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[Expositions 11.1 (2017) 157–175] Expositions (online) ISSN: 1747–5376 

“We Are the Champions”:  

Mousikē and Cultural Chauvinism in Plato’s Republic 

 

REBECCA LEMOINE 

Florida Atlantic University 

 

 

“Where then, oh Socrates,  

will we find a good singer of such things,  

when you leave us?” 

 

“Hellas is large,” he replied,  

“oh Cebes, and there are doubtless good men in it,  

and many barbarian races.  

Among them all seek and examine such a singer,  

sparing neither money nor toil,  

as there is nothing on which  

you could more favorably spend money.” 

 

 –Socrates, Plato’s Phaedo 78a 

 

Scholarship on Plato and the poets often approaches the topic at the meta-level, investigating the 

reasoning behind the censoring of poetry in the Republic as well as the consistency of Plato’s 

treatment of poetry. Much ink has been spilt making sense of such tensions as Socrates’ selected 

purging of the contents of Greek poetry in Books II and III of the Republic and his apparent 

banning of all poetic mimesis in Book X,1 the censure of poetry in the Republic yet the celebration 

of poetic madness in the Phaedrus,2 and the incongruity of a writer as poetic as Plato condemning 

poetry.3 Not all commentaries focus on poetry in the abstract, however; some analyze Plato’s use 

of particular poets, notably Homer, Hesiod, Pindar, Solon, Simonides, Aeschylus, and Euripides.4 

Yet in the vast scholarly literature on Plato and the poets, Plato’s engagement with non-Greek 

poetry has largely gone unexamined.  



Mousikē and Cultural Chauvinism in Plato’s Republic  158 
 

In the case of the Republic, this represents a major oversight. After all, the dialogue opens with 

Socrates sharing his judgment on Greek versus non-Greek music. As later discussed in greater 

detail, it is appropriate when investigating poetry in the Republic to consider the role of music 

more broadly, for the Greek word mousikē (for which I will use the translation “music” or “the 

arts” interchangeably) encompasses poetry. Recalling how yesterday he went down to the 

Piraeus—Athens’ bustling port city and home to its massive population of mostly non-Greek 

slaves and metics or resident aliens—Socrates explains he was there to witness the inaugural 

staging of the Bendideia and “pray to the goddess,” presumably the Thracian (non-Greek) goddess 

Bendis.5 Socrates says he found both the procession of the Athenians and that of the Thracians 

“beautiful (καλὴ)” (327a). Though little is known of what these processions entailed, Athenian 

processions typically involved Athenians of all ages and sexes weaving their way through the city 

in colorful costume while carrying symbols and ritual objects. Along the way, or upon reaching 

the sanctuary, there would be performances of music and dance in connection with ritual acts of 

sacrifice. Socrates’ judgment of the Athenian and Thracian processions therefore likely reflects 

his attitude towards the Greek and non-Greek mousikē each emblematizes. By thus opening the 

dialogue, Plato alludes to the importance of the intersection between politics, culture, and the arts. 

He invites readers, in effect, to consider the dialogue’s treatment of poetry, and mousikē more 

generally, in terms of the arts’ embeddedness within particular cultures. 

Plato’s interest in the political effects of foreign music re-emerges during the crafting of the 

city of speech. Despite Socrates’ positivity at the beginning of the dialogue towards incorporating 

Thracian mousikē into Athenian society, when it comes to Kallipolis he recommends guarding 

against changes to a new form of music. This is because it is essential to expose citizens to the 

right music, so once that music is discovered and set down in law there must be no innovation. If 

the music of Kallipolis is truly ideal—that is, if it is best at creating good characters—then it must 

be preserved; for change from the ideal form of music is necessarily change to a worse form of 

music. Though the guardians must watch for the internal development of any new forms of music, 

Socrates implies that the greatest danger comes from visitors from abroad when he says that if a 

man “should arrive in our city” expressing the desire to exhibit his skill in imitating all things, he 

“should be sent away to another city” because “there is no such man in our city among us, nor is 

it lawful for such a man to arise among us” (398a–b). Any poet whose poetry does not conform to 

the strict musical requirements of Kallipolis must, in other words, become or remain a foreigner.  



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How does one reconcile Socrates’ expressed approval of foreign music at the dialogue’s 

opening with his hostility towards it during the discussion of Kallipolis? This article argues that, 

upon close examination, the music of Kallipolis blends Greek and non-Greek elements. This 

suggests Socrates intends not to exclude foreign poetry, but, conversely, to ensure its inclusion. 

