Reading Plato’s take on poetry in 'The Republic' felt like a personal attack at first—I love epic poems and tragedies. But his logic is hard to ignore. He sees poetry as a threat to his perfect society because it’s all about imitation. A bed made by a carpenter imitates the ideal 'Form' of a bed, and a painting of that bed is just copying the copy. Poetry does the same with life, creating layers of falsehood.
Plato also hates how poetry plays with emotions. He argues that when we watch a tragic hero weep, we start to see grief as noble instead of irrational. This undermines self-control, a virtue his philosopher-kings must have. Even comedy gets flak for encouraging ridicule. It’s not that Plato hates art; he fears its power to shape values.
Yet, his solution—banning poets—seems unrealistic. Without Homer, Greek culture would’ve lost its foundation. And isn’t storytelling how we learn empathy? Maybe Plato’s real target wasn’t poetry but bad influences. Today, we debate violent video games or toxic social media the same way. His critique reminds us to question what art we consume, not just enjoy it mindlessly.
I’ve always been fascinated by how Plato’s 'The Republic' tackles the role of art in society, especially in Book 10. His critique of poetry is brutal but thought-provoking. Plato argues that poetry is a mere imitation of reality, making it twice removed from the truth. He compares poets to painters who create copies of physical objects, which are themselves copies of the ideal Forms. This makes poetry deceptive, as it distracts people from seeking genuine knowledge.
Plato also attacks poetry’s emotional appeal, claiming it stirs up irrational passions that weaken the soul. He fears tragic poetry, for example, encourages audiences to indulge in grief or anger instead of cultivating reason. For him, a just society must prioritize philosophy over poetry because only philosophy leads to true understanding. While I adore poetry’s beauty, I can’t ignore Plato’s point about its potential to mislead. His ideas make me question whether art should serve truth or just entertain.
Plato’s dismissal of poetry in 'The Republic' Book 10 is one of the most controversial takes in philosophy. He doesn’t just criticize bad poetry—he condemns the entire art form as dangerous. His first major argument is the Theory of Forms: poets imitate the physical world, which is already an imitation of the eternal Forms. This makes poetry a copy of a copy, a shadow of reality. To Plato, this distances people from truth, trapping them in illusions.
His second critique hits harder: poetry corrupts the soul. He uses Homer’s epics as an example, saying they depict gods and heroes as flawed, emotional beings. This sets a bad example for citizens, especially the young. Plato believes poetry fuels irrationality by glorifying emotions like rage or sorrow. In his ideal society, only stories that promote courage, moderation, and reason should be allowed.
What’s wild is how relevant this feels today. Think about how movies or music can manipulate emotions. Plato would probably rage against TikTok dramas or binge-worthy tragedies. But his stance isn’t just elitist—it’s a defense of rationality. He isn’t against beauty; he’s against art that undermines wisdom. Still, banning all poetry feels extreme. Even if art distorts truth, it can also inspire deeper questions. Maybe Plato underestimated poetry’s power to provoke philosophical thinking, not just replace it.
2025-07-11 13:08:42
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My wife, Cassia, was a wood nymph. A cursed one. Forbidden to love mortals.
But she fell for me anyway. Every time her heart fluttered for me, the gods struck her down with agony.
She willingly endured that torture ninety-nine times just for a chance to be with me.
Then, demons dragged me to Tartarus. Hellfire and whips became my sun and moon.
Right as I was about to break, I remembered a prayer Cassia taught me—a desperate whisper to the gods.
It finally worked. But instead of help, I heard Cassia talking to her patron goddess, Hecate.
"Cassia, how could you bargain with the Furies? You let them drag Aiden to Tartarus!"
Cassia's voice choked with desperate tears. "Adonis was supposed to suffer this fate. But he's a fragile mortal. This would destroy his soul! I had no choice if I wanted to save him."
"Aiden is a child of prophecy. His soul is strong. The Fates watch over him. He'll survive."
"Once I save Adonis, I can stay in the mortal realm forever. Then, I'll use my eternal life and all my love to repay the hell he's enduring for me."
My heart shattered.
As the monsters closed in on me, I stopped fighting. I gave up.
I was Apollo’s most devoted follower, the lover he handpicked from a sea of worshippers.
With me, he’d always shed his divine arrogance. He was so tender, so attentive. I actually thought he loved me to the bone.
Until seven days before our Consort Ceremony, when I used my gift of prophecy to peek into our future together.
I expected to see a lifetime of blinding love. Instead, I saw him violently tangled in the sheets with my adopted sister, Cassandra.
Wrapped around him, Cassandra giggled. "You're so good to me, my Lord. Thanks to you, I'll finally get my sister's Sight and take her place as High Priestess."
And Apollo—my god, my lover—smiled down at her with pure adoration. "Whatever makes you happy, little bird. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have played pretend for this long, let alone allow her to become a god's consort."
In that split second, my heart turned to ash. My faith shattered into a million pieces.
With seven days left until the ceremony, I didn't confront them. Instead, I fell to my knees before the altar of Hades, Lord of the Underworld.
"I offer you my gift of prophecy. I will be your most loyal follower in exchange for your sanctuary."
"Please. Take me away from here. Take me somewhere Apollo can never find me."
My husband Hades gave another woman my birthday celebration.
Then he gave her my mother’s brooch.
Then he let our son call her home.
Nympha was the flower spirit who had grown up beside him. The healers said a curse was killing her, and she had only six months left before she disappeared forever.
