Plato Utopia Class Notes

Plato Utopia Plato's most important discourse, the Republic, comprises, generally, of three sections. The first (until near the end of Book V) deals in the development of a perfect community; it is the earliest of Utopias. One of the conclusions arrived at is that the rulers must be thinkers. Books VI and VII are concerned to define the word “philosopher.” This debate forms the second half. The third portion consists of an examination of various sorts of real constitutions and of their virtues and shortcomings. The formal objective of the Republic is to define “justice.” But at an early stage it is agreed that, as everything is easier to discern in the large than in the tiny, it will be wiser to examine what makes a just state than what makes a just person. And as justice must be among the features of the finest conceivable State, such a State is first outlined, and then it is decided which of its perfections is to be named “justice.” Let us first explain Plato’s Utopia in its broad contours, and then analyze points that emerge along the way. Plato begins by determining that the citizens are to be separated into three classes: the ordinary people, the warriors, and the guardians. The last, alone, are to have political power. There are to be far fewer of them than of the other two types. In the first instance, it seems, they are to be chosen by the legislator; after that, they will usually succeed by heredity, but in exceptional cases a promising child may be promoted from one of the inferior classes, while among the children of guardians a child or young man who is unsatisfactory may be degraded. The essential challenge, as Plato thinks, is to secure that the guardians shall carry out the purposes of the legislator. For this goal he offers numerous recommendations, educational, economic, biological, and religious. It is not always clear how far these proposals apply to other classes than the guardians; it is clear that some of them apply to the soldiers, but in the main Plato is concerned only with the guardians, who are to be a class apart, like the Jesuits in old Paraguay, the ecclesiastics in the States of the Church until 1870, and the Communist Party in the U.S.S.R. at the present day. The first thing to consider is education. This is broken into two elements, music and gymnastics. Each has a larger connotation than at present: “music” means all that is in the realm of the muses, while “gymnastics” means anything involved with physical training and fitness. “Music” is almost as extensive as what we might term “culture,” and “gymnastics” is considerably wider than what we call “athletics.” Culture is to be committed to making men gentlemen, in the sense which, largely thanks to Plato, is familiar in England. The Athens of his day was, in one respect, analogous to England in the nineteenth century: there was in each an aristocracy enjoying wealth and social prestige, but having no monopoly of political power; and in each the aristocracy had to secure as much power as it could by means of impressive behaviour. In Plato’s Utopia, however, the aristocracy governs unfettered. Gravity, politeness, and courage seem to be the traits largely to be acquired in education. There is to be a tight censorship, from very early years, over the books to which the youth have access and the music they are allowed to hear. Mothers and nurses are to teach their children only permitted stories. Homer and Hesiod are not to be authorized, for a number of reasons. First, they show the gods as behaving improperly on occasion, which is unedifying; the children must be taught that evils never originate from the gods, for God is not the source of all things, but only of good things. Second, there are things in Homer and Hesiod which are meant to make their readers fear death, but everything needs to be done in education to make young people eager to die in combat. Our sons must be educated to consider slavery worse than death, and hence they must have no stories of good men crying and mourning, even for the death of comrades. Third, etiquette mandates that there should never be loud laughing, and yet Homer writes of “inextinguishable laughter among the blessed gods.” How is a schoolmaster to reprove merriment successfully, if boys can reference this passage? Fourth, there are passages in Homer glorifying sumptuous feasts, and others depicting the lusts of the gods; such texts undermine temperance. (Dean Inge, a true Platonist, objected to a line in a well-known hymn: “The shout of them that triumph, the song of them that feast,” which occurs in a description of the joys of heaven.) Then there must be no stories in which the wicked are happy or the good unhappy; the moral effect on tender minds might be most unfortunate. On all these points, the poets are to be criticized. Plato proceeds on to a fascinating debate concerning the theater. The decent man, he adds, ought to be loath to emulate a bad man; but most plays feature villains; consequently the dramatist, and the actor who performs the villain’s part, have to imitate persons guilty of various crimes. Not just criminals, but women, slaves, and inferiors generally, ought not to be mimicked by superior men. (In Greece, as in Elizabethan England, women’s parts were done by males.) Plays, however, if allowed at all, must have no characters