Plato’s Republic: Book X

This book begins with Socrates asserting that their conclusions regarding the organization of the state were correct. Additionally, he emphatically states that he was also right regarding the poets and their place in the state. He gives further arguments to support that last.

According to Socrates, the tragic poets and all other imitators are corruptive. Of course, it is necessary to define what he means by “imitation.” To begin, he falls back on his Theory of Forms. There is a distinction between the Form of a couch and the many particular couches. A craftsman does not make the Form of the couch, only the particulars. The craftsman that makes the Form (God or the Good-the Good is more appropriate considering his previous discussions regarding the Forms in earlier books) makes everything, including the gods. With the aid of a mirror and the use of a simple reflection, we could perform a similar feat. Note, it is quite obvious that a reflection in the mirror is less real than a physical couch. Socrates claims the physical couch is less real than the Form in an analogous manner. From here, it is apparent that there are actually three couches to consider: the Form, which is the true one and the most real, the physical one made by the mortal craftsman, and a painting or reflection which is an imitation.

According to this Theory, God can only produce one couch; if he were to make two, then the idea by which they are both called a couch would transcend each and become the Form.

Returning to mortal craftsmen, Socrates claims that a painter, for example, is an imitator. His work, like the reflection in a mirror, is not as substantial as the physical object he paints. Since there are three different objects-the Form is the highest and most real, the painting is the lowest and least real-he claims that the painting is three removes from Truth and Reality. Then, he makes the leap that all forms of imitation are three removes from reality.

He argues further that actually a painting is an imitation of an appearance. A couch appears differently from any angle at which it is viewed. The painter can only paint from a certain perspective. That perspective determines the appearance of the couch; and the painter’s product is an imitation of that appearance. This is important because it establishes that the imitation is an imitation of a “phantasm,” not the truth. His overall point is that imitators can appear “to know everything” because they only scratch the barest surface of the subject matter. If one paints a cobbler at work, one need not know how to cobble effectively. In other words, if you meet someone claiming to be all wise, don’t believe him (he is, at best, an imitator).

With regard to the Poets… many people of his day claimed that the Poets knew all things human pertaining to virtue and vice, all things divine and all the arts as well. According to Socrates, though, they can only make such a claim insofar as they are “imitators,” three removed from reality. Furthermore, Socrates argues that if a poet really knew such things, wouldn’t he prefer to produce real things rather than imitations? He goes on further to emphasize his point that nobody knows everything by giving several astute examples, one of which is the acclaimed poet of antiquity, Homer. If Homer had known all the things he claimed to have known, he could have led cities, educated men, and done other mighty deeds, but there is no record of this.

Socrates argues that there are three general arts with respect to everything. There is the art of a user (a horseman), a maker (the smith that makes the bit), and an imitator (the painter). The user uses the item, figures out what is lacking by experience, and reports such back to the maker. The maker does his best to accommodate the user. The imitator knows least of all.

However, through clever wordplay and the use of pretty colors and such, imitation holds a power akin to witchcraft. Against such witchcraft, numbering and measuring stand as sentinels to safeguard our souls from domination. Numbering and measuring, though, are functions of reason. That which puts its trust in measurement, is the best part of the soul; that which does not is inferior. Hence, poetry and the imitative arts are inferior.

He goes on by claiming that imitative poetry works by imitating human feelings of grief and joy as a result of human actions. According to him, though, a good man who loses his son will be moderate in his grief; he will be more restrained when in others’ company than he will be alone. Reason and law exhort him to resist, while his bare feelings urge him to give way. Since there are two opposite impulses in the man, there must be two things within him (otherwise, he would be producing a contradiction). According to him, reason directs that it is best to be quiet in calamity; we cannot know what is really good and evil in such things and there is no benefit in taking them too hard; also, nothing in mortal life is of great concern and grieving hinders deliberation, something we need most at such a time to evaluate what has happened and how to deal with it. It is the irrational part of us that leads us to dwell in memory on our suffering and impel us to lamentation (roughly speaking, this shows a heavy influence from Stoicism). Accordingly, being fretful is easily imitated, being rational, is not. So, imitative poetry is devoted to pleasing the easier and therefore the inferior. Thus, the imitative poet resembles the painter and Socrates banishes him into exile because he corrupts the soul.

