Book X, 595–602

595a “And indeed,” I said, “there are many other things about our city that make me think we founded it more rightly than anything else, but I say this especially when I reflect on poetry.”

“What about it?” he asked.

“That we should admit none of its imitative part. Now, especially, it is more evident to me than ever that it must not be admitted, since the several parts of the soul 595b have been distinguished.”

“What do you mean?”

“Between ourselves—for you will not denounce me to the tragic poets and all the other imitators—everything of this kind seems to be a corruption of the minds of those who hear it, unless they possess the antidote of knowing what these things really are.”

“What are you thinking of when you say that?” he asked.

“I must say it,” I replied, “though a certain affection and reverence I have felt for Homer since childhood holds me back. He seems 595c to have been the first teacher and leader of all those fine tragic poets. But no man should be honored before the truth; so, as I say, I must speak.”

“Certainly,” he said.

“Then listen—or rather, answer.”

“Ask.”

“Can you tell me what imitation itself is? I do not altogether understand what it means myself.”

“Then I am hardly likely to understand it,” he said.

“There is nothing strange in that,” I said, “since often those with dimmer sight see something before those with 596a sharper vision.”

“That happens,” he said. “But with you here I could not even venture to say what I may glimpse. Look for yourself.”

“Shall we begin our inquiry, then, with our accustomed method? We usually posit one Form for each class of many things to which we give the same name. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Let us take any class you like. For example, if 596b you wish, there are many beds and tables.”

“Of course.”

“But there are two Forms for these furnishings, one of bed and one of table.”

“Yes.”

“And do we not usually say that the craftsman making either piece looks toward the Form as he makes the beds or tables we use, and likewise with everything else? Surely none of the craftsmen makes the Form itself; how could he?”

“He could not.”

“But see what you would call this other craftsman.”

596c “What other?”

“The one who makes everything that each individual artisan makes.”

“You speak of an astonishing and remarkable man.”

“Not yet; you will say so even more in a moment. For this same artisan can make not only every manufactured article, but also everything that grows from the earth and every living creature, including himself; and beyond these he makes earth and heaven and gods and everything in heaven and everything under the earth in Hades.” 596d

“What a marvelous master you describe,” he said.

“Do you doubt it?” I asked. “Tell me: do you think no such maker could exist at all, or could there be a way of making all these things, and another way in which he could not? Or do you not realize that you yourself could make all these things in a certain way?”

“And what way is that?” he asked.

“It is not hard,” I said. “It can be done in many places and quickly; quickest of all if you care to take a mirror 596e and carry it everywhere. In no time you will make the sun and the heavenly bodies, in no time the earth, yourself and the other living things, and furnishings and plants, and everything we just mentioned.”

“Yes,” he said, “things that appear, but not things that truly exist.”

“Well said,” I replied, “and you have come to the point our argument needs. The painter, I think, is among makers of this kind. Is he not?”

“Of course.”

“But I think you will say the things he makes are not true. Yet in a certain way the painter, too, makes a bed, does he not?”

“Yes,” he said, “an apparent one.”

597a “And the bedmaker? Did you not just say he makes not the Form, which we call what a bed really is, but a particular bed?”

“I did.”

“Then if he does not make what really is, he cannot be making reality, but something like reality, not reality itself. Anyone who claimed that the bedmaker's work, or that of any other artisan, has complete reality would probably not be speaking the truth.”

“Not in the judgment of those accustomed to such arguments,” he said.

“Then we should not be surprised if even this is something faint beside the truth.”

597b “No, we should not.”

“Shall we, then, examine what this imitator is by using these very examples?”

“If you wish,” he said.

“There turn out to be three kinds of bed. One is the bed that exists in nature, which, I believe, we would say a god made. Who else?”

“No one else, I think.”

“Another is made by the carpenter.”

“Yes,” he said.

“And another by the painter. Is that so?”

“So be it.”

“Painter, bedmaker, god: these three preside over three kinds of bed.”

“Yes, three.”

597c “Now the god, whether he did not wish to or some necessity prevented him from producing more than one bed in nature, made only that single bed which is what a bed really is. Two or more of this kind were never planted by the god and never will be.”

