The Republic
By Plato
Written 360 B.C.E
Translated by Benjamin Jowett
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The characters in the dialogue are Socrates and Glaucon. Socrates speaks first and quickly =
moves
to his usual tactic of leading Glaucon through a line of argument while
pretending to be naïve and ignorant himself.
Socrates:
Of he many excellences which I perceive in the order of our State, there
is none which upon reflection pleases me better than the rule about poetry.
Socrates:
To the rejection of imitative poetry, which certainly ought not to be
received; as I see far more clearly now that the parts of the soul have been distinguished.
What do you mean?
Speaking in confidence, for I should not like to have my words repeated to the tragedians and the rest of the imitative tribe --but I=
do
not mind saying to you, that all poetical imitations are r=
uinous
to the understanding of the hearers, and that the knowledg=
e of
their true nature is the only antidote to them.
Explain the purport of your remark.
Well, I will tell you, although I have always from my earliest youth had an awe and love of Homer, which even now makes the words =
falter
on my lips, for he is the great captain and teacher of the=
whole
of that charming tragic company; but a man is not to be
reverenced more than the truth, and therefore I will speak=
out.
Very good, he said.
Listen to me then, or rather, answer me.
Put your question.
Can you tell me what imitation is? for I really do not kno=
w.
A likely thing, then, that I should know.
Why not? for the duller eye may often see a thing sooner than the keener.
Very true, he said; but in your presence, even if I had any faint notion,
I could not muster courage to utter it. Will you enquire y=
ourself?
Well then, shall we begin the enquiry in our usual manner: Whenever a
number of individuals have a common name, we assume them to have also a corresponding idea or form. Do you understand me?
I do.
Let us take any common instance; there are beds and tables in the world --plenty of them, are there not?
Yes.
But there are only two ideas or forms of them --one the idea of a bed, the other of a table.
True.
And the maker of either of them makes a bed or he makes a table for our
use, in accordance with the idea --that is our way of speaking in this and similar instances --but no artificer makes the ideas
themselves: how could he?
Impossible.
And there is another artist, --I should like to know what you would say
of him.
Who is he?
One who is the maker of all the works of all other workmen=
.
What an extraordinary man!
Wait a little, and there will be more reason for your saying so. For this is he who is able to make not only vessels of every kind=
, but
plants and animals, himself and all other things --the ear=
th and
heaven, and the things which are in heaven or under the ea=
rth;
he makes the gods also.
He must be a wizard and no mistake.
Oh! you are incredulous, are you? Do you mean that there is no such maker
or creator, or that in one sense there might be a maker of all these things but in another not? Do you see that there is a way in =
which
you could make them all yourself?
What way?
An easy way enough; or rather, there are many ways in which the feat might be quickly and easily accomplished, none quicker than t=
hat of
turning a mirror round and round --you would soon enough m=
ake
the sun and the heavens, and the earth and yourself, and o=
ther
animals and plants, and all the, other things of which we =
were
just now speaking, in the mirror.
Yes, he said; but they would be appearances only.
Very good, I said, you are coming to the point now. And the painter too
is, as I conceive, just such another --a creator of appearances, is he
not?
Of course.
But then I suppose you will say that what he creates is untrue. And yet
there is a sense in which the painter also creates a bed? =
Yes, he said, but not a real bed.
And what of the maker of the bed? Were you not saying that he too makes, not the idea which, according to our view, is the essence of =
the
bed, but only a particular bed?
Yes, I did.
Then if he does not make that which exists he cannot make true existence, but only some semblance of existence; and if any one were to =
say
that the work of the maker of the bed, or of any other wor=
kman,
has real existence, he could hardly be supposed to be spea=
king
the truth.
At any rate, he replied, philosophers would say that he was not speaking
the truth.
No wonder, then, that his work too is an indistinct expression of
truth.
No wonder.
Suppose now that by the light of the examples just offered we enquire who this imitator is?
If you please.
Well then, here are three beds: one existing in nature, which is made by God, as I think that we may say --for no one else can be =
the maker?
No.
There is another which is the work of the carpenter?
Yes.
And the work of the painter is a third?
Yes.
Beds, then, are of three kinds, and there are three artists who superintend=
them: God, the maker of the bed, and the painter?
Yes, there are three of them.
God, whether from choice or from necessity, made one bed in nature and
one only; two or more such ideal beds neither ever have been nor ever will be made by God.
