Socrates: Philosophical Life

Socrates
The most interesting and influential thinker in the fifth
century was Socrates, whose dedication to careful reasoning
transformed the entire enterprise. Since he sought genuine
knowledge rather than mere victory over an opponent, Socrates
employed the same logical tricks developed by the Sophists to a
new purpose, the pursuit of truth. Thus, his willingness to call
everything into question and his determination to accept nothing
less than an adequate account of the nature of things make him
the first clear exponent of critical philosophy.
Although he was well known during his own time for his
conversational skills and public teaching, Socrates wrote nothing,
so we are dependent upon his students (especially Xenophon and
Plato) for any detailed knowledge of his methods and results. The
trouble is that Plato was himself a philosopher who often injected
his own theories into the dialogues he presented to the world as
discussions between Socrates and other famous figures of the
day. Nevertheless, it is usually assumed that at least the early
dialogues of Plato provide a (fairly) accurate representation of
Socrates himself.
Euthyphro: What is Piety?
In the Euqufrwn (Euthyphro), for example, Socrates engaged
in a sharply critical conversation with an over-confident young
man. Finding Euthyphro perfectly certain of his own ethical
rectitude even in the morally ambiguous situation of prosecuting

his own father in court, Socrates asks him to define what "piety"
(moral duty) really is. The demand here is for something more
than merely a list of which actions are, in fact, pious; instead,
Euthyphro is supposed to provide a general definition that
captures the very essence of what piety is. But every answer he
offers is subjected to the full force of Socrates's critical thinking,
until nothing certain remains.
Specifically, Socrates systematically refutes Euthyphro's
suggestion that what makes right actions right is that the gods
love (or approve of) them. First, there is the obvious problem
that, since questions of right and wrong often generate
interminable disputes, the gods are likely to disagree among
themselves about moral matters no less often than we do,
making some actions both right and wrong. Socrates lets
Euthypro off the hook on this one by aggreeingonly for
purposes of continuing the discussionthat the gods may be
supposed to agree perfectly with each other. (Notice that this
problem arises only in a polytheistic culture.)
More significantly, Socrates generates a formal dilemma from
a (deceptively) simple question: "Is the pious loved by the gods
because it is pious, or is it pious because it is loved by the gods?"
(Euthyphro 10 a) Neither alternative can do the work for which
Euthyphro intends his definition of piety. If right actions are pious
only because the gods love them, then moral rightness is entirely
arbitrary, depending only on the whims of the gods. If, on the
other hand, the gods love right actions only because they are
already right, then there must be some non-divine source of
values, which we might come to know independently of their
love.
In fact, this dilemma proposes a significant difficulty at the
heart of any effort to define morality by reference to an external

authority. (Consider, for example, parallel questions with a similar

structure: "Do my parents approve of this action because it is
right, or is it right because my parents approve of it?" or "Does
the College forbid this activity because it is wrong, or is it wrong
because the College forbids it?") On the second alternative in
each case, actions become right (or wrong) solely because of the
authority's approval (or disapproval); its choice, then, has no
rational foundation, and it is impossible to attribute laudable
moral wisdom to the authority itself. So this horn is clearly
unacceptable. But on the first alternative, the authority approves
(or disapproves) of certain actions because they are already right
(or wrong) independently of it, and whatever rational standard it
employs as a criterion for making this decision must be
accessible to us as well as to it. Hence, we are in principle
capable of distinguishing right from wrong on our own.
Thus, an application of careful techniques of reasoning
results in genuine (if negative) progress in the resolution of a
philosophical issue. Socrates's method of insistent questioning at
least helps us to eliminate one bad answer to a serious question.
At most, it points us toward a significant degree of intellectual
independence. The character of Euthyphro, however, seems
unaffected by the entire process, leaving the scene at the end of
the dialogue no less self-confident than he had been at its outset.
The use of Socratic methods, even when they clearly result in a
rational victory, may not produce genuine conviction in those to
whom they are applied.
Apology: The Examined Life

Because of his political associations with an earlier regime, the

Athenian democracy put Socrates on trial, charging him with

undermining state religion and corrupting young people. The

speech he offered in his own defense, as reported in Plato's
Apologhma (Apology), provides us with many reminders of the
central features of Socrates's approach to philosophy and its
relation to practical life.
Ironic Modesty:
Explaining his mission as a philosopher, Socrates reports an
oracular message telling him that "No one is wiser than you."
(Apology 21a) He then proceeds through a series of ironic
descriptions of his efforts to disprove the oracle by conversing
with notable Athenians who must surely be wiser. In each case,
however, Socrates concludes that he has a kind of wisdom that
each of them lacks: namely, an open awareness of his own
ignorance.
Questioning Habit:
The goal of Socratic interrogation, then, is to help individuals to
achieve genuine self-knowledge, even if it often turns out to be
negative in character. As his cross-examination of Meletus shows,
Socrates means to turn the methods of the Sophists inside-out,
using logical nit-picking to expose (rather than to create) illusions
about reality. If the method rarely succeeds with interlocutors, it
can nevertheless be effectively internalized as a dialectical mode
of reasoning in an effort to understand everything.
Devotion to Truth:
Even after he has been convicted by the jury, Socrates declines
to abandon his pursuit of the truth in all matters. Refusing to
accept exile from Athens or a commitment to silence as his
penalty, he maintains that public discussion of the great issues of
life and virtue is a necessary part of any valuable human life.
"The unexamined life is not worth living." (Apology 38a) Socrates
would rather die than give up philosophy, and the jury seems
happy to grant him that wish.
Dispassionate Reason:
Even when the jury has sentenced him to death, Socrates calmly