Socrates’ insistence that the ideal city not change from a form of music that, as it turns out, 

harmonizes the Greek and the non-Greek makes sense as a response to the Athenians’ segregation 

of Athenian and Thracian mousikē during the Bendideia. In light of evidence that Athenians were 

motivated to sanction the cult of Bendis less out of appreciation for Thracian culture than out of 

desire to shore up their own domination, and that Greek poetry played a major role in fostering 

this attitude of cultural chauvinism, Kallipolis’ harmonizing of Greek and non-Greek represents 

an improvement upon Athens’ approach to music. It reveals the sanctioning of the Bendideia to be 

but a half-measure, a token gesture that in actuality betrays the Athenians’ unwillingness to 

harmonize with other cultures. Against the backdrop of this false harmony, Socrates recommends 

a musical education that promotes a simple harmony of two cultures. Kallipolis is not Socrates’ 

final word, however. Rather, it represents a stepping-stone on the way towards the image of the 

cosmos that replaces the Homeric model: the eight distinct notes of the Sirens—matching the eight 

notes of the diatonic scale, each corresponding to a particular culture—forming a perfect harmony 

as presented in the Myth of Er. As the reference to the death-luring Sirens indicates, such a 

complex and divine form of mousikē may represent the peak of philosophic education rather than 

its beginnings. Nonetheless, this suggests the philosopher brings to political education the goal of 

promoting harmony between cultures, if only on a limited scale. 

 

I. Mousikē, Education, and Politics 

The topic of music first arises when discussing the education of the class of citizens whose job it 

is to guard the city. Socrates has just elicited his interlocutors’ agreement that the character of the 

guardians is like that of a noble dog—spirited when defending its master from enemy attacks, yet 

gentle towards friends. To this end, Socrates proposes that guardians receive a dual education 

consisting of “gymnastics for bodies, and music (μουσική) for the soul” (376e). The goal of the 

guardians’ education is to cultivate the proper character by tuning the spirited and philosophic 

parts of the soul “to the proper degree of tension and relaxation” (412a). If the thumos or spirit is 

tuned too high, then the logistikon or philosophic part will be drowned out and the guardian will 



Mousikē and Cultural Chauvinism in Plato’s Republic  160 
 

be savage and cruel. Conversely, if the philosophic part is tuned too high, then the guardian will 

be soft and weak-willed owing to a lack of spiritedness. It is important, therefore, that guardians 

receive the proper exposure to music.  

The assumption that music can be used to shape character would not have seemed strange to 

most Greeks. To understand why, it is necessary first to grasp the meaning of “music” in the 

ancient Greek world. Any art over which the Muses preside, “music (μουσική)” in the ancient 

sense refers to a union of instrumental music, poetic speech, and dance.6 Hence, when Socrates 

first proposes education in music, he reminds that music consists not merely of rhythm and melody, 

but also “speeches (λόγους)”— both “true (ἀληθές)” speech and “myths (μύθους)” (376e–377a). 

Asserting the importance of the latter form of speech in educating children, Socrates launches into 

a discussion of “myth makers (τοῖς μυθοποιοῖς)” occupying most of Books II and III and 

reappearing in Book X. These mythmakers turn out to be the poets whose stories Socrates finds in 

need of censorship. Modern readers often struggle to make sense of why during a discussion on 

music Socrates quickly shifts to talking about poetry, yet for Plato’s contemporaries the transition 

would have seemed seamless. While purely instrumental music existed—often accompanying 

libations, sacrifices, supplications, and other ceremonial rites—music was more commonly 

thought of in conjunction with poetry, as poets typically performed their stories to musical 

accompaniment. This is seen in Homeric epic, which depicts bards singing the stories of famous 

heroes. Even with the growing popularity of written work in Plato’s day, poems were generally 

still sung in public, performative contexts, such as at symposia or festivals. Consequently, when 

Greeks thought of music, they inevitably thought of the performance of famous poems. It is 

therefore appropriate to think of the dialogue’s censorship of poetry within the larger context of 

the censorship of music, for poetry is subsumed under the broader category of music.7 

Both the lyrical and the sonic aspects of music are regarded in the Republic as capable of 

exercising immense influence on the soul. In terms of a musical work’s speeches or lyrics, Socrates 

details at length the damage done to souls exposed at a young age to myths that depict gods and 

other heroes committing injustices such as egregious acts of violence and deception. Hearing 

repeatedly that the most celebrated beings engage in unjust behaviors habituates one to delight in 

these behaviors. It is important, therefore, that those training to be guardians hear tales that only 

celebrate truly just characters so they will gravitate towards good behaviors. Equally important, 

however, is the musical mode or the manner of rhythm and melody. In fact, it may be more 



161 LeMoine 
 

important. As Nina Valiquette Moreau argues, in Platonic thought “music assimilates itself to the 

soul as a kind of extra-rational perception or recognition that, in turn, prepares the soul for reasoned 

judgment.”8 This occurs owing to the structural similarities of music and soul. Even if good tales 

are told, they cannot have the proper effect if the wrong musical mode accompanies them. Singing 

of a hero’s just actions to a tune that elicits feelings of displeasure would likely orient guardians 

to develop distaste for justice. Hence, both components of music—the lyrics and the musical 

mode—must work together to produce harmony. 

