Plato's Ideal State
Plato, The Republic (375 B.C.)
Almost two thousand years before the word “utopia” even existed, Plato wrote The Republic, a book which describes a hypothetical “ideal state.” This imaginary Greek city-state of about five thousand people was based on the teachings of Plato’s mentor Socrates. In The Republic, Socrates appears, like he does in a number of Plato’s works, as a character talking to someone else; this literary format is called a dialog. Socrates’ main listeners, Glaucon and Adeimantus, act as the ultimate “yes men” as they converse with their teacher, adding a subtle dramatic element to the book.
The “ideal state” described in The Republic has a hierarchical structure and consists of three classes: guardians who are the rulers, auxiliaries who are the soldiers, and laborers who provide for the physical needs of the citizens. Membership in each class depends on the “nature” of each citizen; some citizens have the wisdom and philosophical characteristics necessary to be guardians while others possess the courage of warriors, but the majority of citizens belong to the working class which is further sub-divided into occupations based on individuals’ talents.
A key aspect of utopian societies emerges in The Republic: all capable citizens must perform meaningful work. While freedom from labor might be considered ca requirement for a utopian existence, it usually proves not to be. Most people need to have a sense of purpose in order to live fulfilling lives, and in order for society to function, work must be done. The ideal work for each citizen, according to Plato, is that which relates to a person’s inherent nature.
While work emerges as a necessary aspect of the ideal society, another unavoidable aspect of life is alluded to in The Republic: the inevitability of death. Plato may have been an idealistic philosopher, but he was also a practical thinker and realized that his ideal state would not provide a useful model for society if it defied the laws of nature. Therefore, the undeniable reality of death requires the birth of new citizens in order to maintain the population and secure the future existence of the state. Plato’s description of this process is a bit unusual as reflected in his description of the guardians who are not supposed to know who their offspring are; instead, all children are to be raised in common. Considering the reason for this arrangement—that guardians (both male and female) are to be focused solely on running the state with no distractions—this suggestion makes some sense. Still, one of the oddest sections of Plato’s dialog is where Socrates explains how members of the guardian class would avoid incestuous relationships. There are other sections of The Republic that are hard for a modern reader to understand. For example, there is a subtle theme of eugenics that permeates certain sections and even a reference to infanticide that might be considered barbaric. When considered in the context of the ancient world, however, these ideas can be understood as the generally accepted thinking of the time.
As mentioned above, guardians must be devoted to the state. In addition to the lack of parental bonds, they can own no property and have no concerns over material goods because their basic needs are provided for. These seemingly harsh rules, which only pertain to the guardian class, are intended to free them from any cares or desires that might distract them from ruling the state effectively. Plato offers the image of the “philosopher king” as the best ruler. He believes that lovers of wisdom, truth, knowledge, and justice above all else who have a vision of the eternal and unchanging reality are best suited to make decisions for the state.
In the excerpts provided here, Plato offers his views on the “division of labor” and how it is necessary in a society in order to provide for the physical needs of all citizens. Food, shelter, and clothing are the most basic needs of human beings and so the ideal state must satisfy these needs before it can deal with anything else. The ideal state, however, is more complex than Plato’s initial society of “four or five men.” A larger group of people requires a more complicated system of satisfying basic needs most effectively, so Socrates explains to Glaucon how many jobs must be filled to truly create a functioning society that can do more than just satisfy basic needs. A key idea here is that individuals must do what is suitable to their “nature” and focus on that as an occupation.
Much of Plato’s description of this theoretical state as reflected in the excerpts here focuses on the guardians themselves. He goes into great detail about the characteristics that the rulers should possess, most importantly a philosophical nature and a love for wisdom and truth. The suggested lifestyle of the guardians is also described; it is an ascetic life devoid of material wealth.
