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Plato is often criticized for legitimising social repression. In The Republic, Socrates says that “subjection to the principle of divine intelligence is to everyone’s advantage. It’s best if this principle is part of a person’s own nature, but if it isn’t, it can be imposed from outside” (341). In other words, one ought to accept the moral and social order Socrates prescribes. However, those who do not can be “punished” (342). This is to ensure that they conform, through fear, to that order anyway. Or at least it is to ensure that they do so until they can be made to understand their own best interests.
One response to this criticism would be to point out that Plato’s state is primarily a metaphor for the human mind. What Plato advocates fundamentally is not real political coercion but for each person to mentally “set his own house in order” (155). This may mean examining and rearranging bad practices or unhealthy desires. This is so that each “is his own ruler” (156) and “has internal concord” (156). This is so the grounds are laid by which one can pursue the good. Further, the coercive force is not the apparatus of the state. Instead, it could be a philosopher or inspirational figure, who inspires one to live in a more noble way. Indeed, this could be the real meaning of the philosopher king. Namely, this “paradoxical idea” (191) of saying that the philosopher should found the community is really about letting philosophy (and a philosophical teacher) inform one’s life.
However, even if we accept that Plato is interested in the state largely as a metaphor, questions remain. Is Plato’s view that happiness resides in the well-ordered and harmonious mind too prescriptive? It could be argued that happiness resists such formulas. It is something the individual must discover for themselves, and with their own balance between the different aspects of the self. In short, aren’t there multiple ways to be happy and good? Finally, the value of harmony might itself be questioned. While a disordered or conflicted psyche may doubtless bring problems, it can also be productive. Great writers and artists, like Vincent Van Gogh or Edgar Allan Poe attest to the creative potential of internal strife and chaos. So too do Friedrich Nietzsche or Soren Kierkegaard in philosophy. Plato’s vision of the good life, like that of the philosopher, might then be ultimately too specific.
In chapter two Socrates mocks a crude vision of happiness. He talks about people who wish to “spend eternity with chaplets on their heads drinking, on the assumption that the best possible reward for goodness is perpetual intoxication” (51). For Socrates this is the antithesis of true happiness. And it is the opposite of how a philosopher should think or act. Yet it is not just alcohol itself which Socrates opposes. Rather, his objection to drink forms part of a broader matrix of values judgements woven into most of his arguments. These centre specifically on the concept of intoxication.
For one thing, alcoholic intoxication is associated with the pleasures of the body. According to Socrates, these are inherently inferior to those of the mind. With the former, “in some way or other they involve escape from pain” (332). This is certainly true of alcohol. At any rate, Socrates uses this to suggest that since the pleasure of mental contemplation is more authentic, it is also preferable. Further, for that reason, “the mind is a more valuable asset than the body” (342). On top of this, intoxication threatens the integrity of the self. This is reflected in Socrates’ concern about sex and derangement. As he says, “Pleasure deranges people just as effectively as distress” (101). To be “deranged” here means not only to lose one’s reason. It also implies a confusion and breakdown of the self. It suggests, like “dissoluteness,” a blurring of the line between oneself and others, as can occur during sex.
Finally, intoxication is associated with the world of art. Specifically, tragedy and comedy intoxicate us by provoking a heightened emotion. They give pleasure precisely by suspending the truth and encouraging us to identify with characters and worlds which are not real. They provide a seductive escape from our ordinary lives and selves and from the pressures of thought. Such pleasures release us from the challenge of reality. Yet, like the happiness and illusions of the drinker, this cannot last. Once the curtain has gone down or the bottle is emptied, we face the pain of returning to the real world. Only now, sensitive to this pain, we are even more likely to seek refuge again in fantasy. We become, like the cave-dwellers in Socrates’ allegory, mesmerised by shadows. We lose the ability to distinguish between the shadows and what is real. Eventually we even begin to think that the shadows are more real than the daylight. This is part of the meaning of the analogy of the cave. It is also why Socrates wishes to avoid intoxication at all costs. Imagine what he would think of Netflix.
Describing the qualities of philosopher kings, Socrates mentions “honesty” (204). This is defined as “the inability consciously to tolerate falsehood… and loving truth” (204). Yet, there seems to be various moments in The Republic where falsehood is tolerated or actively perpetuated. For example, there is the implicit fabrication in the guardian’s education. The afterlife must, says Socrates, be presented in a positive way so that warriors are not afraid of death. Then there is the sexual lottery. This is where Socrates advises that “We’d better set up a subtle lottery, then, so that those inferior men we spoke of blame chance and not the rulers every mating-time” (174). In other words, only the “best” are going to be allowed sex.
Finally, and most well-known, is the “noble lie” (118). This a founding myth about the origins of the castes. It states that although all subjects were forged and nurtured in the same earth, “God included gold in the mixture when he was forming those of you who have what it takes to be rulers (which is why the rulers have the greatest privileges)” (119). Thus, caste distinctions and privileges are immutable. They are also divinely sanctioned. Socrates expresses hesitancy about this specific idea. Glaucon notes to Socrates, before he explains it, that “you seem reluctant to tell us the story” (118). Nevertheless, his view comes down to utility. Lying is justified for the societal good. This raises a number of issues. For one, it is manipulative. It presents falsehoods to make people accept what they might not given the truth, encouraging a blind acceptance of a social hierarchy over which most people have no say.
Moreover, there are practical issues with these kinds of lies. The “tactics” (119) for convincing people of them, especially at first, are not obvious. In fact, Socrates’ proposals court problems of self-deception. This is because, the success of these lies seems to depend on not just the rulers but some of the auxiliaries being aware of the intention to deceive. But, for the lies told to be effective, they would also have to succeed in deceiving these people as well. This contradiction is hard to maintain. Further, it plays into another danger of Socrates’ suggestion. Namely, what if the lies were exposed? In that case the very social harmony these stories were designed to promote risks being ripped apart.
By Plato