Plato's Republic in Scots

Book Three, Part One 

Socrates - ADEIMANTUS

Richt sae, I says, are oor principles o' godly things - some tales are for tellin', an' ithers are best left unsaid tae oor disciples frae bairnheid on, gin we want them tae gie honour tae the gods an' their parents, an' value freendship wi' ilk ither.

Aye, an' I think oor principles are richt, says he.

But gin they are tae be bauld, disnae it staund tae reason they maun learn ither lessons naur thir, an' lessons o' a kind that'll tak awa' the feir o' deein'? Can ony mon be bauld wha hauds the feir o' deein' inside him?

Nae doot, says he.

An' can he be fearless o' deein', or wad he choose death in battle rather than defeat an' thralldom, wha believes the warld below tae be real an' fearsome?

Impossible.

Then we maun assume control o'er the storytellers o' this ilk o' tale as weel as the ithers, an' plead wi' them no simply tae tell thir stories, but tae gie a braw sicht o' the warld below, lettin' them ken that their descriptions are lees, an' will dae harm tae oor future warriors.

That'll be oor duty, says he.

Then, I says, we'll hae tae punge oot a wheen o' irksome passages, beginnin' wi' the verses, I wid raither be a serf on the laund o' a puir an' pairtless man than rule ower aa the deid wha hae come tae naethin'. We maun an aa rax oot the verse that tells us hoo Pluto feared, 

Lest the hooses grim an' squalid that the gods abhor sud he be seen baith o' mortals an' immortals. An' again:

O heids! verily in the hoose o' Hades thare is saul an' ghaistly form but nae mind ava! Ance mair o' Tiresias: --

[Tae him even efter death did Persephone graunt thocht,] that he alane sud be wise; but the ither sauls are flichtern shades. Ance mair: --

The saul fleein' frae the limbs had gane tae Hades, lamentin' her fate, leavin' manhood an' youth. An' again: --

An' the saul, wi' a skreighin' cry, passed like smoke beneath the earth. An' aw, --

As bavies in the hollow o' a mystic cavern, whan ony o' them has drapt oot o' the string an' falls frae the rock, flee skreighin' an' dicht tae ilk ither, sae did they wi' skreighin' cry haud thegither as they moved. An' we maun plead wi' Homer an' the ither poets no tae be vexed gin we strike oot thir an' siclike passages, no acause they are unpoetical, or unappealin' tae the common ear, but acause the greater the poetry in them, the less are they meet for the lugs o' lads an' men that are meant tae be free, an' wha sud fecht slavery mair than deein'.

Absolutely.

An aa we'll need tae get rid o' aw the horrific and scary names that describe the world below - Cocytus and Styx, ghaists unner the earth, and lifeless shadows, and ony similar words that juist gie fowk the shudders richt tae their very core. I'm no sayin' that these horrible stories michtnae hae some kind o' purpose; but there's a danger that they could mak oor guardians' nerves ower excitable and wimpy.

There is a real danger o' that, he said.

Then we maun hae nae mair o' them.

True.

A different and mair noble sang needs tae be componed and sung by us.

Clearly.

And should we get rid o' the greetin' and wailin' o' famous men?

They'll go wi' the rest.

But will we be richt in gettin' rid o' them? Think aboot it: oor main idea is that a guid man will no see deith as somethin' terrible for ony ither guid man who is his pal.

Aye; that's oor main idea.

And therefore he willnae greet for his friend who's passed away as if somethin' awful had happened tae him?

He will not.

Sic a person, as we say on top o' that, is eneuch for himsel and his own happiness, and therefore is the least in need o' other fowk.

True, he said.

An' for this reason the loss o' a son or brither, or losin' his fortune, is the least terrible thing for him oot o' aw men.

Absolutely.

An' therefore he'll be least likely tae moan and cry, and will bear ony misfortune o' this kind that micht happen tae him wi' the greatest calmness.