This section ends with the most famous part of Plato’s Republic: “The Allegory of the Cave.” In this story, lifelong prisoners in a cave have never seen the world outside, so they believe the interior of the cave is all that exists. One prisoner, who escapes to see what exists outside, is the model for Plato’s “philosopher ruler.” Plato believed that the leader of the ideal state must see things in a way that others cannot—as unchanging eternal realities that he believed transcended the physical world. He referred to these ideals as “forms” and his description of the ideal state is just one aspect of his broader “Theory of Forms.”
EXCERPTS
The following excerpt from Book II explains that a society requires different members to perform different occupations; the work done by each member is determined by his skills and nature. In essence, what Plato is describing here is the “division of labor.” All members require food, clothing, shelter, and various services to support the economy. Each member should focus on the job he is best at.
A State, I said, arises, as I conceive, out of the needs of mankind; no one is self-sufficing, but all of us have many wants. Can any other origin of a State be imagined? [Socrates asks]
There can be no other. [Adeimantus responds. This pattern is repeated throughout the dialog.]
Then, as we have many wants, and many persons are needed to supply them, one takes a helper for one purpose and another for another; and when these partners and helpers are gathered together in one habitation the body of inhabitants is termed a State.
True, he said.
And they exchange with one another, and one gives, and another receives, under the idea that the exchange will be for their good.
Very true.
Then, I said, let us begin and create in idea a State; and yet the true creator is necessity, who is the mother of our invention.
Of course, he replied.
Now the first and greatest of necessities is food, which is the condition of life and existence.
Certainly.
The second is a dwelling, and the third clothing and the like.
True.
And now let us see how our city will be able to supply this great demand: We may suppose that one man is a husbandman [farmer], another a builder, some one else a weaver—shall we add to them a shoemaker, or perhaps some other purveyor to our bodily wants?
Quite right.
The barest notion of a State must include four or five men.
Clearly.
And how will they proceed? Will each bring the result of his labours into a common stock?—the individual husbandman, for example, producing for four, and labouring four times as long and as much as he need in the provision of food with which he supplies others as well as himself; or will he have nothing to do with others and not be at the trouble of producing for them, but provide for himself alone a fourth of the food in a fourth of the time, and in the remaining three fourths of his time be employed in making a house or a coat or a pair of shoes, having no partnership with others, but supplying himself all his own wants?
Adeimantus thought that he should aim at producing food only and not at producing everything.
Probably, I replied, that would be the better way; and when I hear you say this, I am myself reminded that we are not all alike; there are diversities of natures among us which are adapted to different occupations.
Very true.
And will you have a work better done when the workman has many occupations, or when he has only one?
When he has only one.
Further, there can be no doubt that a work is spoilt when not done at the right time?
No doubt.
For business is not disposed to wait until the doer of the business is at leisure; but the doer must follow up what he is doing, and make the business his first object.
He must.
And if so, we must infer that all things are produced more plentifully and easily and of a better quality when one man does one thing which is natural to him and does it at the right time, and leaves other things.
Undoubtedly.
Then more than four citizens will be required; for the husbandman will not make his own plough or mattock, or other implements of agriculture, if they are to be good for anything. Neither will the builder make his tools—and he too needs many; and in like manner the weaver and shoemaker.
True.
Then carpenters, and smiths, and many other artisans, will be sharers in our little State, which is already beginning to grow?
True.
Yet even if we add neatherds [person who tends to cows], shepherds, and other herdsmen, in order that our husbandmen may have oxen to plough with, and builders as well as husbandmen may have draught cattle, and curriers and weavers fleeces and hides,—still our State will not be very large.
That is true; yet neither will it be a very small State which contains all these.
Then, again, there is the situation of the city—to find a place where nothing need be imported is well-nigh impossible.
Impossible.
Then there must be another class of citizens who will bring the required supply from another city?
There must.
But if the trader goes empty-handed, having nothing which they require who would supply his need, he will come back empty-handed.
That is certain.
And therefore what they produce at home must be not only enough for themselves, but such both in quantity and quality as to accommodate those from whom their wants are supplied.
Very true.
Then more husbandmen and more artisans will be required?
They will.
Not to mention the importers and exporters, who are called merchants?
Yes.