He continues by noting that the lamentations and actions of characters in poems cause pleasure when we hear them, but shame if we do them ourselves. He claims this will make it more difficult for us to refrain ourselves (from tears, laughter, etc…). According to him, we should try to dry these emotions up, not nurture them.

In his view, there is a quarrel between philosophy and poetry. Being a philosopher, he believes philosophy is far superior and one should not take poetry seriously with regards to truth. One should be on guard against poetry, lest one fall in love with it and it corrupts one’s soul.

At this point, Socrates turns from a discussion of poetry to a discussion of something that has intrigued humanity for thousands of years: the immortality of the soul. He offers, what he considers, a proof for it.

He begins by claiming that that which is good is that which preserves and benefits, while that which is evil is that which corrupts and perishes. Furthermore, every thing has its own congenital evil (e.g. iron and rust). He states that if one finds a thing that cannot be destroyed by its congenital evil, such a thing cannot be destroyed at all. The vices of the soul include such things as injustice, cowardice, and licentiousness; in a way, they are like diseases of the body, but applicable to the soul. However, they differ from bodily diseases because no one is known to ever have died from being unjust, cowardly, or licentious… as must happen if these vices could destroy the soul (unless a body can move about without a soul).

He goes further, examining whether physical evils can harm the soul.

The body is not destroyed by bad foods, but by its own vice: disease. Disease may be caused by bad food, but bad food and disease are not the same thing. Likewise, the badness in body must be the cause of badness in the soul in order for it to destroy the soul. So, he asks, does the soul become more unjust, unholy, etc… if the body is cut to pieces? If one says yes, then a dying man must become more unjust. This seems, at best, very odd. Since injustice (a spiritual vice) is the only possible evil capable of destroying the soul, it must needs be like a disease and fatal to its possessor. Hence, injustice must kill its possessor. But again, this does not seem to be the case.

So, neither the appointed evil, nor any other alien evil can destroy the soul. Therefore, according to Socrates, the soul is immortal.

He also states that the number of souls must be constant as the only possible source of new souls is the mortal world (since that is the only realm where generation and decay take place) which would ultimately lead to the immortality of all things.

Now, Socrates claims the challenges of Adimantus and Glaucon raised in book II have been answered, and he proceeds to do away with the restrictions placed on the discussion of justice so far. That is, it is now permissible to praise justice for its extrinsic benefits as well as its intrinsic ones.

With respect to the just man and the unjust man, the gods obviously can tell the difference. They regard the just man as dear, and the unjust as hateful. The unjust man will never be neglected by the gods. Likewise, the just are rewarded by men as well and the unjust are found out in the end.

Of course, he says that the final rewards in death are greater than those in life and he tells an ancient anecdotal tale. It is the tale of the warrior, Er, son of Armenius, and it seems to be some sort of account of a near death experience from that time period, or perhaps, just a tall tale. Er, was reportedly slain on a battlefield. His soul went forth from his body with a great company of men. All the men were judged by judges sitting above them. The righteous men entered a cave on their right leading upward to heaven. The unrighteous entered a cave on the left leading downward into the underworld to be punished. Each man of each group bore a token or sign telling of his deeds and misdeeds in life.

There were two other caves out of which other souls came, each telling of his or her respective journey which lasted a thousand years. There seemed to be some discrepancy in the length of time. In some spots, Socrates said the journey lasted a thousand years, in others, he said each deed of an individual counted as a thousand years (ten times a lifespan, where a lifespan is considered one hundred years). An exception, though, was made for the tyrants. According to Socrates, all of them were in the underworld suffering for their sins and it was doubtful whether the tyrants would ever be allowed to leave.

The tale continues with descriptions of the Fates and other elements from Greek mythology. Finally, the souls are given choices for their lives to come (obviously he believes in reincarnation), but no choice for the nature of their soul-that is self-determined. According to Socrates, in such an instance, what a man needs most to make the best choice is the ability to reason properly. He must choose the life that will allow him to live in the mean.

The tale concludes with Er traveling with the company to the place where they are reborn. Everyone except Er drinks from the river that makes them forget. They are whisked away and upward to lead their new lives. In the end, Er wakes unaware how he returned from the land of the dead.

Book X , the last book of The Republic, concludes by saying that if we follow Socrates’ advice, we shall fare well in the journey of a thousand years described by Er.