The Tripartite Soul of Philosopher Kings: Plato’s ‘Republic’

So, The Republic… A thought-train.

My favourite aspects of Plato’s writings in this book are his concepts of “philosopher kings” ruling society in an autocracy, and of the tripartite soul.

The Platonic Academy in Athens was the first of its kind, and it was just one of Plato’s legacies between 428BC and 347BC. It was here that “Platonism” was born: a school of thought exploring the consequences of denying the reality of the material world.

The main character in The Republic, its foremost voice, is Socrates, who challenges assumptions of the material. Plato’s central concern is whether something you can’t physically hold in your hands can be real. Socrates argues: yes. And the thing in question becomes the object of the narrative, the immaterial concept he wants to define: justice.

Plato thus poses the following questions:

• Why do men behave justly?
• Is it because they fear societal punishment?
• Are they trembling before notions of divine retribution?
• Do the stronger elements of society scare the weak into submission in the name of law?
• Or do men behave justly because it is good for them to do so?
• Is justice, regardless of its rewards and punishments, a good thing in and of itself?
• How do we define justice?

Plato originally titled his seminal work “politeia”. It was Cicero who translated “politeia” as “res publica”, which, in turn, was translated by Renaissance scholars as “republic”. So Plato was referring to a society where affairs of the state are public matter, and offices are elected not inherited, in other words, where there is a constitution, and popular suffrage (right to vote).

Throughout the ten books that make up The Republic, Socrates debates whether a just man perceived as an unjust man is happier than an unjust man perceived as a just man, and so sets out to define justice. He then tackles the problem by envisioning several different versions of a city, whether it be a democracy or oligarchy etc.

Plato explains how each of the three classes of society (producers, warriors, and rulers), are dominated by one of the three parts of the soul.

The idea is that the human soul has three inherent parts, and that individual justice serves to keep these parts in the correct power dynamic, with reason ruling, spirit aiding reason, and appetite obeying.

Reason lusts after truth and is the source of all our philosophic desires. In a just person, the entire soul is ruled by reason and strives to fulfil reason’s desires. And then there’s spirit, which is the source of our honour and victory-loving desires. It is responsible for our feelings of anger and indignation, and in a just soul it is subservient to reason. That leaves appetite. This is the largest part, and the seat of all desires, including those that should be indulged, limited, and suppressed. Plato dubs it “money-loving”, and it is strictly controlled by reason and its henchman, spirit.

So each of these have a corresponding class. Producers are dominated by their appetites (the urges for money, luxury, and pleasure), while warriors are dominated by their spirits (which make them brave), and finally rulers are dominated by their rational faculties (and so they strive for wisdom).

And this is when he explains what the best political system of a country should be. Enter the philosopher kings…

Plato argues that the rulers should be these so-called kings because philosophers can see both realms: the visible and the intelligible. The latter, he posits, can only be perceived with the mind, and that is what philosophers are capable of doing, so they are the most just.

This “intelligible” realm is made up of the “Forms”. Plato’s infamous Forms are essentially abstract, changeless absolutes, rules that are set in stone that will still fundamentally be there no matter how much moss obscures them: Goodness, Beauty, Redness, and Sweetness. They exist in permanent relation to the visible realm, and they are what make it possible.

For example, an apple is only red and sweet because it participates in the Forms of Redness and Sweetness. Thus the visible realm of the apple cannot exist without the latter already existing in the intelligible realm. The philosophers are subsequently portrayed as being truly powerful and enlightened because they can understand the intelligible.

Within this model, “the Form of the Good” is the source of all the others. The philosopher’s soul moves through various stages of “cognition” before it finally grasps this galaxy brain concept. And Plato explains that the aim of education is not to put knowledge into the soul, but to put the right desires into the soul. Basically, to fill the soul with a lust for truth, so that it desires to move past the visible world, into the intelligible, and ultimately to the Form of the Good.

Plato’s allegory of the cave was a mechanism he used to expound upon the Forms and why the philosophers can see the intelligible realm at all.