“Why is that?” he asked.

“Because,” I said, “if he made only two, one would appear again whose Form both the others shared; that one, not the two, would be what a bed really is.”

“Right,” he said.

597d “Knowing this, I believe, the god wished to be the maker of a bed that truly is, not of some particular bed, nor to be a mere bedmaker, and so caused this one to grow in nature.”

“So it seems.”

“Shall we call him the natural producer of this, then, or something like that?”

“That is fair,” he said, “since by nature he has made this and everything else.”

“And the carpenter? Is he not a maker of a bed?”

“Yes.”

“And is the painter also a maker and producer of such a thing?”

“By no means.”

“What, then, will you say he is in relation to the bed?” 597e

“The most fitting name for him, I think,” he replied, “is an imitator of what the others make.”

“Very well,” I said. “You call him an imitator of the product third in descent from nature?”

“Certainly,” he said.

“Then this will also be true of the tragic poet, if he is an imitator: he and all other imitators are third in descent from the king and from truth.”

“So it appears.”

“About the imitator we agree. But tell me this about 598a the painter: do you think he tries to imitate the thing itself as it exists in nature, or the works of craftsmen?”

“The works of craftsmen,” he said.

“As they are, or as they appear? You must settle that further question.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“This: does a bed differ from itself when you look at it from the side or straight on, or in any other way? Or does it remain unchanged while appearing different? And is the same true of everything else?”

“Yes,” he said, “it appears different, but does not change at all.”

598b “Consider this very point, then: toward which of these does painting direct itself in each case? Is it the imitation of reality as it is, or of appearance as it appears? Is it an imitation of an apparition, or of truth?”

“Of an apparition,” he said.

“Imitation, then, is surely far from the truth; and this, it seems, is why it can produce everything: it touches only a small part of each thing, and that part is an image. A painter, for example, will paint us a shoemaker, a carpenter, and the other craftsmen 598c without understanding any of their crafts. Nevertheless, if he is a good painter, he can paint a carpenter, show the picture from a distance, and deceive children and foolish people into thinking it is a real carpenter.”

“Of course.”

“But, my friend, this is what I think we must bear in mind about all such cases. When someone tells us he has met a man who knows every craft and everything else that every individual knows, who knows it all no less exactly than any specialist, 598d we must reply that this person is simpleminded. He has evidently encountered some magician and imitator who has deceived him into thinking the man all-wise, because he himself cannot distinguish knowledge, ignorance, and imitation.”

“Absolutely true,” he said.

“Then next,” I said, “we must examine tragedy and its leader Homer, since 598e we hear some people say that the poets know all crafts, all human affairs concerning virtue and vice, and even divine matters. For if a good poet is to make fine poetry about anything, he must, they say, make it with knowledge; otherwise he cannot make it at all.

We must therefore examine whether those who have met these imitators have been deceived, and whether, looking at their works, they fail to see that they stand three removes from reality and are easy to make without knowing the truth—for the poets make appearances, not realities 599a—or whether there is something to their claim and good poets really know the subjects on which the multitude think they speak well.”

“We certainly must examine it,” he said.

“Do you think that if a man could make both the thing imitated and its image, he would devote himself earnestly to the production of images and make that the supreme purpose 599b of his life?”

“No, I do not.”

“But if he truly understood the things he imitates, I think he would be far more earnest about deeds than imitations. He would try to leave many fine deeds behind as memorials of himself, and would rather be the man praised than the man who praises.”

“I think so,” he said, “for the honor and the benefit are not equal.”

599c “Let us not, then, demand an account from Homer or any other poet of their knowledge of all other things. We need not ask whether any was a physician rather than merely an imitator of medical discourse, what people a poet of old or of our own time is said to have cured, as Asclepius did, or what students of medicine he left behind, as Asclepius left his descendants. Nor need we question them about the other crafts; let them pass. But concerning the greatest and finest subjects Homer undertakes—war, generalship, the governance of cities, and 599d human education—it is only fair to question him: ‘Dear Homer, if in regard to virtue you are not three removes from the truth, a maker of images, which is what we have defined an imitator to be, but are even at the second remove, and if you were capable of knowing what practices make men better or worse, in private and in public, tell us what city has been better governed because of you, as Sparta was because of Lycurgus, and many other cities, great and small, because of other men? 599e What city credits you with being a good lawgiver and benefiting it? Italy and Sicily credit Charondas, and we Athenians credit Solon. Who credits you?’ Will he have one to name?”

