ality, but only of appearance. The painter paints, and
the artificer makes a bridle and reins, but neither understands the use
of them--the knowledge of this is confined to the horseman; and so of
other things. Thus we have three arts: one of use, another of invention,
a third of imitation; and the user furnishes the rule to the two others.
The flute-player will know the good and bad flute, and the maker
will put faith in him; but the imitator will neither know nor have
faith--neither science nor true opinion can be ascribed to him.
Imitation, then, is devoid of knowledge, being only a kind of play
or sport, and the tragic and epic poets are imitators in the highest
degree.

And now let us enquire, what is the faculty in man which answers to
imitation. Allow me to explain my meaning: Objects are differently seen
when in the water and when out of the water, when near and when at a
distance; and the painter or juggler makes use of this variation to
impose upon us. And the art of measuring and weighing and calculating
comes in to save our bewildered minds from the power of appearance; for,
as we were saying, two contrary opinions of the same about the same and
at the same time, cannot both of them be true. But which of them is
true is determined by the art of calculation; and this is allied to the
better faculty in the soul, as the arts of imitation are to the worse.
And the same holds of the ear as well as of the eye, of poetry as well
as painting. The imitation is of actions voluntary or involuntary,
in which there is an expectation of a good or bad result, and present
experience of pleasure and pain. But is a man in harmony with himself
when he is the subject of these conflicting influences? Is there not
rather a contradiction in him? Let me further ask, whether he is more
likely to control sorrow when he is alone or when he is in company.
'In the latter case.' Feeling would lead him to indulge his sorrow, but
reason and law control him and enjoin patience; since he cannot know
whether his affliction is good or evil, and no human thing is of
any great consequence, while sorrow is certainly a hindrance to good
counsel. For when we stumble, we should not, like children, make an
uproar; we should take the measures which reason prescribes, not raising
a lament, but finding a cure. And the better part of us is ready to
follow reason, while the irrational principle is full of sorrow and
distraction at the recollection of our