Ancient Philosophy

Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle

Plato's Utopia

Plato's most important dialogue, "The Republic," is generally divided into three parts. The first part (up to the end of Book Five) discusses the construction of the ideal state; this represents the earliest form of utopia. One conclusion drawn in this section is that rulers must be philosophers. Books Six and Seven are dedicated to defining the term "philosopher." This discussion forms the second part. The third part consists of an examination of various existing political systems and their merits and flaws.

The formal aim of "The Republic" is to define "justice." However, it was decided early on that it is easier to perceive anything on a grand scale than on a small one; therefore, it would be better to explore what constitutes a just state rather than what constitutes a just individual. Since justice should manifest among the attributes of the best conceivable state, it is necessary first to outline such a state and then determine which of its virtues should be termed "justice."

Let us first describe Plato's Utopia in broad strokes and then consider the questions that arise from it. Plato begins by deciding to divide citizens into three classes: the producers, the warriors, and the guardians. Only the latter should possess political power. The guardians should number significantly fewer than those in the first two classes. Initially, they should be elected by the legislator; thereafter, their status typically passes through inheritance. However, in exceptional cases, a promising child may be promoted from one of the lower classes, while among the children of guardians, a child or youth who does not meet the requirements may be excluded from the guardian class.

The central issue, according to Plato, is ensuring that the guardians execute the intentions of the legislator. To this end, he proposes various measures concerning education, economics, biology, and religion. It is not always clear how these proposals relate to classes other than the guardians; it is evident that some pertain to the warriors, but Plato's primary interest lies with the guardians, who should constitute a distinct class, akin to the Jesuits in old Paraguay, the clergy in ecclesiastical states until 1870, and the Communist Party in the USSR today.

First and foremost, education must be considered, which is divided into two parts: music and gymnastics. Both have a broader meaning for Plato than they do today: "music" encompasses all that falls under the domain of the Muses, while "gymnastics" pertains to all aspects of physical training and preparation. "Music" is nearly as expansive as what we call "culture," while "gymnastics" encompasses more than what we refer to as "athletics."

Culture should aim to transform individuals into noble beings in the sense that, largely thanks to Plato, is well known in England. Athens in Plato's time resembled 19th-century England in one respect: both countries had an aristocracy that possessed wealth and social prestige but did not hold a monopoly on political power. In each of these nations, the aristocracy had to secure a degree of authority that it could achieve through behavior that left a profound impression. In Plato's Utopia, however, the aristocracy rules unchallenged.

Education should primarily cultivate qualities in children such as seriousness, adherence to external propriety, and courage. There should be strict censorship over the literature that youth may read from a very early age, as well as over the music they are allowed to hear. Mothers and nurses should narrate only approved stories to children. Reading Homer and Hesiod should be forbidden for several reasons. Firstly, they depict gods who occasionally misbehave, which is pedagogically unsound: youth should be taught that evil never emanates from the gods, as God is the creator of all things good. Secondly, in Homer and Hesiod, certain passages are designed to instill a fear of death, whereas education should, at all costs, instill a desire in youth to die in battle. Our young men should be taught to regard slavery as worse than death, and therefore they should not be exposed to tales of good people lamenting even for the death of friends. Thirdly, adherence to external propriety demands that loud laughter should never occur, yet Homer speaks of "the inexhaustible laughter of the blessed gods." How can a schoolmaster effectively admonish merriment if youths can quote this passage? Fourthly, Homer includes passages extolling lavish feasts and describes the lusts of the gods; such excerpts undermine the desire for moderation. (The Abbot Inge, a faithful follower of Plato, objected to the line in a well-known hymn: "The shouts of those who triumph, the song of those who feast," which appears in descriptions of heavenly joys.) There should be no tales where the wicked prosper and the good suffer; the moral influence of such narratives could be most detrimental to impressionable minds. For all these reasons, poets should be condemned.

