I asked, you see," I said, "is that to me you didn't c seem overly fond of money. For the most part, those who do not make money themselves are that way. Those who do make it are twice as at- tached to it as the others. For just as poets are fond of their poems and fathers of their children, so money-makers too are serious about money—as their own product; and they also are serious about it for the same reason other men are—for its use. They are, therefore, hard even to be with because they are willing to praise nothing but wealth." "What you say is true," he said. d "Indeed it is," I said. "But tell me something more. What do you suppose is the greatest good that you have enjoyed from possessing great wealth?" "What I say wouldn't persuade many perhaps. For know well, Socrates," he said, "that when a man comes near to the realiza- tion that he will be making an end, fear and care enter him for things to which he gave no thought before. The tales^^ told about what is in Hades—that the one who has done unjust deeds^^ here must pay the e penalty there—at which he laughed up to then, now make his soul twist and turn because he fears they might be true. Whether it is due to the debility of old age, or whether he discerns something more of the things in that place because he is already nearer to them, as it were—he is, at any rate, now full of suspicion and terror; and he reckons up his ac- counts and considers whether he has done anything unjust to anyone. Now, the man who finds many unjust deeds in his life often even wakes from his sleep in a fright as children do, and lives in anticipation of evil. To the man who is conscious in himself of no unjust deed, sweet 331 a and good hope is ever beside him—a nurse of his old age, as Pindar puts it. For, you know, Socrates, he put it charmingly when he said that whoever lives out a just and holy life Book 1 1 330a-332a cephalus/socrates/polemarchus Sweet hope accompanies, 331 a Fostering his heart, a nurse of his old age, Hope which most of all pilots The ever-turning opinion of mortals. How very wonderfully well he says that. For this I count the possession of money most wroth-while, not for any man, but for the decent and or- derly one. The possession of money contributes a great deal to not b cheating or lying to any man against one's will, and, moreover, to not departing for that other place frightened because one owes some sacrifices to a god or money to a human being. It also has many other uses. But, still, one thing reckoned against another, I wouldn't count this as the least thing, Socrates, for which wealth is very useful to an in- telligent man. " "What you say is very fine'^ indeed, Cephalus," I said. "But as c to this very thing, justice, shall we so simply assert that it is the truth and giving back what a man has taken from another, or is to do these very things sometimes just and sometimes unjust? Take this case as an example of what I mean: everyone would surely say that if a man takes weapons from a friend when the latter is of sound mind, and the friend demands them back when he is mad, one shouldn't give back such things, and the man who gave them back would not be just, and moreover, one should not be willing to tell someone in this state the whole truth. " "What you say is right," he said. d "Then this isn't the definition of justice, speaking the truth and giving back what one takes." "It most certainly is, Socrates," interrupted Polemarchus, "at least if Simonides should be believed at all." "Well, then, " said Cephalus, "I hand down the argument to you, for it's already time for me to look after the sacrifices. " "Am I not the heir of what belongs to you?" said Polemarchus. 20 "Certainly," he said and laughed. And with that he went away to the sacrifices. 21 "Tell me, you, the heir of the argument, " I said, "what was it Si- e monides said about justice that you assert he said correctly? " "That it is just to give to each what is owed," he said. "In saying this he said a fine thing, at least in my opinion. " "Well, it certainly isn't easy to disbelieve a Simonides,' I said. "He is a wise and divine man. However, you, Polemarchus, perhaps know what on earth he means, but I don't understand. For plainly he doesn't mean what we were just saying—giving back to any man what- soever something he has deposited when, of unsound mind, he demands it. And yet, what he deposited is surely owed to him, isn't it?" 332 a [ 7] POLEMARCHUS/SOCRATES THE REPUBLIC 332 a "Yes." "But, when of unsound mind he demands it, it should under no condition be given back to him?" "True," he said. "Then Simonides, it seems, means something different from this sort of thing when he says that it is just to give back what is owed." "Of course it's different, by Zeus," he said. "For he supposes that friends owe it to friends to do some good and nothing bad." "I understand," I said. "A man does not give what is owed in giv- ing back gold to someone who has deposited it, when the giving and the b taking turn out to be bad, assuming the taker and the giver are friends. Isn't this what you assert Simonides means?" "Most certainly." "Now, what about this? Must we give back to enemies whatever is owed to them?" "That's exactly it," he said, "just what's owed to them. And I suppose that an enemy owes his enemy the very thing which is also fitting: some harm." "Then, " I said, "it seems that Simonides made a riddle, after the c fashion of poets, when he said what the just is. For it looks as if he thought that it is just to give to everyone what is fitting, and to this he gave the name 'what is owed. " "What else do you think?" he said. "In the name of Zeus," I said, "if someone were to ask him, 'Simonides, the ait^ called medicine gives what that is owed and fitting to which things?' what do you suppose he would answer us?" "It's plain," he said, "drugs, foods and drinks to bodies." "The art called cooking gives what that is owed and fitting to which things? " d "Seasonings to meats. " "All right. Now then, the