Then we'll be right tae get rid o' the lamentin' o' famous men, and leave that tae wimmin (an no even tae the best kind o' wimmin), or tae men o' a lower sort, so that those who are bein' edjucaited by us tae be the defenders o' their kintra will think it's beneath them tae act like that.

That'll be absolutely the richt thing tae dae.

Then we'll ance mair ask Homer and the ither poets no tae depict Achilles, who is the son o' a goddess, first lyin' on his side, then on his back, and then on his face; then jumpin' up and rinnin' like a madman alang the shores o' the barren sea; then takin' the sooty ashes in baith his haunds and pourin' them ower his heid, or greetin' and wailin' in aw the different ways that Homer's described. Nor should he describe Priam, the relative o' the gods, as prayin' and beggin',

Rollin' in the dirt, callin' oot every man's name.  We'll plead wi' him even mair earnestly, at any rate, no tae introduce the gods wailin' and sayin',

"Och! Ma misery! Och! That I bore a bairn that only brought me sorrow!"  But if he must bring in the gods, at least let him no dae it in a way that completely misrepresents the greatest o' the gods, makin' him say somethin' like

"Heavens! Wi' ma ain eyes I see a dear friend o' mine bein' chased roon and roon the city, and ma heart is sair." Or again:

"Woe is me that I am fated tae see Sarpedon, dearest o' men tae me, bein' killed by Patroclus the son o' Menoetius."  Because, my dear Adeimantus, if oor young fowk tak these silly ideas aboot the gods seriously, instead o' laughin' at them like they should, then hardly any o' them will think that they themsels, bein' juist human, can be dishonoured by actin' the same wey. Neither will they try tae stop any urges they micht hae tae say and dae similar things. And instead o' havin' any shame or self-control, they'll juist be greetin' and whinin' aw the time ower wee things.

Aye, he said, that's absolutely true.

Aye, I replied; but that surely isnae what should happen, as oor argument has just shown us; and we gottae stick wi' that proof until someone comes up with a better yin.

It shouldnae happen.

Neither should oor guardians be folk who burst oot lauchin' a lot. Because a lauchin' fit that's been let gang ower far nearly always leads tae a really bad mood afterwards.

So I believe.

Then fowk o' worth, even if they're juist mortal men, shouldnae be shown as bein' overcome by lauchter, and there's even less room for showin' the gods like that.

Even less o' the gods, as you say, he replied.

Then we cannae tolerate them sayin' things like Homer whit describes the gods as havin':

"Never-endin' laughter arose amang the blessed gods, whan they saw Hephaestus wallopin' aboot the hoose."  Accordin' tae yer view o' things, we cannae alloo them stories.

On yer view, if ye like tae gie them tae me; that we cannae alloo them is certain.

Again, truth should be valued highly; if, as we were sayin', a lie is useless tae the gods, and only useful as a medicine tae fowk, then the usin' o' sic medicines should be restricted tae doctors; ordinary fowk hiv nae business wi' them.

Clearly not, he said.

Then if onybody at all is tae hae the privilege o' lyin', the rulers o' the state should be the anes; and they, in their dealings either wi' enemies or wi' their ain citizens, micht be allowed tae lie for the public good. But nae yin else should meddle wi' onything o' the kind; and although the rulers hae this privilege, for an ordinary person tae lie tae them in return is tae be seen as a waur fault than for a patient or a lad trainin' at the gym no tae tell the truth aboot his ain body's illnesses tae the doctor or the trainer, or for a sailor no tae tell the captain whit's happenin' aboot the ship and the rest o' the crew, and how things are goin' wi' himsel or his fellow sailors.

Absolutely true, he said.

If, then, the ruler catches onybody else lyin' in the state, be it

Any o' the tradesmen, whether a priest or a doctor or a carpenter, he will punish them for bringin' in a practice that is equally damagin' and destructive tae a ship or a state.

Absolutely, he said, if oor idea o' the state is ever pit intae practice.