but flawless male heroes of good birth. The impossibility of this is so evident that Plato decides to banish all dramatists from his city: When any of these pantomimic gentlemen, who are so clever that they can imitate anything, comes to us, and makes a proposal to exhibit himself and his poetry, we will fall down and worship him as a sweet and holy and wonderful being; but we must also inform him that in our State such as he are not permitted to exist; the law will not allow them. And so after we have anointed him with myrrh, and laid a garland of wool upon his head, we shall send him away to another city. Next we get to the censorship of music (in the contemporary sense). The Lydian and Ionian harmonies are to be outlawed, the one because it symbolizes grief, the second because it is relaxed. Only the Dorian (for courage) and the Phrygian (for temperance) are to be permitted. Permissible rhythms must be basic, and such as are descriptive of a bold and happy existence. The training of the body is to be quite severe. No one is to consume fish, or meat prepared differently than roasted, and there must be no sauces or desserts. People brought up on his regimen, he argues, will have no need of physicians. Up to a certain age, the kids are to see no ugliness or immorality. But at a right juncture, they must be subjected to “enchantments,” both in the shape of terrors that must not terrify, and of poor pleasures that must not entice the will. Only when they have weathered these tests will they be considered fit to be guardians. Young boys, before they are grown up, should see battle, albeit they should not themselves fight. As for economics: Plato advocates a thoroughgoing communism for the guardians, and (I suppose) also for the troops, though this is not particularly clear. The guardians are to have little dwellings and simple food; they are to live as in a camp, dining together in parties; they are to have no private property beyond what is absolutely essential. Gold and silver are to be outlawed. Despite their lack of wealth, people have every right to happiness; nonetheless, the city exists for the benefit of all citizens, not just a select few. Both prosperity and poverty are terrible, and in Plato’s city none would exist. There is a weird argument regarding war, that it will be simple to acquire allies, as our city will not desire any share in the rewards of victory. With disguised hesitancy, the Platonic Socrates begins to apply his communism to the family. Friends, he argues, should have all things in common, including women and children. He agrees that this raises obstacles, but believes them not insuperable. First of all, girls are to receive exactly the same education as boys, learning music, gymnastics, and the art of battle together with the guys. Women are to have perfect equality with men in all aspects. “The same education which makes a man a good guardian will make a woman a good guardian; for their original nature is the same.” No doubt there are distinctions between men and women, but they have nothing to do with politics. While some women are warlike and would make excellent soldiers, others are philosophical and fit to be guardians. The legislator, having picked the guardians, some men and some women, will legislate that they should all share shared dwellings and common meals. Marriage as we know it is about to change drastically. † At particular festivals, brides and bridegrooms, in such numbers as are necessary to maintain the population constant, will be brought together, by lot, as they will be taught to think; but in actuality the authorities of the city will manipulate the lots on eugenic principles. The best sires will be assigned the highest number of offspring. All children will be taken away from their parents at birth, and great care will be taken that no parents shall know who are their children, and no children shall know who are their parents. Deformed offspring, and children of inferior parents, “will be put away in some mysterious unknown place, as they ought to be.” offspring emerging from unions not sanctioned by the State are to be regarded illegitimate. Mothers are to be between twenty and forty, dads between twenty-five and fifty-five. Outside these ages, intercourse is to be free, but abortion or infanticide is to be forced. In the “marriages” planned by the State, the persons concerned have no voice; they are to be moved by the concept of their duty to the State, not by any of the common sentiments that the expelled poets used to praise. Since no one knows who his parents are, he is to call every one “father” whose age is such that he might be his father, and similarly as regards “mother” and “brother” and “sister.” (This sort of thing happens among some savages, and used to puzzle missionaries.) There is to be no marriage between a “father” and “daughter” or “mother” and “son”; in general, but not absolutely, marriages of “brother” and “sister” are to be prevented. (I think if Plato had thought this out more carefully he would have found that he had prohibited all marriages, except the “brother-sister” marriages which he regards as rare exceptions.) It is supposed that the sentiments at present attached to the words “father,” “mother,” “son,” and “daughter” will still attach to them under Plato’s new arrangements; a young man, for instance, will not strike