delivers his final public words, a speculation about what the

future holds. Disclaiming any certainty about the fate of a human
being after death, he nevertheless expresses a continued
confidence in the power of reason, which he has exhibited (while
the jury has not). Who really wins will remain unclear.
Plato's dramatic picture of a man willing to face death rather
than abandoning his commitment to philosophical inquiry offers
up Socrates as a model for all future philosophers. Perhaps few of
us are presented with the same stark choice between philosophy
and death, but all of us are daily faced with opportunities to
decide between convenient conventionality and our devotion to
truth and reason. How we choose determines whether we, like
Socrates, deserve to call our lives philosophical.
Crito: The Individual and the State
Plato's description of Socrates's final days continued in the
Kritwn (Crito). Now in prison awaiting execution, Socrates
displays the same spirit of calm reflection about serious matters
that had characterized his life in freedom. Even the patent
injustice of his fate at the hands of the Athenian jury produces in
Socrates no bitterness or anger. Friends arrive at the jail with a
foolproof plan for his escape from Athens to a life of voluntary
exile, but Socrates calmly engages them in a rational debate
about the moral value of such an action.
Of course Crito and the others know their teacher well, and
they come prepared to argue the merits of their plan. Escaping
now would permit Socrates to fulfil his personal obligations in life.
Moreover, if he does not follow the plan, many people will
suppose that his friends did not care enough for him to arrange
his escape. Therefore, in order to honor his commitments and
preserve the reputation of his friends, Socrates ought to escape

from jail.
But Socrates dismisses these considerations as irrelevant to a
decision about what action is truly right. What other people will
say clearly doesn't matter. As he had argued in the Apology, the
only opinion that counts is not that of the majority of people
generally, but rather that of the one individual who truly knows.
The truth alone deserves to be the basis for decisions about
human action, so the only proper apporoach is to engage in the
sort of careful moral reasoning by means of which one may hope
to reveal it.
Socrates's argument proceeds from the statement of a
perfectly general moral principle to its application in his
particular case:
One ought never to do wrong (even in response to the evil
committed by another).
But it is always wrong to disobey the state.
Hence, one ought never to disobey the state.
And since avoiding the sentence of death handed down by the
Athenian jury would be an action in disobedience the state, it
follows Socrates ought not to escape.
The argument is a valid one, so we are committed to accepting
its conclusion if we believe that its premises are true. The general
commitment to act rightly is fundamental to a moral life, and it
does seem clear that Socrates's escape would be a case of
disobedience. But what about the second premise, the claim that
it is always wrong for an individual to disobey the state? Surely
that deserves further examination. In fact, Socrates pictures the
laws of Athens proposing two independent lines of argument in
favor of this claim:
First, the state is to us as a parent is to a child, and since it is
always wrong for a child to disobey a parent, it follows that it is

always wrong to disobey the state. (Crito 50e) Here we might

raise serious doubts about the legitimacy of the analogy between
our parents and the state. Obedience to our parents, after all, is a
temporary obligation that we eventually outgrow by learning to
make decisions for ourselves, while Socrates means to argue that
obeying the state is a requirement right up until we die. Here it
might be useful to apply the same healthy disrespect for moral
authority that Socrates himself expressed in the Euthyphro.
The second argument is that it is always wrong to break an
agreement, and since continuing to live voluntarily in a state
constitutes an agreement to obey it, it is wrong to disobey that
state. (Crito 52e) This may be a better argument; only the second
premise seems open to question. Explicit agreements to obey
some authority are common enoughin a matriculation pledge
or a contract of employment, for examplebut most of us have
not entered into any such agreement with our government. Even
if we suppose, as the laws suggest, that the agreement is an
implicit one to which we are committed by our decision to remain
within their borders, it is not always obvious that our choice of
where to live is entirely subject to our individual voluntary
control.
Nevertheless, these considerations are serious ones. Socrates
himself was entirely convinced that the arguments hold, so he
concluded that it would be wrong for him to escape from prison.
As always, of course, his actions conformed to the outcome of his
reasoning. Socrates chose to honor his commitment to truth and
morality even though it cost him his life.
Plato: Immortality and the Forms
A Faithful Student
The most illustrious student Socrates had in philosophy was
Plato, whose beautifully written dialogues not only offered an

admiring account of the teachings of his master but also provided

him with an opportunity to develop and express his own insightful
philosophical views. In the remainder of our readings from
Platonic dialogues, we will assume that the "Socrates" who
speaks is merely a fictional character created by the author,
attributing the philosophical doctrines to Plato himself. In the
middle and late dialogues, Plato employed the conversational
structure as a way of presenting dialectic, a pattern of
argumentation that examines each issue from several sides,
exploring the interplay of alternative ideas while subjecting all of
them to evaluation by reason.
Plato was a more nearly systematic thinker than Socrates had
been. He established his own school of philosophy, the Academy,
during the fourth century, and he did not hesitate to offer a
generation of young Athenians the positive results of his brilliant
reasoning. Although he shared Socrates's interest in ethical and
social philosophy, Plato was much more concerned to establish
his views on matters of metaphysics and epistemology, trying to
discover the ultimate constituents of reality and the grounds for
our knowledge of them.
Meno
Plato's Menwn (Meno) is a transitional dialogue: although it is
Socratic in tone, it introduces some of the epistemological and
metaphysical themes that we will see developed more fully in the
middle dialogues, which are clearly Plato's own. In a setting
uncluttered by concern for Socrates's fate, it centers on the
general problem of the origins of our moral knowledge.
The Greek notion of areth [aret], or virtue, is that of an
ability or skill in some particular respect. The virtue of a baker is

what enables the baker to produce good bread; the virtue of the
gardener is what enables the gardener to grow nice flowers; etc.
In this sense, virtues clearly differ from person to person and
from goal to goal. But Socrates is interested in true virtue, which
(like genuine health) should be the same for everyone. This broad
concept of virtue may include such specific virtues as courage,
wisdom, or moderation, but it should nevertheless be possible to
offer a perfectly general description of virtue as a whole, the skill
or ability to be fully human. But what is that?
When Meno suggests that virtue is simply the desire for good
things, Socrates argues that this cannot be the case. Since
different human beings are unequal in virtue, virtue must be
something that varies among them, he argues, but desire for one
believes to be good is perfectly universal Since no human being
ever knowingly desires what is bad, differences in their conduct
must be a consequence of differences in what they know. (Meno
77e) This is a remarkable claim. Socrates holds that knowing
what is right automatically results in the desire to do it, even
though this feature of our moral experience could be doubted.
(Aristotle, for example, would later explicitly disagree with this
view, carefully outlining the conditions under which weakness of
will interferes with moral conduct.) In this context, however, the
Socratic position effectively shifts the focus of the dialogue from
morality to epistemology: the question really at stake is how we
know what virtue is.
The Basis for Virtue
For questions of this sort, Socrates raises a serious dilemma:
how can we ever learn what we do not know? Either we already
know what we are looking for, in which case we don't need to
look, or we don't know what we're looking for, in which case we

