“Don’t you know that the beginning is the most important place of every work and that this is especially so with anything young and tender? For at that stage it’s most plastic, and each thing assimilates itself to the model whose stamp anyone wishes to give it.”

Welcome back to my series on Plato’s Republic! As I shared in my first article, I’m producing this series for two reasons. First, I want to make Plato more accessible to everyone. Part of preserving the western intellectual tradition, or at least, not losing it, entails cracking open the books of old to rediscover what ideas they contain. Second, and most relevant for educators, Plato’s Republic contains ideas that have immense implications for education today. By going back in time to consider these ideas, educators can gain fresh insight into the nature and purpose of education, paving the way for an educational renaissance that fuses together the best of ancient wisdom and modern research. 

In Book I of the Republic, Socrates and his friends are left at a stalemate. They have attempted to defend the value of justice only to encounter a state of aporia, that is, uncertainty or doubt, instead. This conclusion to Book I is intentional on Plato’s part. He wants his readers to actively engage with his writings, thereby experiencing the joys and frustrations of intellectual inquiry for themselves. For Plato, encountering aporia is a crucial step in the learning process. Only by truly realizing one’s lack of understanding will one truly desire to grow in knowledge of the matter.

In today’s blog, I will take a closer look at Book II of the Republic. In this section, Socrates and his friends make progress in their inquiry regarding the nature of justice. First, they revisit whether justice is more desirable than injustice in the first place. Then Socrates puts forward his account of a just city to illustrate at a macro-level the origins of justice. Finally, Socrates and his friends discuss how the guardians, the warrior-leaders of the city, ought to be educated. Let’s take each of these in stride.

To be Just, or Unjust, That is the Question

In Book I, Socrates and Thrasymachus, the infamous Sophist, engaged in a heated debate over the definition of justice, specifically whether the just life is worth pursuing after all. Thrasymachus made a compelling case that life is merely a struggle for power and that it is clear to any rational person that injustice leads to greater success in the long run. Socrates refused to accept this position, insisting that justice cannot be reduced to power. He defined justice as the virtue of the soul and argued that without justice, the soul is left miserable, purposeless, and without direction.

As we turn to Book II, we see that Glaucon and Adeimantus find Socrates’ viewpoint attractive, but would like him to elaborate. After all, Thrasymachus has a point that injustice appears to triumph over justice more often than not. If Socrates is going to convince them, much less anyone else, he will need to go into further detail on what precisely is so desirable about justice.

To get the conversation going, Glaucon suggests that all human goods can be classified into three general categories of desire (357c). The question becomes: Where does justice belong?

The three categories are as follows:

1. Things that are desirable in and of themselves, things like enjoyment
2. Things that are desirable intrinsically and extrinsically, that is, they are desirable in and of themselves, but also bring beneficial consequences. Things like: knowledge, health, sight
3. Things that are only desirable for their consequences, such as physical exercise, medical treatment, and financially profitable activities

Socrates’ inclination is to place justice in the second category, the one reserved for things that are desirable in themselves as well as the consequences they bring (358a). Glaucon responds that this may be correct, but it is not the opinion of the majority. Most people tend to view justice in the third category, as a form of drudgery that nonetheless leads to fortuitous results.

To illustrate this point, let us say that I aspire to be a world-class table tennis player. I may be tempted at times to find ways to compete unjustly in order to expedite my international advancement. After all, if I lose an important match, say an important qualifying round, it could set back my career goal for decades. On the other hand, if it is publicly revealed that I have used an illegal paddle or weighted the ball illicitly, then my career may be permanently over. The upshot is that behaving justly in this situation is a form of drudgery (it may take years for me to receive international recognition for my skill), but it will likely serve me better in the long-run (no skeletons in the closet).

Notice that my chief motivation for behaving justly in the example above is not justice in and of itself. It is what justice brings me. This is a problem, thinks Glaucon, and he tells his own story to demonstrate why (359d).

The Myth of the Ring of Gyges

There once was a shepherd named Gyges, narrates Glaucon, tending his flock in a nearby field. Suddenly an earthquake strikes, causing Gyges to fall into a recess in the earth. Down in the recess, he chances upon a magic ring that allows him to turn invisible. As the story goes, it doesn’t take long for Gyges to realize the fresh opportunities that now await him. He uses the power of the ring for personal advancement. He seduces the queen, conquers the king, and declares himself the new ruler of the kingdom.