Then we shall want merchants?
We shall.
And if merchandise is to be carried over the sea, skilful sailors will also be needed, and in considerable numbers?
Yes, in considerable numbers.
Then, again, within the city, how will they exchange their productions? To secure such an exchange was, as you will remember, one of our principal objects when we formed them into a society and constituted a State.
Clearly they will buy and sell.
Then they will need a market-place, and a money-token for purposes of exchange.
Certainly.
Suppose now that a husbandman, or an artisan, brings some production to market, and he comes at a time when there is no one to exchange with him,—is he to leave his calling and sit idle in the market-place?
Not at all; he will find people there who, seeing the want, undertake the office of salesmen. In well-ordered states they are commonly those who are the weakest in bodily strength, and therefore of little use for any other purpose; their duty is to be in the market, and to give money in exchange for goods to those who desire to sell and to take money from those who desire to buy.
This want, then, creates a class of retail-traders in our State. Is not ‘retailer’ the term which is applied to those who sit in the market-place engaged in buying and selling, while those who wander from one city to another are called merchants?
Yes, he said.
And there is another class of servants, who are intellectually hardly on the level of companionship; still they have plenty of bodily strength for labour, which accordingly they sell, and are called, if I do not mistake, hirelings, hire being the name which is given to the price of their labour.
True.
Then hirelings will help to make up our population?
Yes.
And now, Adeimantus, is our State matured and perfected?
I think so.
In Book III, from which the following excerpts are taken, Plato explains how the leaders of the ideal state should be chosen as well as the simple manner in which they should live.
There can be no doubt that the elder must rule the younger.
Clearly.
And that the best of these must rule.
That is also clear.
Now, are not the best husbandmen those who are most devoted to husbandry?
Yes.
And as we are to have the best of guardians for our city, must they not be those who have most the character of guardians?
Yes.
And to this end they ought to be wise and efficient, and to have a special care of the State?
True.
And a man will be most likely to care about that which he loves?
To be sure.
And he will be most likely to love that which he regards as having the same interests with himself, and that of which the good or evil fortune is supposed by him at any time most to affect his own?
Very true, he replied.
Then there must be a selection. Let us note among the guardians those who in their whole life show the greatest eagerness to do what is for the good of their country, and the greatest repugnance to do what is against her interests.
Those are the right men.
And they will have to be watched at every age, in order that we may see whether they preserve their resolution, and never, under the influence either of force or enchantment, forget or cast off their sense of duty to the State….
Therefore…we must enquire who are the best guardians of their own conviction that what they think the interest of the State is to be the rule of their lives. We must watch them from their youth upwards, and make them perform actions in which they are most likely to forget or to be deceived, and he who remembers and is not deceived is to be selected, and he who fails in the trial is to be rejected. That will be the way?
Yes.
And there should also be toils and pains and conflicts prescribed for them, in which they will be made to give further proof of the same qualities.
Very right, he replied….
Then now let us consider what will be their way of life, if they are to realize our idea of them. In the first place, none of them should have any property of his own beyond what is absolutely necessary; neither should they have a private house or store closed against any one who has a mind to enter; their provisions should be only such as are required by trained warriors, who are men of temperance and courage; they should agree to receive from the citizens a fixed rate of pay, enough to meet the expenses of the year and no more; and they will go to mess and live together like soldiers in a camp. Gold and silver we will tell them that they have from God; the diviner metal is within them, and they have therefore no need of the dross which is current among men, and ought not to pollute the divine by any such earthly admixture; for that commoner metal has been the source of many unholy deeds, but their own is undefiled. And they alone of all the citizens may not touch or handle silver or gold, or be under the same roof with them, or wear them, or drink from them. And this will be their salvation, and they will be the saviours of the State. But should they ever acquire homes or lands or moneys of their own, they will become housekeepers and husbandmen instead of guardians, enemies and tyrants instead of allies of the other citizens; hating and being hated, plotting and being plotted against, they will pass their whole life in much greater terror of internal than of external enemies, and the hour of ruin, both to themselves and to the rest of the State, will be at hand. For all which reasons may we not say that thus shall our State be ordered, and that these shall be the regulations appointed by us for guardians concerning their houses and all other matters?