an old man, because he might be striking his father. The advantage sought is, of course, to diminish private possessive sentiments, and thus eliminate impediments to the mastery of public spirit, as well as to acceptance in the lack of private property. It was essentially considerations of a similar type that led to the celibacy of the priesthood. * I come last to the theological part of the scheme. I am not thinking of the established Greek gods, but of some myths which the government is to instill. Lying, Plato argues explicity, is to be a prerogative of the government, just as dispensing medicine is of physicians. The government, as we have previously seen, seeks to deceive people in appearing to arrange weddings by lot, but this is not a religious concern. There will be "one royal lie," which Plato thinks will fool the other residents of the city in addition to maybe fooling the rulers. This “lie” is set forth in some detail. The most essential aspect of it is the concept that God has created mankind of three sorts, the best made of gold, the second best of silver, and the common herd of brass and iron. Those created of gold are appropriate to be guards; those made of silver should be soldiers; the rest should do the physical task. Usually, but by no means always, children will belong to the same grade as their parents; when they do not, they must be promoted or degraded correspondingly. It is deemed hardly conceivable to have the present generation embrace this myth, but the next, and all following generations, can be so taught as not to dispute it. Plato is correct when he believes that two generations might develop a belief in this tale. The Japanese have been taught that the Mikado is descended from the sun-goddess, and that Japan was established earlier than the rest of the globe. Any university professor, who, even in a scholarly book, raises doubt on these dogmas, is removed for un-Japanese conduct. Plato doesn't appear to understand that requiring people to believe in these kinds of stories is contrary to philosophy and entails a form of education that lowers IQ. The definition of “justice,” which is the nominal goal of the whole discussion, is reached in Book IV. It consists, we are told, in everybody doing his own work and not being a busybody: the city is just when trader, auxiliary, and guardian, each does his own job without interfering with that of other classes. That each should mind his own business is no doubt a noble principle, but it scarcely equates to what a modern would readily term “justice.” The Greek word so translated matched to an idea which was very significant in Greek philosophy, but for which we have no exact counterpart. It is good while to recollect what Anaximander said: Into that from whence things receive their rise they pass away once more, as is predetermined; for they give recompense and satisfaction to one another for their wrong according to the set time. Before philosophy began, the Greeks had an idea or emotion about the cosmos, which may be considered religious or ethical. This view holds that everything, including people, has a designated place and purpose. This does not depend upon the fiat of Zeus, for Zeus himself is subject to the same type of rule which controls others. The hypothesis has something to do with necessity or fate. It is definitely applicable to the celestial bodies. But where there is vigor, there is a tendency to overstep fair boundaries; therefore emerges strife. Some form of impersonal super-Olympian rule punishes arrogance, and restores the everlasting ojrder which the aggressor intended to breach. This whole viewpoint, originally, perhaps, hardly aware, went over into philosophy; it is to be found alike in cosmologies of struggle, such as those of Heraclitus and Empedocles, and in monistic theories such as that of Parmenides. It is the root of the belief both in nature and in human law, and it plainly informs Plato’s view of justice. The modern legal definition of "justice" is closer to Plato's idea than it is to the one found in political conjecture. Democracy has shaped our understanding of justice by making us identify it with equality, although Plato did not see it that way. “Justice,” in the sense in which it is practically identical with “law”—as when we speak of “courts of justice”—is concerned exclusively with property rights, which have little to do with equality. The earliest recommended definition of “justice,” at the foundation of the Republic, is that it consists in paying obligations. Although this definition is quickly dropped as being insufficient, it is still included in the end. Regarding Plato's definition, there are a few things to keep in mind. First, it enables disparities in privilege and power to exist without causing injustice. The guardians are to have all the authority, since they are the smartest members of the community; injustice would only emerge, on Plato’s view, if there were individuals in the other classes who were smarter than some of the guardians. Because of this, Plato allows for the advancement and degrading of citizens, even if he believes that the dual benefits of birth and education would often elevate guardian-offspring over those of other parents. If there were a more accurate science of administration, and more surety of mankind adopting its principles, there would be much