Socrates describes a group of people who have lived chained to the wall of a cave all of their lives facing a blank wall. These people watch shadows projected onto the wall by things passing in front of a fire behind them, and begin to ascribe forms to the shadows. According to Socrates, the shadows are as close as the prisoners get to viewing reality. He then explains how the philosopher is like a prisoner who is freed from the cave and comes to understand that the shadows on the wall do not make up reality at all, as he can perceive the true form of reality rather than the mere shadows seen by the prisoners. By stepping out of the cave, he bears witness to the intelligible realm.

The conclusion is that these philosopher kings should rule because they are the most just and moral, and truly understand both the visible realm and the intelligible realm. He then argues that a society should have an autocracy, with these kings ruling. For him, “autocracy” literally meant “rule by the best”, and he saw those as philosophers.

And so Socrates establishes four distinct political systems:

1. The Cretan and Spartan system – the “timocracy” (ruled by people governed by the spirit part of the mind, who value military ideals and success, but have begun to be corrupted by money)
2. Oligarchy – “the thoroughly rotten system”
3. Democracy – “oligarchy’s adversary”
4. Dictatorship – “the fourth, the ultimate political disease, which leaves all the rest behind, is noble dictatorship”

He then pairs each of these political systems with a corresponding type of human being, to ultimately compare absolute morality with absolute immorality and the happiness and unhappiness towards which they lead.

His argument behind this (he’s talking to Glaucon at this point, a friend’s son) is:

“‘Well, do you appreciate that there are bound to be as many types of human being as there are of political system?’ I asked. ‘Or do you imagine that political systems somehow come into being from oak or from rock, rather than from the characters of the communities’ inhabitants? If one type of character outweighs the rest, so to speak, then don’t you think it draws all the other types with it?’

‘Yes, that’s the only possible way in which political systems arise,’ he agreed.

‘So if there are five types of society, then any given individual should also have one of five kinds of mental trait.’”

He posits that the individual counterpart to aristocracy is a person of goodness and morality. To the Spartan system, it was the competitive and ambitious type, and so on. In the end, the conclusion is that the superior mode is the autocracy and the philosopher kings.

Socrates broaches the subject to Glaucon with a good deal of trepidation. He knows his idea is quite unorthodox. But that’s one of the reasons why it’s so fascinating:

“‘I’m now about to confront the difficulty which, in our image, is the largest wave,’ I said. ‘Still, it must be voiced, even if it’s going to swamp us, exactly like a wave, with scornful and contemptuous laughter. Are you ready for me to speak?’

‘Go ahead,’ he said.

‘Unless communities have philosophers as kings,’ I said, ‘or the people who are currently called kings and rulers practise philosophy with enough integrity – in other words, unless political power and philosophy coincide, and all the people with their diversity of talents who currently head in different directions towards either government or philosophy have those doors shut firmly in their faces – there can be no end to political troubles, my dear Glaucon, or even to human troubles in general, I’d say, and our theoretical constitution will be stillborn and will never see the light of day. Now you can appreciate what made me hesitate to speak before: I saw how very paradoxical it would sound, since it is difficult to realise that there is no other way for an individual or a community to achieve happiness.’”

It is indeed an abstract concept, and he justifies it in a very interesting way, clearly showing just how much value Plato placed in the study of knowledge itself. He defines a philosopher as someone who desires “the whole of knowledge, not just some aspects of it”, and who perceives things “in themselves”, who is awake rather than asleep, who has knowledge rather than belief or opinion (the latter being fallible, with less access to reality, because it can see no further than the sensible world, which is deceptive and deficient).

Plato called them “sightseers of the truth”.

So having established that philosopher kings should rule the perfect society as they are the most just and moral people, he comes to the crux of the book: is justice better than injustice? Morality vs immorality. Good vs evil. Right vs wrong.

After comparing the philosopher king to the most unjust type of man, aka the tyrant, whose soul is dominated completely by his non-rational appetites, Plato claims that justice is worthwhile for its own sake.

By sketching a psychological portrait of the tyrant, he attempts to prove that injustice tortures a man’s psyche, whereas a just soul is a healthy and happy one, untroubled and calm. He then goes on to say that though each of the three main character types (money-loving, honor-loving, and truth-loving) have their own ideas and interpretations of pleasure (and how these lead to a happy life), only the philosopher can actually make a moral and correct judgement because only he has experienced all three types of pleasure in his soul’s journey towards the Form of the Good.