“I do not think so,” said Glaucon. “Not even the Homeridae themselves make such a claim.”

600a “And is any war in Homer's time remembered as well fought under his command or on his advice?”

“None.”

“Or are there many ingenious inventions of his, in crafts or other pursuits, such as are attributed to the wise men Thales of Miletus and Anacharsis the Scythian?”

“Nothing of the kind.”

“Then, if not in public, is Homer said in his own lifetime to have guided anyone's education in private—people who loved his 600b company and passed on to later generations a Homeric way of life, as Pythagoras himself was especially loved for doing, and as his followers, who even now call their way of life Pythagorean, seem in some respect to stand out among others?”

“Again, nothing of the kind is reported,” he said. “For Creophylus, Homer's companion, Socrates, might prove even more ridiculous in his education than in his name, if what they say about Homer is true. It is said that Homer himself was met with considerable neglect 600c by this man while he lived.”

“So it is said,” I replied. “But do you think, Glaucon, that if Homer had really been capable of educating men and making them better, because he understood these matters rather than merely imitating them, he would not have made many companions who honored and loved him? Protagoras of Abdera, Prodicus of Ceos, and a great many others can persuade their contemporaries in private conversation 600d that they will be unable to manage their own household or city unless these men oversee their education. For this wisdom their companions love them so intensely that they all but carry them on their shoulders. Yet if Homer, or Hesiod, had been able to help people toward virtue, would their contemporaries have allowed them to wander about reciting poems? Would they not have held on to them more tightly than to gold and compelled them to stay at home with them? Or, if they could not persuade them, would they not have followed them wherever they went 600e until they had received enough instruction?”

“I think, Socrates,” he said, “that what you say is entirely true.”

“Shall we conclude, then, that all the poets, beginning with Homer, are imitators of images of virtue and of the other things they compose about, and never touch the truth? Just as we said a moment ago, the painter will produce a likeness of a shoemaker 601a that seems real, though he knows nothing of shoemaking, for an audience equally ignorant who view it through its colors and shapes.”

“Certainly.”

“Likewise, I believe, we will say the poet colors every craft with a few words and phrases, though he understands no craft but imitation. And so to others like him, who judge from his words, whether someone speaks in meter, rhythm, and harmony about shoemaking or generalship or 601b anything else, it sounds exceedingly fine. Such is the great enchantment these adornments naturally wield. For I think you know what poets' works look like when stripped of the colors of music and spoken simply on their own. You must have seen them.”

“I have,” he said.

“Are they not like the faces of people who have the bloom of youth but no beauty, when the bloom leaves them?”

“Exactly,” he said.

“Now look at this. We say that the maker of an image, the imitator, understands nothing of reality, but only of appearance. Is that not so?”

601c “Yes.”

“Let us not leave the account half told, then, but examine it thoroughly.”

“Go on,” he said.

“A painter, we say, will paint reins and a bridle.”

“Yes.”

“But the leatherworker and the smith will make them.”

“Certainly.”

“Does the painter know what kind of reins and bridle are needed? Or does even their maker, the smith or leatherworker, know? Is it not only the man who knows how to use them, the horseman?”

“Absolutely true.”

“Shall we not say the same is true of everything?”

“In what way?”

601d “That for each thing there are these three arts: the art of using it, of making it, and of imitating it.”

“Yes.”

“And do not the excellence, beauty, and correctness of every implement, living creature, and action refer to nothing but the use for which each is made or exists by nature?”

“That is so.”

“Then it must follow that the user of each thing has the most experience of it, and reports to the maker what in his use of it works well or badly. A flute player, for example, tells a flute maker 601e about the flutes that serve him in playing, and directs him as to what sort he should make; the maker obeys.”

“Of course.”