Plato proceeds to a curious argument regarding drama. He asserts that a good person should not seek to imitate a bad person; yet, in most plays, villains are portrayed, and thus the playwright and the actor portraying the villain must emulate individuals guilty of various crimes. Men of higher standing should not only avoid imitating criminals but also women, slaves, and generally those of lower status. (In Greece, as in Elizabethan England, female roles were played by men.) Therefore, in plays, if they can be allowed at all, no characters other than impeccable male heroes of noble lineage should be depicted. The impossibility of this is so evident that Plato resolves to expel all playwrights from his city:

"If a man skilled in transformation and imitation arrives in our state, wishing to present his creations, we shall bow before him as to something sacred, marvelous, and delightful, but we will declare that such a man does not exist in our state and that it is forbidden for him to dwell here, and we will send him to another state, anointing his head with perfumes and crowning it with a woolen headband..."

Next, he discusses the censorship of music (in the modern sense). Lydian and Ionian harmonies should be prohibited, firstly, because they express sorrow, and secondly, because they induce relaxation. Only Dorian (for courage) and Phrygian (for moderation) modes should be allowed. Acceptable rhythms must be simple and embody a courageous and harmonious life.

Physical training should be very rigorous. No one should eat fish or meat except in a roasted form, and there should be neither sauces nor confectionery. People raised according to these rules, says Plato, will not need doctors.

Until a certain age, youth should not be exposed to unpleasant sights or vice. However, at the appropriate moment, they should undergo "Temptations," both in the form of terrors that should not frighten them and in the form of base pleasures that should not seduce them. Once they endure these trials, they will be deemed fit to become guardians.

Young men, before they reach adulthood, should witness war, although they should not engage in battle themselves.

As for economics, Plato proposes a radical communism for the guardians, and possibly (though this is not very clear) for the warriors as well. Guardians should possess small homes and eat simple food; they should live as if in a camp, dining in communal dining halls; they should not have private property, except for what is absolutely necessary. Gold and silver should be banned. Although they are not wealthy, nothing prevents them from being happy; the city's goal is the happiness of the entire city, not the happiness of a single class. Both wealth and poverty are harmful, and in Plato's city, neither will exist. There is an intriguing argument regarding war: it will be easy to acquire allies, as our city will not seek any share of military spoils.

With a feigned reluctance, the Platonic Socrates applies his communism to the family. Friends, he asserts, should share everything in common, including women and children. He acknowledges that this presents difficulties but does not consider them insurmountable. Firstly, girls should receive the same education as boys, studying music, gymnastics, and military arts alongside them. Women must possess full equality with men in all respects. This uniform upbringing, which shapes men into good guardians, will similarly cultivate women as competent protectors. “In regard to the safeguarding of the state, the nature of women and men is the same…” Undoubtedly, there are differences between men and women, but these are irrelevant to politics. Some women are inclined toward philosophy and can serve as guardians, while others are martial and could excel as warriors.

The legislator, having chosen certain men and women as guardians, will command them to reside in communal houses and dine at a common table. Marriage, as we have already established, will undergo radical transformation. At certain celebrations, brides and grooms will be paired together, as they are taught to believe, ostensibly by lot in sufficient numbers to maintain a steady population; yet, in truth, the city's rulers will manipulate the lots based on eugenic principles. They will arrange matters such that the best producers have the most offspring. All children will be taken from their parents at birth, and strict precautions will ensure that parents remain unaware of which children are theirs, while the children will not know their parents. Children with physical defects and those from inferior parents “shall be properly concealed in a secret and unknown place.” Children born from unions not sanctioned by the state shall be deemed illegitimate. Mothers must be aged between twenty and forty, and fathers between twenty-five and fifty-five. Outside this age range, interactions between the sexes should be free, yet enforced are abortion and infanticide. Against “marriages” arranged by the state, no objections from the parties involved shall be permitted; they must be guided by their sense of duty to the state, rather than by any ordinary feelings celebrated by the banished poets of old.

Since a child does not know its parents, it must refer to every man who could age-wise be its father as “father”; the same applies to “mother,” “brother,” and “sister.” (Such practices occur among certain savages, often surprising missionaries.) There can be no marriage between “father” and “daughter” or “mother” and “son.” In general (but not absolutely), marriages between “brother” and “sister” should not be allowed. (I surmise that had Plato thought this through more thoroughly, he would have realized he prohibited all marriages, except those between brother and sister, which he regards as rare exceptions.)

It is assumed that the sentiments currently associated with the terms “father,” “mother,” “son,” and “daughter” will continue to be linked with them under the new order established by Plato; for instance, a young man will not strike an elder, as this elder might turn out to be his father.

