Republic (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (7 page)

The fact that book 10, which is something of a coda to the rest of the text, explores in depth topics of concern at the very beginning of book 1—that is, poetry’s “truthfulness” and pretense to moral authority, and the afterlife’s rewards for justice and punishment of wrongdoing—suggests that
Republic’s
“narrative” is structured in an almost circular pattern. This circular pattern is complex, but it has important symmetries. Most basically, the dialogue’s two main concerns (defining justice and ascertaining its relationship to happiness) are treated in two corresponding sections (books 2-4 and books 8-9) that are interrupted by what is nominally a series of digressions in books 5-7.

These nominal digressions, however, create the dialogue’s cen terpiece, a tour de force exposition of philosophical concepts that happens to be, at the same time, a literary masterwork. The definition of the philosopher offered in books 5-7, in conjunction with the metaphysical and epistemological concepts it introduces, provides the foundation not only for the “proofs” of the just man’s happiness and the tyrant’s misery in book 9, but also for the renewed critique of poetic mimesis in book 10.

Moreover, the passage makes a vivid and compelling case for what were arguably Plato’s own conceptions of how philosophy should be defined and pursued, and of how it could be used. The sustained distinction made in books 5-7 between the philosopher and mere “lovers of sights”
(philotheamones),
culminating in the allegory of the cave, seems fundamental to Plato’s work as a whole and to the political, ethical, and cultural agenda advanced in his dialogues. As such, it is appropriately showcased at the very center of
Republic,
which is one of his most ambitiously comprehensive texts.

The complex “circular” structure of
Republic
has the additional virtue of evoking the narrative patterns of epic poems such as
Iliad
and
Odyssey.
Critics as far back as Friedrich Nietzsche have commented on Plato’s rivalry with “Homer,” whose works attract particular scrutiny throughout
Republic,
and we might join Jacob Howland (The Republic:
The Odyssey of Philosophy,
pp. 30-31) and others in viewing the dialogue as a “philosophical epic.”
Republic’s
aim, then, is perhaps not only to critique the Homeric epics and the entire poetic tradition they head, but also to provide a fitting alternative to them, as it reworks their narrative patterns while revising their themes and concerns.

Republic
derives coherence from its thematic focuses as well as its “plot” development. As is natural in a conversation about justice and “right conduct,” the concern for human excellence (
aretê
) pervades the text. Its treatment of
aretê
plainly responds to works like
Iliad
and
Odyssey
and the general values of Hellenic culture. Against their “lessons,” it seeks to redefine and limit what is meant by
aretê,
so as to exclude from its definition all notions of material success and identify it solely with what we would call “moral excellence” or “virtue.”

Like many other Platonic texts,
Republic
advances its argument about
aretê
by scrutinizing the role that the desire for pleasure and the fear of pain play in determining the attitudes and values that most people entertain about “virtue.” This is not to say, as the discussion of book 9 makes plain, that the philosopher has no regard nor desire for pleasure. Rather, the philosopher’s estimation of what constitutes the greatest pleasure differs radically from common views, and this is why he (or she) lives more happily than the majority of people. Like many other Platonic texts (notably
Symposium
and
Phaedrus
), Republic is profoundly concerned with
eros
—that is, “erotic” desire that can find purely spiritual and intellectual as well as physical outlets. Book 9, by no accident, represents the tyrant as overwhelmed and enslaved by sexual desire more than any other appetite, and it thus positions him as polar opposite to the philosopher who, as a “lover of the vision of truth” (5.475e), achieves liberation to the fullest extent.

As the opposition of the tyrant and the philosopher indicates, servitude and enslavement, freedom and liberation also figure prominently in
Republic’s
nexus of thematic concerns. Thrasymachus’ initial conception of the tyrant as supremely free and happy, for all its arresting frankness, in fact reflects what most people think—at least if we trust Glaucon and Adeimantus in book 2—but the discussion in book 9 betrays the egregious error of this view. Much of Republic’s energies, then, are directed at challenging common understandings of “slavery,” “enslavement,” and “freedom,” as well as “justice” and “excellence,” and at reconfiguring what these terms mean. At the same time, the dialogue aims to demonstrate how the seemingly outrageous, “amoral” opinions espoused by a sophist like Thrasymachus do little more than reflect the thinking of the many.