Without guardians who possess harmonious souls, the city itself cannot be in harmony. Socrates 

makes clear the direct connection between music and politics in the following passage in Book IV: 

 

So therefore, to put it briefly, the guardians of the city must cleave to this, so that 

they are not corrupted unawares but may in every way be on guard against it: not 

to allow innovations concerning gymnastics or music contrary to the established 

order. […] For one must be aware of changes to a new form of music, taking it to 

be a danger to the whole. For nowhere are the ways of music (μουσικῆς τρόποι) 

moved without the greatest political laws being moved, as Damon says and I am 

persuaded. (424b–c) 

 

Drawing on the work of Damon—an Athenian music theorist considered the leading authority on 

the moral effects of music—Socrates claims that music is not mere “entertainment,” but rather the 

foundation on which the entire social order rests. If guardians are not exposed to the right music, 

their society will develop bad nomoi, i.e., bad laws and customs.9 As Robert Wallace explains, “in 

Damon’s view (as Plato represents it), musical styles not only ‘fit’ behavior, they also determine 

or shape it, both for individuals and for society.”10 The closest Plato comes to explaining the 

mechanisms by which music influences politics is through Adeimantus’ comment that music “ever 

so little establishes itself, gently flowing underneath into the characters and habits; and from there 

it emerges larger in contracts among one another, and from the contracts it attacks the laws and 

regimes with much, oh Socrates, licentiousness, until ending with everything private and public 

turned upside down” (424d–e). This statement accords with the anthropological principle that the 

city is man writ large. Individual education matters because individuals are responsible for making 

and practicing the rules of their society, and they bring their education to bear on these political 



Mousikē and Cultural Chauvinism in Plato’s Republic  162 
 

activities. Hence, if music plays a central role in character formation, it follows that music will 

shape the character of a society.  

One implication of the close relationship between music and nomoi is that if one wants to 

understand the nature of any given society, one can discover clues to its identity in its music. In 

essence, music can serve as a proxy for the general character of the whole society. Ancient Greeks 

generally believed that certain musical modes corresponded with particular regions, and that the 

type of music principally heard was expressive of the dominant moral character of each region. 

The Republic takes this idea further, suggesting a distinction might also be made between societies 

that feature a single musical mode and those that incorporate multiple modes. On one end of the 

spectrum lie timocratic regimes like Sparta, which generally emphasize a single mode: the spirited 

melodies and rhythms appropriate for warfare. On the other end of the spectrum are democratic 

regimes like Athens, which embrace all musical modes due to the multicolored dispositions of 

their citizens. Democratic people are the most likely to enjoy sweets from a variety of different 

lands and, according to Socrates, “in likening such food and such a way of life to melody and song 

in the panharmonic mode and in all rhythms, we would make a correct likeness” (404d–e). Regime 

types translate, in other words, into correspondent musical types. Regimes that reject diversity are 

monoharmonic, while those that incorporate the full diversity of human beings are panharmonic.  

In the next section, I show why readers must take into account the monoharmonic-to-

panharmonic spectrum when interpreting Socrates’ warning to guard the city against new forms 

of music. While this warning may seem to operate to exclude foreign music, close inspection of 

the music of Kallipolis reveals it to be a harmony of two sets of myths and musical modes: one 

Greek, one non-Greek. Thus, when Socrates warns against changes to a new form of music, he 

means changes to either a monoharmonic (single mode) or a panharmonic (all modes) form of 

music. The music of Kallipolis lies somewhere in between, neither rejecting diversity nor 

indiscriminately embracing all ways of life. As sections III and IV will argue, this music functions 

merely as a form of early training, however; guardians must first become habituated to a music 

that harmonizes two opposing characters or cultures before they can withstand the sublime, 

panharmonic music of philosophy.  

 

  



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II. The Mousikē of Kallipolis: Simple Harmony 

Though many have written on the Republic’s censuring of Greek music, often unnoted is that 

Socrates and his interlocutors go on to propose a form of music that harmonizes Greek and non-

Greek myths and musical modes. In terms of the speech content of the music of Kallipolis, though 

Socrates approves of certain lines of Greek poetry (e.g., 389e, 393a), he implies that if they aim to 

produce citizens who do not do to their friends what they do to their enemies, they will have to 

look beyond traditional Greek myths. Against the Greek model of unrestrained violence, Socrates 

recommends a foreign tale of brotherhood, a tale he says is “nothing new […] but a Phoenician 

thing” (414c).11 The tale he tells is one of citizens as autochthonous, or as brothers born of the 

same earth—an unmistakable allusion to the myth of Cadmus. According to this myth, the 

Phoenician king Cadmus founded the ancient Greek city of Thebes by slaying a dragon and 

planting its teeth in the ground, from whence sprang a race of fierce, armed men called Spartoi. 