Why is that?
Because even if He had made but two, a third would still appear behind them which both of them would have for their idea, and that =
would
be the ideal bed and the two others.
Very true, he said.
God knew this, and He desired to be the real maker of a real bed, not a particular maker of a particular bed, and therefore He cre=
ated a
bed which is essentially and by nature one only.
So we believe.
Shall we, then, speak of Him as the natural author or maker of the bed?
Yes, he replied; inasmuch as by the natural process of creation He
is the author of this and of all other things.
And what shall we say of the carpenter --is not he also the maker of
the bed?
Yes.
But would you call the painter a creator and maker?
Certainly not.
Yet if he is not the maker, what is he in relation to the bed?
I think, he said, that we may fairly designate him as the imitator of
that which the others make.
Good, I said; then you call him who is third in the descent from nature
an imitator?
Certainly, he said.
And the tragic poet is an imitator, and therefore, like all other imitators=
, he is thrice removed from the king and from the truth?
That appears to be so.
Then about the imitator we are agreed. And what about the painter? --I
would like to know whether he may be thought to imitate that which originally
exists in nature, or only the creations of artists?
The latter.
As they are or as they appear? You have still to determine this.
What do you mean?
I mean, that you may look at a bed from different points of view, obliquely=
or directly or from any other point of view, and the bed will
appear different, but there is no difference in reality. =
And
the same of all things.
Yes, he said, the difference is only apparent.
Now let me ask you another question: Which is the art of painting designed =
to be --an imitation of things as they are, or as they appea=
r --of
appearance or of reality?
Of appearance.
Then the imitator, I said, is a long way off the truth, and can do all
things because he lightly touches on a small part of them, and that part an image. For example: A painter will paint a cobbler,
carpenter, or any other artist, though he knows nothing of
their arts; and, if he is a good artist, he may deceive
children or simple persons, when he shows them his pictur=
e of a
carpenter from a distance, and they will fancy that they =
are
looking at a real carpenter.
Certainly.
And whenever any one informs us that he has found a man knows all the arts, and all things else that anybody knows, and every sing=
le
thing with a higher degree of accuracy than any other man
--whoever tells us this, I think that we can only imagine=
to be
a simple creature who is likely to have been deceived by =
some
wizard or actor whom he met, and whom he thought all-know=
ing,
because he himself was unable to analyse the nature of
knowledge and ignorance and imitation.
Most true.
And so, when we hear persons saying that the tragedians, and Homer, who is at their head, know all the arts and all things human,
virtue as well as vice, and divine things too, for that t=
he
good poet cannot compose well unless he knows his subject=
, and
that he who has not this knowledge can never be a poet, we
ought to consider whether here also there may not be a si=
milar
illusion. Perhaps they may have come across imitators and been
deceived by them; they may not have remembered when they saw their works
that these were but imitations thrice removed from the truth, and could
easily be made without any knowledge of the truth, because they are appearances only and not realities? Or, after all, they may =
be in
the right, and poets do really know the things about whic=
h they
seem to the many to speak so well?
The question, he said, should by all means be considered.=
Now do you suppose that if a person were able to make the original as
well as the image, he would seriously devote himself to the image-making branch? Would he allow imitation to be the ruling principle =
of his
life, as if he had nothing higher in him? <=
/a>
I should say not.
The real artist, who knew what he was imitating, would be interested in realities and not in imitations; and would desire to leav=
e as
memorials of himself works many and fair; and, instead of=
being
the author of encomiums, he would prefer to be the theme =
of
them.
Yes, he said, that would be to him a source of much greater honour and
profit.
Then, I said, we must put a question to Homer; not about medicine, or
any of the arts to which his poems only incidentally refer: we are not going to ask him, or any other poet, whether he has cured pa=
tients
like Asclepius, or left behind him a school of medicine s=
uch as
the Asclepiads were, or whether he only talks about medic=
ine
and other arts at second hand; but we have a right to know
respecting military tactics, politics, education, which a=
re the
chiefest and noblest subjects of his poems, and we may fa=
irly
ask him about them. 'Friend Homer,' then we say to him, 'if <=
/a>you
are only in the second remove from truth in what you say of virtue, and not in the third --not an image maker or imitator --and =
if you
are able to discern what pursuits make men better or wors=
e in
private or public life, tell us what State was ever better
governed by your help? The good order of Lacedaemon is du=
e to Lycurgus,
and many other cities great and small have been similarly
benefited by others; but who says that you have been a go=
od
legislator to them and have done them any good?
