Republic

Therefore, the part of the soul that opines contrary to the measurements would not be the same as that which opines in accordance with the measurements. Indeed not. But surely, the part that trusts in measurement and calculation would be the best part of the soul. Of course. Therefore, that which opposes this part would be some inferior part in us. Necessarily. This, then, is what I wanted to reach agreement on when I said that painting and imitation as a whole produce their work far from the truth, and associate with that part in us which is far from wisdom, being its companion and friend for no healthy or true purpose. Absolutely, he said. Imitation, then, being inferior itself and associating with an inferior part, generates inferior things. It seems so. Is it, I said, only the imitation concerned with sight, or also that concerned with hearing, which we call poetry? It is likely, he said, that this is also the case. Let us not, then, I said, rely only on the resemblance derived from painting, but let us also go to that very part of the intellect with which the imitation of poetry associates, and see whether it is inferior or serious. Indeed, we must. Let us put it this way: imitation, we say, imitates human beings performing actions, whether forced or voluntary, and as a result of these actions, believing themselves to have done well or ill, and in all these circumstances, either grieving or rejoicing. Was there anything else besides these? Nothing. Is a human being, then, in all these situations, in a state of inner harmony? Or, just as in the case of sight he was in a state of faction and had opposite opinions in himself at the same time about the same things, does he also in his actions experience faction and fight with himself? But I remember that there is no need for us to reach agreement on this now; for in our earlier discussions we sufficiently agreed on all these things—that our soul is full of a myriad of such contradictions occurring at the same time. Correctly, he said. Yes, correctly, I said; but what we left out then, now seems to me necessary to go through. What kind of thing? he said. A decent man, I said, who experiences such a fortune as to lose a son or something else he values most, we said, I believe, even then that he will bear it more easily than others. Certainly. But now let us examine this: will he feel no grief at all, or is that impossible, and will he instead keep his grief within bounds in some way? The latter is more likely, he said, that is indeed the truth.

Now tell me this about him: do you think he will fight and resist his grief more when he is seen by his peers, or when he is alone by himself in solitude? It will make a great difference, I suppose, he said, when he is seen. But when left alone, I think he will venture to utter many things which he would be ashamed for anyone to hear, and will do many things which he would not allow anyone to see him doing. That is how it is, he said. Now, is not that which commands him to resist reason and law, while that which drags him toward grief is the affection itself? True. And when opposite impulses occur in a human being at the same time concerning the same thing, we say that there must be two distinct parts in him. How could it be otherwise? Is not one of them, then, ready to obey the law, in the way the law guides? How? The law says, I suppose, that it is best to keep as quiet as possible in misfortunes and not to be vexed, since the good and bad in such things are not clear, and no progress is made for the future by taking things hard, and nothing in human affairs is worthy of great concern, and grieving stands in the way of that which ought to come to our assistance in these situations as quickly as possible. What is it you mean? he said. Deliberation, I said, about what has happened, and, as in a fall of dice, to settle one’s affairs in accordance with the way the dice have fallen, as reason dictates would be best; and not, like children who have stumbled, to waste time in crying out while holding the hurt part, but always to accustom the soul to turn as quickly as possible to healing and restoring what has fallen and is diseased, banishing lamentation by medical art. At any rate, one would face fortunes most correctly in this way, he said. Then we say that the best part is willing to follow this calculation. Clearly so. But that which leads to the recollections of the suffering and to lamentations, and is insatiable for them, shall we not say that it is irrational, idle, and a friend of cowardice? We certainly shall. Does not, then, the rebellious character admit of much and varied imitation, whereas the wise and quiet character, being always nearly equal to itself, is neither easy to imitate nor, when imitated, easy to understand, especially for a festive assembly and all sorts of human beings gathered in theaters? For the imitation is of an affection alien to them.