Since these men posed a danger to him, Cadmus threw stones at them until—each thinking a fellow 

Spartoi had hit him—they began fighting each other. The five who survived the slaughter helped 

Cadmus establish the city.  

Socrates’ decision to draw not only on the acceptable parts of Greek poetry but also on this non-

Greek myth in constructing the music of Kallipolis is strange for two reasons. First, it is curious 

that the main myth designed to promote social order is not Greek, but non-Greek. This might not 

seem unusual if there were no such myths on which Socrates could draw in Greek poetry. Greek 

poetry was filled, however, with autochthony myths. The most popular version of the myth posited 

that all Athenians were descendants of Erichthonios, who miraculously sprang from the soil of 

Attica. The myth lent a sense of naturalness to the city, as opposed to the artificiality of cities with 

foreign founders. The Athenian myth’s focus on the origination of the same from the same, on the 

lack of foreign blood in the Athenian genealogical tree, points to one of the myth’s central 

functions: assuring Athenians of their superiority over foreigners.12 From this it should be clear 

just how scandalous it is that Socrates recommends that the ideal city draw on the Phoenician myth 

of autochthony, rather than the customary Athenian myth. Through the device of literary allusion, 

Plato reminds his fellow Athenians that they are not the only ones who believe they are indigenous 

to the land, and that such myths are mere social constructions not to be taken as literal truth.  

The allusion to Cadmus in Socrates’ use of the Phoenician myth is strange, secondly, because 

Cadmus’ founding of Thebes is a story of conflict and loss—hardly a fitting source for a myth 



Mousikē and Cultural Chauvinism in Plato’s Republic  164 
 

designed to promote social harmony and communal salvation.13 The noble lie is adopted to 

convince the guardians, and later the rest of the city, that “as though the land they are in were a 

mother and nurse, they must plan for and defend it, if anyone attacks it, and they must think of the 

other citizens as being brothers and born of the earth” (414e). Yet, the genesis of the tale reveals 

that Kallipolis cannot thrive without the influence of foreigners, thus calling into question the 

assumed division between citizens and foreigners. Who can justly be excluded from the 

brotherhood of Kallipolis, if the founding myth itself can be traced back to foreigners? Might other 

aspects of the city’s identity be of foreign origin? If so, in fighting foreigners, are the guardians of 

Kallipolis, like the Spartoi, in some sense fighting themselves?  

 That Plato connects Kallipolis’ myth of autochthony with the founding of Thebes is 

additionally illuminating. In Greek drama, Thebes serves as an “anti-Athens” or “mirror opposite 

of Athens,” a place where disorder and tragedy reign.14 Thebes is the land of Dionysus, descendent 

of Cadmus. Typically presented in the Greek pantheon as a foreign god, an outsider from the east, 

Dionysus brings chaos everywhere he goes. Nothing illustrates this more palpably than Euripides’ 

Bacchae, where Dionysus’ arrival occasions the destabilization of a formerly well-ordered society. 

By the end of the play, everything the city considers sacred comes undone. The old become young, 

men transform into women, and mothers kill their own young.15 Like wine, of which Dionysus is 

the god, the foreigner Dionysus breaks down all boundaries, making the impermissible 

permissible. Plumbing the depths of Socrates’ seemingly off-handed remark that the noble lie is in 

fact a “Phoenician thing” one thus discovers the personification of barbarism at the heart of 

Kallipolis’ educational project. The music used to educate Kallipolis’ guardians to act boldly 

towards foreigners and gently towards fellow citizens draws for its content from the mythology of 

a place that epitomizes foreignness. In this way, Plato subtly exposes the discordance in Kallipolis’ 

treatment of foreigners as natural enemies (470c).16 

If there were any doubt after studying its lyrical content that the music of Kallipolis blends the 

Greek and non-Greek, these doubts are further dispelled when Socrates and his interlocutors arrive 

at a discussion of the second aspect of music: “the manner of song and melody” (398c). 