to be said for Plato’s system. No one finds it wrong to put the best guys into a football team, although they obtain thereby a significant superiority. Should football be governed with the same democratic principles as the Athens government, university players would be selected by lot. But in questions of administration it is impossible to determine who has the most competence, and very far from assured that a politician would use his expertise in the public interest rather than in his own or in that of his class or party or faith. The second thing to note is that Plato's concept of "justice" assumes the existence of a state that is either conventionally structured or structured similarly to his own in order to fully actualize a certain ethical ideal. We are informed that fairness entails each guy carrying out his own duties. What, though, is a man's job? A man's work is his father's job, no question about that in a state that, like ancient Egypt or the Inca monarchy, stays constant generation after generation. However, no man has a legal father in Plato's State. As a result, his employment must be determined by the State's assessment of his qualifications or by his own preferences. It seems evident that Plato would choose the latter. However, certain types of labor—even those involving great skill—may be considered harmful; Plato holds this opinion about poetry, and I should hold it about Napoleon's job. The aims of the government, therefore, are vital in deciding what constitutes a man’s work. Despite the fact that all rulers must be philosophers, there must never be any innovations—a philosopher will always be a guy who comprehends and concurs with Plato. When we inquire: What is the goal of Plato's Republic? The response is not that exciting. It will accomplish success in conflicts against about equal populations, and it will provide a subsistence for a certain limited number of people. Its intransigence will most likely prevent it from producing any art or science; in this way, as in others, it will resemble Sparta. All that will be accomplished, despite all the nice words, is the ability to fight well and have enough food. Having experienced hunger and loss in Athens, Plato could have unconsciously believed that the greatest thing a statesman could do was to prevent these horrors. If a utopia is to be taken seriously, it must undoubtedly reflect the values that inspired it. Let us explore, for a minute, what we might understand by “ideals.” In the first place, they are sought by people who believe in them; yet they are not desired quite in the same manner that a man loves physical comforts, such as food and shelter. The distinction between a "ideal" and an ordinary object of want lies in the former's impersonal nature; it is something that, at least seemingly, has no particular connection to the individual experiencing the desire, and may, therefore, in theory, be desired by everyone. Therefore, we may characterize a "ideal" as something that is wanted, not selfish, and for which the person who desires it wishes that everyone else desires it as well. I may want for everyone to eat enough, for everyone to treat others with kindness, and so on. If I make such a wish, I will likewise hope for others to make similar wishes. By doing this, I am able to develop what may appear to be an impersonal morality, but in reality, it is based on my own wants, which are always my even when they have nothing to do with me. For instance, one guy may hope that everyone knew science, while another might wish that everyone valued art; these differences in the two men's aspirations are the result of their individual differences. As soon as there is a dispute, the personal aspect is out. Let's imagine a man says, "You ought to desire the happiness of Germans and the unhappiness of everyone else; you are wrong to wish everybody to be happy." The word "ought" here may be interpreted as the speaker's wish for me to want that. I might respond that since I am not German, it is psychologically impossible for me to wish for every non-German person to be unhappy, but this seems like a weak response. Once more, a clash between simply impersonal principles can arise. While a Christian saint and Nietzsche's hero are not the same person, they are both impersonally revered—by Christians, by Nietzscheans. How else are we to choose between the two without following our own desires? However, if all else fails, the only ways to resolve an ethical dispute are through coercion, emotional appeals, or, in the worst case scenario, going to war. We can use science and scientific observational methods to support our arguments on factual issues, but there doesn't appear to be any comparable reasoning available for moral dilemmas. If this is indeed the case, however, then moral disagreements ultimately come down to power struggles, even those involving propaganda. In the first book of the Republic, Thrasymachus—who, like nearly every character in Plato's dialogues, was a real person—presents this point of view in a rough and ready manner. He was a well-known rhetorician instructor and a Sophist from Chalcedon who made an appearance in Aristophanes' first comedy in 427 B.C. Thrasymachus, who has been listening impatiently and becomes agitated, interrupts Socrates after he has been amicably debating justice for some time with an elderly