art that gives what to which things would be called justice?" "If the answer has to be consistent with what preceded, Socrates," he said, "the one that gives benefits and harms to friends and enemies." "Does he mean that justice is doing good to friends and harm to enemies?' "In my opinion." "With respect to disease and health, who is most able to do good to sick friends and bad to enemies? " "A doctor." [ 8] Book 1 1 332a-333c socrates/polemarchus "And with respect to the danger of the sea, who has this power 332 e over those who are saihng?" "A pilot." "And what about the just man, in what action and with respect to what work is he most able to help friends and harm enemies?" "In my opinion it is in making war and being an ally in battle." "All right. However, to men who are not sick, my friend Polemar- chus, a doctor is useless." "True." "And to men who are not sailing, a pilot. " "Yes." "Then to men who are not at war, is the just man useless?" "Hardly so, in my opinion." "Then is justice also useful in peacetime?" "It is useful." 333 a "And so is farming, isn't it?" "Yes." "For the acquisition of the fruits of the earth?" "Yes." "And, further, is shoemaking also useful?" "Yes." "You would say, I suppose, for the acquisition of shoes?" "Certainly." "What about justice then? For the use or acquisition of what would you say it is useful in peacetime?" "Contracts, Socrates." "Do you mean by contracts, partnerships, ^^ or something else?" "Partnerships, of course." "Then is the just man a good and useful partner in setting down b draughts, or is it the skilled player of draughts ?"24 "The skilled player of draughts." "In setting down bricks and stones, is the just man a more useful and better partner than the housebuilder?" "Not at all." "But in what partnership then is the just man a better partner than the harp player, just as the harp player is better than the just man when one has to do with notes?" "In money matters, in my opinion." "Except perhaps in using money, Polemarchus, when a horse must be bought or sold with money in partnership; then, I suppose, the expert on horses is a better partner. Isn't that so? " c 9] POLEMABCHUS/SOCRATES THE REPUBLIC 333 c "It looks like it." "And, further, when it's a ship, the shipbuilder or pilot is better?" "It seems so." "Then, when gold or silver must be used in partnership, in what case is the just man more useful than the others?" "When they must be deposited and kept safe, Socrates." "Do you mean when there is no need to use them, and they are left lying?" "Certainly." d "Is it when money is useless that justice is useful for it?" "I'm afraid so." "And when a pruning hook must be guarded, justice is useful both in partnership and in private; but when it must be used, vine-cul- ture." "It looks like it." "Will you also assert that when a shield and a lyre must be guarded and not used, justice is useful; but when they must be used, the soldier's art and the musician's art are useful?" "Necessarily." "And with respect to everything else as well, is justice useless in the use of each and useful in its uselessness?" "I'm afraid so." e "Then justice, my friend, wouldn't be anything very serious, if it is useful for useless things. Let's look at it this way. Isn't the man who is cleverest at landing a blow in boxing, or any other kind of fight, also the one cleverest at guarding against it?" "Certainly." "And whoever is clever at guarding against disease is also cleverest at getting away with producing it?" "In my opinion, at any rate." "And, of course, a good guardian of an army is the very same man 334 a who can also steal the enemy's plans and his other dispositions?" "Certainly." "So of whatever a man is a clever guardian, he is also a clever thief?" "It seems so." "So that if a man is clever at guarding money, he is also clever at stealing it?" "So the argument's indicates at least," he said. "The just man, then, as it seems, has come to light as a kind of robber, and I'm afraid you learned this from Homer. For he admires b Autolycus, Odysseus' grandfather'^ on his mother's side, and says he [ 10 ] Book 1 1 333c-335a socrates/polemarchus surpassed all men 'in stealing and in swearing oaths.' Justice, then, 334 b seems, according to you and Homer and Simonides, to be a certain art of stealing, for the benefit, to be sure, of friends and the harm of ene- mies. Isn't that what you meant?" "No, by Zeus," he said. "But I no longer know what I did mean. However, it is still my opinion that justice is helping friends and harming enemies. " "Do you mean by friends those who seem to be good to an in- c dividual, or those who are, even if they don't seem to be, and similarly with enemies?" "It's likely, " he said, "that the men one believes to be good, one loves, while those he considers bad one hates." "But don't human beings make mistakes about this, so that many seem to them to be good although they are not, and vice versa? " "They do make mistakes. " "So for them the good are enemies and the bad are friends? " "Certainly." "But nevertheless it's still just for them to help the bad and harm the good?" d "It looks like it." "Yet the good are just and such as not to do injustice? " "True." "Then, according to your argument, it's just to treat badly men who have done nothing unjust? " "Not at all, Socrates," he said. "For the argument seems to be bad." "Then, after all," I said, "it's just to harm the unjust and help the just?" "This looks finer than what we just said." "Then for many, Polemarchus—all human beings who make mistakes—it will turn out to be just to harm friends, for their friends e are bad; and just to help enemies, for they are good. So we shall say the very opposite of what we asserted Simonides means." "It does really turn out that way, " he said. "But let's change what we set down at the beginning. For I'm afraid we didn't set down the definition of friend and enemy correctly." "How did we do it, Polemarchus?" "We set dovwi that the man who seems good is a friend. " "Now," I said, "how