The main idea is, of course, to minimize feelings of private ownership and thus eliminate barriers to the domination of the public spirit, as well as to ensure tacit consent to the absence of private property. These motives largely mirror those that led to the celibacy of the clergy.

Finally, I turn to the theological aspect of this system. I do not refer to unrecognized Greek gods, but rather to certain myths that the government must propagate. Plato clearly states that the right to lie must be the exclusive prerogative of the government, just as the right to administer medicine is the exclusive prerogative of the physician. The government, as we have seen, must deceive the people by pretending to arrange marriages by lot, but this is not a matter of religion.

There should be “one royal lie,” which Plato hopes may deceive the rulers but will inevitably fool the rest of the city's inhabitants. This “lie” is elaborated upon with considerable detail. Its most crucial component is the dogma that God created humans of three sorts; the best are made of gold, the less excellent of silver, and the common crowd from bronze and iron. Those fashioned from gold are suitable to be guardians, those of silver should be warriors, and the rest must engage in physical labor. Generally, though not invariably, children will belong to the same class as their parents; when they do not, they should be accordingly elevated or demoted. It is deemed hardly possible to convince the present generation of this myth, but the next and all subsequent generations can be raised in such a way that they cannot doubt its truth.

Plato is correct in believing that a belief in this myth can be created within two generations. Since 1868, the Japanese have been taught that the mikado descends from the sun goddess and that Japan was created before the rest of the world. Any university professor who even expresses doubt about these doctrines in scholarly work is dismissed for anti-Japanese activities. Plato, it seems, does not comprehend that the enforced acceptance of such myths is incompatible with philosophy and implies a form of education that stunts the development of the mind.

The definition of “justice,” which is the formal goal of the entire discussion, is reached in the fourth book. We are told that justice consists in each individual performing their own task and not interfering in others’ affairs: a city is just when the merchant, the laborer, and the guardian each perform their own duties without encroaching upon the work of other classes.

The notion that everyone should engage in their own business is undoubtedly a commendable principle, yet it scarcely aligns with what the modern world would naturally call “justice.” The Greek word translated thus corresponded to a very significant concept in Greek thought, for which we lack an exact equivalent. It is also pertinent to recall the words of Anaximander: “From that from which all things arise, to that they must return in accordance with necessity. For they suffer punishment for their unrighteousness and receive retribution from one another in due time.”

Before the advent of philosophy, the Greeks possessed an understanding or feeling about the Universe that can be termed religious or ethical. According to this conception, every person and every thing has its predetermined place and preordained function. This does not depend upon the decree of Zeus, for even Zeus is subject to the same law that governs others. This view is linked to the idea of fate or necessity. It is insistently applied to celestial bodies. Yet, where there is power, there is also a tendency to transgress the bounds of justice; thus, conflict arises. An impersonal, super-Olympian law punishes audacious disregard for the laws and restores the eternal order that the aggressor sought to disrupt. This perspective, initially scarcely conscious, entirely transitioned into philosophy; it is to be found in cosmologies of struggle, such as that of Heraclitus and Empedocles, and in monistic doctrines like that of Parmenides. This is the source of faith in both natural and human law, and it clearly underpins Plato’s concept of justice.

The term "justice," as it continues to be used in law, aligns more closely with Plato's conception than the notion of "justice" employed in political speculations. Under the influence of democratic theory, we have come to associate justice with equality, whereas for Plato, it did not carry such significance. Justice, in the sense of being almost synonymous with "law," as when we refer to a "court," primarily concerns property rights, which bear no relation to equality. The first definition of "justice," proposed at the outset of the "Republic," states that it consists in the repayment of debts. This definition is soon dismissed as inadequate, yet some vestige of it remains by the end.

It is important to offer several reflections regarding Plato's definition. First, it allows for the possibility of inequality in power and privilege without injustice. The guardians must possess all power because they are the wisest members of the community; injustice, according to Plato's definition, would only occur if individuals from other classes were wiser than some of the guardians. This is why Plato anticipates the elevation and demotion of citizens, although he believes that the dual advantage of birth and education will generally result in the superiority of guardians' offspring over those from other classes. Were there a more precise science of governance and greater confidence that individuals would adhere to its dictates, much could be said in favor of Plato's system. No one considers it unjust to include the best football players on a team, even though they thereby gain a significant advantage. If football were governed as democratically as Athens was, students playing for their university would be selected by lot. However, in matters of governance, it is challenging to discern who possesses the highest skill, and there is considerable uncertainty regarding whether a politician will employ their art in the interest of society rather than for their own or their class, party, or faith.