wouldn't recognize it if we found it. (Meno 80e) The paradox of

knowledge is that, in the most fundamental questions about our
own nature and function, it seems impossible for us to learn
anything. The only escape, Socrates proposed, is to acknowledge
that we already know what we need to know. This is the doctrine
of recollection, Plato's conviction that our most basic knowledge
comes when we bring back to mind our acquaintance with
eternal realities during a previous existence of the soul.
The example offered in this dialogue is discovery of an
irrational number, the square root of 2. Socrates leads an
uneducated boy through the sophisticated geometrical
demonstration with careful questions, showing that the boy
somehow already knows the correct answers on his own. All of us
have had the experience (usually in mathematical contexts, Plato
believed) of suddenly realizing the truth of something of which
we had been unaware, and it does often feel as if we are not
really discovering something entirely new but rather merely
remembering something we already knew. Such experiences lend
some plausibility to Plato's claim that recollection may be the
source of our true opinions about the most fundamental features
of reality. (Meno 85d) What is more, this doctrine provides an
explanation of the effectiveness of Socratic method: the goal is
not to convey new information but rather to elicit awareness of
something that an individual already knows implicitly.
The further question of the dialogue is whether or not virtue
can be taught. On the one hand, it seems that virtue must be a
kind of wisdom, which we usually assume to be one of the
acquirable benefits of education. On the other hand, if virtue
could be taught, we should be able to identify both those who
teach it and those who learn from them, which we cannot easily
do in fact. (Meno 96c) (Here Socrates offers a scathing attack on
the sophists, who had often claimed that they were effective

teachers of virtue.) So it seems that virtue cannot be taught.

Plato later came to disagree with his teacher on this point,
arguing that genuine knowledge of virtue is attainable through
application of appropriate educational methods.
Perhaps our best alternative, Socrates held, is to suppose
that virtue is a (divinely bestowed?) true opinion that merely
happens to lack the sort of rational justification which would earn
it the status of certain knowledge. Whether or not we agree with
this rather gloomy conclusion about the unteachability of virtue,
the distinction between genuine knowledge and mere true
opinion is of the greatest importance. For philosophical
knowledge, it is not enough to accept beliefs that happen to be
true; we must also have reasons that adequately support them.
Phaedo
The Faidwn (Phaedo) concludes Plato's description of the life
of Socrates. Its final pages provide what appears to be an
accurate account of the death of one of the most colorful
personalities in the history of philosophy. (Phaedo 115b) But most
of the dialogue is filled with Plato's own effort to establish with
perfect certainty what Socrates had only been willing to
speculate about in the Apology, that the human soul is truly
immortal.
As Plato saw it, hope of survival comes naturally to the
philosopher, whose whole life is one of preparation for death.
What happens when we die, after all, is that the human soul
separates from the human body, and it is concern for the soul
rather than the body that characterizes a philosophical life. In
fact, Plato argued that since knowledge of the most important
matters in life is clearest to the soul alone, its customary

attachment to a mortal body often serves only as a distraction

from what counts. Here I am, thinking seriously about eternal
truth, and then . . . I get hungry or sleepy, and the needs of the
body interfere with my study. So, Plato concluded, the
philosopher may properly look forward to death as a release from
bodily limitations. (Phaedo 67d)
But is there really any reason to believe that the soul can
continue to exist and function after the body dies? Plato
supposed that there is, and his arguments on this point occupy
the bulk of the Phaedo.
The Cycle of Opposites
The first argument is based on the cyclical interchange by
means of which every quality comes into being from its own
opposite. Hot comes from cold and cold from hot: that is, hot
things are just cold things that have warmed up, and cold things
are just hot things that have cooled off. Similarly, people who are
awake are just people who were asleep but then woke up, while
people who are asleep are just people who were awake but then
dozed off.
But then, Plato argues by analogy, death must come from life
and life from death. (Phaedo 71c-d) That is, people who are dead
are just people who were alive but then experienced the
transition we call dying, and people who are alive are just people
who were among the dead but then experienced the transition
we call being born. This suggests a perpetual recycling of human
souls from the realm of the living to the realm of the dead and
back.

If this is an accurate image of reality, it would certainly follow

that my soul will continue to exist after the death of my body. But
it also supposes that my soul existed before the birth of my body
as well. This may seem like an extravagant speculation, but Plato
held that there is ample evidence of its truth in the course of
ordinary human life and learning.
The Forms
As Socrates had proposed in the Meno, the most important
varieties of human knowledge are really cases of recollection.
Consider, for example, our knowledge of equality. We have no
difficulty in deciding whether or not two people are perfectly
equal in height. In fact, they are never exactly the same height,
since we recognize that it would always be possible to discover
some differencehowever minutewith a more careful, precise
measurement. By this standard, all of the examples we perceive
in ordinary life only approach, but never fully attain, perfect
equality. But notice that since we realize the truth of this
important qualification on our experience, we must somehow
know for sure what true equality is, even though we have never
seen it. (Phaedo 75b)
Plato believed that the same point could be made with regard
to many other abstract concepts: even though we perceive only
their imperfect instances, we have genuine knowledge of truth,
goodness, and beauty no less than of equality. Things of this sort
are the Platonic Forms, abstract entities that exist independently
of the sensible world. Ordinary objects are imperfect and
changeable, but they faintly copy the perfect and immutable
Forms. Thus, all of the information we acquire about sensible
objects (like knowing what the high and low temperatures were
yesterday) is temporary, insignificant, and unreliable, while