I think not, said Glaucon; not even the Homerids themselves pretend that he was a legislator.
Well, but is there any war on record which was carried on successfully by him, or aided by his counsels, when he was alive?
There is not.
Or is there any invention of his, applicable to the arts or to human life, such as Thales the Milesian or Anacharsis the Scythian=
, and
other ingenious men have conceived, which is attributed t=
o him?
There is absolutely nothing of the kind.
But, if Homer never did any public service, was he privately a guide or teacher of any? Had he in his lifetime friends who loved =
to
associate with him, and who handed down to posterity an H=
omeric
way of life, such as was established by Pythagoras who wa=
s so
greatly beloved for his wisdom, and whose followers are t=
o this
day quite celebrated for the order which was named after =
him?
Nothing of the kind is recorded of him. For surely, Socrates, Creophylus, the companion of Homer, that child of flesh, whose name alwa=
ys
makes us laugh, might be more justly ridiculed for his
stupidity, if, as is said, Homer was greatly neglected by=
him
and others in his own day when he was alive?
Yes, I replied, that is the tradition. But can you imagine, Glaucon, that if Homer had really been able to educate and improve ma=
nkind
--if he had possessed knowledge and not been a mere imita=
tor
--can you imagine, I say, that he would not have had many
followers, and been honoured and loved by them? Protagora=
s of
Abdera, and Prodicus of Ceos, and a host of others, have =
only
to whisper to their contemporaries: 'You will never be ab=
le to
manage either your own house or your own State until you appoint us
to be your ministers of education' --and this ingenious device of theirs has such an effect in making them love them that their compa=
nions
all but carry them about on their shoulders. And is it
conceivable that the contemporaries of Homer, or again of
Hesiod, would have allowed either of them to go about as
rhapsodists, if they had really been able to make mankind virtuous? Would they not have been as unwilling to part with them as w=
ith
gold, and have compelled them to stay at home with them? =
Or, if
the master would not stay, then the disciples would have
followed him about everywhere, until they had got educati=
on
enough?
Yes, Socrates, that, I think, is quite true.
Then must we not infer that all these poetical individuals, beginning with Homer, are only imitators; they copy images of virtue a=
nd the
like, but the truth they never reach? The poet is like a
painter who, as we have already observed, will make a lik=
eness
of a cobbler though he understands nothing of cobbling; a=
nd his
picture is good enough for those who know no more than he=
does,
and judge only by colours and figures. =
Quite so.
In like manner the poet with his words and phrases may be said to lay on the colours of the several arts, himself understanding th=
eir
nature only enough to imitate them; and other people, who=
are
as ignorant as he is, and judge only from his words, imag=
ine
that if he speaks of cobbling, or of military tactics, or=
of
anything else, in metre and harmony and rhythm, he speaks=
very
well --such is the sweet influence which melody and rhythm by
nature have. And I think that you must have observed again and again what a poor appearance the tales of poets make when stripped=
of
the colours which music puts upon them, and recited in si=
mple
prose.
Yes, he said.
They are like faces which were never really beautiful, but only blooming; and now the bloom of youth has passed away from them?
Exactly.
Here is another point: The imitator or maker of the image knows nothing of true existence; he knows appearances only. Am I not right?
Yes.
Then let us have a clear understanding, and not be satisfied with half an explanation.
Proceed.
Of the painter we say that he will paint reins, and he will paint a bit?
Yes.
And the worker in leather and brass will make them?
Certainly.
But does the painter know the right form of the bit and reins? Nay, hardly even the workers in brass and leather who make them; =
only
the horseman who knows how to use them --he knows their r=
ight
form.
Most true.
And may we not say the same of all things?
What?
That there are three arts which are concerned with all things: one which
uses, another which makes, a third which imitates them?
Yes.
And the excellence or beauty or truth of every structure, animate or inanimate, and of every action of man, is relative to the us=
e for
which nature or the artist has intended them.
True.
Then the user of them must have the greatest experience of them, and he must indicate to the maker the good or bad qualities which
develop themselves in use; for example, the flute-player =
will
tell the flute-maker which of his flutes is satisfactory =
to the
performer; he will tell him how he ought to make them, an=
d the
other will attend to his instructions?
Of course.