Specifically, he considers the proper harmonic mode and rhythm, which he says must fit with the 

speech. Given the kind of character the music must inculcate, Socrates eliminates the “wailing” 

modes—namely, the “mixed Lydian” and the “tight Lydian”—and the “soft” modes “suitable for 

symposia,” including the Ionian and some Lydian modes. Left are two modes: the Dorian and the 



165 LeMoine 
 

Phrygian. According to Aristotle, the Dorian is the mode most capable of inducing one to act 

“moderately and steadily,” whereas the Phrygian has an “inspiring (ἐνθουσιαστικοὺς)” or 

stimulating effect (Politics 1340b1–5). Put differently, the Dorian is a grave and serious mode 

typically associated with military music, whereas the Phrygian is a wild and playful mode 

commonly associated with orgiastic ecstasy. Aristotle critiques Socrates’ decision to include both 

modes, rather than the Dorian alone, on two counts. First, he contends that the effect of the 

Phrygian mode corresponds with that of the aulos; it thus makes no sense for Socrates to allow the 

Phrygian mode yet forbid the aulos. Second, Aristotle argues that the proper mode for education 

is the Dorian, which is “most expressive of a manly character,” unlike the Phrygian mode, which 

is “orgiastic (ὀργιαστικὰ)” and “emotional (παθητικά)” (Politics 1342a28).17 The mode is aptly 

named, as Phrygia is often considered the other birthplace of Dionysus. Despite Aristotle’s 

critiques, Plato’s ideal city integrates rather than suppresses the Dionysian impulses present in 

mankind. Just as the lyrical content of the music of Kallipolis drew on a non-Greek myth, the 

melody incorporates a harmonic mode associated with non-Greeks. The music of Kallipolis 

represents a harmonizing, then, of Greek and non-Greek. 

In light of the harmony of Greek and non-Greek present in the music of Kallipolis, Socrates’ 

decision to reject panharmonic instruments—or those capable of playing a variety of notes—might 

seem contradictory. Socrates’ prime example of a panharmonic instrument, the aulos, could emit 

multiple sounds from each aperture as opposed to the singular sound made by striking a string on 

the lyre. It is therefore rejected. As with the noble lie that formed the speech content of Kallipolis’ 

music, Socrates insists, “It’s nothing new we’re doing, my friend […] in choosing Apollo and 

Apollo’s instruments ahead of Marsyas and his instruments” (399e, emphasis added). This time, 

however, the reference is not to a Phoenician tale, but to a Phrygian one (Herodotus 7.26). 

According to the myth, Athena invented the aulos, but threw it away when she discovered it ruined 

her beauty by making her cheeks puff out when she played it. Picking up the discarded instrument 

in Phrygia, the satyr Marsyas became so proficient at playing it that he dared to challenge the god 

Apollo to a musical contest. Judged by the Muses, the contest resulted in Marsyas’ defeat when, 

unlike Apollo with his lyre, Marsyas proved incapable of playing his instrument while hanging 

upside down. Consequently, the satyr was skinned alive and his hide nailed to a tree. Again, 

Socrates references a myth whose violence seems to undercut the intended effect of instilling 

gentleness in the soul through music. In this case, the violence is directed towards Marsyas. Is it a 



Mousikē and Cultural Chauvinism in Plato’s Republic  166 
 

coincidence that, in the Symposium, Alcibiades compares Socrates to Marsyas, noting his ability 

through words alone to send listeners into a frenzy (215a–e)? Could the rejection of the aulos 

actually be a symbol of Athens’ rejection of Socrates and, by extension, of philosophic discourse, 

with its capacity to speak in various ways?  

An indication that this may be so is found in the lines following the reference to the Apollo-

Marsyas myth. Whereas Glaucon swears “by Zeus” that they have not done anything new, Socrates 

swears “by the dog” that they have purged the city—a swear unique to Socrates that refers to the 

dog-headed Egyptian god Anubis, whose job it was to weigh souls in the afterlife (399e). As this 

shows, Socrates speaks a more panharmonic language than would be allowed in a Greek version 

of Kallipolis. This self-negation only serves, however, to demonstrate the problem with Glaucon’s 

assumption that Kallipolis will be Greek (470e).18 Returning to the musical backdrop of the 

Republic, the Bendideia, the next section shows why it is plausible to interpret Socrates’ discussion 

of the music of Kallipolis as an attempt to break the spell that Greek poetry has cast on his 

interlocutors: the spell of cultural chauvinism. The power of this spell is dramatized in three ways: 

(1) through the separation of Athenians and Thracians at the Bendideia, (2) through the efforts of 

Socrates’ metic interlocutors to blend in by mimicking the evocation of exclusively Greek poetry 

in Athenian discourse, and (3) through the prejudice against non-Greeks that Socrates’ Greek 

interlocutors exhibit even as they critique Greek poetry. 