Now, to be clear, Gyges’ behavior here is horrid. We would like to think that the just person would act differently. Not so fast, says Glaucon. Suppose there are two rings of the type discovered by Gyges, one worn by a just man and the other by the unjust man. Glaucon argues that both men would behave exactly the same way. Why? If justice is only valuable for the benefits it offers, then it makes no difference whether one is just or unjust so long as one is not found out.

Glaucon uses this story to illustrate the problem associated with placing justice in the third category or even the second category for that matter. The appearance of being just is often more desirable than actually being just. As long as justice is desired for its benefits, one is inclined to put on the façade of behaving justly while secretly behaving otherwise.

Justice as Intrinsically Desirable

Adeimantus, the brother of Glaucon, underscores this point, demonstrating how justice is deployed for expedient ends in both Greek literature and everyday life (362e). He references the likes of Hesiod and Homer to demonstrate that Greek myths teach that justice ought to be pursued for the rich well of blessings it brings. Additionally, he acknowledges, 

“No doubt, fathers say to their sons and exhort them, as do all those who have care of anyone, that one must be just. However, they don’t praise justice by itself but the good reputations that come from it; they exhort their charges to be just so that, as a result of the opinion, ruling offices and marriages will come to the one who seems to be just…” (363a)

If Glaucon and Adeimantus’ concerns are accurate, then people are often just merely out of coercion. That is, they fear the social consequences of acting otherwise. This is a problem. As long as justice is desired for its benefits, the temptation to put on the facade of justice without actually being just will be a temptation. Thus, in order to give a rigorous defense for the value of justice, Socrates and his friends concur that justice must be defended as a good that is desirable in and of itself.

Otherwise, as Plato scholar Julia Annas puts it,

“Why be just, if you can get away with merely seeming to be just while in fact reaping the rewards of injustice?” (68). 

An Introduction to Plato’s Republic, Oxford University Press, 1981

As you can see, a difficult task has been set for Socrates. In his account of justice, he must demonstrate that it is desirable to be just even if one has the absolute guarantee that one’s injustice will not be found out. In other words, he must show that it is desirable to be just even if one suffers for it (69). Additionally, he must prove that “…it is undesirable to be unjust even with all the rewards that conventionally attach to the appearance of justice” (69). It is not worth being unjust even if one chances upon Gyges’ ring.

Building the Just City

Now that the group has agreed upon its terms for determining justice’s worth, Socrates prepares to offer his account of justice, beginning with its origins. To do so, he leads his friends to engage in a thought experiment regarding the origins of justice, not in an individual, but in a city (368e). If they can discover the origins of justice in a city, thinks Socrates, they will be able to apply this understanding to the origins of justice in the soul.

Socrates begins with the premise that cities are founded based on the realization that humans are not self-sufficient. They need the help of one another for the provision of basic necessities: food, shelter, clothing, etc. Socrates suggests that in order for a city to be self-sufficient, a minimum of four individuals is needed to take up the following productive roles: farming, housebuilding, weaving, and shoemaking (369d). er

In order to be most efficient, the principle of specialization is employed. Each individual will specialize in her own craft, rather than seeking to master all of them. This will lead to greater production in both quantity and quality over time. Soon enough, however, it becomes clear that in order for these four individuals to truly do their jobs well, they will need additional supplies, the goods produced by carpenters, smiths, craftsmen, shepherds, and even merchants (371a). Thus, the city slowly expands.

So far, no reference to justice has been made. Socrates is still establishing his framework for the city. Due to its meager provisions, Glaucon critiques it as “a city for pigs,” and Socrates concedes the point that as currently described, the city is unrealistic. So they begin to introduce certain luxurious elements into the healthy city, making it a feverish, or unhealthy, one (372e).

The problem is that with luxury comes excess of desire. Socrates describes it well:

“Then the city must be made bigger again. This healthy one isn’t adequate any more, but must already be gorged with a bulky mass of things, which are not in cities because of necessity–all the hunters and imitators, many concerned with figures and colors, many with music; and poets and their helpers, rhapsodes, actors, choral dancers, contractors, and craftsmen of all sorts of equipment, for feminine adornment as well as other things…” (373b). 