genuine knowledge of the Forms themselves (like knowing that

93 - 67 = 26) perfectly certain forever.
Since we really do have knowledge of these supra-sensible
realities, knowledge that we cannot possibly have obtained
through any bodily experience, Plato argued, it follows that this
knowledge must be a form of recollection and that our souls must
have been acquainted with the Forms prior to our births. But in
that case, the existence of our mortal bodies cannot be essential
to the existence of our soulsbefore birth or after deathand we
are therefore immortal.
Immortality of the Soul
Use of the dialogue as a literary device made it easy for Plato
not only to present his own position (in the voice of Socrates) but
also to consider (in the voices of other characters) significant
objections that might be raised against it. This doesn't mean that
philosophy is merely an idle game of argument and counterargument, he pointed out, because it remains our goal to
discover the one line of argument that leads to the truth. The
philosopher cautiously investigates every possibility and
examines every side of an issue, precisely because that increases
the chances of arriving eventually at a correct account of reality.
Thus, Simmias suggests that the relationship between the
soul and the body may be like that between musical harmony
and the strings of a lyre that produces it. In this case, even
though the soul is significantly different from the body, it could
not reasonably be expected to survive the utter destruction of
that physical thing. (This is an early statement of a view of
human nature that would later come to be called
epiphenomenalism.) But Socrates replies that this analogy will

not hold, since the soul exercises direct control over the motions
of the body, as the harmony does not over those of the lyre.
Plato's suggestion here seems to be that it would become
impossible to provide an adequate account of human morality, of
the proper standards for acting rightly, if Simmias were right.
Cebes offers a more difficult objection: what if the body is like
a garment worn by the soul? Even though I continue to exist
longer than any single article of my clothing does, there will
come a time when I die, and some of my clothes will probably
continue to exist. In the same way, even if the argument from
opposites has shown that the soul can in principle outlast the life
of any particular human body, there might come a time when the
soul itself ceases to exist. Even if there is life after death, Cebes
suggests, the soul may not be truly immortal.
In response to this criticism, Plato significantly revised the
argument from opposities by incorporating an additional
conception of the role of the Forms. Each Form, he now
maintains, is the cause of all of every particular instance that
bears its name: the form of Beauty causes the beauty of any
beautiful thing; the form of Equality causes the equality of any
pair of equal things; etc. But then, since the soul is living, it must
participate in the Form of Life, and thus it cannot ever die.
(Phaedo 105d) The soul is perfectly and certainly imperishable,
not only for this life, but forever.
Despite the apparent force of these logical arguments, Plato
chose to conclude the Phaedo by supplementing them with a
mythical image of life after death. This concrete picture of the
existence of a world beyond our own is imagined, not reasoned,
so it cannot promise to deliver the same perfect representation of
the truth. But if we are not fully convinced by the certainty of

rational arguments, we may yet take some comfort from the

suggestions of a pleasant story.
Plato: The State and the Soul
The Republic

The most comprehensive statement of Plato's mature

philosophical views appears in Politeia (The Republic), an
extended treatment of the most fundamental principles for the
conduct of human life. Using the character "Socrates" as a
fictional spokesman, Plato considers the nature and value of
justice and the other virtues as they appear both in the structure
of society as a whole and in the personality of an individual
human being. This naturally leads to discussions of human
nature, the achievement of knowledge, the distinction between
appearance and reality, the components of an effective
education, and the foundations of morality.
Because it covers so many issues, The Republic can be read
in several different ways: as a treatise on political theory and
practice, as a pedagogical handbook, or as a defence of ethical
conduct, for example. Although we'll take notice of each of these
features along the way, our primary focus in what follows will be
on the basic metaphysical and epistemological issues,
foundational questions about who we are, what is real, and about
how we know it. Read in this fashion, the dialogue as a whole
invites us to share in Plato's vision of our place within the
ultimate structure of reality.
What is Justice?

Book I of The Republic appears to be a Socratic dialogue on

the nature of justice (Gk. dikaiwsunh [dikaisun]). As always,
the goal of the discussion is to discover the genuine nature of the
subject at hand, but the process involves the proposal, criticism,
and rejection of several inadequate attempts at defining what
justice really is.
The elderly, wealthy Cephalus suggests that justice involves
nothing more than telling the truth and repaying one's debts. But
Socrates points out that in certain (admittedly unusual)
circumstances, following these simple rules without exception
could produce disastrous results. (Republic 331c) Returning a
borrowed weapon to an insane friend, for example, would be an
instance of following the rule but would not seem to be an
instance of just action. The presentation of a counter-example of
this sort tends to show that the proposed definition of justice is
incorrect, since its application does not correspond with our
ordinary notion of justice.
In an effort to avoid such difficulties, Polemarchus offers a
refinement of the definition by proposing that justice means
"giving to each what is owed." The new definition codifies
formally our deeply-entrenched practice of seeking always to
help our friends and harm our enemies. This evades the earlier
counter-example, since the just act of refusing to return the
borrowed weapon would clearly benefit one's friend. But Socrates
points out that harsh treatment of our enemies is only likely to
render them even more unjust than they already are. (Republic
335d) Since, as we saw in the Phaedo, opposites invariably
exclude each other, the production of injustice could never be an
element within the character of true justice; so this definition,
too, must be mistaken.
The Privilege of Power

At this point in the dialogue, Plato introduces Thrasymachus

the sophist, another fictionalized portrait of an historical
personality. After impatiently dismissing what has gone before,
Thrasymachus recommends that we regard justice as the
advantage of the stronger; those in positions of power simply use
their might to decree what shall be right. This, too, expresses a
fairly common (if somewhat pessimistic) view of the facts about
social organization.
But of course Socrates has other ideas. For one thing, if the
ruling party mistakenly legislates to its own disadvantage, justice
will require the rest of us to perform the (apparently)
contradictory feat of both doing what they decree and also doing
what is best for them. More significantly, Socrates argues that
the best ruler must always be someone who knows how to rule,
someone who understands ruling as a craft. But since crafts of
any sort invariably aim to produce some external goal (Gk. teloV
[tlos]), good practitioners of each craft always act for the sake
of that goal, never in their own interest alone. Thus, good rulers,
like good shepherds, must try to do what is best for those who
have been entrusted to them, rather than seeking their own
welfare. (Republic 342e)
Beaten down by the force of Socratic questioning,
Thrasymachus lashes out bitterly and then shifts the focus of the
debate completely. If Socrates does happen to be right about the
nature of justice, he declares, then it follows that a life devoted to
injustice is be more to one's advantage than a life devoted to
justice. Surely anyone would prefer to profit by committing an act
of injustice against another than to suffer as the victim of an act
of injustice committed by someone else. ("Do unto others before
they do unto you.") Thus, according to Thrasymachus, injustice is
better than justice.