Next, it must be noted that Plato's definition of "justice" presupposes a state organized either according to tradition or according to his theory, which embodies some ethical ideal. Justice, as Plato asserts, consists in each individual performing their own work. But what does this work entail? In a state that remains unchanged from generation to generation, such as Ancient Egypt or the kingdom of the Incas, a person's work is the work of their father, and no questions arise. Yet in Plato's state, no one possesses a legitimate father. Thus, a person's work must be determined either according to their own inclinations or based on the state's judgment of their abilities. The latter would evidently be preferable for Plato. However, certain types of work, while requiring great skill, may be considered harmful. Plato holds such a view regarding poetry, and I would hold a similar opinion concerning the work of Napoleon. Consequently, an important task for government is to determine the nature of each individual's work. Although all rulers should be philosophers, there should be no innovations: a philosopher must always be someone who understands Plato and agrees with him.

If we ask, what will Plato's state achieve?—the answer is rather banal. It will succeed in wars against states of roughly equal population and provide a means of living for a small number of people. Due to its rigidity, it will almost certainly produce neither art nor science. In this respect, as in others, it will resemble Sparta. Despite all the fine words, all it will achieve is the ability to wage war and a sufficient supply of food. Plato experienced hunger and military defeat in Athens; likely, he subconsciously believed that the best outcome of the art of governing a state is to avoid such calamities.

Any utopia, if conceived seriously, must embody the ideals of its creator. Let us now consider what we might mean by "ideals." First, they are desirable for those who believe in them. However, they are desired in a wholly different manner than one desires personal comforts such as food and shelter. The distinction between an "ideal" and a common object of desire is that the former is impersonal; it is something that bears no particular relation (at least not a tangible one) to the human "I" experiencing that desire, and therefore can theoretically be desirable for all. Thus, we might define an "ideal" as something desirable, non-egoistic, and such that an individual striving toward it wishes for all others to strive toward it as well. I might wish for everyone to have enough food, for all to treat one another kindly, and so forth; if I desire something of that nature, I will also wish that others desired it too. In this way, I can create something akin to an impersonal ethics, although in reality, it is founded on the personal basis of my own desires, since the desire remains mine even when that which is desired bears no relation to me. For instance, one person may wish for everyone to understand science, while another may wish for everyone to appreciate art; it is this personal difference between two individuals that generates the stated divergence in their desires.

The personal element becomes evident as soon as a dispute arises. Suppose some individual says: "You are wrong to wish for everyone to be happy; you should wish for the happiness of Germans and the unhappiness of all others." Here, "should" may imply what the speaker would prefer me to desire. I could counter that, since I am not German, it is psychologically impossible for me to wish for the misfortune of all non-Germans; yet this response seems inadequate.

Furthermore, a conflict may arise even between purely impersonal ideas. Nietzsche's hero differs from the Christian saint, yet both are selflessly admired: the former by Nietzscheans, the latter by Christians. How are we to choose between them if not through our own desires? However, if nothing else exists, any ethical disagreement can only be resolved through emotional appeals or, in extreme cases, through violence, possibly culminating in war. In matters of fact, we can turn to science and the scientific methods of observation, but regarding fundamental ethical questions, it appears there is nothing analogous. Yet if this is indeed the case, ethical disputes transform into struggles for power, including the power of propaganda.

This perspective is crudely articulated in the first book of the "Republic" by Thrasymachus, who, like all characters in Plato's dialogues, was a real person. He was a sophist from Chalcedon and a renowned teacher of rhetoric. He appeared in the first comedy of Aristophanes in 427 BCE. After Socrates had amicably discussed the issue of justice with an old man named Cephalus and with Plato's elder brothers, Glaucon and Adeimantus, Thrasymachus, who had been listening with growing impatience, intervened, vigorously protesting against such childish nonsense. He pointedly declared, "I call justice nothing other than what is advantageous to the stronger."