Yes, said Glaucon.
Book V contains one of the most memorable passages in The Republic, in which Plato explains why the guardians must be “philosopher kings” who value truth completely.
‘Until philosophers are kings, or the kings and princes of this world have the spirit and power of philosophy, and political greatness and wisdom meet in one, and those commoner natures who pursue either to the exclusion of the other are compelled to stand aside, cities will never have rest from their evils,—nor the human race, as I believe,—and then only will this our State have a possibility of life and behold the light of day.’ Such was the thought, my dear Glaucon, which I would fain have uttered if it had not seemed too extravagant; for to be convinced that in no other State can there be happiness private or public is indeed a hard thing….
…There will be discovered to be some natures who ought to study philosophy and to be leaders in the State; and others who are not born to be philosophers, and are meant to be followers rather than leaders.
Then now for a definition, he said.
Follow me, I said, and I hope that I may in some way or other be able to give you a satisfactory explanation.
Proceed.
I dare say that you remember, and therefore I need not remind you, that a lover, if he is worthy of the name, ought to show his love, not to some one part of that which he loves, but to the whole.
I really do not understand, and therefore beg of you to assist my memory.
Another person, I said, might fairly reply as you do; but a man of pleasure like yourself ought to know that all who are in the flower of youth do somehow or other raise a pang or emotion in a lover’s breast, and are thought by him to be worthy of his affectionate regards….
And what do you say of lovers of wine? Do you not see them doing the same? They are glad of any pretext of drinking any wine.
Very good.
And the same is true of ambitious men; if they cannot command an army, they are willing to command a file; and if they cannot be honoured by really great and important persons, they are glad to be honoured by lesser and meaner people,—but honour of some kind they must have.
Exactly.
Once more let me ask: Does he who desires any class of goods, desire the whole class or a part only?
The whole.
And may we not say of the philosopher that he is a lover, not of a part of wisdom only, but of the whole?
Yes, of the whole.
And he who dislikes learning, especially in youth, when he has no power of judging what is good and what is not, such an one we maintain not to be a philosopher or a lover of knowledge, just as he who refuses his food is not hungry, and may be said to have a bad appetite and not a good one?
Very true, he said.
Whereas he who has a taste for every sort of knowledge and who is curious to learn and is never satisfied, may be justly termed a philosopher? Am I not right?
Glaucon said: If curiosity makes a philosopher, you will find many a strange being will have a title to the name. All the lovers of sights have a delight in learning, and must therefore be included. Musical amateurs, too, are a folk strangely out of place among philosophers, for they are the last persons in the world who would come to anything like a philosophical discussion, if they could help, while they run about at the Dionysiac festivals as if they had let out their ears to hear every chorus; whether the performance is in town or country—that makes no difference—they are there. Now are we to maintain that all these and any who have similar tastes, as well as the professors of quite minor arts, are philosophers?
Certainly not, I replied; they are only an imitation.
He said: Who then are the true philosophers?
Those, I said, who are lovers of the vision of truth.
Plato is perhaps best known for his “Allegory of the Cave,” a story in Book VII of The Republic which describes a prisoner who escapes from a cave (referred to as a “den” here) where he has been held all of his life. Before escaping, he believes that all that exists are the shadows on the walls of the cave, but once he goes outside, he realizes the true nature of reality. While the inside world of the cave is associated with darkness and shadows, the world outside is associated with light, reality, and truth. This allegory is significant because it suggests that the ideal state is metaphorically outside of the cave, so it should be led by rulers who, as Plato advises above, “are lovers of the vision of the truth.” Remember this allegory as you read the other selections in this anthology. You will see that much of utopian and dystopian literature features characters who seek truth and can figuratively “see outside the cave.”