The next thing is, oor young fowk need tae be temperate?

Certainly.

Arenae the main things aboot temperance, speakin' generally, obeyin' orders and havin' self-control when it comes tae bodily pleasures?

True.

Then we'll approve o' language like that o' Diomede in Homer, wha says:

"Friend, sit still and dae as I say," and the verses that come after that:

"The Greeks marched breathin' prowess,

...in silent respect for their leaders," and ither sentiments o' the same kind.

We will approve o' them.

What aboot this line,

"O heavy wi' wine, wha hast the eyes o' a dug and the heart o' a stag," and the words that come efter? Wid ye say that these, or ony similar rudenesses that ordinary fowk are supposed tae address tae their rulers, whether in verse or prose, are weel-spoken or ill-spoken?

They are ill-spoken.

They micht gie a wee bit o' amusement, but they dinnae help folk be temperate. An that means they're likely tae be bad for oor young men - ye wid agree wi' me there?

Aye.

An then again, tae mak the wisest o' men say that naething in his opinion is mair glorious than

"Whin the tables are fu' o' breid and meat, and the wine waiter carries roon wine that he draws fae the bowl and pours intae the cups," is it richt or helpful for a young man tae hear sic things? Or the verse that says

"The saddest o' fates is tae die and meet yer destiny fae hunger?" Whit wid ye say again aboot the story o' Zeus, wha, while ither gods and men were sleepin' and he wis the only yin awake, wis makin' plans, but forgot them aw in a blink o' an ee through his lust, and wis so owercome at the sicht o' Hera that he widnae even gang intae the hut, but juist wanted tae lie wi' her on the grund, declarin' that he'd never been in sic a state o' bliss afore, even whan they first met

"Unavaled by their parents"; or that ither story o' hoo Hephaestus, because o' similar goings on, threw a chain roon Ares and Aphrodite?

Indeed, he said, I hae a strong opinion that they shouldnae hear that kind o' thing.

But ony acts o' perseverance that are dune or telt aboot by famous men, these they should see and hear; for example, whit is said in the verses,

"He hit his breast, and this wey telt aff his hert,

bide strong, my hert; ye've borne waur than this!"

Certainly, he said.

The next thing is, we cannae let them be the kind that tak bribes or are greedy for siller.

Absolutely not.

Neither can we sing tae them aboot

"Gifts win ower the gods, and win ower reverend kings." Neither is Phoenix, the teacher o' Achilles, tae be approved o' or considered tae hae gien his pupil guid advice whan he telt him that he should tak the gifts o' the Greeks and help them; but that withoot a gift he shouldnae put aside his anger. Neither will we believe or accept that Achilles himsel wis sic a lover o' siller that he took Agamemnon's gift or that whan he'd gotten payment he returned the body o' Hector, but that withoot payment he wisna willin' tae dae it.

Absolutely, he said, these arenae feelings that we can approve o'.

Lovin' Homer as much as I dae, it's no easy for me tae say that whan he gies these emotions tae Achilles, or whan he believes that they truly belong tae him, he's bein' downright impious. As little can I believe the story o' his rudeness tae Apollo, whaur he says,

"Ye've wronged me, O far-shanter, maist abominable o' deities. Verily I wid dae the same tae ye, if I only had the power," or his disobedience tae the river god, wha's divinity he seems ready tae disrespect; or his offerin' o' his ain hair tae the deid Patroclus, which wis juist dedicated tae the ither river god Spercheius, and that he actually went through wi' this vow; or that he dragged Hector roon the tomb o' Patroclus, and killed the captives at the pyre; I cannae believe that he wis guilty o' any o' that, any mair than I wid allow oor fowk tae believe that he, the wise Cheiron's student, the son o' a goddess and o' Peleus who wis the gentlest o' men and third in line fae Zeus, wis so oot o' his mind that he wis at ae time a slave tae twa seemingly contradictory emotions, meanness, no untainted by greed, combined wi' an overweenin' contempt for gods and men.