To Conquer and Defend

Up until this point, the simplicity and idyllic nature of the city is largely attractive. Wouldn’t it be lovely if such a city existed? If only! While Socrates isn’t a Christian, he has keen insight into the nature of human beings. He understands how luxury invites desire and that desire has no limits.

The result is that our beloved city, now injected with the thrills of luxury, must conquer neighboring lands in order to maintain its lifestyle. This ability to conquer, and defend, requires a standing army of specially trained warriors, following the principle of specialization, in the art of warfare (375b). 

These warriors, whom Socrates calls guardians, will not only need specialized training in how to use their weapons masterfully. Given their crucial role as defenders of the city, the guardians will need extended leisure time to remain dedicated to their civic duty. Moreover, they will need to be trained to be both gentle and great-spirited in order to be kind to their own and vigilant in warfare with their enemies.

A Guardian Education

Just as a guard dog is trained to differentiate between friend and foe, so the guardians will need to be educated if they are to protect the city from invaders. This education will consist of training both the body (gymnastic) and soul (music and poetry). The knowledge they gain will equip them to not only physically defend the city, but discern what is good for it. Therefore, thinks Socrates, it is crucial for the guardians to be trained as philosophers, that is, lovers of wisdom. Socrates summarizes,

“Then the man who’s going to be a fine and good guardian of the city for us will be in his nature be philosophic, spirited, swift, and strong” (376c). 

Additionally, the musical, or soul-craft, education of the guardians must begin from a young age. Socrates puts the point firmly:

“Don’t you know that the beginning is the most important place of every work and that this is especially so with anything young and tender? For at that stage it’s most plastic, and each thing assimilates itself to the model whose stamp anyone wishes to give it.” 377b

Tuning the Soul

Given the high stakes of the musical, or soul-craft, education of the guardians, Socrates insists that the stories and poetry presented to the student guardians must be scrutinized. This instruction, after all, is shaping their souls to know and love what is good. Only the most fine and beautiful stories will be permitted (377b). 

Major works like Homer and Hesiod must be censured heavily. Stories that give false images or representations of what gods and heroes are like will be thrown out. These stories endorse terrible behavior, such as irreverent actions toward parents or being easily provoked to anger. (378b). They include episodes in which children rebel against their parents and parents abuse their children. Given that the young cannot distinguish between what is commendable and what is not, these stories must not be told.

Instead, all literature–epics, lyrics, tragedies, stories–must represent the gods as good. Bad things don’t come from good gods, Socrates insists. Only good comes from the gods. He concludes, “These stories are not pious, not advantageous to us, and not consistent with one another” (380c).

Moreover, stories in which the gods change forms must be censured. Change implies imperfection at best and corruptibility at worst. Student guardians must be taught that the gods are good, immutable, and truthful. But this is exactly the opposite depiction of the gods in the major legends. 

“A god, then, is simple and true in word and deed. He doesn’t change himself or deceive others by images, words, or signs, whether in visions or in dreams” (382e). 

The goal for the musical education of the guardians is to be as god-like and god-fearing as possible (383c). They are, after all, the defenders of the city. They are civic trustees, tasked with the responsibility to perpetuated the city’s flourishing and vitality. in this way, the future of the city is bound up in the education of the guardian class.

Application for Educators

Thus concludes Book II of Plato’s Republic. Justice has been categorized as a good that must be proven to be desirable in and of itself. Socrates has begun constructing his hypothetical city to identify the origins of justice and injustice. And a description of the education of the guardian class, the city’s noble defenders, is underway.

While this article must come to a close, let me leave educators with two practical takeaways.

First, I encourage readers who are interested in learning more about Plato’s idea of musical (soul-craft) education to check out Kevin Clark and Ravi Jain’s The Liberal Arts Tradition. In this book, they provide a helpful summary on how teachers can engage in the important work of shaping the moral and religious imaginations of their students through the power of story. You can read a great review of the book written by Jason Barney here.

Second, as I was reading Plato’s section on what stories and poetry to put before students, I could not help but think of Charlotte Mason. In her writings, she is clear that children are to read and narrate only the best books, books that contain living ideas. I look forward to writing more about this in the future.