shall we change it?" "The man who seems to be, and is, good, is a friend," he said, "while the man who seems good and is not, seems to be but is not a 335 a friend. And we'll take the same position about the enemy." [ 11 ] SOCRATES/POLEMARCHUS THE REPUBLIC 335 a "Then the good man, as it seems, will by this argument be a friend, and the good-for-nothing man an enemy?" "Yes." "You order us to add something to what we said at first about the just. Then we said that it is just to do good to the friend and bad to the enemy, while now we are to say in addition that it is just to do good to the friend, if he is good, and harm to the enemy, if he is bad." b "Most certainly," he said. "Said in that way it would be fine in my opinion." "Is it, then," I said, "the part of a just man to harm any human being whatsoever?" "Certainly," he said, "bad men and enemies ought to be harmed." "Do horses that have been harmed become better or worse?" "Worse." "With respect to the virtue^^ of dogs or to that of horses?" "With respect to that of horses." "And when dogs are harmed, do they become worse with respect to the virtue of dogs and not to that of horses?" "Necessarily." c "Should we not assert the same of human beings, my comrade — that when they are harmed, they become worse with respect to human virtue?" "Most certainly." "But isn't justice human virtue?" "That's also necessary." "Then, my friend, human beings who have been harmed necessarily become more unjust. " "It seems so." "Well, are musicians able to make men unmusical by music?" "Impossible." "Are men skilled in horsemanship able to make men incompetent riders by horsemanship?" "That can't be. " "But are just men able to make others unjust by justice, of all d things? Or, in sum, are good men able to make other men bad by vir- tue?" "Impossible." "For I suppose that cooling is not the work of heat, but of its op- posite." "Yes." "Nor wetting the work of dryness but of its opposite." "Certainly," [ 12 ] Book 1 1 335a-336d socrates/polemarchus/thrasymachus "Nor is harming, in fact, the work of the good but of its opposite." 335 d "It looks like it." "And it's the just man who is good?" "Certainly. " "Then it is not the work of the just man to harm either a friend or anyone else, Polemarchus, but of his opposite, the unjust man." "In my opinion, Socrates," he said, "what you say is entirely true." "Then if someone asserts that it's just to give what is owed to each e man—and he understands by this that harm is owed to enemies by the just man and help to friends—the man who said it was not wise. For he wasn't telling the truth. For it has become apparent to us that it is never just to harm anyone." "I agree," he said. "We shall do battle then as partners, you and I," I said, "if someone asserts that Simonides, or Bias, or Pittacus^ or any other wise and blessed man said it." "I, for one," he said, "am ready to be your partner in the battle. " "Do you know," I said, "to whom, in my opinion, that saying 336 a belongs which asserts that it is just to help friends and harm ene- mies?" "To whom?" he said. "I suppose it belongs to Periander, or Perdiccas, or Xerxes, or Ismenias the Theban,^^ or some other rich man who has a high opinion of what he can do." "What you say is very true," he said. "All right," I said, "since it has become apparent that neither justice nor the just is this, what else would one say they are?" Now Thrasymachus had many times started out to take over the b argument in the midst of our discussion, but he had been restrained by the men sitting near him, who wanted to hear the argument out. But when we paused and I said this, he could no longer keep quiet; hunched up like a wild beast, he flung himself at us as if to tear us to pieces. Then both Polemarchus and I got all in a flutter from fright. And he shouted out into our midst and said, "What is this nonsense that has possessed you for so long, Socrates? And why do you act like c fools making way for one another? If you truly want to know what the just is, don't only ask and gratify your love of honor by refuting whatever someone answers—you know that it is easier to ask than to answer—but answer yourself and say what you assert the just to be. And see to it you don't tell me that it is the needful, or the helpful, d or the profitable, or the gainful, or the advantageous; but tell me [ 13 ] THHASYMACHUS/SOCRATES THEREPUBLIC 336 d clearly and precisely what you mean, for I ' won't accept it if you say such inanities." I was astounded when I heard him, and, looking at him, I was frightened. I think that if I had not seen him before he saw me, I would have been speechless.^" As it was, just when he began to be ex- asperated by the argument, I had looked at him first, so that I was able e to answer him; and with just a trace of a tremor, I said: "Thrasyma- chus, don't be hard on us. If we are making any mistake in the con- sideration of the arguments, Polemarchus and I, know well that we're making an unwilling mistake. If we were searching for gold we would never willingly make way for one another in the search and ruin our chances of finding it; so don't suppose that when we are seeking for justice, a thing more precious than a great deal of gold, we would ever foolishly give in to one another and not be as serious as we can be about bringing it to light. Don't you suppose that, my friend! Rather, as I suppose, we are not competent. So it's surely far more fitting for us to 337 a be pitied by you clever men than to be treated harshly." He listened, burst out laughing very scornfully, and said, "Heracles! Here is that habitual irony of Socrates. I knew it, and I pre- dicted to these fellows that you wouldn't be willing to answer, that you would be ironic and do anything rather than answer if someone asked you something." "That's because you are wise, Thrasymachus," I said. "Hence you knew quite well that if you asked someone how much twelve is and in b asking told him beforehand, 'See to it you don't tell me, you human being, that it is two times six, or three times four, or six times two, or four times three; I won't accept such nonsense from you'—it was plain to you, I suppose, that no one would answer a man who asks in this way. And if he asked, 'Thrasymachus, what do you mean? Shall I answer none of those you mentioned before? Even if it happens to be one of these, shall I say something other than the truth, you surprising c man? Or what do you mean?'