You're absolutely richt, he replied.

An let's no believe either, or allow it tae be repeated again, the story o' Theseus son o' Poseidon, or o' Peirithous son o' Zeus, gaun oot as they did tae commit a horrific rape; or o' ony ither hero or son o' a god darin' tae dae sic impious and dreadful things as they falsely claim they did back then: and let us further compel the poets tae declare either that these acts wurnae dune by them, or that they wurnae the sons o' gods; they winnae be allowed tae say baith things at ance. We winnae hae them tryin' tae convince oor young fowk that the gods are the cause o' evil, and that heroes are nae better than men - ideas which, as we were sayin', are neither pious nor true, for we've already proven that evil cannae come fae the gods.

Absolutely not.

An further they're likely tae hae a bad influence on those who hear them; for everybody will start makin' excuses for their ain vices whan they're convinced that similar wickedness is always bein' committed by --

"The kin o' the gods, the relatives o' Zeus, whase ancestral altar, the altar o' Zeus, is up in the air on the peak o' Ida, and wha hae the blood o' deities yet rinnin' in their veins." An therefore let's put an end tae sic stories, lest they gie rise tae lax morals amang the young fowk.

Absolutely, he replied.

But now that we're decidin' what kinds o' subjects can or cannae be spoken o', let's see if we've missed onything. The way gods and demigods and heroes and the world below should be treated has already been laid down.

Very true.

An what shall we say aboot humans? That's clearly the rest o' oor subject.

Clearly so.

But we're no in a position tae answer this question at the present time, my friend.

Why no?  Because, if I'm no mistaken, we'll need tae say that poets and storytellers are guilty o' makin' the biggest lees aboot fowk whan they tell us that evil men are often happy, and the good ones miserable; and that bein' unjust is profitable if ye dinnae get caught, but that bein' just is a loss for yersel and a gain for someone else  - we'll forbid them tae say things like that, and tell them tae sing and say the opposite.

Aye, absolutely, he replied.

But if ye agree that I'm richt aboot this, then I wid say that ye've implied the main idea we've been talkin' aboot aa this time.

I agree that that's a fair conclusion.

Whether or not these things can be said aboot humans is something we cannae decide until we figure oot whit justice is, and hoo important it naturally is tae the person who has it, whether they seem just or no.

Absolutely true, he said.

We've spoken enough aboot the subjects o' poetry; noo let's talk aboot the style o' writin'; and ance we've considered that, then we'll hae covered baith the content and the way it's written.

I dinnae understand whit ye mean, said Adeimantus.

Then I need tae try an' make ye understand; and maybe it'll be easier if I put it this wey. Ye ken, I imagine, that aw mythology and poetry is a tellin' o' events, either past, present, or future?

Certainly, he replied.

An the tellin' can be either a straightforward story, or an imitation, or a mixin' o' the twa?

That again, he said, I dinnae quite grasp.

I fear I must be a rubbish teacher if I'm havin' so much trouble gettin' ye tae understand me. Sae, like a bad speaker, I winnae tak the whole topic, but I'll jist break off a wee bit tae gie ye an example o' whit I mean. Ye ken the first lines o' the Iliad, whaur the poet says that Chryses prayed Agamemnon tae let his dochter go, and that Agamemnon got in a right state wi' him; then Chryses, havin' failed tae get whit he wanted, begged the god tae get revenge on the Greeks. Noo, as far as these lines:

"An he prayed aw the Greeks, but especially the twa sons o' Atreus, the chiefs o' the fowk,"

the poet is speakin' in his ain voice; he never tries tae make us think he's someone else. But then efter that, he taks on the role o' Chryses, and then he dis everything he can tae mak us believe that the speaker isnae Homer, but the auld priest himsel. An in this double form he's cast the entire story o' the events that happened at Troy and in Ithaca and throughout the Odyssey.

Aye.

An it still remains a story baith in the speeches that the poet tells us every noo and then and in the bits in between?