Some preliminary answers come immediately to mind: the

personal rewards to be gained from performing a job well are
commonly distinct from its intrinsic aims; just people are rightly
regarded as superior to unjust people in intelligence and
character; every society believes that justice (as conceived in
that society) is morally obligatory; and justice is the proper virtue
(Gk. areth [aret]) of the human soul. But if Socrates himself
might have been satisfied with responses of this sort, Plato the
philosophical writer was not. There must be an answer that
derives more fundamentally from the nature of reality.
Is Justice Better than Injustice?
When Thrasymachus falls silent, other characters from the
dialogue continue to pursue the central questions: what is justice,
how can we achieve it, and what is its value? Not everyone will
agree that justice should be defended as worthwhile for its own
sake, rather than for the extrinsic advantages that may result
from its practice.
It helps to have a concrete example in mind. So Glaucon
recounts the story of Gyges, the shepherd who discovered a ring
that rendered him invisible and immediately embarked on a life
of crime with perfect impunity. The point is to suggest that
human beingsgiven an opportunity to do so without being
caught and therefore without suffering any punishment or loss of
good reputationwould naturally choose a life of injustice, in
order to maximize their own interests.
Adeimantus narrows the discussion even further by pointing
out that the personal benefits of having a good reputation are
often acquired by anyone who merely appears to act justly,
whether or not that person really does so. (Republic 363a) This

suggests the possibility of achieving the greatest possible

advantage by having it both ways: act unjustly while preserving
the outward appearance of being just, instead of acting justly
while risking the outward appearance of injustice. In order to
demonstrate once and for all that justice really is valuable for its
own sake alone, Plato must show that a life of the second sort is
superior to a life of the first sort.
Thrasymachus, Glaucon, and Adeimantus have given voice to
a fundamental issue at the heart of any effort to improve human
conduct by appealing to the principles of moral philosophy. If
what I am morally required to do can (in some circumstances) be
different from what I would choose do for my own benefit, then
why should I be moral? Plato wrote the remainder of The
Republic in an attempt to provide an adequate, satisfying answer
to this question.
After Book I, the entire dialogue is pervaded by an extended
analogy between the justice of individual human beings and the
that of an entire society or city-state. Since the crucial elements
of justice may be easier to observe on the larger scale (Republic
369a), Plato began with a detailed analysis of the formation,
structure, and organization of an ideal state before applying its
results to a description of personal life.
Why We Form a Society
Imagining their likely origins in the prehistorical past, Plato
argued that societies are invariably formed for a particular
purpose. Individual human beings are not self-sufficient; no one
working alone can acquire all of the genuine necessities of life. In
order to resolve this difficulty, we gather together into
communities for the mutual achievement of our common goals.

This succeeds because we can work more efficiently if each of us

specializes in the practice of a specific craft: I make all of the
shoes; you grow all of the vegetables; she does all of the
carpentry; etc. Thus, Plato held that separation of functions and
specialization of labor are the keys to the establishment of a
worthwhile society.

inclination toward philosophical thinking. As we've already seen

in the Apology and in the Phaedo, it is the philosopher above all
others who excels at investigating serious questions about
human life and at judging what is true and best. But how are
personal qualities of this sort to be fostered and developed in an
appropriate number of individual citizens? (Republic 376d)

The result of this original impulse is a society composed of

many individuals, organized into distinct classes (clothiers,
farmers, builders, etc.) according to the value of their role in
providing some component part of the common good. But the
smooth operation of the whole society will require some
additional services that become necessary only because of the
creation of the social organization itselfthe adjudication of
disputes among members and the defense of the city against
external attacks, for example. Therefore, carrying the principle of
specialization one step further, Plato proposed the establishment
of an additional class of citizens, the guardians who are
responsible for management of the society itself.

The answer, Plato believed, was to rely upon the value of a

good education. (Remember, he operated his own school at
Athens!) We'll have an opportunity to consider his notions about
higher education later, but his plan for the elementary education
of guardians for the ideal state appears in Book III. Its central
concern is an emphasis on achieving the proper balance of many
disparate
componentsphysical
training
and
musical
performance along with basic intellectual development.

In fact, Plato held that effective social life requires guardians

of two distinct sorts: there must be both soldiers whose function
is to defend the state against external enemies and to enforce its
laws, and rulers who resolve disagreements among citizens and
make decisions about public policy. The guardians collectively,
then, are those individuals whose special craft is just the task of
governance itself.
Training the Guardians
In order to fulfill their proper functions, these people will have
to be special human beings indeed. Plato hinted early on that one
of their most evident characteristics will be a temperamental

One notable feature of this method of raising children is

Plato's demand for strict censorship of literary materials,
especially poetry and drama. He argued that early absorption in
fictional accounts can dull an person's ability to make accurate
judgments regarding matters of fact and that excessive
participation in dramatic recitations might encourage some
people to emulate the worst behavior of the tragic heros.
(Republic 395c) Worst of all, excessive attention to fictional
contexts may lead to a kind of self-deception, in which individuals
are ignorant of the truth about their own natures as human
beings. (Republic 382b) Thus, on Plato's view, it is vital for a
society to exercise strict control over the content of everything
that children read, see, or hear. As we will later notice, Aristotle
had very different ideas.
Training of the sort described here (and later) is intended
only for those children who will eventually become the guardians
of the state. Their performance at this level of education properly

determines both whether they are qualified to do so and, if so,

whether each of them deserves to be a ruler or a soldier. A
society should design its educational system as a means to
distinguish among future citizens whose functions will differ and
to provide training appropriate to the abilities of each.
Divisions of the State
The principle of specialization thus leads to a stratified
society. Plato believed that the ideal state comprises members of
three distinct classes: rulers, soldiers, and the people. Although
he officially maintained that membership in the guardian classes
should be based solely upon the possession of appropriate skills,
Plato presumed that future guardians will typically be the
offspring of those who presently hold similar positions of honor. If
citizens express any dissatisfaction with the roles to which they
are assigned, he proposed that they be told the "useful
falsehood" that human beings (like the metals gold, silver, and
bronze) possess different natures that fit each of them to a
particular function within the operation of the society as a whole.
(Republic 415a)
Notice that this myth (Gk. muqos [mythos]) cuts both ways. It
can certainly be used as a method of social control, by
encouraging ordinary people to accept their position at the
bottom of the heap, subject to governance by the higher classes.
But Plato also held that the myth justifies severe restrictions on
the life of the guardians: since they are already gifted with
superior natures, they have no need for wealth or other external
rewards. In fact, Plato held that guardians should own no private
property, should live and eat together at government expense,
and should earn no salary greater than necessary to supply their
most basic needs. Under this regime, no one will have any venal