 

III. The Cultural Chauvinism of Greek Music 

To understand why Socrates proposes guarding a form of music that harmonizes the Greek and 

the non-Greek, one must return to the music that provides the backdrop for the entire 

conversation—the music of the festival of Bendis. The earliest evidence dates the inaugural 

celebration of the Bendideia to around 429/8 B.C. This was a momentous event, as it was the first 

time a group of foreigners had been granted enktēsis, or the right to own property (IG II2 1283). 

Generally, Athens restricted land ownership to citizens and to exceptional foreigners who had 

performed great services for the city. Allowing Thracian residents of the Piraeus to own land on 

which to build a religious shrine was thus a major symbol of their welcoming into the community 

of Athens. According to Robert Garland, by the end of the fourth century B.C. so many foreign 

cults had entered Athens and received state sanctioning to build temples that this was likely no 

longer seen as an exclusive privilege.19 Though the term “multiculturalism” is anachronistic, the 



167 LeMoine 
 

Bendideia represents one of the first major movements towards greater incorporation into Athenian 

society of Athens’ growing metic population.  

Yet as Socrates’ description of the separate processions of Athenians and Thracians indicates, 

in practice the Bendideia worked as much to include Thracian immigrants as to exclude them. 

Segregating the orgeōnes or cult groups of Bendis into citizen-worshippers and Thracian 

worshippers allowed Athenians to uphold the Thracians’ “otherness” even while elevating their 

status. As one scholar observes, “two different ethnic groups worship the same goddess, participate 

in the same sacrifices and festival, are organized into similar associations bearing the same name, 

yet never mix or fuse into one single group.”20 The visible, public segregation of Thracian 

worshippers into their own procession during the festival is but one obvious manifestation of 

Athenian ambivalence towards Thracians. Athens’ decision to recognize the cult of Bendis itself 

is strange. Whether through the grotesque customs of Thracians described in Herodotus’ Histories 

or the depiction of Thracians committing outrageous acts of violence in tragedies such as 

Sophocles’ Tereus and Euripides’ Erechtheus, Greek poetry typically portrays Thracians as a 

“primitive and backward society of fierce fighters” whose “[b]elligerence was matched only by 

rapacity, perfidy, and drunkenness.”21 Thracians were regarded, in other words, as the epitome of 

barbarism. If they were to be assimilated into Athenian society, it would have to be while holding 

them at arm’s length. 

If Athenians viewed Thracians as exceptionally barbaric, then why did they approve of the cult 

of Bendis at all? Though much speculation surrounds Athens’ motivation for officially sanctioning 

the Bendideia, the decision was likely in large part political. After all, in the face of a war with 

Sparta, the Athenians hoped to acquire in the Thracians powerful allies abroad. Honoring a 

Thracian goddess would have solidified the alliance between Athens and the Thracian king 

Sitalkes negotiated a few months earlier. Athenians may also have hoped to secure the loyalty of 

the large Thracian population residing in Athens, many of whom were probably serving in the 

Athenian military. The festival that sets the backdrop for the conversation of the Republic therefore 

signifies less a merging of cultural horizons than an instrumental use of foreigners for the sake of 

Athens’ empire. Athens thus exhibits one model for dealing with the novel forms of music that 

other lands bring. Insofar as it suits their political interests, such forms of music are given 

expression. Little attempt is made, however, to harmonize with these different forms of music. The 



Mousikē and Cultural Chauvinism in Plato’s Republic  168 
 

Thracians remain an exotic other from whom the Athenians must keep their distance—an attitude 

learned through portrayals of Thracians in Greek poetry. 

That Greek poetry encourages cultural chauvinism is also demonstrated through Socrates’ 

interlocutors. His first two interlocutors, the metics Cephalus and Polemarchus, both quote Greek 

poets as sources of authority for their understandings of justice. In doing so, they mimic the speech 

patterns of Athenians, performing in a way that renders them virtually indistinguishable from full-

fledged citizens. Though they would later be persecuted by the Thirty Tyrants, in the dialogue’s 

dramatic setting during the Peloponnesian War, Cephalus and Polemarchus represent wealthy, 

well-integrated metics who understand the unspoken rule that to live in Athens they must pass 

themselves off as best they can as Athenians; this means quoting Greek poetry, not their native 

Sicilian poetry, despite its flourishing state in this time period.22 Moreover, though Socrates’ Greek 

interlocutors, Glaucon and Adeimantus, exhibit greater comfort with criticizing Greek poetry, they 

too continually demonstrate a preference for Greeks over non-Greeks. In light of all this, the 

protected harmonizing of Greek and non-Greek in the music of Kallipolis seems like a step towards 

ameliorating the typical Athenian treatment of non-Greek music. As I argue in the next section, 

the music of the cosmos in the Myth of Er suggests that mature philosophic education builds on 

this model of musical education as a simple harmony of two cultures, attempting to teach the value 

of harmonizing with various cultures. 