Socrates refuted this view through sophisms; it was never considered impartially. It raises a fundamental question in the realm of ethics and politics: is there any measure of "good" and "evil" beyond what a person using those terms desires? If no such measure exists, many of Thrasymachus's conclusions appear unavoidable. However, how can we assert that such a measure exists?

Religion seemingly offers a straightforward answer to this question. God defines what is good and what is bad; a person whose will aligns with God's will is a good person. However, this answer is not entirely orthodox. Theologians assert that God is good, which implies that there exists a standard of goodness independent of God's will. We are thus compelled to resolve the question: does objective truth or falsehood reside in a statement such as "pleasure is good," in the same sense as in the statement "snow is white"?

To address this question would require a lengthy discussion. Some might argue that we can sidestep the fundamental issue for practical purposes and assert: "I do not know what is meant by 'objective truth,' but I will consider any statement 'true' if all or nearly all who have examined it agree to uphold it." In this sense, it is "true" that snow is white, that Caesar was assassinated, that water consists of hydrogen and oxygen, and so forth. In these instances, we are, therefore, dealing with questions of fact: are there any statements in the realm of ethics that enjoy similar consensus? If there are, they could form the foundation for both rules of personal conduct and political theory. If not, then we are compelled, practically speaking—regardless of any philosophical truth—to wage a struggle through force, propaganda, or both whenever there exists an irreconcilable ethical disagreement between influential groups.

For Plato, this question does not truly exist. Although his dramatic sensibility compels him to articulate Thrasymachus's position convincingly, he fails to grasp its strength and allows himself to be profoundly unjust in countering it. Plato is convinced that goodness exists and that its nature can be comprehended. When people disagree on this matter, at least one party is committing an intellectual error, just as in a scientific dispute over any factual question.

The distinction between Plato and Thrasymachus is significant, yet for the historian of philosophy, it should merely be noted rather than explored in depth. Plato believes he can demonstrate that his ideal state is good; a democrat who acknowledges the objectivity of ethics may feel he can prove that this state is bad. However, no one who agrees with Thrasymachus would assert: "The question is not whether to prove or disprove; it is solely whether you like the type of state that Plato desires. If you do, that is good for you; if not, that is bad for you. If it pleases many and displeases many, then no resolution can be reached through reason, but only through force, whether overt or concealed." This is one of the philosophical questions that remains open; there are admirable individuals on both sides. Yet for a long time, Plato's position has been seldom contested.

It should further be noted that the viewpoint which substitutes consensus of various opinions for an objective standard has certain implications that few would readily accept. What are we to say of such scientific innovators as Galileo, who defended a position that few agreed with, yet which ultimately garnered the support of almost all? They achieved this through argumentation, not through emotional appeals, state propaganda, or the application of force. This implies a different criterion than public opinion. In the realm of ethics, there is something analogous to this in the great religious reformers. Christ, for instance, taught that it is not a sin to gather ears of corn on the Sabbath, but that it is sinful to hate one’s enemies. Such ethical innovations clearly invoke some standard other than the majority opinion, yet whatever that standard may be, it is not an objective fact, as is the case with scientific inquiries. This presents a difficult problem, and I do not consider myself capable of resolving it. For the present, let us be satisfied to have noted it.

Plato’s state, in contrast to contemporary utopias, was conceived for practical implementation. It was not as fantastical or impossible as it might naturally seem to us. Many of its assumptions, including those we would consider utterly impractical, were in fact realized in Sparta. Pythagoras attempted to establish the rule of philosophers, and during Plato's time, the Pythagorean Archytas wielded political influence in Tarentum (modern Taranto) when Plato visited Sicily and Southern Italy. It was customary for cities to enlist some wise individual to draft their laws. Solon did this for Athens, while Protagoras did so for the city of Furii. In those days, colonies were entirely free from the control of their parent cities, and a group of Platonists might well have established Plato's state along the shores of Spain or Gaul. Unfortunately, fate led Plato to Syracuse, a great trading city embroiled in desperate wars with Carthage; in such a context, no philosopher could achieve much. In the following generation, the rise of Macedonia rendered all small states obsolete, making all miniature political experiments utterly fruitless.