“Thus the one who knows reports on good and bad flutes, while the other makes them on the strength of his trust in him?”

“Yes.”

“So in regard to the same instrument the maker will have correct belief about its excellence and defects through his association with the one who knows and through being compelled 602a to listen to him, while the user will have knowledge.”

“Certainly.”

“And will the imitator have knowledge of what he depicts, whether it is beautiful and right or not, from using it? Or will he have correct belief from necessarily keeping company with the one who knows and receiving his instructions on what to depict?”

“Neither.”

“Then the imitator will neither know nor hold correct beliefs about the beauty or badness of what he imitates.”

“Apparently not.”

“How accomplished in wisdom the poetic imitator will be concerning the things he makes poems about!”

“Not very.”

602b “And yet he will imitate, knowing nothing of what makes each thing good or bad. What he will imitate, it seems, is what appears beautiful to the multitude, who know nothing either.”

“What else?”

“Then these points, at least, seem fairly well agreed between us: the imitator knows nothing worth mentioning about what he imitates; imitation is a kind of play, not serious work; and those who undertake tragic poetry, whether in iambic verse or epic, are imitators through and through.”

“Certainly.”

602c “By Zeus,” I said, “is this act of imitation not concerned with something three removes from the truth?”

“Yes.”

“And on what part of the human being does it exert the power it possesses?”

“What part do you mean?”

“This kind of thing: the same size does not appear equal to our sight when viewed close by and far away.”

“No, it does not.”

“And the same objects appear bent or straight when seen in water and out of it; hollow things appear convex because our vision is again deceived about colors. Clearly there is all this confusion 602d in our soul. It is this condition in our nature that perspective painting exploits, with enchantments rivaling any magic show, and so do conjuring and many other devices of the kind.”

“True.”

“Yet have not measuring, counting, and weighing proved to be most welcome aids against them, so that what rules within us is not what appears larger or smaller or more numerous or heavier, but the part that calculates and measures or even weighs?”

“Of course.”

602e “And that would surely be the work of the reasoning part of the soul.”

“It would indeed.”

“But though it has often measured and announced that certain things are larger or smaller than others, or equal to them, the opposite appears to it at the same time concerning those very things.”

“Yes.”

“And did we not say that it is impossible for the same part to hold opposite beliefs about the same things at the same time?”

“And rightly so.”

595a “And yet,” I said, “many other things make me think we were right to found the city as we did. I say this especially when I think about poetry.”

“What about it?” he asked.

“Our refusal to admit any part of poetry that imitates things. Now that we have distinguished the parts 595b of the soul, it seems clearer to me than ever that we must not admit it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can say it to you, since you won’t report me to the tragedians and all the other imitators. Such works seem to damage the minds of listeners who do not have the antidote: knowing what those works really are.”

“What are you thinking of when you say that?” he asked.

“I must say it,” I replied. “Though my affection and respect for Homer since childhood hold me back. 595c He seems to have been the first teacher and leader of all these fine tragic poets. But we must not value a man above the truth. So, as I said, I must speak.”

“Of course,” he said.

“Listen, then. Or rather, answer my questions.”

“Ask them.”

“Can you tell me what imitation in general is? I don’t really understand what it is supposed to be myself.”

“And you expect me to understand it?” he asked.

“There’s nothing strange in that,” I said. “People with poor eyesight often 596a see something before people with sharp eyesight do.”

“That happens,” he said. “But with you here, I couldn’t bring myself to say what I think I see. Look into it yourself.”

“Would you like us to start with our usual method of inquiry? We generally set down one Form for each group of many things to which we give the same name. Do you follow?”

“I do.”

“Take any such group you like. For example, 596b there are many beds and tables.”

“Of course.”

“But there are two Forms for these objects: one of a bed and one of a table.”

“Yes.”

“And we usually say that a craftsman looks to the Form of each object as he makes the beds or tables we use. We say the same of other objects. No craftsman makes the Form itself. How could he?”

“He couldn’t.”

“Now see what you would call this other craftsman.” 596c

“Which one?”

“The one who makes everything each individual craftsman makes.”

“You mean a remarkable and amazing man.”

