Plato on Imitation

Republic 3.8.396b-3.9.397d (trans. P. Shorey)

"If, then, I understand your meaning," said I, "there is a form of diction and narrative in which the really good and true man would narrate anything that he had to say, and another form unlike this to which the man of the opposite birth and breeding would cleave and which he would tell his story." "What are these forms?" he said. "A man of the right sort, I think, when he comes in the course of his narrative to some word or act of a good man will be willing to impersonate the other in reporting it, and will feel no shame at that kind of mimicry, by preference imitating the good man when he acts steadfastly and sensibly, and less and more reluctantly when he is upset by sickness or love or drunkenness or any other mishap. But when he comes to someone unworthy of himself, he will not wish to liken himself in earnest to one who is inferior,  except in the few cases where he is doing something good, but will be embarrassed both because he is unpractised in the mimicry of such characters, and also because he shrinks in distaste from molding and fitting himself the types of baser things. His mind disdains them, unless it be for jest." "Naturally," he said.

9. "Then the narrative that he will employ will be the kind that we just now illustrated by the verses of Homer, and his diction will be one that partakes of both, of imitation and simple narration, but there will be a small portion of imitation in a long discourse-or is there nothing in what I say?" "Yes, indeed," he said, that is the type and pattern of such a speaker." "Then," said I, "the other kind speaker, the more debased he is the less will he shrink from imitating anything and everything. He will think nothing unworthy of himself, so that he will attempt, seriously and in the presence of many, to imitate all things, including those we just now mentioned-claps of thunder, and the noise of wind and hail and axles and pulleys, and the notes of trumpets and flutes and pan-pipes, and the sounds of all instruments, and the cries of dogs, sheep, and birds; and so his style will depend wholly on imitation in voice and gesture, or will contain but a little of pure narration." "That too follows of necessity," he said.
    "These, then," said I, "were the two types of diction of which I was speaking." "There are those two," he replied. "Now does not one of the two involve slight variations, and if we assign a suitable pitch and rhythm to the diction, is not the result that the right speaker speaks almost on the same note and in one cadence-for the changes are slight-and similarly in a rhythm of nearly the same kind?" "Quite so." "But what of the other type? Does it not require the opposite, every kind of pitch and all rhythms, if it too is to have appropriate expression, since it involves manifold forms of variation?" "Emphatically so." "And do all poets and speakers hit upon one type or the other of diction or some blend which they combine of both?" "They must," he said. "What, then," said I, are we to do? Shall we admit all of these into the city, or one of the unmixed types, or the mixed type?" "If my vote prevails," he said, "the unmixed imitator of the good." "Nay, but the mixed type also is pleasing, Adeimantus, and far most pleasing to boys and their tutors and the great mob is the opposite of your choice."