The one knows and therefore speaks with authority about the goodness and badness of flutes, while the other, confiding in him, wi=
ll do
what he is told by him?
True.
The instrument is the same, but about the excellence or badness of it
the maker will only attain to a correct belief; and this he will gain from him who knows, by talking to him and being compelled to=
hear
what he has to say, whereas the user will have knowledge?=
True.
But will the imitator have either? Will he know from use whether or no his drawing is correct or beautiful? Or will he have right
opinion from being compelled to associate with another who
knows and gives him instructions about what he should dra=
w?
Neither.
Then he will no more have true opinion than he will have knowledge about
the goodness or badness of his imitations?
I suppose not.
The imitative artist will be in a brilliant state of intelligence about his own creations?
Nay, very much the reverse.
And still he will go on imitating without knowing what makes a thing good or bad, and may be expected therefore to imitate only t=
hat
which appears to be good to the ignorant multitude?
Just so.
Thus far then we are pretty well agreed that the imitator has no knowledge =
worth mentioning of what he imitates. Imitation is only a ki=
nd of
play or sport, and the tragic poets, whether they write in
iambic or in Heroic verse, are imitators in the highest d=
egree?
Very true.
And now tell me, I conjure you, has not imitation been shown by us to
be concerned with that which is thrice removed from the t=
ruth?
Certainly.
And what is the faculty in man to which imitation is addr=
essed?
What do you mean?
I will explain: The body which is large when seen near, appears small when seen at a distance?
True.
And the same object appears straight when looked at out of the water, and crooked when in the water; and the concave becomes conve=
x,
owing to the illusion about colours to which the sight is
liable. Thus every sort of confusion is revealed within u=
s; and
this is that weakness of the human mind on which the art =
of
conjuring and of deceiving by light and shadow and other
ingenious devices imposes, having an effect upon us like =
magic.
True.
And the arts of measuring and numbering and weighing come to the rescue of the human understanding-there is the beauty of them --and=
the
apparent greater or less, or more or heavier, no longer h=
ave
the mastery over us, but give way before calculation and
measure and weight?
Most true.
And this, surely, must be the work of the calculating and rational principle
in the soul
To be sure.
And when this principle measures and certifies that some things are equal, or that some are greater or less than others, there o=
ccurs
an apparent contradiction?
True.
But were we not saying that such a contradiction is the same faculty cannot have contrary opinions at the same time about the sam=
e thing?
Very true.
Then that part of the soul which has an opinion contrary to measure is not the same with that which has an opinion in accordance=
with measure?
True.
And the better part of the soul is likely to be that which trusts to measure and calculation?
Certainly.
And that which is opposed to them is one of the inferior principles of the soul?
No doubt.
This was the conclusion at which I was seeking to arrive when I said that painting or drawing, and imitation in general, when doi=
ng
their own proper work, are far removed from truth, and the
companions and friends and associates of a principle with=
in us
which is equally removed from reason, and that they have =
no
true or healthy aim.
Exactly.
The imitative art is an inferior who marries an inferior, and has inferior =
offspring.
Very true.
And is this confined to the sight only, or does it extend to the hearing also, relating in fact to what we term poetry?
Probably the same would be true of poetry.
Do not rely, I said, on a probability derived from the analogy of painting;=
but let us examine further and see whether the faculty with =
which
poetical imitation is concerned is good or bad.
By all means.
We may state the question thus: --Imitation imitates the actions of men, whether voluntary or involuntary, on which, as they ima=
gine,
a good or bad result has ensued, and they rejoice or sorr=
ow
accordingly. Is there anything more?
No, there is nothing else.
But in all this variety of circumstances is the man at unity with himself --or rather, as in the instance of sight there was confusion=
and
opposition in his opinions about the same things, so here=
also
is there not strife and inconsistency in his life? Though=
I
need hardly raise the question again, for I remember that=
all
this has been already admitted; and the soul has been
acknowledged by us to be full of these and ten thousand similar oppositions
occurring at the same moment?
And we were right, he said.
Yes, I said, thus far we were right; but there was an omission which must now be supplied.
What was the omission?
Were we not saying that a good man, who has the misfortune to lose his
son or anything else which is most dear to him, will bear the loss with
more equanimity than another?
Yes.
But will he have no sorrow, or shall we say that although he cannot help sorrowing, he will moderate his sorrow? <=
/a>
The latter, he said, is the truer statement.