“Just wait; you’ll find him even more remarkable. This same craftsman can make every manufactured object. He also makes everything that grows from the earth and every living creature, including himself. Beyond that, he makes earth and heaven, the gods, everything in heaven, and everything beneath the earth in Hades.” 596d

“You mean a truly amazing magician,” he said.

“Don’t you believe it?” I asked. “Tell me, do you think no such maker could possibly exist? Or could someone make all these things in one way, though not in another? Don’t you realize that you yourself could make them all in a certain way?”

“What way is that?” he asked.

“It isn’t hard,” I said. “It can be done in many ways and quickly. The quickest way, perhaps, is to take a mirror 596e and carry it around. You will quickly make the sun and the things in the sky. You will quickly make the earth, yourself, the other animals, objects, plants, and everything we mentioned just now.”

“Yes,” he said, “their appearances, but not the real things.”

“Good,” I said. “Your answer comes at exactly the right point. I think the painter is one of these makers. Isn’t he?”

“Of course.”

“But you will say, I suppose, that the things he makes are not real. Still, in a way the painter makes a bed, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” he said, “but only a bed that appears to be there.”

“597a What about the bed-maker? Didn’t you just say that he makes not the Form, which we say is what a bed really is, but a particular bed?”

“I did.”

“So if he does not make what really is, he does not make the real thing. He makes something like it, but not reality itself. If someone said that the product of a bed-maker or any other craftsman was fully real, he probably would not be speaking truly.”

“Not according to people who spend time on these arguments,” he said.

“Then let’s not be surprised if even the bed-maker’s product is faint compared with reality.” 597b

“No, let’s not.”

“Would you like us to use these examples to find out what an imitator is?” I asked.

“If you like,” he said.

“Then there are three kinds of beds. One exists in nature, and I think we could say a god made it. Who else would have?”

“No one, I think.”

“Another is the one made by the carpenter.”

“Yes,” he said.

“And another by the painter, right?”

“Let’s say so.”

“So the painter, the bed-maker, and the god each have charge of one of these three kinds of beds.”

“Yes, all three.” 597c

“Now the god, either because he did not want to or because some necessity kept him from making more than one bed in nature, made only that one bed, the thing a bed really is. The god has not made two or more of those, and never will.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because,” I said, “if he made just two, one more Form would appear which both of them would share. That one, not the two, would be what a bed really is.”

“Right,” he said. 597d

“I think the god knew that. He wanted to be the maker of a bed that truly exists, not the maker of some particular bed. So he brought into being just the one bed in nature.”

“That seems so.”

“Shall we call him its creator in nature, or something of the sort?”

“That seems fair,” he said, “since he made this and everything else in nature.”

“What shall we call the carpenter? Isn’t he the maker of a bed?”

“Yes.”

“Is the painter also a maker and producer of such a thing?”

“Not at all.”

“What, then, would you say he is in relation to a bed?” 597e

“I think the fairest name for him,” he said, “would be an imitator of what the others make.”

“Well then,” I said, “you call him an imitator of the product that stands third from the natural thing?”

“Exactly,” he said.

“So if the tragic poet is an imitator, he too stands third from the king and the truth. The same goes for every other imitator.”

“That appears to follow.”

“We agree, then, about the imitator. But tell me this about 598a the painter. Do you think he tries to imitate each thing as it exists in nature, or the things craftsmen make?”

“What craftsmen make,” he said.

“As they are, or as they appear? Make that distinction too.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Think of a bed. If you look at it from the side, from the front, or from anywhere else, does the bed itself change? Or does it stay the same but look different? And isn’t that true of other things too?”

“Yes,” he said. “It looks different, but it doesn’t change.” 598b

“Now consider this. What does painting aim to imitate about each thing: what really exists as it is, or what appears as it appears? Does it imitate appearance or truth?”

“Appearance,” he said.

“So imitation must be a long way from the truth. Apparently it can make everything because it touches only a small part of each thing, and that part is an image. A painter, for example, will paint a shoemaker, a carpenter, or any other craftsman 598c without understanding any of their crafts. But if he is a good painter and shows his picture of a carpenter from a distance, he will fool children and foolish people into thinking it is a real carpenter.”