Absolutely true.

But whan the poet speaks in the voice o' someone else, cannae we say that he's adjustin' his style o' writin' tae match the person who, as he tells ye, is gaun tae speak?

An this tryin' tae be someone else, either by usin' their voice or their gestures, is imitatin' the person whose character he's takin' on?

Of course.

Then in this case, the poet's story can be said tae move forward by imitatin'?

Absolutely true.

Or, if the poet is always there and never hides himsel, then the imitatin' stops, and his poetry becomes a straightforward story. However, so that I can mak' my meanin' absolutely clear, and so that ye cannae say any mair, "I dinnae understand," I'll show ye hoo the change micht work. If Homer had said, "The priest came, havin' his dochter's ransom in his hands, beggin' the Greeks, and especially the kings;" and then if, instead o' speakin' in the voice o' Chryses, he had kept speakin' in his ain voice, then the words widnae hae been imitatin', but jist a straightforward story. The passage wid hae gone somethin' like this (I'm no poet, and so I'm no gonnae bother wi' meter), "The priest came and prayed tae the gods on behalf o' the Greeks that they micht capture Troy and return safely hame, but begged that they wid gie him back his dochter, and tak the ransom that he brought, and respect the God. Sae he spoke, and the other Greeks respected the priest and agreed. But Agamemnon wis angry, and telt him tae leave and no come back again, lest the staff and chaplets o' the God should be o' nae use tae him - the dochter o' Chryses widnae be let go, he said - she wid grow auld wi' him in Argos. An then he telt him tae gang awa' and no tae mak him angry, if he wanted tae get hame without bein' hurt. And the auld man went awa' in fear and silence, and, when he had left the camp, he cried oot tae Apollo by his many names, remindin' him o' everything that he had done tae please him, whether in biggin' his temples, or in offerin' sacrifice, and prayin' that his good deeds micht be returned tae him, and that the Greeks micht pay for his tears wi' the arrows o' the god," - and so on. This wey the whole thing becomes a straightforward story.

I understand, he said.

Or ye can imagine the opposite situation - that the bits in between are left oot, and only the dialogue remains.

That too, he said, I understand; ye mean, for example, as in a tragedy.

Ye've grasped my meanin' perfectly; and if I'm no mistaken, whit ye didnae understand before is noo clear tae ye, that poetry and mythology are, in some cases, completely imitatin' - examples o' this are provided by tragedy and comedy; there's also the opposite style, in which the poet is the only speaker - a dithyramb is the best example o' this; and the combination o' baith is found in epic poetry, and in several other styles o' poetry. Are ye wi' me sae far?

Aye, I see noo what ye meant, he said.

I wid ask ye tae mind aa the time whit I said at the beginnin', that we were finished wi' the subject matter and could move on tae the style o' writin'.

Aye, I mind.

By sayin' this, I wis suggestin' that we need tae come tae an understandin' aboot the airt o' imitation - whether we're gaun tae allow the poets, whan they tell their stories, tae imitate things, and if sae, whether they can dae it aw the time or jist some o' the time, and if it's juist some o' the time, then whilk bits; or should imitatin' no be allowed at all?

Ye mean, I wid guess, tae ask whether tragedies and comedies should be allowed in oor state?

Aye, I said; but there micht be mair tae it than that: I truly dinnae ken yet whaur this argument micht tak us, but wherever it goes, we'll follow.

And follow we will, he said.

Then, Adeimantus, let me ask ye whether oor guardians should be imitators; or rather, hasn't this question already been answered by the rule we made earlier, that yin person can only dae yin thing weel, and no a wheen o' things; and that if they try a wheen o' things, they'll end up no bein' that guid at any o' them?

Absolutely.

An this is just as true for imitatin'; nae yin person can imitate a wheen o' things as weel as they could dae yin thing?

They cannae.