The characterizations of the interlocutors are also crucial to the sense of unity and coherence in
Republic,
and they reinforce its key concerns and themes in subtle yet significant ways. Plato’s representations of Thrasymachus, Polemarchus, Cephalus, Glaucon, and Adeimantus doubtless combine fact with dramatic expedience, and they are as vivid and pointed as those in any other dialogue. Readers interested in detailed and sophisticated analysis of
Republic’s
handling of “character” should consult Ruby Blondell’s
The Play of Character in Plato’s Dialogues
(pp. 165-250).

By way of a few simple observations, we may note the immediate contrast presented in book 1 between the aggressive and contemptuous Thrasymachus and the more easygoing Polemarchus and Cephalus. These three are to be contrasted with Glaucon and Adeimantus who, though cooperative and on excellent terms with Socrates, can be persistent questioners. In his confidence and self-importance, Thrasymachus resembles the prominent rhetoricians, sophists, and politicians familiar from other dialogues such as
Protagoras, Gorgias,
and
Euthydemus;
his aggressiveness also holds up a mirror to the ideology of “might makes right” that he so enthusiastically embraces. He is out of place, however, in the friendly and almost homey atmosphere of Polemarchus’ house, since he is outnumbered by others keen to participate in a cooperative investigation, rather than witness a verbal competition.

Yet, as much as it owes to Polemarchus’ enthusiasm and the relaxed atmosphere of his home,
Republic’s
investigation of justice gets under way only because of Glaucon and Adeimantus. Most crucially, the brothers lack Thrasymachus’ egotism, and they are also plainly meant to seem sharper, better educated, and more intellectually gifted than Polemarchus. At 2.367e Socrates explicitly admires Glaucon’s and Adeimantus’ natural talent and ability
(physis).
The brothers’ conduct and conversation are doubtless intended to reinforce his oft-repeated insistence that both political leadership and philosophy—the two are ideally identical—can be practiced only by a naturally talented, well-trained, and disciplined few.

The good-natured Cephalus lacks the youthful energy and self-discipline to exercise his mind; Polemarchus, though willing, is clearly not able to “philosophize.” In contrast, Thrasymachus may have sufficient natural intelligence to engage in the kind of conversation undertaken by Socrates and Plato’s brothers, but his competitive nabits of self-promotion stand in his way. Modern readers may find Glaucon and Adeimantus too compliant and not sufficiently persistent in their interrogations of Socrates’ formulations and assessments. It is not clear, however, that
Republic’s
original readers would have so judged them, and it may well be that the two are offered up to readers as youthful models of the philosophical temperament who have benefited from proper education and training.

As we noted above, the importance of
Republic’s
concerns is affirmed on several occasions by its own interlocutors. It is, of course, Socrates who first asserts this importance, as he incredulously asks Thrasymachus at 1.344e, “Is the attempt to determine the way of man’s life so small a matter in your eyes?”

As we also remarked,
Republic’s
interlocutors draw attention to the incomplete, provisional, and at times unsatisfactory nature of their treatment of justice, happiness, the ideal political community, the theory of the ideas, the cognitive faculties of human beings, etc. The inadequacy of “the method we are employing” is acknowledged at 4.435c-d, and referring to this acknowledgment, Socrates cautions at 6.504b-d that the philosopher’s examination of justice, wisdom, temperance, and courage “must take a longer and more circuitous way.” His refusal to describe the idea of the good except by means of a simile, on the grounds that the task of delineating the good-in-itself is beyond the present conversation (6.506d—e), is matched by his admission in book 7 that dialectic “is not a theme to be treated of in passing only, but will have to be discussed again and again” (7.532d).
Republic,
we may conclude, is not meant to offer a definitive “last word” on any of the subjects it broaches. By no means does it tell readers everything that they need to know about justice, about the formation of functional political communities, about the practices and aims of philosophy, about the method of dialectic, about the ideas, even about poetry.