man called Cephalus and Plato's elder brothers Glaucon and Adeimantus. Socrates quibbles, rebutting his forceful declaration that "justice is nothing else than the interest of the stronger." Justice is never squarely faced, he maintains. It brings up the central query in politics and ethics: Is there any objective definition of "good" and "bad" other than what the individual using these terms wants? Many of the conclusions made by Thrasymachus appear inevitable if there isn't. However, how can we affirm that there is? At this stage, religion appears to have a straightforward explanation. God decides what is right and wrong; a good man is one whose will is in accordance with God's will. But this response is not entirely conventional. When theologians declare that God is good, they are implying that there is a moral norm that exists outside from God's will. Thus, we are obliged to consider the following: In the same way as "snow is white" and "pleasure is good" are statements of objective truth or falsity? An extensive discussion would be required to provide a response to this question. In this sense, it is "true" that snow is white, that Caesar was assassinated, that water is made of hydrogen and oxygen, and so on. Some may believe that we can, for practical purposes, sidestep the fundamental issue and say: "I do not know what is meant by 'objective truth,' but I shall consider a statement 'true' if all, or virtually all, of those who have investigated it are agreed in upholding it." The next factual issue we must address is this: are there any comparable widely accepted ethical statements? If so, they might serve as the foundation for a political philosophy as well as guidelines for personal behavior. If not, then anytime there is an unbridgeable ethical divide between strong groups, we are forced to dispute it in real life, regardless of the philosophical truth. This can be done by propaganda, force, or both. This is not truly a question, in Plato's opinion. Despite stating Thrasymachus' position forcefully due to his dramatic sense, he is completely oblivious of its strength and permits himself to argue in an incredibly unjust manner in opposition to it. According to Plato, there is "the Good" and its nature can be determined; thus, any dispute regarding it is, at the very least, an intellectual mistake, just as much as if it were a disagreement based on factual information. Although the distinction between Thrasymachus and Plato is significant, a philosophy historian should merely acknowledge it rather than make a conclusion about it. Plato believes he can demonstrate the virtues of his ideal Republic; a democrat who recognizes the objectivity of ethics may believe he can demonstrate the Republic's shortcomings; however, anyone who agrees with Thrasymachus will argue that there is no need to prove or disprove anything; the only issue is whether or not you support the kind of state that Plato envisions. It is beneficial to you if you do; it is detrimental if you don't. This is one of the open philosophical topics; there are respectable persons on both sides. If many do and many do not, the choice cannot be decided by reason, but only by coercion, actual or veiled. However, the viewpoint that Plato promoted was almost uncontested for a very long period. It should be noted, moreover, that there are certain unaccepted repercussions to the viewpoint that replaces an objective norm with the consensus of opinion. What are we to make of scientific trailblazers such as Galileo, who champion a viewpoint that few share but ultimately garners the endorsement of nearly all? They achieve this by reasoning, not coercion, government propaganda, or emotional appeals. This suggests a standard distinct from the prevailing viewpoint. Regarding moral issues, the situation of the major religious leaders is comparable. Christ taught that although it is sinful to hate your enemies, it is not evil to pluck corn ears on the Sabbath. Such ethical innovations clearly entail a norm different from the view of the majority, but the standard, whatever it may be, is not an objective reality as in the case of a scientific inquiry. I don't claim to be able to tackle this problem; it's a tough one. Let us just be happy to observe it for the time being. In contrast to contemporary utopias, Plato's Republic may have been meant to be founded. This was not as unbelievable or unfeasible as it would seem to us. Numerous stipulations of it, some of which we ought to have considered quite unrealistic, were in fact accomplished at Sparta. Pythagoras had sought to establish a rule for intellectuals, and during Plato's visits to Sicily and southern Italy, Archytas the Pythagorean had political sway in Taras, or modern-day Taranto. A sage was usually hired by a city to draft its rules; Solon had done so for Athens and Protagoras for Thurii. Back then, colonies were totally independent of their home city, therefore it would have been very possible for a group of Platonists to build the Republic on the coasts of Spain or Gaul. Sadly, fate brought Plato to Syracuse, a thriving metropolis involved in bloody battles with Carthage; no philosopher could have accomplished anything in such a setting. In the next generation, Macedonia's ascent rendered all tiny States obsolete and demonstrated the pointlessness of all micropolitical endeavors.