Plato argues that everyone else should accept the philosopher’s judgement and conclude that the pleasures associated with the philosophical are the most pleasant and desirable, and so the just life must also be the most pleasant.

So Plato states that only the philosopher’s pleasure is actually, truly pleasure, and what everyone else claims to be pleasure is really just the cessation of pain.

In Chapter 1 of The Republic, Socrates journeys to Piraeus (the chief port of Athens). He’s in town to see the first performance of the festival in worship of the goddess Bendis (as she was similar to the prominent Artemis). When Socrates and a friend’s son, Glaucon, are later returning to town after the Thracian procession, they get stopped on their way by Polemarchus, the son of Cephalus. With him are Glaucon’s brother, Adeimantus, and a young lad named Niceratus, as well as several others.

Between them, they begin to try and persuade Socrates to stay, and Adeimantus points out that there is a horseback torch-race in the evening in honour of the goddess. Polemarchus also points out that there will be an all-night celebration of singing and dancing, with lots of opportunities for debate.

Glaucon declares, “It looks as though we’d better stay,” and they hurry back to Polemarchus’ house. At his house are his two brothers (Lysias and Euthydemus), his father, Cephalus, and a friend, Charmantides of Paenia. Also worth noting is Thrasymachus of Chalcedon, a Sophist.

The Sophists were “teachers-for-hire” who preached a creed of subjective morality to the wealthy sons of Athens. They didn’t believe in objective truth (or objective moral truth). Instead they viewed everything as either advantageous or disadvantageous to the person doing them, with no absolute right or wrong.

Taking this belief to its logical conclusion, some of them went so far as to claim that law and morality are nothing but mere convention, and that we should try to get away with injustice and illegality whenever it would be to our advantage.

Plato disagrees. Throughout The Republic he argues in favour of morality prevailing even if it’s to our disadvantage. He stresses that absolutely nothing can justify injustice and illegality, as this would be immoral. He consistently wants to prove that there is such a thing as objective truth, that there is a clear and measurable distinction between right and wrong.

Back at Polemarchus’ house, the first subject they debate is old age. Socrates notices how old Cephalus (Polemarchus’ father) is looking, how he has reached “the time of life the poets describe as being on the threshold of age”, something you crossed upon leaving this world.

But Cephalus launches into a very profound speech about how many see old age as a burden after life has lost all worth, when it is merely “freedom from a great many demented masters,” such as sex, one particularly “rabid and savage” urge. This was an opinion also shared by the poet Sophocles.

And so Cephalus concludes that the reason for their misery is not old age at all, but their character, and “if someone is self-disciplined and good-tempered, old age isn’t too much of a burden; otherwise, it’s not just a question of old age, Socrates – such a person will find life difficult when he’s young as well.”

Then, when Socrates suggests there may be a link between contentment in old age and wealth, Cephalus responds, “it’s true that a good man wouldn’t find old age particularly easy to bear if he were poor, but it’s also true that a bad man would never be content with himself even if he were wealthy.”

So there isn’t a direct correlation between happiness and wealth, because you could be wealthy and unhappy, say, if you had murdered someone (taking remorse on assumption here).

Socrates then questions him about his own wealth and how it affects his character. Cephalus is put on the defensive again, “when thoughts of death start to impinge on a person’s mind, he entertains fears and worries about things which had never occurred to him before.” He gives some examples, like sins he may have committed which would lead him to Hades and the horrors that await there (he mentions that what before may simply have been children’s stories, might actually be true). Socrates then quotes the poet, Pindar, who said that anyone who has spent his life behaving morally and justly has “sweet hope as a partner, joyfully fostering his heart, comforting him in old age – hope which steers, more than anything else does, men’s fickle intention.”

This is a very poignant way of saying you will find true happiness if you are moral and just.

He then says that “this is the context in which I value the possession of money so highly”, as it is an insurance against turning to illegality, as well as cheating and lying, and poor people are far more likely to break the law and be miserable, which is why he likes being rich. It is insulation against desperation.

The conversation then moves on to the main concern of the book: morality.