motive for seeking a position of leadership, and those who are

chosen to be guardians will govern solely from a concern to seek
the welfare of the state in what is best for all of its citizens.
Having developed a general description of the structure of an
ideal society, Plato maintained that the proper functions
performed by its disparate classes, working together for the
common good, provide a ready account of the need to develop
significant social qualities or virtues.
Since the rulers are responsible for making decisions according
to which the entire city will be governed, they must have
the virtue of wisdom (Gk. sofia [sopha]), the capacity to
comprehend reality and to make impartial judgments
about it.
Soldiers charged with the defense of the city against external
and internal enemies, on the other hand, need the virtue
of courage (Gk. andreia [andreia]), the willingness to carry
out their orders in the face of danger without regard for
personal risk.
The rest of the people in the city must follow its leaders instead
of pursuing their private interests, so they must exhibit
the virtue of moderation (Gk. swfrosunh [sophrosn]),
the subordination of personal desires to a higher purpose.
When each of these classes performs its own role appropriately
and does not try to take over the function of any other class,
Plato held, the entire city as a whole will operate smoothly,
exhibiting the harmony that is genuine justice. (Republic 433e)
We can therefore understand all of the cardinal virtues by
considering how each is embodied in the organization of an ideal
city.

Rulers
Wise Decisions

which corresponds to the land, buildings, and other material

resources of a city, Plato held that every human being includes
three souls (Gk. yuch [psych]) that correspond to the three
classes of citizen within the state, each of them contributing in its
own way to the successful operation of the whole person.

Soldiers
Courageous Actions
Farmers, Merchants, and other People
(Moderated Desires)
Justice itself is not the exclusive responsibility of any one class of
citizens, but emerges from the harmonious interrelationship of
each component of the society with every other. Next we'll see
how Plato applied this conception of the virtues to the lives of
individual human beings.
The Virtues in Human Souls
Remember that the basic plan of the Republic is to draw a
systematic analogy between the operation of society as a whole
and the life of any individual human being. So Plato supposed
that people exhibit the same features, perform the same
functions, and embody the same virtues that city-states do.
Applying the analogy in this way presumes that each of us, like
the state, is a complex whole made up of several distinct parts,
each of which has its own proper role. But Plato argued that there
is ample evidence of this in our everyday experience. When
faced with choices about what to do, we commonly feel the tug
of contrary impulses drawing us in different directions at once,
and the most natural explanation for this phenomenon is to
distinguish between distinct elements of our selves. (Republic
436b)
Thus, the analogy holds. In addition to the physical body,

1.

The rational soul (mind or intellect) is the thinking portion

within each of us, which discerns what is real and not
merely apparent, judges what is true and what is false,
and wisely makes the rational decisions in accordance
with which human life is most properly lived.
2. The spirited soul (will or volition), on the other hand, is the
active portion; its function is to carry out the dictates of
reason in practical life, courageously doing whatever the
intellect has determined to be best.
3. Finally, the appetitive soul (emotion or desire) is the portion
of each of us that wants and feels many things, most of
which must be deferred in the face of rational pursuits if
we are to achieve a salutary degree of self-control.
In the Phaedrus, Plato presented this theory even more
graphically, comparing the rational soul to a charioteer whose
vehicle is drawn by two horses, one powerful but unruly (desire)
and the other disciplined and obedient (will).
On Plato's view, then, an human being is properly said to be just
when the three souls perform their proper functions in harmony
with each other, working in consonance for the good of the
person as a whole.

Rational Soul (Thinking)

Wisdom
Spirited Soul (Willing)

Courage
Appetitive Soul (Feeling)
Moderation
As in a well-organized state, the justice of an individual human
being emerges only from the interrelationship among its separate
components. (Republic 443d)
Plato's account of a tripartite division within the self has exerted
an enormous influence on the philosophy of human nature in the
Western tradition. Although few philosophers whole-heartedly
adopt his hypostasization of three distinct souls, nearly everyone
acknowledges some differentiation among the functions of
thinking, willing, and feeling. (Even in The Wizard of Oz,
Dorothy's quest depends upon the cooperation of her three
friendsScarecrow, Lion, and Tin Woodsmaneach of whom
exemplifies one of the three aspects of human nature.) Perhaps
any adequate view of human life requires some explanation or
account (Gk. logos [logos]) of how we incorporate intellect,
volition, and desire in the whole of our existence.
In the context of his larger argument, Plato's theory of human
nature provides the foundation for another answer to the
question of why justice is better than injustice. On the view
developed here, true justice is a kind of good health, attainable
only through the harmonious cooperative effort of the three
souls. In an unjust person, on the other hand, the disparate parts
are in perpetual turmoil, merely coexisting with each other in an
unhealthy, poorly-functioning, dis-integrated personality. Plato
developed this theme in greater detail in the final books of The
Republic.
Plato: Education and the Value of Justice

Men and Women

As an account of political organization on the larger scale,
Plato's defense of an aristocratic government was unlikely to win
broad approval in democratic Athens. He used the characters
Glaucon and Adeimantus to voice practical objections against the
plan. They are especially concerned (as Plato's Athenian
contemporaries may well have been) with some of its provisions
for the guardian class, including the participation of both men
and women, the elimination of families, and the education of
children.
Most fifth-century Greeks, like many twentieth-century
Americans, supposed that natural differences between males and
females of the human species entail a significant differentiation
of their proper social roles. Although Plato granted that men and
women are different in height, strength, and similar qualities, he
noted that these differences are not universal; that is, for
example, although it may be true that most men are taller than
most women, there are certainly some women who are taller
than many men. What is more, he denied that there is any
systematic difference between men and women with respect to
the abilities relevant to guardianshipthe capacity to understand
reality and make reasonable judgments about it. (Republic 454d)
Thus, Plato maintained that prospective guardians, both male
and female, should receive the same education and be assigned
to the same vital functions within the society.
In addition, Plato believed that the interests of the state are
best preserved if children are raised and educated by the society
as a whole, rather than by their biological parents. So he
proposed a simple (if startlingly unfamiliar) scheme for the
breeding, nurturing, and training of children in the guardian class.