Tell me: will he be more likely to struggle and hold out against his sorrow when he is seen by his equals, or when he is alone?
It will make a great difference whether he is seen or not=
.
When he is by himself he will not mind saying or doing many things which
he would be ashamed of any one hearing or seeing him do? =
True.
There is a principle of law and reason in him which bids him resist, as well as a feeling of his misfortune which is forcing him =
to
indulge his sorrow?
True.
But when a man is drawn in two opposite directions, to and from the same object, this, as we affirm, necessarily implies two dis=
tinct
principles in him?
Certainly.
One of them is ready to follow the guidance of the law?
How do you mean?
The law would say that to be patient under suffering is best, and that we should not give way to impatience, as there is no knowing
whether such things are good or evil; and nothing is gain=
ed by
impatience; also, because no human thing is of serious
importance, and grief stands in the way of that which at =
the
moment is most required.
What is most required? he asked.
That we should take counsel about what has happened, and when the dice have been thrown order our affairs in the way which reason d=
eems
best; not, like children who have had a fall, keeping hol=
d of
the part struck and wasting time in setting up a howl, but
always accustoming the soul forthwith to apply a remedy,
raising up that which is sickly and fallen, banishing the=
cry
of sorrow by the healing art.
Yes, he said, that is the true way of meeting the attacks of =
fortune.
Yes, I said; and the higher principle is ready to follow this suggestion of reason?
Clearly.
And the other principle, which inclines us to recollection of our troubles =
and to lamentation, and can never have enough of them, we ma=
y call
irrational, useless, and cowardly?
Indeed, we may.
And does not the latter --I mean the rebellious principle --furnish a great variety of materials for imitation? Whereas the wise=
and
calm temperament, being always nearly equable, is not eas=
y to
imitate or to appreciate when imitated, especially at a p=
ublic
festival when a promiscuous crowd is assembled in a theat=
re.
For the feeling represented is one to which they are stra=
ngers.
Certainly.
Then the imitative poet who aims at being popular is not by nature made,
nor is his art intended, to please or to affect the principle in the
soul; but he will prefer the passionate and fitful temper, which is easily imitated?
Clearly.
And now we may fairly take him and place him by the side of the painter, for he is like him in two ways: first, inasmuch as his creat=
ions
have an inferior degree of truth --in this, I say, he is =
like
him; and he is also like him in being concerned with an
inferior part of the soul; and therefore we shall be righ=
t in
refusing to admit him into a well-ordered State, because =
he
awakens and nourishes and strengthens the feelings and impairs the reason. =
As in a city when the evil are permitted to have authority a=
nd the
good are put out of the way, so in the soul of man, as we
maintain, the imitative poet implants an evil constitutio=
n, for
he indulges the irrational nature which has no discernmen=
t of
greater and less, but thinks the same thing at one time g=
reat
and at another small-he is a manufacturer of images and i=
s very
far removed from the truth.
Exactly.
But we have not yet brought forward the heaviest count in our accusation: --the power which poetry has of harming even the good (and t=
here
are very few who are not harmed), is surely an awful thin=
g?
Yes, certainly, if the effect is what you say.
Hear and judge: The best of us, as I conceive, when we listen to a passage
of Homer, or one of the tragedians, in which he represents some pitiful
hero who is drawling out his sorrows in a long oration, or weeping, and smiting his breast --the best of us, you know, delight in
giving way to sympathy, and are in raptures at the excell=
ence
of the poet who stirs our feelings most.
Yes, of course I know.
But when any sorrow of our own happens to us, then you may observe that
we pride ourselves on the opposite quality --we would fain be quiet and patient; this is the manly part, and the other which del=
ighted
us in the recitation is now deemed to be the part of a wo=
man.
Very true, he said.
Now can we be right in praising and admiring another who is doing that which any one of us would abominate and be ashamed of in his=
own person?
No, he said, that is certainly not reasonable.
Nay, I said, quite reasonable from one point of view.
What point of view?
If you consider, I said, that when in misfortune we feel a natural hunger
and desire to relieve our sorrow by weeping and lamentation, and that
this feeling which is kept under control in our own calamities is satisfied
and delighted by the poets;-the better nature in each of us, =
not
having been sufficiently trained by reason or habit, allows the sympathetic=
element to break loose because the sorrow is another's; and =
the
spectator fancies that there can be no disgrace to himsel=
f in
praising and pitying any one who comes telling him what a=
good
man he is, and making a fuss about his troubles; he think=
s that
the pleasure is a gain, and why should he be supercilious=
and
lose this and the poem too? Few persons ever reflect, as I
should imagine, that from the evil of other men something of evil is
communicated to themselves. And so the feeling of sorrow which has gathered=
strength at the sight of the misfortunes of others is with
difficulty repressed in our own.