—what would you say to him in re- sponse?" "Very well," he said, "as if this case were similar to the other." "Nothing prevents it from being," I said. "And even granting that it's not similar, but looks like it is to the man who is asked, do you think he'll any the less answer what appears to him, whether we forbid him to or not?" "Well, is that what you are going to do?" he said. "Are you going to give as an answer one of those I forbid?" "I shouldn't be surprised," I said, "if that were my opinion upon consideration." [ 14 i Book I … BOOKX "And, indeed, " I said, "I also recognize in many other aspects of 595 a this city that we were entirely right in the way we founded it, but I say this particularly when reflecting on poetry." "What about it?" he said. "In not admitting at all any part of it that is imitative. For that the imitative, more than anything, must not be admitted looks, in my opin- ion, even more manifest now that the soul's forms have each been separated out." b "How do you mean?" "Between us—and you all won't denounce me to the tragic poets and all the other imitators—all such things seem to maim the thought of those who hear them and do not as a remedy have the knowledge of how they really are." "What are you thinking about in saying that?" he said. "It must be told," I said. "And yet, a certain friendship for Homer, and shame before him, which has possessed me since child- hood, prevents me from speaking. For he seems to have been the first teacher and leader of all these fine tragic things. Still and all, a man c must not be honored before the truth, but, as I say, it must be told." "Most certainly," he said. "Then listen, or rather, answer. " "Ask." [ 277 ] socrates/glaucon the republic 595 c "Could you tell me what imitation in general is? For I myself scarcely comprehend what it wants to be." "Then it follows," he said, "that I, of course, will comprehend it." "That wouldn't be anything strange," I said, "since men with 596 a duller vision have often, you know, seen things before those who see more sharply." "That's so," he said. "But vdth you present I couldn't be very eager to say whatever might occur to me, so look yourself. " "Do you want us to make our consideration according to our customary procedure, beginning from the following point? For we are, presumably, accustomed to set down some one particular form for each of the particular 'manys' to which we apply the same name. Or don't you understand?" "I do." "Then let's now set down any one of the 'manys' you please; for b example, if you wish, there are surely many couches and tables." "Of course:" "But as for ideas for these furnishings, there are presumably two, one of couch, one of table." "Yes." "Aren't we also accustomed to say that it is in looking to the idea of each implement that one craftsman makes the couches and another the chairs we use, and similarly for other things? For presumably none of the craftsmen fabricates the idea itself. How could he?" "In no way." "Well, now, see what you call this craftsman here." c "Which one?" "He who makes everything that each one of the manual artisans makes separately. " "That's a clever and wonderful man you speak of. " "Not yet. In an instant you'll say that even more. For this same manual artisan is not only able to make all implements but also makes everything that grows naturally from the earth, and he produces all animals—the others and himself too—and, in addition to that, pro- duces earth and heaven and gods and everything in heaven and every- thing in Hades under the earth. " d "That's quite a wonderful sophist you speak of," he said. "Are you distrustful?" I said. "And tell me, in your opinion could there be altogether no such craftsman; or in a certain way, could a maker of all these things come into being and in a certain way not? Or aren't you aware that you yourself could in a certain way make all these things?" 278 ] Book X I 595c-597b glaucon/socrates "And what," he said, "is that way?" 596 d "It's not hard," I said. "You could fabricate them quickly in many ways and most quickly, of course, if you are willing to take a mirror and carry it around everywhere; quickly you will make the sun and the e things in the heaven; quickly, the earth; and quickly, yourself and the other animals and implements and plants and everything else that was just now mentioned." "Yes," he said, "so that they look like they are; however, they surely are not in truth." "Fine," I said, "and you attack the argument at just the right place. For I suppose the painter is also one of these craftsmen, isn't he?" "Of course he is. " "But 1 suppose you'll say that he doesn't truly make what he makes. And yet in a certain way the painter too does make a couch, doesn't he?" "Yes," he said, "he too makes what looks like a couch." "And what about the couchmaker? Weren't you just saying that 597 a he doesn't make the form, which is what we, ofcourse, say is just a couch, but a certain couch?" "Yes," he said, "I was saying that." "Then, if he doesn't make what is, he wouldn't make the being but something that is like the being, but is not being. And if someone were to assert that the work of the producer of couches or of any other manual artisan is completely being, he would run the risk of saying what's not true." "Yes," he said, "at least that would be the opinion of those who spend their time in arguments of this kind." "Therefore, let's not be surprised if this too turns out to be a dim thing compared to the truth. " "No, let's not." b "Do you," I said, "want us on the basis of these very things to