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“Whether we like it or not, whether we know it or not, we are all more or less Platonists. Even if we reject Plato’s conclusions, our views are shaped by the way in which he stated his problems.”¹ 

In today’s article, I begin a new series on Plato’s Republic. I’ve been wanting to start this project for some time now for two reasons. 

First, I want to make Plato more accessible for everyone. The philosopher is a seminal figure in the history of ideas. Without his writings, it is difficult to know where western civilization would be today. In particular, Plato’s conception of reality as rational (and knowable) paved the way for rigorous intellectual inquiry to take root. Additionally, his notion of the Good as objective and distinct from the individual established the foundation for much of moral philosophy. In short, without Plato, we lose much of the philosophical foundation of western civilization.

Second, I believe the ideas found in the Republic have massive implications for classical educators today. If Plato is right that justice is not only a virtue to be exhibited by society, but the ideal state of one’s soul, then teachers would do well to understand more what he has in mind. When they do, they will see that their work in the classroom is no isolated mental exercise. Rather, teaching is a holistic endeavor dedicated to helping students order their souls for the virtuous, well-lived life.

Join me now as we enter the gates of Plato’s Republic and gain fresh insights into what it means to be human, the nature of justice, and the value of education today.

Down to the Piraeus

The opening scene of Book I in the Republic is memorable. Socrates and his companion Glaucon are visiting the Pireaus, the port of Athens, for a religious festival (327a).² Plato immediately embeds deeper meaning into the story by noting that the travelers are journeying downward. This movement indicates that Socrates, the wise philosopher, is descending from the world of knowledge into the cave of ignorance. His journey is missional in nature as he seeks to bring fellow humans out of intellectual darkness and into the light of objective truth.

For Plato, humans cannot be forced out of this cave; they must choose for themselves. Given this reality, education, as we will explore later in this blog series, is the process of pointing students toward the way up and out of the cave. But students must take the steps themselves. Practically speaking, filling the minds of students with facts or preparing them for college entrance exams might temporarily generate the facade of learning, but only time will tell if understanding has taken root. The ultimate test? Students will go on to not only learn what is good, true, and beautiful; they will desire it for themselves.

What drives Socrates’ missional descent? Why would anyone “go down” to the cave if they have already experienced the sunlight above? The answer is simple: community. Humans are creatures of relationship. According to Plato, humans are social and political in nature. They are not content enjoying the good and true alone. They are wired to bring others with them, up and out of the cave. In this way, the challenges of being a good man are inseparable from being a good citizen.²

An Unexpected Meeting

After Socrates and Glaucon attend the festival at the sea port, they begin their return journey to Athens. Soon they are stopped by a young nobleman Polemarchus and his father Cephalus. Before long, Socrates and Glaucon are humorously forced to stop for a visit at the home of the elderly Cephalus for an extended discussion with the father and son, and a few others. The topic of discussion: What is Justice?

The discussion in Book I occurs in two broad movements. In the first movement, Socrates has to deal with the traditional Greek view that justice is real but rather trivial. This viewpoint is embodied in the characters Cephalus and Polemarchus. In the second movement, Socrates has to address a far more nefarious view: justice is not real at all. There are no moral qualities inherent to the fabric of reality. All that matters is who has the power and what is most expedient. This view is represented by the moral skeptic Thrasymachus. 

Interestingly, in the conclusion of Book One, it is clear that socratic dialogue will not convince the morally complacent or the moral skeptic. The matter is too philosophically complex and the draw to live for what is most expedient is too alluring. The result for the interlocutors is a state of aporia, a state of confusion about what actually is true. Thus, the remaining nine books of the Republic pivot from Plato’s usual style of socratic dialogue to a form of lecture, with some Q&A, in which Socrates constructs his view of justice. Before we get there, however, let us take our time and first examine Socrates’ interlocutors in Book I and their respective views.

Cephalus, the Wealthy Moralist

Socrates’s first interlocutor is Cephalus, an elderly man who has earned himself a comfortable life through trade and manufacture. He is the epitome of a person in which morality and wealthy are intertwined. For Cephalus, one of the key benefits of being wealthy is that it enables a person to act more justly. He insists,

“Wealth can do a lot to save us from having to cheat or deceive someone against our will and from having to depart for that other place in fear because we owe sacrifice to a god or money to a person” (331b).