“Of course.”

“But, my friend, I think we must keep this in mind in every such case. Suppose someone tells us he has met a person who knows all the crafts and everything else that any individual knows, with more exact knowledge than 598d anyone else. We should tell him he is naive. He must have met a magician and imitator who deceived him into thinking the man knew everything. He could not tell the difference between knowledge, ignorance, and imitation.”

“That is absolutely true,” he said.

“Then,” I said, “we must next examine tragedy and its leader, Homer. We hear some people say these poets know all the crafts, all human matters concerning virtue and vice, and even divine matters. They argue that a good poet must know what he writes about to write well. Otherwise he could not write about it. 598e We must ask whether the people who meet these imitators have been fooled. When they see their works, 599a do they fail to notice that the works stand three steps away from reality and are easy to make without knowing the truth, since they make appearances and not real things? Or are these people saying something valid? Do good poets actually know the subjects that most people think they speak about so well?”

“We certainly must examine that,” he said.

“Suppose someone could make both the real thing to be imitated and its image. Do you think he would devote himself to making images? Would he make it 599b the work of his life, as if it were the best he could do?”

“No, I don’t.”

“But if he really understood the things he imitated, I think he would take the real work much more seriously than its imitation. He would try to leave behind many fine works as memorials of himself. He would rather be the person praised than the person doing the praising.”

“I think so,” he said. “The honor and the benefit are not equal.”

“Then let’s not demand an account from Homer 599c or any other poet about all the other subjects. We need not ask whether any of them was a real doctor instead of someone who merely imitated a doctor’s words. We need not ask whom any poet, ancient or modern, is said to have healed, as Asclepius healed people, or what students of medicine he left behind, as Asclepius left his descendants. Nor do we need to question them about other crafts. Let those go. But Homer tries to speak about the greatest and finest matters: wars, military leadership, governing cities, 599d and educating people. So it is fair to ask him: ‘My friend Homer, if you are not three steps from the truth about virtue, a maker of images, as we defined an imitator, but are instead at the second step, and if you could tell what practices make people better or worse in private and public life, tell us which city was better governed because of you. Sparta was better governed because of Lycurgus, and many cities, large and small, were better governed because of many others. 599e Which city credits you with being a good lawgiver who helped it? Italy and Sicily credit Charondas, and we credit Solon. Who credits you?’ Will he be able to name one?”

“I don’t think so,” said Glaucon. “Not even the Homeridae claim that he did.”

“600a Then is there any remembered war in Homer’s time that was fought well under his command or guidance?”

“None.”

“Is he credited with the many clever ideas for crafts or other practical matters that we expect from a wise man, as Thales of Miletus and Anacharsis the Scythian are?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“If he did not guide a city, is Homer said to have guided anyone’s education while he was alive? Did anyone love his company 600b and pass on a Homeric way of life to later generations? Pythagoras was especially loved for his teaching, and even now his followers call their way of life Pythagorean. They seem distinct from other people.”

“No such thing is said of Homer either,” he replied. “His companion Creophylus, Socrates, might seem even more ridiculous in his education than in his name, if what people say about Homer is true. They say Creophylus neglected 600c Homer badly while Homer was alive.”

“So they say,” I replied. “But Glaucon, if Homer really could educate people and make them better, because he had knowledge of these matters rather than merely the ability to imitate them, don’t you think he would have made many companions who honored and loved him? Protagoras of Abdera, Prodicus of Ceos, and many others can meet privately with people of their day 600d and persuade them that they cannot run their own households or cities unless these teachers oversee their education. Their companions love them so much for this wisdom that they practically carry them on their shoulders. But if Homer or Hesiod could really help people become virtuous, would people in their time have let them wander around reciting poetry? Wouldn’t they have held on to them more tightly than to gold and made them stay in their homes? And if they could not persuade them, wouldn’t they have followed them wherever they went 600e until they had received enough education?”

“I think every word of that is true, Socrates,” he said.