investigate who this imitator is?" "If you want to," he said. "There turn out, then, to be these three kinds of couches: one that is in nature, which we would say, I suppose, a god produced. Or who else?" "No one else, 1 suppose." "And then one that the carpenter produced." "Yes," he said. "And one that the painter produced, isn't that so?" "Let it be so." [ 279 ] socrates/glaucon the republic 597 h "Then painter, couchmaker, god—these three preside over three forms of couches . " "Yes, three." c "Now, the god, whether he didn't want to or whether some necessity was laid upon him not to produce more than one couch in nature, made only one, that very one which is a couch. And two or more such weren't naturally engendered by the god nor will they be begotten." "How's that?" he said. "Because," I said, "if he should make only two, again one would come to light the form of which they in turn would both possess, and that, and not the two, would be the couch that is. " "Right," he said. d "Then, I suppose, the god, knowing this and wanting to be a real maker of a couch that really is and not a certain couchmaker of a cer- tain couch, begot it as one by nature." "So it seems." "Do you want us to address him as its nature-begetter or some- thing of the kind?" "That's just at any rate," he said, "since by nature he has made both this and everything else." "And what about the carpenter? Isn't he a craftsman of a couch?" "Yes." "And is the painter also a craftsman and maker of such a thing?" "Not at all." "But what of a couch will you say he is?" e "In my opinion," he said, "he would most sensibly be addressed as an imitator of that of which these others are craftsmen. ' "All right," I said, "do you, then, call the man at the third genera- tion from nature an imitator? " "Most certainly," he said. "Therefore this will also apply to the maker of tragedy, if he is an imitator; he is naturally third from a king and the truth, as are all the other imitators." "Probably." "Then we have agreed about the imitator. Now tell me this 598 a about the painter. In your opinion, does he in each case attempt to imitate the thing itself in nature, or the works of the craftsmen?" "The works of the craftsmen, " he said. "Such as they are or such as they look? For you still have to make this further distinction." "How do you mean?" he said. [ 280 ] Book X I 597b-599c sockates/glaucon "Like this. Does a couch, if you observe it from the side, or 598 a from the front, or from anywhere else, differ at all from itself? Or does it not differ at all but only look different, and similarly with the rest?" "The latter is so," he said. "It looks different, but isn't." "Now consider this very point. Toward which is painting directed b in each case—toward imitation of the being as it is or toward its looking as it looks? Is it imitation of looks or of truth?" "Of looks," he said. "Therefore, imitation is surely far from the truth; and, as it seems, it is due to this that it produces everything—because it lays hold of a certain small part of each thing, and that part is itself only a phantom. For example, the painter, we say, will paint for us a shoe- maker, a carpenter, and the other craftsmen, although he doesn't understand the arts of any one of them. But, nevertheless, if he is a c good painter, by painting a carpenter and displaying him from far off, he would deceive children and foolish human beings into think- ing that it is truly a carpenter." "Of course." "But, in any event, I suppose, my friend, that this is what must be understood about all such things: when anyone reports to us about someone, saying that he has encountered a human being who knows all the crafts and everything else that single men several- ly know, and there is nothing that he does not know more precisely than anyone else, it would have to be replied to such a one that he d is an innocent human being and that, as it seems, he has encountered some wizard and imitator and been deceived. Because he himself is unable to put knowledge and lack of knowledge and imitation to the test, that man seemed all-wise to him." "Very true," he said. "Then, next," I said, "tragedy and its leader, Homer, must be considered, since we hear from some that these men know all arts e and all things human that have to do with virtue and vice, and the divine things too. For it is necessary that the good poet, if he is go- ing to make fair poems about the things his poetry concerns, be in possession of knowledge when he makes his poems or not be able to make them. Hence, we must consider whether those who tell us this have encountered these imitators and been deceived; and whether, therefore, seeing their works, they do not recognize that these works are third from what is and are easy to make for the man 599 a who doesn't know the truth—for such a man makes what look like beings but are not. Or, again, is there also something to what they [ 281 ] socrates/gi^ucon the republic 599 a say, and do the good poets really know about the things that, in the opinion of the many, they say well?" "Most certainly," he said, "that must be tested." "Do you suppose that if a man were able to make both, the thing to be imitated and the phantom, he would permit himself to be serious about the crafting of the phantoms and set this at the head of his own b life as the best thing he has?" "No, I don't." "But, I suppose, if he were in truth a knower of these things that he also imitates, he would be far more serious about the deeds than the imitations and would try to leave many fair deeds behind as memorials of himself and would be more eager to be the one who is lauded rather than the one who lauds." "I suppose so," he said. "For the honor and the benefit coming from the two are hardly equal." "Well, then, about the other things, let's not demand an account c from Homer or any other of the poets by asking, if any one of them was a doctor and not only an imitator of medical speeches, who are the men whom any poet, old or new, is said to have made healthy, as Asclepius did; or what students of medicine he left behind as Asclepius did his ofiFspring.