 

IV. The Music of Philosophy: A Complex Harmony 

Whereas Plato begins the dialogue with the Bendideia and its musical model of diversity without 

harmony, he ends with a more truly harmonic music composed of diverse notes, presented through 

the Myth of Er. The myth tells of the death of a soldier named Er who returned to life twelve days 

later to convey what he had seen during his time in the afterlife. As Claudia Baracchi argues, Er is 

a warrior but he is also “an other image of the philosopher,” for like the philosopher he brings to 

his fellows a message of striving to learn what makes a good life and to develop the virtues such a 

life requires.23 Plato’s casting of the warrior-philosopher Er as “by race a Pamphylian” hints that 

to be a philosopher one must exhibit a panharmonic nature, for “Pamphylian” is derived from the 

Greek words πᾶν—the neuter form of the word meaning “all”—and φυλή, which means “race” or 

“tribe.” Er therefore comes from a place of “all races.” Why does Plato specify Er’s origins? What 

is symbolized by the meaning of the name Pamphylia, a region not in Greece proper but rather in 



169 LeMoine 
 

Asia Minor? Does it represent the ultimate equalizing of mankind that takes place in death?24 

Could it signify that Er’s myth is a tale for all mankind?25 Both of these interpretations suggest a 

fundamental unity among the world’s myriad cultures, a common humanity.  

Er’s image of the cosmos reiterates the motif of unity with diversity. According to Er, there 

exists a “spindle of Necessity” whose whorl, like a nesting doll, contains eight whorls of varying 

colors lying within one another. From above, the rims of these whorls look like circles and “upon 

each of its circles stands a Siren being carried around with it, uttering a single sound (φωνὴν μίαν), 

one note (ἕνα τόνον); out of all eight (ὀκτὼ) producing the accord of a single harmony (μίαν 

ἁρμονίαν)” (616c–617b). Around the whorl and equidistant to one another sit the Fates—Lachesis, 

Clotho, and Atropos—who “sing to the Sirens’ harmony (ἁρμονίαν)” (617c). Plato alludes here to 

Pythagoras’ famous theory of the harmony of the spheres, which holds that the heavenly bodies 

are separated from one another by intervals corresponding to the harmonic length of strings and 

that the movement of these bodies produces a celestial music audible only to those who escape the 

bondage of the sensory world. Drawing on Pythagoras’ theory, the eight whorls on the spindle of 

Necessity represent the eight notes of the diatonic scale. The highest of all harmonies in the 

Republic thus brings together a series of distinct notes that, played together, make up a single, 

beautiful chord.  

Most importantly, against the cultural chauvinism that Greek music encourages, Er’s myth of 

the afterlife can be seen to promote a harmony of diverse cultures. Plato did not need to specify 

that there were eight different notes; it would have sufficed to mention that the Sirens and the Fates 

sing in harmony. Again, the detail that eight different notes produce the cosmic harmony most 

likely serves as an allusion to the diatonic scale. This scale consists of seven different modes and 

a repeated octave. The name of each mode strikes home the point: Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian, 

Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian, and Locrian. These are the names of various Greek and non-Greek 

ethnic groups. From this it is hinted that Plato imagines cosmic harmony as consisting of some 

harmonious blend of diverse nomoi.  

What, however, can bring about this harmony? The myth, and arguably the dialogue as a whole, 

suggests harmony comes from knowledge. The close relationship between the two is indicated in 

Er’s account of the cosmos through the dual images of the Sirens and the Fates producing the 

eight-noted harmony. In Homer’s Odyssey, the Sirens boast, “For we know all in wide Troy / the 

Greeks and Trojans suffered by the will of the gods / And we know all that happens upon the 



Mousikē and Cultural Chauvinism in Plato’s Republic  170 
 

much-nourishing earth” (12.189–91). The Sirens are therefore connected with omniscience. 

Likewise, Plato portrays the Fates as having complete knowledge of everything that has passed, is 

passing, or will pass. Harmony is consequently linked with knowledge. Remembering that in the 

Symposium Alcibiades also compared Socrates to a Siren, perhaps Er’s image of perfect cosmic 

harmony symbolizes the final destination of philosophic education. In other words, Plato rewrites 

the story of Odysseus’ encounter with the Sirens—this time portraying the journey not of the 

political leader but of the philosopher as involving exposure to the Sirens’ panharmonic music. 

Given that the Siren song lures sailors to their death, perhaps this serves as an indication that 

philosophical education is best suited to more mature leaders, as it threatens to lure one away from 

the body politic. The harmonizing of two cultures in the music of Kallipolis thus represents a kind 

of musical education safe for leaders in training to hear, preparing them for the finale: the 

panharmonic music of the spheres. 