“Then shall we say that all poets, beginning with Homer, imitate images of virtue and of every other subject they write about, but never reach the truth? It is like what we just said of the painter. He can make a picture of a shoemaker that looks 601a like one, although he knows nothing about shoemaking, and those who look at its colors and shapes know nothing about it either.”

“Certainly.”

“In the same way, I think we will say that the poet uses words and phrases to paint over the various crafts with their colors. He knows nothing about them beyond how to imitate them. Others who know as little as he does listen to the words and think he speaks very well, whether he talks about shoemaking in meter, rhythm, and melody, or about military leadership, or anything 601b else. These things naturally have a powerful charm. But I think you know what poets’ words look like when stripped of the colors of music and spoken on their own. You have seen that, haven’t you?”

“I have,” he said.

“Don’t they look like faces that were attractive in their youth but never truly beautiful, once their youthful bloom has left them?”

“Exactly,” he said.

“Come, look at this. We say that the maker of an image, the imitator, knows nothing about what really exists. He knows only what appears. Is that right?” 601c

“Yes.”

“Then let’s not leave the matter half said. Let’s examine it properly.”

“Go on,” he said.

“We say a painter can paint reins and a bit?”

“Yes.”

“But the leatherworker and the metalworker make them?”

“Certainly.”

“Does the painter know what reins and bit should be like? Or do even their makers, the metalworker and the leatherworker, lack that knowledge, while only the person who knows how to use them has it—the horseman?”

“That is quite true.”

“Shall we say the same holds for everything?”

“How?” 601d

“For each thing there are three arts: using it, making it, and imitating it.”

“Yes.”

“And the excellence, beauty, and correctness of any object, animal, or action relate to the use for which it was made or came into being, don’t they?”

“They do.”

“So the user of each thing must know it best. He must report to its maker what works well or badly in use. For example, the flute-player will tell the flute-maker 601e which flutes work for playing, and instruct him what kind to make. The maker will follow his instructions.”

“Of course.”

“So the person who knows will report which flutes are good or bad, and the maker will trust him and make them?”

“Yes.”

“Then the maker will have correct belief about whether the object is good or bad because he works with the person who knows and must listen to him. The user, though, has knowledge.” 602a

“Exactly.”

“Will the imitator have knowledge from using the things he paints, so that he knows whether they are good and correct or not? Or will he have correct belief because he must work with someone who knows and takes instruction about what to paint?”

“Neither.”

“So the imitator will neither know nor have correct beliefs about whether the things he imitates are good or bad.”

“Apparently not.”

“What fine wisdom about his subject a poet who imitates must have!”

“Not much.” 602b

“And yet he will go on imitating without knowing what makes each thing good or bad. Apparently he will imitate whatever looks fine to the crowd, who know nothing themselves.”

“What else would he imitate?”

“So it seems we have reached a fair agreement. The imitator knows nothing worth mentioning about what he imitates. Imitation is a kind of play, not serious work. And those who write tragedies in iambic verse or epic verse are all imitators to the greatest possible degree.”

“Certainly.” 602c

“By Zeus,” I said, “doesn’t imitation concern something three steps away from the truth?”

“Yes.”

“And on what part of a person does it have its effect?”

“What sort of part do you mean?”

“Here is what I mean. The same size does not look the same to us when seen from nearby and from a distance.”

“No.”

“And the same things look bent or straight when seen in water or out of it. Things look hollow or raised because our eyes are misled by colors. This shows that our souls contain all kinds of confusion. 602d Illusionistic painting takes advantage of this weakness in our nature and leaves nothing undone in its deception. So do conjuring tricks and many other such devices.”

“True.”

“But don’t measuring, counting, and weighing turn out to be excellent ways to help us against these effects? They keep what seems bigger or smaller, more numerous or heavier, from ruling us. Instead, the part that calculates, measures, or weighs takes control.”

“Of course.” 602e

“And that is the work of the reasoning part of the soul.”

“Yes.”

“But after that part has measured things several times and says that some are larger or smaller than others, or equal to them, the opposite appears to it at the same time about those same things.”

“Yes.”

“And didn’t we say that the same part cannot hold opposite beliefs about the same things at the same time?”

“We did, and rightly so.”