(copyright 2005, Anthony Selbitschka)
Taken at face value, Plato’s Republic would seem to promote a totalitarian state based upon a pessimistic view of humanity. Granted, Plato does build a repressive city in his Republic, but his endorsing such a creation should not be assumed too hastily as the actual interpretation of the Republic seems to be as controversial as its contents. This controversy can be traced to the fact that Plato chooses to use the character of Socrates as his main orator. Should we equate what Socrates says to be what Plato believes or endorses? One of the most widely held interpretations suggests that yes, we should hold the Republic as Plato’s recommendation of his ideal city—no matter how loathsome and pessimistic it seems. While it is no surprise that this is one of the most popular views—as we are trained to take what an author writes to be what an author believes—this interpretation has been criticized as being shortsighted. I will take this interpretation and critically evaluate it against three major themes in the Republic: the treatment of the arts, the noble lie, and the definition of the true philosopher.
To properly educate the guardians of Kallipolis, Socrates turns a critical eye towards the arts, beginning with the stories told to children:
So our first task… is to supervise the storytellers: if they make up a good story, we must accept it; if not, we must reject it. We will persuade nurses and mothers to tell the acceptable ones… Many of the stories they tell now, however, must be thrown out. (377c)
Socrates then lists his banned stories: stories containing falsehoods (377d), misrepresentations of the gods (379d), stories that promote the fear of death (386c) or the view that death is a terrible thing (387d), depictions of intemperance (390a) and money-loving (390e). While anyone living in a free society should cringe at this overt censorship, Socrates would argue that such censorship is needed to protect the minds of the future guardians. For each item censored, Socrates argues that the guardian scholar would sponge up the depicted behavior and be less suited for his task. So far this portion of the Republic supports the interpretation that Plato has a pessimistic view of human learning (we are all sponges—slaves to innuendo) while building an oppressive government to protect the people from themselves.
At 395c, Socrates narrows his scope to the styles of art which should be banned—specifically, how imitation should be handled:
…Our guardians must be kept away from all other crafts so as to be the most exact craftsmen of the city’s freedom, and practice nothing at all except what contributes to this, then they must neither do nor imitate anything else. But if they imitate anything, they must imitate…what is appropriate for them…people who are courageous, temperate, pious, free… On the other hand, they must not…imitate illiberal or shameful actions, so that they won’t acquire a taste for the real thing…
To this end, Socrates is forced to ban the imitation of shameful and illiberal characters in art. While this seems that Plato is taking another step toward endorsing a more oppressive government, let’s pause a moment and question if Plato would really support all the censoring in Books 2 and 3. Notice that the Republic itself is an imitation of a dinner conversation. Also note that the very beginning of Book 1 begins with Socrates’ narration describing this dinner, so what we have is an imitation of an imitation! Now, a character such as the money-loving Cephalus could be viewed as a non-ideal character to be imitated… so, wouldn’t the Republic itself be banned under its own rules? Even if the Republic’s banning is not obvious, perhaps Plato’s Phaedo—which portrays Socrates’ death as a terrible thing—would be. Why would Plato endorse a government in which his own art would be disallowed? We must look further into the Republic to see if this is either an oversight by Plato or if it discredits Plato’s overall endorsement of Socrates’ totalitarian city.
After setting up his city’s hierarchy, Socrates must find a way to make the auxiliaries and craftsmen accept the rule of the guardians. At 414b, Socrates suggests “a single, noble lie” that would allow all members to know his place in society with unquestioning acceptance. The proposed lie is that all citizens were born from the earth. Some citizens were made of gold (guardians), some silver (auxiliaries), and some bronze (craftsmen). Since all citizens come from the same mother, a sense of love and loyalty to all members of the city and the city itself will be ingrained in each member. This creates a specialization or division of labor where the best people assume the highest positions in society, while the bronze members happily accept their positions as their work will help provide the overall good of the city. While Socrates builds his city upon a seemingly unstable foundation of lies, he believes that this lie only needs to be told to one generation—as the inertia of tradition should make the lie an unquestioned truth for future generations (415e). Before moving on, let us note Socrates’ statement at 459d, “…It looks as though our rulers will have to employ a great many lies and deceptions for the benefit of those they rule.” These noble lies seem to further endorse an oppressive government founded upon the ruler’s lying to its subjects… but how does this fit in with the Republic’s definition of the true philosopher?
In his discussion of the philosopher-kings, Socrates begins to define the true philosopher at 485b:
…Let’s agree that they love all of [learning] and are not willing to give up any part, whether large or small, significant or insignificant… they must never willingly tolerate falsehood in any form. On the contrary, they must hate it and have a natural affection for the truth… So, right from childhood, a genuine lover of learning must strive above all for truth of every kind.
How could a philosopher-king—defined as a seeker of all truths and hating falsehoods—rule a city built upon a noble lie? What would this philosopher-king do when given the burden of telling falsehoods “for the benefit of those they rule?” Take this a step further. How can Socrates—a philosopher—suggest the noble lie if he is to be considered a philosopher? How could Plato—who we also consider a philosopher—write about a lie’s being noble if this definition is to be upheld?
As we read the Republic today, we must consider that it is a modern translation of an ancient scroll written by a philosopher who assumes the role of Socrates who gives a narration of his account of a dinner party. (Compare this to the party-game of “telephone,” where you start with a sentence, whisper it in a partner’s ear, that person whispers it in his neighbor’s ear, and so forth… At the end, the resulting sentence is totally unrelated to the original.) In other words, not only is the Republic wide open to interpretation, it is nearly impossible to interpret it without head-scratching, contradictions, and a bit of self-doubt. We can only guess what Plato’s motives were—but the face-value interpretation that equates Socrates’ word as Plato’s may be short sighted. To assume Socrates’ city is endorsed by Plato without first critically evaluating the text in comparison to the interpretation is a mistake. Personally, I think that Plato couldn’t have endorsed Kallipolis based on the aforementioned contradictions. As a philosopher, he couldn’t build a city upon a lie. As an artist, he couldn’t have censored his own craft. What was he doing then? Perhaps he was setting up an arena in which he could discuss democracy, philosophy, and the Forms. Unfortunately, I have to be a bit like Socrates here—I’ll tear down a theory without offering one to replace it
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