Thus, a just person in old age is able to look back on his life with peace knowing that he has lived a good life. According to Cephalus, wealth grants people the freedom from care, necessity, and fear of death.

From these opening remarks, Socrates distills Cephalus’ view of justice: being truthful and returning what one owes (331c). Cephalus appreciates and accepts this articulation of his view of justice. It can be boiled down to a few basic rules such as “Don’t lie” “Don’t cheat” and “Don’t steal.” Justice consists in the performance of certain actions, not in regards to whether the person is actually just.

As one can imagine, it doesn’t take much for Socrates to spot holes in this simplistic view of justice. For example, one would never return to an insane person a weapon that might lead to a tragic result. Yet, under Cephalus’ view, this is the just thing to do: returning what is owed. Humorously, rather than responding to this objection, Cephalus takes it as his cue to exit the discussion to go make another sacrifice, reinforcing his view that justice is grounded in doing, not being. He leaves his son Polemarchus to continue the conversation.

Can Justice Lead to Harm?

For Cephalus’ son Polemarchus, justice is more than following a few specific rules, but not much more. Following the poet Simonides (c. 548-468 B.C.), he generalizes justice to mean “giving to each what is owed to him” (331e). More specifically, he posits, justice is grounded in friendship. Friends owe it to their friends to do good for them, never harm. Conversely, enemies owe it to one another to inflict harm upon one another (334b).

Again, it does not take long for Socrates to disband Polemarchus’ view as he did his father’s. Using the method which dons his very name, Socrates leads Polemarchus to admit that justice, as he defined it, is both useless (333d) and at times harms good people (334e). Eventually, this leads Polemarchus to nuance his definition: treating well friends who are actually good and harming enemies who are actually bad (335a).

But this cannot be right, Socrates points out. After all, does not harming things actually make them worse with regards to what they are intended to be? Does not harming a racehorse make it a worse horse? In the same way, would not harming someone, even a wicked enemy, make the enemy an even worse human? How could a just person do that?

Moreover, if justice is a virtue, and virtue is the excellence⁴ of a thing, then how could good people make people bad through justice? They certainly cannot. It is the function of an unjust person to harm others, while just people are called to be good.

In conclusion, viewing justice as simply giving what is owed is insufficient. On the surface, it has a reasonable draw, but when you dig deeper, it is flawed. “It is never just to harm anyone,” is Polemarchus’ conclusion. Insofar as virtues are manifestations of the good, justice as a virtue cannot do the opposite and engage in harm.

No Justice, Only Power

Up to this point, there is one individual at the gathering who has not yet spoken: Thrasymachus, the Sophist. In Plato’s day, the Sophists were not a school of thought, but a group of professional teachers who lectured across cities and who claimed expertise in lessons needed for people to lead successful lives.⁵ Insofar as they viewed knowledge as a resource to be utilized for pragmatic ends, their motivation for learning was in stark contrast to Plato’s. They went around charging fees for their lessons, marketing themselves as consultants for the good life, while simultaneously throwing into question whether moral claims have any objective basis at all.⁶

Plato introduces Thrasymachus coming on the scene with style:

“While we were speaking, Thrasymachus had tried many times to take over the discussion but was restrained by those sitting near him, who wanted to hear our argument to the end. When we paused after what I’d just said, however, he couldn’t keep quiet any longer. He coiled himself up like a wild beast about to spring, and he hurled himself at us as if to tear us to pieces” (336b).

The description of Thrasymachus as a beast is intentional. He represents here the perpetual threat of the bodily appetites, eagerly waiting to conquer reason and morality. We will learn in later books that the well-ordered soul keeps the appetite in check. Here we will see an example of what happens when it fails.

Thrasymachus provocatively defines justice as “the advantage of the stronger” (338c). Rulers, he insists, make laws to perpetuate their own rule. Thus, justice is whatever the established rule says it is (339e). Socrates immediately begins his interrogation, first challenging what Thrasymachus means by advantage and then demonstrating how it is often in the best interest of rulers to seek the advantage of who they are leading, such as a captain commanding sailors on a ship (342e). Not to be outdone easily, Thrasymachus retorts that not all rulers seek what is advantageous for their subjects. Case and point: Shepherds and cowherds caring for their sheep and cows. They are not fattening the cows for the good of the cow, that’s for sure!