Hades said he only wanted her final days to be free of regret.
So I was expected to be generous.
Even when our five-year-old son, Eren, curled up beside her at the hearth and whispered that she felt more like home than I did, I still told myself he was only a child.
Then one night, I heard him say to Hades, “Nympha is so gentle. So beautiful. I wish Mother could be more like her.”
Hades only smiled.
“Your mother is strict because she wants what is best for you,” he said. “But if you like Nympha so much, I can let her stand beside you at the family altar. She can bless you like a second mother.”
That was when I finally understood.
My husband had already given her my place.
And my son had accepted her there.
So the next morning, I placed a marriage dissolution agreement before Hades.
He signed it without reading, because Nympha had collapsed again and he was desperate to reach her.By the time he realized what he had signed, I was already gone.
If they wanted Nympha to be the lady of the Underworld, I would grant them their wish.
But why, after I left, did Hades tear the Underworld apart looking for me?
Why did my son cry himself sick, begging for the mother he once pushed away?
And why did the dying woman they protected so carefully suddenly stop looking so fragile?
Once there was a king and a queen with three lovely daughters. The youngest, Psyche, was so beautiful, so fair of face and form that she was revered throughout the land, and the people of her kingdom reached out to touch her as she passed. No suitors dared to cross her doorstep. So highly was she worshiped that Psyche was deeply lonely. Her beauty became legend, far and wide, and it was not long before words reached the ears of Venus. Tales of the young princess enraged the jealous goddess, and she made plans to dispose of her. Venus called upon her own daughter, Cupid to do her bidding. It was meant to be a quick mission except Cupid did not expect to find herself entranced by the same passion she inflicted on others.
|Note: This is a lesbian retelling of the Roman Mythology, not Greek|
Existing on an era where women has less priviledge than men, Utopia strived to show the people of her world the importance of their existence. Yet before she can even shine and outlive such ridiculous belief that her world has, her fate was sealed by a decree.
Fighting love and the enivitable, Utopia finds herself tangled in the mysterious secret of her existence and riot the dark side of her world has.
Eleena was starting her day normally when suddenly a strange creature attacked her. In a blink of her eyes, a man showed up and rescued her only to find out that his knight in shining armor is Apollo--- the multifaceted god. Apollo brought Eleena to his world to protect her from other creatures that are after her head because she is believed to destroy the world they are living in. Eleena, who is just a normal teenager, got mixed up in the messy world of the gods and with a handsome and kind god protecting her, it’s not hard to find romance amidst the chaos. Whereas, Apollo swore to keep Eleena from any danger but what if they end up hurting each other? After all, Eleena is still the girl in Apollo's oracle.
I've always been fascinated by how Plato wraps up 'The Republic' with Book 10, where he really drives home his argument about art and imitation. He claims that art, especially poetry and drama, is just an imitation of an imitation—since the physical world is already a copy of the ideal Forms, art is even further removed from truth. This makes it dangerous because it stirs up emotions rather than reason, leading people away from philosophical truth. He also revisits the immortality of the soul and the Myth of Er, emphasizing that justice is rewarded in the afterlife, tying back to his whole idea that being just is inherently valuable, not just for its consequences.
Plato’s distrust of art isn’t just about banning poets; it’s about how art shapes our perception of reality. He worries that tragic poetry, for example, makes us indulge in emotions like pity or fear instead of cultivating rational control. The Myth of Er, though, is a brilliant way to end—it’s a story about choices and consequences, reinforcing his argument that a just life leads to harmony in the soul and rewards beyond this world.
On a muggy evening when I was halfway through a re-read of 'The Republic', Plato's ban on poets hit me with the same jolt it always does. He isn't just grumpy about bad rhymes — he's aiming at the soul's education. For Plato, poets are imitators: they paint copies of copies. A sculptor copies the Form of a horse imperfectly; a poet then copies the sculptor's copy, so the poetic product is two steps removed from Truth. That matters because his whole political project is to shape citizens by guiding them toward knowledge and the Good, not toward seductive illusions.
He also worries about moral influence. Many poets in his day — think 'Iliad' and 'Odyssey' material — depict gods and heroes doing ugly, selfish things. Those stories teach by feeling, not reason, and incite desires that conflict with the rational harmony Plato wants in his guardians. So he proposes censoring or excluding poetry that corrupts virtue, while allowing stories that promote courage, temperance, and reverence. Reading it now, I find it a provocative mix of rigorous metaphysics and social engineering — part urgent moral pedagogy, part rhetorical move to spark debate.
Growing up on a steady diet of choir practice and philosophy podcasts, I always felt Plato's sense that music is more than background noise. In 'The Republic' he treats education as the soul’s architecture: music trains the inner rhythms, gymnastics the outer frame. For the guardian-class he imagines, childhood is sheltered from bad stories and harmful tunes because imitation molds character. That’s why Plato worries about modes, rhythms, and myths—Dorian-like stability is praised, while certain passionate or irregular modes are suspected of producing disorder.
Later in the book the curriculum unfolds toward maths and dialectic, but music remains crucial: it’s the gentle, early tutor that harmonizes appetite, spirit, and reason. Plato’s censorship and careful storytelling aren’t just authoritarian quirks; he’s trying to engineer civic virtue by shaping emotional habits. Reading it now, I can see the tension between moral formation and creative freedom—and I end up thinking about how playlists, childhood media, and school music programs quietly shape who we become.