 

 

Notes 

1. On the irreconcilability of the two discussions, see Annas. Some resolve the contradiction 
by arguing that the dialogue prohibits not all poetry, but only imitative poetry (e.g., Greene; 
Collingwood 46–50). More persuasive, however, is the argument that imitation of good 
characters is permissible, but multifariousness, or representation of all things 
indiscriminately, is prohibited. For variations of this argument, see Belfiore, “A Theory of 
Imitation in Plato’s Republic”; Nehamas 215; Ferrari 125; Janaway; and Lear.  

2. For an overview of this literature, see Büttner. Also see Gonzalez. 

3. One resolution is that Plato is not devoid of appreciation for poetry, but thinks it must be 
harnessed to serve truth and the social good. Scholars debate whether this involves poetry 
simply being overseen by philosophy or being subsumed by it (in which case, Plato’s own 
myths might provide an example of “good” poetry—although this, too, is a matter of 
debate). See Partee; Griswold; Elias; Burnyeat; Halliwell; and Levin.  

4. Some examples include Thayer; Saxonhouse “Comedy in Callipolis”; Belfiore, “‘Lies 
Unlike the Truth’”; Sansone; and Planinc. 

5. Translations of the ancient Greek are my own, developed in consultation with Bloom’s. 

6. For more on music in ancient Greece, see Lippman; West; and Pelosi. For a collection of 
all of Plato’s writings on music, with notes and commentary, see Barker (two volumes). 

7. For more on the relationship between music and poetry, see Landels, especially Chapter 
One. 



171 LeMoine 
 

8. Moreau 197. 

9. Nomos was also a term in music used to denote a class of traditional melodies. West 215–
217. 

10. Wallace 258. Though much of what we know about Damon comes from references in 
Plato’s dialogues, various sources confirm that he was not just a music theorist, but also an 
important political advisor. According to Aristotle, Damon “was believed to suggest to 
Pericles most of his measures, owing to which they afterwards ostracized him” (Athenian 
Constitution 27.4). It is interesting that Plato has Socrates recommend the ideas of an 
ostracized music theorist, given that the ideal city will banish any poet who does not make 
the right kind of music. Could this be another indication that the Athenians have cast out 
and let in the wrong influences?  

11. The Phoenician Tale is not usually regarded as part of the musical education of the 
guardians. However, Socrates links the tale to the discussion of music when he precedes it 
by referencing “those lies that come into being in case of need, of which we were just now 
speaking, some one noble lie” (414b–c). Justification for these lies appears in two places 
prior to the telling of the Phoenician Tale: just after Socrates introduces the subject of 
music, where such tales are explicitly cast as one form the speech content of music might 
take (377a) and, again, in the midst of their discussion of what the poets should and should 
not say (389b–d). Though midway through Book III Socrates claims that “it’s likely we 
are completely finished with that part of music that concerns speeches and tales” (398b), 
he continues in Book III to discuss what is right and wrong in the content of Greek poetry 
and to quote from it (404b–c, 408a, 408b–c). It is therefore reasonable to suppose that the 
Phoenician Tale is one of the stories to be sung as part of the musical education of the 
guardians and, indeed, the education of the whole city. 

12. For more on Athenian autochthony myths, see Loraux. 

13. Even more telling is the term “Cadmean victory” (also known as a “Pyrrhic victory”), 
which refers to a victory attained at as great a loss to the victor as to the vanquished—a 
term evoked in Plato’s Laws (641c). Might this suggest that the founding of Kallipolis is 
but a Cadmean victory, i.e., not a true victory?  

14. Zeitlin 144.  

15. For an excellent analysis of these transformations, see Saxonhouse “Freedom, Form, and 
Formlessness.” 

16. For other examples of dissonance in Kallipolis, see Strauss; Saxonhouse “Comedy in 
Callipolis”; Forde; Roochnik; and Berger. 

17. This attitude is shared in Plato’s Laches by the character Laches, who rejects all modes 
including the Phrygian, in preference for the Dorian—the “sole Hellenic harmony” (188d). 
For a survey of the debate on why Plato includes the Phrygian mode, see Anderson 107–
109. 



Mousikē and Cultural Chauvinism in Plato’s Republic  172 
 

18. Against this assumption, Socrates muses that the ideal city could be about to arise “in some 
barbaric place (τινι βαρβαρικῷ τόπῳ) somewhere far outside of our range of vision” (499c–
d). 

19. Garland 108. 

20. Pache 9. 

21. Sears 147. On depictions of Thracians in tragedy, see Hall Chapter Three. 

22. Monoson. 

23. Baracchi 139. 

24. Deneen 102. 

25. Cooper 121. 

 

 

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