Then the same person wid hardly be able tae play a serious role in life, and at the same time be an imitator and dae a whole lot o' ither imitations as weel; for even whan twa kinds o' imitatin' are fairly similar, the same fowk cannae succeed in baith, like for example, the writers o' tragedies and comedies - didnae ye jist say thir are imitations?

Aye, I did; and you're richt thinkin' that the same fowk cannae be good at baith.

Any mair than they can be rhapsodists and actors aw at ance?

True.

Neither are comic and tragic actors the same; yet aw these things are jist imitations.

They are that.

An human nature, Adeimantus, seems tae hae been split up intae even wee-er bits, and tae be jist as incapable o' imitatin' a wheen o' things weel, as o' doin' weel the things that thir imitations are copies o'.

Quite true, he replied.

If then we stick tae oor original idea and keep in mind that oor guardians, forgettin' aboot every ither job, are tae dedicate themselves completely tae keepin' freedom in the state, makin' this their skill, and no doin' any wark that disnae hae somethin' tae dae wi' this goal, they shouldnae practise or imitate anythin' else; if they dae dae any imitatin' at all, they should only imitate frae bein' young weans up things that are suitable for their job - the courageous, temperate, holy, free, and things like that; but they shouldnae try tae portray or be skilled at imitatin' any kin o' meanness or baseness, in case imitatin' it micht mak them turn intae the things they're imitatin'. Did ye never notice hoo imitatin' things, startin' in yer early years and gaun on far intae life, eventually becomes habits and turns intae a second nature, affectin' yer body, voice, and mind?

Aye, absolutely, he said.

Then, I said, we winnae alloo thoae for wha we say we care aboot and wha we say should be guid fowk, tae imitate a wumman, whether young or auld, arguin' wi' her husband, or fechtin' and darin' the gods thinkin' she's so happy, or whan she's in trouble, or sadness, or greetin'; and certainly no if she's sick, in love, or in labour.

Very richt, he said.

Neither should they pretend tae be slaves, men or weemen, doin' the jobs o' slaves?

They mustnae dae that.

And surely no bad men, whether cowards or ony ithers, wha dae the opposite o' whit we've jist been sayin', wha rant or mock or gie oot aboot ithers whan they've had a drink or whan they havena, or wha in ony ither wey sin against themsels and their neebours in word or deed, as is the wey o' sic fowk. Neither should they be trained tae imitate the actions or speech o' men or weemen wha are mad or bad; for madness, like wickedness, is something ye should ken aboot but no dae yersel or try tae imitate.

Very true, he replied.

Neither can they imitate blacksmiths or ither craftsfolk, or oarsmen, or ship's officers, or the like?

Hoo can they, he said, since they're no allowed tae pit their minds tae the wark o' ony o' these fowk?

Nor can they imitate the neighin' o' horses, the bellowin' o' bulls, the murmur o' rivers and crash o' the ocean, thunner, and aw that kin o' thing?

Weel, he said, if madness is somethin' they're no allowed tae dae, then neither can they copy the behaviour o' mad fowk.

Ye mean, I said, if I understand ye richt, that there's yin wey o' tellin' a story that a truly guid man can use whan he has somethin' tae say, and anither wey that a man o' the opposite character and upbringing will use?

And whilk are these twa weys? he asked.

Suppose, I answered, that a juist and guid man in the coorse o' tellin' a story comes across some sayin' or action o' anither guid man, I wid imagine that he'd like tae act like him, and widnae be ashamed o' this kin o' imitation: he wid be maist wantin' tae play the part o' the guid man whan he's actin' firmly and wisely; less so whan he's been hit by sickness or love or drink, or has met wi' ony ither disaster. But whan he comes tae a character that's no worthy o' him, he winnae mak a study o' that; he'll look doon on sic a person, and will only act like him for a wee minute at the maist, if he does it at all, whan he's performin' some guid action; at ither times he'll be ashamed tae play a part that he's never practised, nor will he like tae shape and mak himsel efter the waur models; he feels that usin' sic an airt, unless it's jist for a laugh, is beneath him, and his mind hates the thocht o' it.