Then Thrasymachus pivots to make a different, potentially stronger argument: justice works for the advantage of the ruling class while injustice works for the advantage of those being ruled (343d). Making his point persuasively with examples, he concludes,

“So, Socrates, injustice if it is on a large enough scale, is stronger, freer, and more masterly than justice. And, as I said from the first, justice is what is advantageous to the stronger, while injustice is to one’s own profit and advantage” (344c).

Socrates responds, of course, with his own arguments. First, he argues that although injustice appears to have its merits, ultimately it is contrary to wisdom and virtue (351b). Second, he demonstrates that injustice is self-defeating and only leads to civil war, both corporately and individually (352a). While neither of these arguments are fully convincing, they do slow down Thrasymachus and force readers to seriously evaluate the strength of the opposing views.

Justice: Excellence of the Soul

Socrates’ final argument to demonstrate that justice is more than the advantage of the stronger and actually a moral good worth pursuing is with regards to function, specifically the function of a human soul. Everything has a function, thinks Socrates, ranging from race horses to cutting knives. For example, the function of a knife is to cut. Similarly, the function of the soul is life and self-rule.

Like other functions, there is a gradation to the extent to which the soul’s function is achieved with arete (excellence), or virtue (354a). To use the knife example again, a knife demonstrates arete insofar as it cuts with excellence.

For the function of the human soul, justice, Socrates insists, is this excellence. The key to the well-ruled soul is justice, the virtue of the soul.

Admittedly, this argument, while logically valid, is, again, not fully persuasive. It is not quite clear whether Socrates has it right about the function of the soul, much less that justice is the virtue of this function. Interestingly, it is at this point that the traditional socratic dialogue ends in the Republic. As I mentioned earlier, Book I ends with the discussion participants in a state of aporia, confusion over what is actually true. The question of whether justice is actually worth it essentially ends in a stalemate. Attentive readers themselves are left puzzled and confused themselves, setting the stage for Socrates to begin constructing his theory of justice.

Application for Educators

Throughout this series on Plato’s Republic, I am going to offer some practical takeaways for classical educators today. Each of these takeaways deserve an article themselves, but for now, these will serve to prime the pump for future writing.

Here are some practical takeaways from Book I:

Trust the dialectic. Real learning occurs through genuine inquiry, passionate discussion, and relentless searching for the truth. While Book I is intended to demonstrate the limitations of socratic dialogue, it also shows its merits. Socrates and his friends obviously cover some ground. They are able to identify some very bad ideas about justice and establish a general framework for a viable view.

Argue for the objectivity of moral truth claims. Thrasymachus put forth some dangerous ideas about morality, namely that it is subjective at best, and worthless at worst. He argues, at times persuasively, that maybe the moral life is a sham constructed by those in power to keep control. Undaunted, Socrates keeps his wits about him and defends the substance of moral truth claims. Likewise, teachers should be prepared to stand up for the truth, even while they allow their students to wrestle with complex ideas.

Cast vision for the Good life. While Socrates’ closing argument is not fully convincing, he does introduce the powerful idea that the Good life exists. In other words, there is a right way to live and it is not hopelessly arbitrary. If the human soul actually has an objective function, or purpose, then it is worth all the gold in the world to find out what this purpose is. Then one must seek to fulfill it with excellence. We must keep this vision for the virtuous life before our students, regularly encouraging them to seek what is good, true, and beautiful.

Endnotes

1. W.T. Jones, A History of Western Philosophy, Volume 1: The Classical Mind, 2nd edition, Wadsworth Thomson Learning, 1980, p. 108.
2. Plato, Republic, trans. G.M.A. Grube, Plato’s Complete Works, ed. John M. Cooper, Hackett Publishing, 1997.
3. Jones, 138.
4. It is worth noting that this argument assumes a particular definition of virtue as “arete,” translated from the Greek as “excellence” or “goodness.” A knife, for example, has “arete” with respect to its ability to cut properly. What is human “arete”? Keep reading the Republic with me and you will find out!
5. Julia Annas, An Introduction to Plato’s Republic, Oxford University Press, 1981, p. 6.
6. Ibid., 6.

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