Socrates kicks it off by asking, “but what about this thing you mentioned, doing right?” He asks if it is simply being truthful and returning borrowed property, and uses an example of borrowing a weapon from a friend, but then actually doing wrong if the friend goes insane, as returning the weapon to him then would be dangerous, therefore calling into question the true meaning of “right” and how to confidently distinguish it from “wrong”.

Is it wrong to return the weapon if they will kill someone? Or is it wrong to not return the weapon even though it’s their personal property?

Cephalus agrees with this reasoning, so Socrates then concludes, “it follows that this isn’t the definition of morality, to tell the truth and to give back whatever one has borrowed.” But Polemarchus interjects suddenly, “yes it is, Socrates.” Cephalus says he will pass the conversation onto them as he wants to go to the ceremony. Polemarchus appoints himself his father’s “heir” in the debate, and takes up his point.

Socrates then adopts the idea that morality is an area of expertise, drawing inferences about it by assuming that what holds good for other areas of expertise will hold good for morality too. From here, Polemarchus could have argued that morality doesn’t just operate in one field like a craft does, or that it has a wider role in human relationships, or has a purpose such as promoting happiness, but he fails to do this and begins to tie himself in paradoxical knots, proving Socrates’ points.

Socrates finally concludes (in a startling anticipation of Christian ethics) that it is never right to harm anyone under any circumstances.

Also, at one point Socrates says “so which art – the art of giving what to what – might we call morality?” Polemarchus replies, “in order to be consistent with what was said earlier, Socrates, it has to be the art of giving benefit and harm to friends and enemies respectively.” Socrates then barrages him with questions, which pick apart his argument, basically to determine what Polemarchus thinks a moral person is good for, as opposed to an expert in that craft. They get to a point when Socrates says “in every instance, then, morality is useless when anything is being used, and useful when anything is not being used, morality can’t be a very important thing, then, can it, my friend, if it is useful for useless objects.” After several more probing questions he then prompts Polemarchus by stating, “if a moral person is good at protecting money, therefore, he’s also good at stealing it” which Polemarchus haltingly replies, “that’s what the argument suggests anyway.”

We are obviously intended to view the argument of comparing morality to different crafts as flawed, as Socrates says, “morality has been exposed then, a moral person is a kind of thief, apparently… with the qualification that it must be done to benefit friends and harm enemies.”

Polemarchus backtracks immediately, but restates his belief that it is to benefit friends and harm enemies.

Plato ultimately stresses that there is such a thing as objective morality and that justice eclipses injustice, that it is always worthwhile.

He also argues that this perfect society of autocratic philosopher kings should banish all poets. His reasoning behind this is that they are dangerous as they pretend to know all sorts of things when they really know nothing at all, portraying not the good, rational, quiet part of the soul but its wildest emotions. And so poetry corrupts even the best souls as it deceives us into sympathising with the worst. (I wouldn’t recommend Dante.)

Socrates’ final argument in favour of justice is the myth of Er.

This legend is essentially about the afterlife, how the soul is immortal, how moral souls are rewarded, and that justice must prevail in life because it determines your happiness in the next life, which implies that all just acts are therefore to your advantage because you will be rewarded in the afterlife. So surely the Sophists must be in favour of justice and morality at all times because it is always beneficial? Just a thought…

Er is a warrior who is killed in battle and witnesses the cycle in heaven of people choosing their next lives. For a millennium, people are either rewarded in heaven or punished in hell for the sins or good deeds of their life. Socrates explains how the soul is immortal, because it cannot be truly destroyed by its affliction, which is immorality, because immorality cannot make it deteriorate, decompose, and perish, so it must be indestructible. He does not address whether the affliction of the mind could be ageing. Socrates tells Glaucon the “Myth of Er” to explain that the choices we make and the character we develop will have consequences after death.

And this concludes his argument for justice…

Not objective morality, but self-interest.

Thought-train similarly concluded.

End of the line.

Though of course, there is no true Platonic end to this line. No Endness. It’s inconceivable that more than two thousand years later his words are still being pursued so voraciously beyond the utmost bounds of human thought.

This, surely, is what immortality is?

Here I would turn to the words of Carl Sagan… Because, frankly, when don’t I turn to the words of Carl Sagan…

“Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people, citizens of distant epochs, who never knew one another. Books break the shackles of time – proof that humans can work magic.”