Sae that's whit I wid expect, he replied.

Then he'll adopt a wey o' tellin' a story that's like the yin we talked aboot frae Homer, that is tae say, his style will be baith imitatin' and tellin' a story; but there'll be very little o' the imitatin' and a wheen o' the actual storytellin'. Dis ye agree?

Certainly, he said; that's the model that sic a speaker maun necessarily tak.

But there's anither kind o' character wha will tell onything as a story, and the waur the lie is, the less scruple he'll hae; naething will be ower bad for him: and he'll be ready tae imitate onything, no as a blether, but in a' seriousness, and in front o' a big crowd. As I wis jist sayin', he'll try tae copy the rumble o' thunner, the noise o' wind and hail, or the screakin' o' wheels, and pulleys, and the different sounds o' flutes, pipes, trumpets, and aw sorts o' instruments: he'll bark like a dug, bleat like a sheep, or craw like a cock; his whole skill will be in imitatin' voices and gestures, and there'll be very little actual storytellin'.

That, he said, will be his wey o' speakin'.

These, then, are the twa weys o' writin'?

Aye.

And ye wid agree wi' me in sayin' that yin o' them is straightforward and only changes a wee bit; and if the harmony and rhythm are an aa chosen for their simplicity, the result is that the speaker, if he speaks correctly, is ay mair or less the same in style, and he'll stick tae yin particular harmony (for the changes are nae that big), and in the same wey he'll uise mair or less the same rhythm?

That's quite true, he said.

Whereas the other needs aw sorts o' harmonies and aw sorts o' rhythms, if the music and the style are tae match up, because the style has aw sorts o' changes.

That's aa perfectly true, he replied.

An dinnae the twa styles, or the mixin' o' the twa, cover aw poetry, and every wey o' expressin' yersel wi' words? Nae yin can say onything except in yin or the ither o' them or in baith thegither.

They cover it aw, he said.

An should we accept intae oor state aw the three styles, or only yin o' the twa unmixed styles? Or wid ye include the mixed style an aa?

I wid prefer only tae alloo the pure imitator o' virtue.

Aye, I said, Adeimantus, but the mixed style is aa very charmin' an aa: and in fact the pantomime, which is the opposite o' the yin ye've chosen, is the maist popular style wi' weans and their carers, and wi' the hale world in general.

I dinnae deny it.

But I wid imagine ye wid argue that sic a style isnae suitable for oor state, whaur human nature isnae twa-fauld or mony-fauld, for yin man only plays yin part?

Aye, absolutely unsuitable.

An this is the reason why in oor state, and in oor state only, we'll find a shoomaker tae be a shoomaker and no a pilot an aa, and a fermer tae be a fermer and no a judge an aa, and a sodger tae be a sodger and no a tradesman an aa, and the same wey aw thegither?

True, he said.

An so whan ony o' these pantomime folk, wha are sae clever that they can imitate onything, comes tae us, and makes a suggestion tae show aff himsel and his poetry, we'll bow down and worship him as a braw and holy and wunnerfu bein'; but we maun aa tell him that sic as him arenae allowed tae exist in oor state; the law winnae alloo them. An sae when we've anointed him wi' myrrh, and pit a wul garland on his heid, we'll send him awa' tae anither city. For we mean tae employ for oor souls' health the mair dour and sterner poet or storyteller, wha will imitate only the style o' the virtuous, and will follow thae models that we laid oot at the beginnin' whan we startit trainin' oor sodgers.

We certainly will, he said, if we hae the power.

Then noo, my friend, I said, that part o' music or literary education that relates tae the story or myth can be considered tae be finished; for baith the subject matter and the wey it's done hae been discussed.

I think sae an aa, he said.

Next in order comes melody and sang.

That's clear.

Everyone can see already whit we should say aboot them, if we're gaun tae be consistent wi' oorsels.

‍