^ Nor, again, will we ask them about the other arts, but we'll let that go. But about the greatest and fairest things of which Homer attempts to speak—about wars and commands of armies and d governances of cities, and about the education of a human being—it is surely just to ask him and inquire, 'Dear Homer, if you are not third from the truth about virtue, a craftsman of a phantom, just the one we defined as an imitator, but are also second and able to recog- nize what sorts of practices make human beings better or worse in private and in public, tell us which of the cities was better governed thanks to you, as Lacedaemon was thanks to Lycurgus, and many e others, both great and small, were thanks to many others? What city gives you credit for having proved a good lawgiver and ben- efited them? Italy and Sicily do so for Charondas, and we for So- lon;2 now who does it for you?' Will he have any to mention? ' "I don't suppose so," said Glaucon. "At least, the Homeridae themselves do not tell of any." "Well, is any war in Homer's time remembered that was well 600 a fought with his ruling or advice?" "None." "Well, then, as is appropriate to the deeds of a wise man, do they tell of many ingenious devices for the arts or any other activities, just as for Thales the Milesian or Anacharsis the Scythian?"^ "Not at all; there's nothing of the sort." [ 282 ] Book X I 599a-601a socrates/glaucon "Well, then, if there is nothing in public, is it told that Homer, 600 a while he was himself alive, was in private a leader in education for certain men who cherished him for his intercourse and handed down a certain Homeric way of life to those who came after, just as Py- b thagoras himself was particularly cherished for this reason, and his successors even now still give Pythagoras' name to a way of life that makes them seem somehow outstanding among men." "Again," he said, "nothing of the sort is said. For Creophylos, Homer's comrade, would, Socrates, perhaps turn out to be even more ridiculous in his education than in his name,^ if the things said about Homer are true. For it is told that Homer suffered consid- erable neglect in his own day, when he was alive." c "Yes, that is told," I said. "But, Glaucon, if Homer were really able to educate human beings and make them better because he is in these things capable not of imitating but of knowing, do you suppose that he wouldn't have made many comrades and been honored and cherished by them? But Protagoras, the Abderite, after all, and Prot dicus, the Cean,^ and very many others are able, by private in- tercourse, to impress upon the men of their time the assurance that they will be able to govern neither home nor city unless they themselves d supervise their education, and they are so intensely loved for this wisdom that their comrades do everything but carry them about on their heads. Then do you suppose that if he were able to help human beings toward virtue, the men in Homer's time would have let him or Hesiod go around being rhapsodes and wouldn't have clung to them rather than to their gold? And wouldn't they have compelled these teachers to stay with them at home; or, if they weren't persuaded, e wouldn't they themselves have attended^ them wherever they went, until they had gained an adequate education?" "In my opinion, Socrates," he said, "what you say is entirely true." "Shouldn't we set down all those skilled in making, beginning with Homer, as imitators of phantoms of virtue and of the other sub- jects of their making? They don't lay hold of the truth; rather, as we were just now saying, the painter wdll make what seems to be a shoemaker to those who understand as little about shoemaking as he 601 a understands, but who observe only colors and shapes." "Most certainly. " "Then, in this way, I suppose we'll claim the poetic man also uses names and phrases to color each of the arts. He himself doesn't understand; but he imitates in such a way as to seem, to men whose condition is like his own and who observe only speeches, to speak very well. He seems to do so when he speaks using meter, rhythm. [ 283 ] socrates/glaucon the REPUBLIp 601 a and harmony, no matter whether the subject is shoemaking, general- b ship, or anything else. So great is the charm that these things by na- ture possess. For when the things of the poets are stripped of the colors of the music and are said alone, by themselves, I suppose you know how they look. For you, surely, have seen." "I have indeed," he said. "Don't they," I said, "resemble the faces of the boys who are youthful but not fair in what happens to their looks when the bloom has forsaken them?" "Exactly," he said. "Come now, reflect on this. The maker of the phantom, the imitator, we say, understands nothing of what is but rather of what c looks like it is. Isn't that so?" "Yes." "Well, then, let's not leave it half-said, but let's see it adequately." "Speak," he said. "A painter, we say, will paint reins and a bit." "Yes." "But a shoemaker and a smith will make them." "Certainly." "Then does the painter understand how the reins and the bit must be? Or does even the maker not understand—the smith and the leather- cutter—^but only he who knows how to use them, the horseman?" "Very true." "And won't we say that it is so for everything?" "How?" d "For each thing there are these three arts—one that will use, one that will make, one that will imitate." "Yes." "Aren't the virtue, beauty, and rightness of each implement, animal, and action related to nothing but the use for which each was made, or grew naturally?" "That's so." "It's quite necessary, then, that the man who uses each thing be most experienced and that he report to the maker what are the good or bad points, in actual use, of the instrument he uses. For example, about flutes, a flute player surely reports to the flute-maker which ones would e serve him in playing, and he will prescribe how they must be made, and the other will serve him." "Of course." "Doesn't the man who knows report about good and bad flutes, and won't the other, trusting him, make them?" "Yes." [ 284 ] f Book X / 601a-602d socrates/glaucon r ? "Therefore the maker of the same implement will have right trust 601 e • concerning its beauty and its badness from being with the man who I knows and from being compelled to listen to the man who knows, while the user will have knowledge." 