Readers familiar with Plato know well that other dialogues, notably Statesman
and
Laws, offer perspectives on these very same topics that complement, but also at times differ from, what is presented in
Republic,
and these differences further underscore the lack of definitiveness in
Republic.
Nonetheless,
Republic
is strongly suggestive, and, like its companion dialogues, it is full of “good ideas.” It offers up an enjoyable and—by its own standards—wholesome mimesis of a philosophical discussion, and it grants what was surely meant to be an enticing glimpse into the actual practice of Platonic philosophy.

Republic’s
dialogue form encourages us to come forth with our own questions. Socrates’ defense of his conception of the ideal city-state
qua
ideal (5.472d-e), for example, may prompt us to wonder whether Plato actually thought this theoretical model for a political community was practicable. The gradual identification of the just man with the philosopher in books 6-9 invites speculation as to whether, on the logic of
Republic,
anyone
but
the philosopher can be “just” and “happy.”

If we approach the text from an analytic and conceptual standpoint, we find that Socrates and his companions make innumerable assumptions and countless leaps of logic. Each of these can be fairly scrutinized and contested. On a different score, we may raise any number of questions about the insights the dialogue might offer us into our world, and also about its relevance to our experiences and value systems. Much of
Republic,
especially its political philosophy and argument for censorship, is at odds with modern ideals; some readers will doubtless be dissatisfied with, among other things, its unapologetic elitism and naive confidence in the integrity of “philosopher-rulers.” Some, however, may find that its critique of ancient Athenian society opens the door to meaningful questions about contemporary cultural practices and priorities.

Whatever questions we ask, and whatever kind of “dialogue” we undertake with this text, we will do well to keep in mind that countless individuals from antiquity to the present have shared
Republic’s
concerns and been influenced by its conceptions—on matters ethical, political, metaphysical, epistemological, eschatological, or aesthetic. Various elements of Plato’s thought also find important parallels in the philosophical and religious traditions of other ancient cultures, such as Confucianism and Buddhism.
Republic,
then, might have been composed by a single individual in response to a particular set of cultural circumstances in fourth-century B.C.E. Athens, but the questions it raises and the approaches it takes to dealing with these questions are not wholly unique to Plato or even to ancient Athens. The spirit of Socratic—and Platonic—inquiry thus bids each of us to ask our own questions of
Republic
and let it help us, in turn, examine ourselves and our world.

 

Elizabeth Watson Scharffenberger
received her A.B. in Classical Languages and Literatures from the University of Chicago and her M.A., M.Phil., and Ph.D. in Classics from Columbia University. A specialist in the culture and literature of Athens during the fifth and fourth centuries B.C.E., she currently teaches at Columbia University.

For assistance in composing the introduction and notes to this volume, I have drawn on a variety of sources. James Adams’ commentary on Republic, though more than a century old and controversial in places, has been a great asset, as have been the more recent commentaries by Stephen Halliwell and Penelope Murray. The critical studies of Plato and Republic listed in the bibliography have contributed much to my understanding of the dialogue and its significance; of these, I am most indebted to Andrea Wilson Nightingale’s
Genres in Dialogue: Plato and the Construct of Philosophy.
Meriting special mention among the more general works is M. L. West’s
Ancient Greek Music,
which supplies a wealth of important information about ancient instruments and musical tastes and is a particularly welcome companion to the study of book 3’s critique of music and song.

My colleagues and students are owed my boundless gratitude, since they have enriched my appreciation of Plato and Republic in the good old-fashioned Socratic way. My utmost thanks go to Professor Leonardo Taran and Professor James Coulter at Columbia University. Their graduate-level courses on Plato first sparked my enthusiasm for ancient philosophy, and their thoughtful suggestions regarding this edition of
Republic
have proven invaluable.