Republic

”For my part, Socrates,” he said, “I cannot conceive where it could be, unless it be in some need these very people have of one another.” “But perhaps,” I said, “you are right; we must look into it and not shrink from the task. First, then, let us consider what manner of life those thus provided for will lead. Will they not do so by producing bread, wine, clothes, and shoes? And having built themselves houses, in summer they will work for the most part naked and barefoot, but in winter adequately clothed and shod. They will feed themselves, preparing barley meal from barley and wheat flour from wheat, baking some and kneading others, putting noble round-cakes and loaves upon some reeds or clean leaves, and reclining on rustic beds strewn with yew and myrtles, they and their children will feast, drinking wine, wearing garlands, and singing hymns to the gods, living pleasantly together, and not begetting children beyond their means, guarding against poverty or war.” And Glaucon, interrupting, said, “You seem to make these men feast without any relish.” “You speak the truth,” I said. “I forgot that they will also have relish—clearly they will have salt, olives, and cheese, and they will boil onions and vegetables, such as they boil in the fields. And we shall also set before them desserts of figs, chickpeas, and beans, and they will roast myrtle berries and acorns by the fire, drinking moderately. And so, spending their lives in peace and health, as is likely, and dying at an advanced age, they will bequeath another such life to their offspring.” And he said, “If you were founding a city of pigs, Socrates, what else would you feed them but these very things?” “But how should it be, Glaucon?” I said. “In the customary way,” he said. “Those who are not to be miserable should, I think, recline on couches, dine from tables, and have the relishes and desserts that people have nowadays.” “Very well,” I said; “I understand. It seems we are considering not only how a city comes to be, but also a luxurious city. Perhaps, then, this is not a bad thing; for by looking at such a city we might quickly see where justice and injustice take root in cities. The true city seems to me to be the one we have described, being, as it were, a healthy one; but if you wish, let us also look at a feverish city; nothing prevents us.”

”For these things, as it seems, will not satisfy some, nor will this way of life; but couches will be added, and tables, and other furniture, and of course relishes, perfumes, incense, courtesans, and cakes, and each of these in all varieties. And indeed, what we mentioned at first, the necessities—houses, clothes, and shoes—must no longer be posited as the only ones, but we must set painting and embroidery in motion, and we must acquire gold, ivory, and all such things. Is it not so?” ”Yes,” he said. “Then we must make the city larger again; for that healthy one is no longer sufficient, but must now be filled with a multitude of people and a mass of things that are no longer in cities for the sake of necessity—such as all kinds of hunters and imitators, many concerned with shapes and colors, and many with music, poets and their assistants, rhapsodists, actors, dancers, contractors, and creators of all kinds of utensils, especially those concerned with women’s adornment. And indeed, we shall need more servants; or do you not think we shall need tutors, wet-nurses, governesses, beauticians, barbers, and again, chefs and cooks? And further, we shall also need swineherds; for this was not in our former city—for there was no need—but in this one there will be need of this as well. And we shall also need all other kinds of cattle in great numbers, if anyone is to eat them. Is it not so?” “Of course.” ”Then shall we not also stand in much greater need of physicians, living in this way rather than the former?” “Much greater.” “And the territory, surely, which was then sufficient to feed those then, will become small instead of sufficient. Or how do we say?” “Thus,” he said. “Must we not, then, cut off a portion of our neighbors’ territory if we are to have enough for pasture and ploughing, and they in turn of ours, if they too let themselves go to the unlimited acquisition of wealth, overstepping the boundary of necessity?” ”It is highly necessary, Socrates,” he said. “Will we go to war after this, Glaucon? Or how will it be?” “Thus,” he said. “And let us say nothing yet,” I said, “as to whether war works any evil or any good, but only this much, that we have found the origin of war, from which, when it occurs, the greatest evils come to cities, both privately and publicly.” “By all means.”