(Note that the same children who are not permitted to watch and
listen to "dangerous" art are encouraged to witness first-hand the
violence of war.) The presumed pleasures of family life, Plato
held, are among the benefits that the higher classes of a society
must be prepared to forego.
Philosopher / Kings
A general objection to the impracticability of the entire
enterprise remains. Even if we are persuaded that Plato's
aristocracy is the ideal way to structure a city-state, is there any
possibility that it will actually be implemented in a human
society? Of course there is a sense in which it doesn't matter;
what ought to be is more significant for Plato than what is, and
philosophers generally are concerned with a truth that
transcends the facts of everyday life.
But Plato also believed that an ideal state, embodying the
highest and best capabilities of human social life, can really be
achieved, if the right people are put in charge. Since the key to
the success of the whole is the wisdom of the rulers who make
decisions for the entire city, Plato held that the perfect society
will occur only when kings become philosophers or philosophers
are made kings. (Republic 473d)
Only those with a philosophical temperament, Plato
supposed, are competent to judge between what merely seems
to be the case and what really is, between the misleading,
transient appearances of sensible objects and the the permanent
reality of unchanging, abstract forms. Thus, the theory of forms is
central to Plato's philosophy once again: the philosophers who
think about such things are not idle dreamers, but the true
realists in a society. It is precisely their detachment from the

realm of sensory images that renders them capable of making

accurate judgments about the most important issues of human
life.
Thus, despite prevalent public skepticism about philosophers,
it is to them that an ideal society must turn for the wisdom to
conduct its affairs properly. But philosophers are made, not born.
So we need to examine the program of education by means of
which Plato supposed that the future philosopher-kings can
acquire the knowledge necessary for their function as decisionmakers for the society as a whole.
The Strucure of Human Knowledge
Since an ideal society will be ruled by those of its citizens
who are most aware of what really matters, it is vital to consider
how that society can best raise and educate its philosophers.
Plato supposed that under the usual haphazard methods of
childrearing, accidents of birth often restrict the opportunities for
personal development, faulty upbringing prevents most people
from achieving everything of which they are capable, and the
promise of easy fame or wealth distracts some of the most able
young people from the rigors of intellectual pursuits. But he
believed that those with the greatest abilitythat is, people with
a natural disposition fit for philosophical studymust receive the
best education, engaging in a regimen of mental discipline that
grows more strict with every passing year of their lives.
The highest goal in all of education, Plato believed, is
knowledge of the Good; that is, not merely an awareness of
particular benefits and pleasures, but acquaintance with the Form
itself. Just as the sun provides illumination by means of which we
are able to perceive everything in the visual world, he argued, so

the Form of the Good provides the ultimate standard by means of

which we can apprehend the reality of everything that has value.
(Republic 508e) Objects are worthwhile to the extent that they
participate in this crucial form.
So, too, our apprehension of reality occurs in different
degrees, depending upon the nature of the objects with which it
is concerned in each case. Thus, there is a fundamental
difference between the mere opinion (Gk. doxa [dxa]) we can
have regarding the visible realm of sensible objects and the
genuine knowledge (Gk. episthmh [epistm]) we can have of
the invisible realm of the Forms themselves. In fact, Plato held
that each of these has two distinct varieties, so that we can
picture the entire array of human cognition as a line divided
proportionately into four segments. (Republic 509d)
At the lowest level of reality are shadows, pictures, and other
images, with respect to which imagination (Gk. eikasia [eiksia])
or conjecture is the appropriate degree of awareness, although it
provides only the most primitive and unreliable opinions.
The visible realm also contains ordinary physical objects, and
our perception of them provides the basis for belief (Gk. pistiV
[pstis]), the most accurate possible conception of the nature and
relationship of temporal things.
Moving upward into the intelligible realm, we first become
acquainted with the relatively simple Forms of numbers, shapes,
and other mathematical entities; we can achieve systematic
knowledge of these objects through a disciplined application of
the understanding (Gk. dianoia [dinoia]).

Finally, at the highest level of all, are the more significant

Formstrue Equality, Beauty, Truth, and of course the Good
itself. These permanent objects of knowledge are directly
apprehended by intuition (Gk. nohsiV [nsis]), the fundamental
capacity of human reason to comprehend the true nature of
reality.
The Allegory of the Cave
Plato recognized that the picture of the Divided Line may be
difficult for many of us to understand. Although it accurately
represents the different levels of reality and corresponding
degrees of knowledge, there is a sense in which one cannot
appreciate its full significance without first having achieved the
highest level. So, for the benefit of those of us who are still
learning but would like to grasp what he is talking about, Plato
offered a simpler story in which each of the same structural
components appears in a way that we can all comprehend at our
own level. This is the Allegory of the Cave.
Suppose that there is a group of human beings who have
lived their entire lives trapped in a subterranean chamber lit by a
large fire behind them. Chained in place, these cave-dwellers can
see nothing but shadows (of their own bodies and of other things)
projected on a flat wall in front of them. Some of these people
will be content to do no more than notice the play of light and
shadow, while the more clever among them will become highly
skilled observers of the patterns that most regularly occur. In
both cases, however, they cannot truly comprehend what they
see, since they are prevented from grasping its true source and
nature. (Republic 514a)
Now suppose that one of these human beings manages to