And now, I said, let me show in a figure how far our nature is enlightened or unenlightened:—Behold! human beings living in an underground den, which has a mouth open towards the light and reaching all along the den; here they have been from their childhood, and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only see before them, being prevented by the chains from turning round their heads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and you will see, if you look, a low wall built along the way, like the screen which marionette players have in front of them, over which they show the puppets.
I see.
And do you see, I said, men passing along the wall carrying all sorts of vessels, and statues and figures of animals made of wood and stone and various materials, which appear over the wall? Some of them are talking, others silent.
You have shown me a strange image, and they are strange prisoners.
Like ourselves, I replied; and they see only their own shadows, or the shadows of one another, which the fire throws on the opposite wall of the cave?
True, he said; how could they see anything but the shadows if they were never allowed to move their heads?
And of the objects which are being carried in like manner they would only see the shadows?
Yes, he said.
And if they were able to converse with one another, would they not suppose that they were naming what was actually before them?
Very true.
And suppose further that the prison had an echo which came from the other side, would they not be sure to fancy when one of the passers-by spoke that the voice which they heard came from the passing shadow?
No question, he replied.
To them, I said, the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images.
That is certain.
And now look again, and see what will naturally follow if the prisoners are released and disabused of their error. At first, when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look towards the light, he will suffer sharp pains; the glare will distress him, and he will be unable to see the realities of which in his former state he had seen the shadows; and then conceive some one saying to him, that what he saw before was an illusion, but that now, when he is approaching nearer to being and his eye is turned towards more real existence, he has a clearer vision,—what will be his reply? And you may further imagine that his instructor is pointing to the objects as they pass and requiring him to name them,—will he not be perplexed? Will he not fancy that the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him?
Far truer.
And if he is compelled to look straight at the light, will he not have a pain in his eyes which will make him turn away to take refuge in the objects of vision which he can see, and which he will conceive to be in reality clearer than the things which are now being shown to him?
True, he said.
And suppose once more, that he is reluctantly dragged up a steep and rugged ascent, and held fast until he is forced into the presence of the sun himself, is he not likely to be pained and irritated? When he approaches the light his eyes will be dazzled, and he will not be able to see anything at all of what are now called realities.
Not all in a moment, he said.
He will require to grow accustomed to the sight of the world. And first he will see the shadows best, next the reflections of men and other objects in the water, and then the objects themselves; then he will gaze upon the light of the moon and the stars and the spangled heaven; and he will see the sky and the stars by night better than the sun or the light of the sun by day?
Certainly.
Last of all he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflections of him in the water, but he will see him in his own proper place, and not in another; and he will contemplate him as he is.
Certainly.
He will then proceed to argue that this is he who gives the season and the years, and is the guardian of all that is in the visible world, and in a certain way the cause of all things which he and his fellows have been accustomed to behold?
Clearly, he said, he would first see the sun and then reason about him.
And when he remembered his old habitation, and the wisdom of the den and his fellow-prisoners, do you not suppose that he would felicitate himself on the change, and pity them?
Certainly, he would.
And if they were in the habit of conferring honors among themselves on those who were quickest to observe the passing shadows and to remark which of them went before, and which followed after, and which were together; and who were therefore best able to draw conclusions as to the future, do you think that he would care for such honors and glories, or envy the possessors of them? Would he not say with Homer, ‘Better to be the poor servant of a poor master,’and to endure anything, rather than think as they do and live after their manner?
Yes, he said, I think that he would rather suffer anything than entertain these false notions and live in this miserable manner.
Imagine once more, I said, such an one coming suddenly out of the sun to be replaced in his old situation; would he not be certain to have his eyes full of darkness?
To be sure, he said.
And if there were a contest, and he had to compete in measuring the shadows with the prisoners who had never moved out of the den, while his sight was still weak, and before his eyes had become steady (and the time which would be needed to acquire this new habit of sight might be very considerable), would he not be ridiculous? Men would say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes; and that it was better not even to think of ascending; and if any one tried to loose another and lead him up to the light, let them only catch the offender, and they would put him to death.
No question, he said.