602 a "Certainly." "And will the imitator from using the things that he paints have knowledge of whether they are fair and right or not, or right opinion due to the necessity of being with the man who knows and receiving prescriptions of how he must paint?" "Neither." "Therefore, with respect to beauty and badness, the imitator will neither know nor opine rightly about what he imitates." "It doesn't seem so." "The imitator, in his making, would be a charming chap, so far as wisdom about what he makes goes." "Hardly." _ "But all the same, he will imitate, although he doesn't know in b what way each thing is bad or good. But as it seems, whatever looks to be fair to the many who don't know anything—that he will imitate." "Of course he will." "Then it looks like we are pretty well agreed on these things: the imitator knows nothing worth mentioning about what he imitates; imitation is a kind of play and not serious; and those who take up tragic poetry in iambics and in epics are all imitators in the highest possible degree." "Most certainly." "In the name of Zeus," I said, "then, isn't this imitating con- c cerned with something that is third from the truth? Isn't that so?" "Yes." "Now, then, on which one of the parts of the human being does it have the power it has?" "What sort of part do you mean?" "This sort. The same magnitude surely doesn't look equal to our sight from near and from far." "No, it doesn't." "And the same things look bent and straight when seen in water and out of it, and also both concave and convex, due to the sight's being misled by the colors, and every sort of confusion of this kind is plainly in our soul. And, then, it is because they take advantage of this d affection in our nature that shadow painting, and puppeteering, and many other tricks of the kind fall nothing short of wizardry." True. "And haven't measuring, counting, and weighing come to light as [ 2S5 ] sockates/glaucon THEREPUBLI 602 d most charming helpers in these cases? As a result of them, we are not ruled by a thing's looking bigger or smaller or more or heavier; rather we are ruled by that which has calculated, measured, or, if you please weighed." "Undeniably." e "But this surely must be the work of the calculating part in a soul." "Yes, it is the work of that part." "And to it, when it has measured and indicates that some things are bigger or smaller than others, or equal, often contrary appearances are presented at the same time about the same things." "Yes." "Didn't we say that it is impossible for the same thing to opine contraries at the same time about the same things?" "And what we said is right." 603 a "Therefore, the part of the soul opining contrary to the measures would not be the same as the part that does so in accordance with the measures." "No, it wouldn't." "And, further, the part which trusts measure and calculation would be the best part of the soul." "Of course." "Therefore, the part opposed to it would be one of the ordinary things in us." "Necessarily." "Well, then, it was this I wanted agreed to when I said that paint- ing and imitation as a whole are far from the truth when they produce their work; and that, moreover, imitation keeps company with the part h in us that is far from prudence, and is not comrade and friend for any healthy or true purpose." "Exactly," he said. "Therefore, imitation, an ordinary thing having intercourse with what is ordinary, produces ordinary offspring." "It seems so." "Does this," I said, "apply only to the imitation connected with the sight or also to that connected with the hearing, which we name poetry?" "It is likely," he said, "that it applies also to this." "Well, then," I said, "let's not just trust the likelihood based on painting; but let's now go directly to the very part of thought with ^ which poetry's imitation keeps company and see whether it is ordinary or serious." [ 286 ] Book X / 602d-604b glaucon/socrates "We must." 603 c "Let's present it in this way. Imitation, we say, imitates human beings performing forced or voluntary actions, and, as a result of the action, supposing themselves to have done well or badly, and in all of this experiencing pain or enjoyment. Was there anything else beyond this?" "Nothing." "Then, in all this, is a human being of one mind? Or, just as with respect to the sight there was faction and he had contrary opinions in d himself at the same time about the same things, is there also faction in him when it comes to deeds and does he do battle with himself? But I am reminded that there's no need for us to come to an agreement about this now. For in the previous arguments we came to sufficient agree- ment about all this, asserting that our soul teems with ten thousand such oppositions arising at the same time." "Rightly," he said. "Yes, it was right," I said. "But what we then left out, it is now necessary to go through, in my opinion." e "What was that?" he said. "A decent man," I said, "who gets as his share some such chance as losing a son or something else for which he cares particularly, as we were surely also saying then, will bear it more easily than other men." "Certainly." "Now let's consider whether he won't be grieved at all, or whether this is impossible, but that he will somehow be sensible in the face of pain." "The latter," he said, "is closer to the truth." "Now tell me this about him. Do you suppose he'll fight the pain 604 a and hold out against it more when he is seen by his peers, or when he is alone by himself in a deserted place?" "Surely," he said, "he will fight it far more when