How very true!
And does not the same hold also of the ridiculous? There are jests which
you would be ashamed to make yourself, and yet on the comic stage, or
indeed in private, when you hear them, you are greatly amused by them, and are not at all disgusted at their unseemliness; --the ca=
se of
pity is repeated; --there is a principle in human nature =
which
is disposed to raise a laugh, and this which you once
restrained by reason, because you were afraid of being th=
ought
a buffoon, is now let out again; and having stimulated the
risible faculty at the theatre, you are betrayed unconsciously to
yourself into playing the comic poet at home.
Quite true, he said.
And the same may be said of lust and anger and all the other affections, of desire and pain and pleasure, which are held to be insepa=
rable
from every action ---in all of them poetry feeds and wate=
rs the
passions instead of drying them up; she lets them rule,
although they ought to be controlled, if mankind are ever=
to
increase in happiness and virtue.
I cannot deny it.
Therefore, Glaucon, I said, whenever you meet with any of the eulogists of Homer declaring that he has been the educator of Hellas, =
and
that he is profitable for education and for the ordering =
of
human things, and that you should take him up again and a=
gain
and get to know him and regulate your whole life accordin=
g to
him, we may love and honour those who say these things --=
they
are excellent people, as far as their lights extend; and =
we are
ready to acknowledge that Homer is the greatest of poets and =
first
of tragedy writers; but we must remain firm in our conviction that hymns
to the gods and praises of famous men are the only poetry which ought to be admitted into our State. For if you go beyond this and=
allow
the honeyed muse to enter, either in epic or lyric verse,=
not
law and the reason of mankind, which by common consent ha=
ve
ever been deemed best, but pleasure and pain will be the =
rulers
in our State.
That is most true, he said.
And now since we have reverted to the subject of poetry, let this our defence serve to show the reasonableness of our former judgm=
ent in
sending away out of our State an art having the tendencies
which we have described; for reason constrained us. But t=
hat
she may impute to us any harshness or want of politeness,=
let
us tell her that there is an ancient quarrel between phil=
osophy
and poetry; of which there are many proofs, such as the s=
aying
of 'the yelping hound howling at her lord,' or of one 'mighty in
the vain talk of fools,' and 'the mob of sages circumventing Zeus,' and the 'subtle thinkers who are beggars after all'; and the=
re are
innumerable other signs of ancient enmity between them.
Notwithstanding this, let us assure our sweet friend and =
the
sister arts of imitation that if she will only prove her =
title
to exist in a well-ordered State we shall be delighted to
receive her --we are very conscious of her charms; but we may not on that account betray the truth. I dare say, Glaucon, that you=
are
as much charmed by her as I am, especially when she appea=
rs in Homer?
Yes, indeed, I am greatly charmed.
Shall I propose, then, that she be allowed to return from exile, but upon this condition only --that she make a defence of hersel=
f in
lyrical or some other metre?
Certainly.
And we may further grant to those of her defenders who are lovers of poetry and yet not poets the permission to speak in prose on=
her
behalf: let them show not only that she is pleasant but a=
lso
useful to States and to human life, and we will listen in=
a
kindly spirit; for if this can be proved we shall surely =
be the
gainers --I mean, if there is a use in poetry as well as a
delight?
Certainly, he said, we shall the gainers.
If her defence fails, then, my dear friend, like other persons who are
enamoured of something, but put a restraint upon themselves when they think their desires are opposed to their interests, so too m=
ust we
after the manner of lovers give her up, though not withou=
t a
struggle. We too are inspired by that love of poetry whic=
h the
education of noble States has implanted in us, and theref=
ore we
would have her appear at her best and truest; but so long=
as
she is unable to make good her defence, this argument of =
ours
shall be a charm to us, which we will repeat to ourselves while
we listen to her strains; that we may not fall away into the childish love of her which captivates the many. At all events we are =
well
aware that poetry being such as we have described is not =
to be
regarded seriously as attaining to the truth; and he who
listens to her, fearing for the safety of the city which =
is
within him, should be on his guard against her seductions and
make our words his law.