break the chains, climb through the torturous passage to the

surface, and escape the cave. With eyes accustomed only to the
dim light of the former habitation, this individual will at first be
blinded by the brightness of the surface world, able to look only
upon the shadows and reflections of the real world. But after
some time and effort, the former cave-dweller will become able
to appreciate the full variety of the newly-discovered world,
looking at trees, mountains, and (eventually) the sun itself.
Finally, suppose that this escapee returns to the cave, trying
to persuade its inhabitants that there is another, better, more
real world than the one in which they have so long been content
to dwell. They are unlikely to be impressed by the pleas of this
extraordinary individual, Plato noted, especially since their former
companion, having travelled to the bright surface world, is now
inept and clumsy in the dim realm of the cave. Nevertheless, it
would have been in the best interest of these residents of the
cave to entrust their lives to the one enlightened member of their
company, whose acquaintance with other things is a unique
qualification for genuine knowledge.
Plato seriously intended this allegory as a representation of
the state of ordinary human existence. We, like the people raised
in a cave, are trapped in a world of impermanence and partiality,
the realm of sensible objects. Entranced by the particular and
immediate experiences these things provide, we are unlikely to
appreciate the declarations of philosophers, the few among us
who, like the escapee, have made the effort to achieve eternal
knowledge of the permanent forms. But, like them, it would serve
us best if we were to follow this guidance, discipline our own
minds, and seek an accurate understanding of the highest
objects of human contemplation.
An Educational Program

Having already described the elementary education and

physical training that properly occupy the first twenty years of
the life of prospective guardians, Plato applied his account of the
structure of human knowledge in order to prescribe the
disciplined pursuit of their higher education.
It naturally begins with mathematics, the vital first step in
learning to turn away from the realm of sensible particulars to
the transcendent forms of reality. Arithmetic provides for the
preliminary development of abstract concepts, but Plato held that
geometry is especially valuable for its careful attention to the
eternal forms. Study of the (mathematical, not observational)
disciplines of astronomy and harmonics encourage the further
development of the skills of abstract thinking and proportional
reasoning.
Only after completing this thorough mathematical foundation
are the future rulers of the city prepared to begin their study of
philosophy, systematizing their grasp of mathematical truth,
learning to recognize and eliminate all of their presuppositions,
and grounding all genuine knowledge firmly on the foundation of
their intuitive grasp of the reality of the Forms. Finally, an
extended period of apprenticeship will help them to learn how to
apply everything they have learned to the decisions necessary
for the welfare of the city as a whole. Only in their fifties will the
best philosophers among them be fit to rule over their fellowcitizens.
Kinds of State or Person
In order to explain the distinction between justice and
injustice more fully, Plato devoted much of the remainder of The
Republic to a detailed discussion of five different kinds of

government (and, by analogy, five different kinds of person),

ranked in order from best to worst:
A society organized in the ideally efficient way Plato has
already described is said to have an aristocratic government.
Similarly, an aristocratic person is one whose rational, spirited,
and appetitive souls work together properly. Such governments
and people are the most genuine examples of true justice at the
social and personal levels.
In a defective timocratic society, on the other hand, the
courageous soldiers have usurped for themselves the privilege of
making decisions that properly belongs only to its bettereducated rulers. A timocratic person is therefore someone who is
more concerned with belligerently defending personal honor than
with wisely choosing what is truly best.
In an oligarchic government, both classes of guardian have
been pressed into the service of a ruling group comprising a few
powerful and wealthy citizens. By analogy, an oligarchic
personality is someone whose every thought and action is
devoted to the self-indulgent goal of amassing greater wealth.
Even more disastrously, a democratic government holds out
the promise of equality for all of its citizens but delivers only the
anarchy of an unruly mob, each of whose members is interested
only in the pursuit of private interests. The parallel case of a
democratic person is someone who is utterly controlled by
desires, acknowledging no bounds of taste or virtue in the
perpetual effort to achieve the momentary satisfaction that
pleasure provides.

Finally, the tyrranic society is one in which a single

individual has gained control over the mob, restoring order io
place of anarchy, but serving only personal welfare instead of the
interests of the whole city. A tyrranic person, then, must be one
whose entire life is focussed upon the satisfaction of a single
desire at the expense of everything else that truly matters.
Governments and people of this last variety are most perfectly
unjust, even though they may appear to be well-organized and
effective.
Although Plato presents these five types of government or
person as if there is a natural progression from each to the next,
his chief concern is to exhibit the relative degree of justice
achieved by each. The most perfect contrast between justice and
injustice arises in a comparison between the aristocratic and the
tyrranic instances.
Justice is Better than Injustice
Thus, we are finally prepared to understand the full force of
Plato's answer to the original challenge of showing that justice is
superior to injustice. He offered three arguments, each of which
is designed to demonstrate the intrinsic merits of being a just
person.
First, Plato noted that the just life of an aristocratic person
arises from an effortless harmony among internal elements of the
soul, while the unjust life of a tyrranic person can maintain its
characteristic imbalance only by the exertion of an enormous
effort. Thus, it is simply easier to be just than to be unjust.
(Republic 580a) This argument makes sense even independently
of Plato's larger theory; it is a generalized version of the fairly
common notion that it is easier to be honest than to keep track of

the truth along with a number of false stories about it.

Second, Plato claimed that tyrranic individuals can appreciate
only pleasures of the body, monetary profits, and the benefits of
favorable public reputation, all of which are by their nature
transitory. Aristocratic people, on the other hand, can accept
these things in moderation but also transcend them in order to
enjoy the delights of intellectual achievement through direct
acquaintance with the immutable Forms. (Republic 583a) This
argument relies more heavily upon adoption of Plato's entire
theory of human nature, as developed in The Republic and other
dialogues; it is likely to influence only those who have already
experienced the full range of intellectual advantages for
themselves.
Finally, Plato resorted to myth (just as he had at the close of
the Phaedo by imagining that justice will be rewarded with steady
progression in a series of lives hereafter. This "Myth of Er" isn't
philosophical argument at all. Even if it were literally true and
demonstrable that the just are rewarded in the afterlife, that
would be only an extrinsic motive for being just, not a proof of its
intrinsic value.
Although it is a masterly treatment of human nature and politics,
The Republic was not Plato's only discussion of these significant
issues. His dialogue Gorgias includes an eloquent appeal on
behalf of the life of justice and personal non-violence in all things.
The Statesman devotes extended attention to the practical
matter of securing effective government under the less-thanideal conditions most of us commonly face. And the unfinished
LegeiV (Laws) is a lengthy analysis of the history of Athenian
political life.