seen." "But when left alone, I suppose, he'll dare to utter many things of which he would be ashamed if someone were to hear, and will do many things he would not choose to have anyone see him do." "That's so," he said. "Isn't it argument and law that tell him to hold out, while the suf- fering itself is what draws him to the pain?" h True. "When a contradictory tendency arises in a human being about the same thing at the same time, we say that there are necessarily two things in him." "Undeniably." [287 ] socrates/gi^ucon the REPUBLIq 604 h "Isn't the one ready to be persuaded in whatever direction the law leads?" "How so?" "The law presumably says that it is finest to keep as quiet as possi- ble in misfortunes and not be irritated, since the good and bad in such things aren't plain, nor does taking it hard get one anywhere, nor are c any of the human things worthy of great seriousness; and being in pain is an impediment to the coming of that thing the support of which we need as quickly as possible in these cases." "What do you mean?" he said. "Deliberation," I said, "about what has happened. One must ac- cept the fall of the dice and settle one's affairs accordingly~in whatever way argument declares would be best. One must not behave like children who have stumbled and who hold on to the hurt place and spend their time in crying out; rather one must always habituate the d soul to turn as quickly as possible to curing and setting aright what has fallen and is sick, doing away with lament by medicine." "That," he said, "at all events, would be the most correct way for a man to face what chance brings." "And, we say, the best part is willing to follow this calculation—" "Plainly." "—whereas the part that leads to reminiscences of the suffering and to complaints and can't get enough of them, won't we say that it is irrational, idle, and a friend of cowardice?" "Certainly we'll say that." e "Now then, the irritable disposition affords much and varied imitation, while the prudent and quiet character, which is always nearly equal to itself, is neither easily imitated nor, when imitated, easily understood, especially by a festive assembly where all sorts of human beings are gathered in a theater. For the imitation is of a condi- tion that is surely alien to them." 605 a "That's entirely certain." "Then plainly the imitative poet isn't naturally directed toward any such part of the soul, and his wisdom isn't framed for satisfying it—if he's going to get a good reputation among the many—but rather toward the irritable and various disposition, because it is easily imitated." "Plainly." "Therefore it would at last be just for us to seize him and set him beside the painter as his antistrophe. For he is like the painter in mak- ing things that are ordinary by the standard of truth; and he is also b similar in keeping company with a part of the soul that is on the same [ 288 ] ^ook X I 604b-606b socrates/glaucon ilevel and not with the best part. And thus we should at last be justified 605 b Ijn not admitting him into a city that is going to be under good laws, be- ^cause he awakens this part of the soul and nourishes it, and, by making lit strong, destroys the calculating part, just as in a city when someone, |by making wicked men mighty, turns the city over to them and cor- Irupts the superior ones. Similarly, we shall say the imitative poet pro- Induces a bad regime in the soul of each private man by making … 1142 Socrates/Glaucon Moreover, it strikes me, now that it has been mentioned, how sophisti- cated the subject of calculation is and in how many ways it is useful for our purposes, provided that one practices it for the sake of knowing ratherd than trading. How is it useful? In the very way we were talking about. It leads the soul forcibly upward and compels it to discuss the numbers themselves, never permitting anyone to propose for discussion numbers attached to visible or tangible bodies. You know what those who are clever in these matters are like: If, in the course of the argument, someone tries to divide the one itself, they laugh and won’t permit it. If you divide it, they multiply it, taking care that onee thing never be found to be many parts rather than one. That’s very true. Then what do you think would happen, Glaucon, if someone were to ask them: “What kind of numbers are you talking about, in which the one526 is as you assume it to be, each one equal to every other, without the least difference and containing no internal parts?” I think they’d answer that they are talking about those numbers that can be grasped only in thought and can’t be dealt with in any other way. Then do you see that it’s likely that this subject really is compulsory forb us, since it apparently compels the soul to use understanding itself on the truth itself? Indeed, it most certainly does do that. And what about those who are naturally good at calculation or reason- ing? Have you already noticed that they’re naturally sharp, so to speak, Republic VII 1143 in all subjects, and that those who are slow at it, if they’re educated and exercised in it, even if they’re benefited in no other way, nonetheless improve and become generally sharper than they were? That’s true. Moreover, I don’t think you’ll easily find subjects that are harder to learn or practice than this. c No, indeed. Then, for all these reasons, this subject isn’t to be neglected, and the best natures must be educated in it. I agree. Let that, then, be one of our subjects. Second, let’s consider whether the subject that comes next is also appropriate for our purposes. What subject is that? Do you mean geometry? That’s the very one I had in mind. Insofar as it pertains to war, it’s obviously appropriate, for when it d comes to setting up camp, occupying a region, concentrating troops, de- ploying them, or with regard to any of the other formations an army adopts in battle or on the march, it makes all the difference whether someone is a geometer or not. MissingPagesBook7Republic.pdf Blank Page