As we saw last week, the political problem is the education, control, and nurture of spirited, thumotic men. Naturally, then, the remainder of Book II (and all of Book III) is concerned with the details of the education of the guardian class. The primary concern here is to attach the soldiers to the regime so they are like loyal dogs differentiating friends from enemies. The education seeks to harden their bodies, but also to soften their souls, to make them moderate and what we would call today patriotic.
This effort culminates in the noble (in the sense of well-bred) lie, which we find at 414c-415c:
“Could we,” I said, “somehow contrive one of those lies that come into being in case of need, of which we were just now speaking, some one noble lie to persuade, in the best case, even the rulers, but if not them, the rest of the city?”
“What sort of a thing?” he said.
“Nothing new,” I said, “but a Phoenician thing, which has already happened in many
places before, as the poets assert and have caused others to believe, but one that has not happened in our time — and I don’t know if it could — one that requires a great deal of persuasion.”
“How like a man who’s hesitant to speak you are,” he said.
“You’ll think my hesitation quite appropriate, too,” I said, “when I do speak.”
“Speak,” he said, “and don’t be afraid.”
“I shall speak — and yet, I don’t know what I’ll use for daring or speeches in telling it — and I’ll attempt to persuade first the rulers and the soldiers, then the rest of the city, that the rearing and education we gave them were like dreams; they only thought they were undergoing all that was happening to them, while, in truth, at that time they were under the earth within, being fashioned and reared themselves, and their arms and other tools being crafted. When the job had been completely finished, then the earth, which is their mother, sent them up. And now, as though the land they are in were a mother and nurse, they must plan for and defend it, if anyone attacks, and they must think of the other citizens as brothers and born of the earth.”
“It wasn’t,” he said, “for nothing that you were for so long ashamed to tell the lie.”
“It was indeed appropriate,” I said. “All the same, hear out the rest of the tale. ‘All of you in the city are certainly brothers,’ we shall say to them in telling the tale, ‘but the god, in fashioning those of you who are competent to rule, mixed gold in at their birth; this is why they are most honored; in auxiliaries, silver; and iron and bronze in the farmers and the other craftsmen. So, because you’re all related, although for the most part you’ll produce offspring like yourselves, it sometimes happens that a silver child will be born from a golden parent, a golden child from a silver parent, and similarly all the others from each other. Hence the god commands the rulers first and foremost to be of nothing such good guardians and to keep over nothing so careful a watch as the children, seeing which of these metals is mixed in their souls. And, if a child of theirs should be born with an admixture of bronze or iron, by no manner of means are they to take pity on it, but shall assign the proper value to its nature and thrust it out among the craftsmen or the farmers; and, again, if from these men one should naturally grow who has an admixture of gold or silver, they will honor such ones and lead them up, some to the guardian group, others to the auxiliary, believing that there is an oracle that the city will be destroyed when an iron or bronze man is its guardian.’
Could this be believed? Could you ever believe this? It is unlikely that the first generation of inhabitants would, but perhaps the second could, if they were told the story since their childhood. Is this really all that more fanciful than the idea that men can become women can become men?
What are the implications of this story? How would it affect the behavior of the citizens in the city? What we have here is a justified class hierarchy, but with perfect class mobility, where the content of one’s character, that is, the possession of a gold, silver, bronze, or iron soul, determines where one ends up.
What we have here is a story that makes the classes natural, that is, a result of the inherent nature of individuals, and allows for this inherent nature to determine where we end up. You should notice that the education provided depends upon the nature that preexists it. In other words, education does not seek to give a second nature through nurture, but to cultivate or perfect the nature that is already present.
Next they take up the quality of life of the guardians: where they will live and what they will have. Socrates places them in the most appropriate place for guarding the city. They will have no private property, nor privacy, no private storeroom, nor private house. They will be supported by the citizens with fixed amounts of food. They will have no money, because they have gold and silver in their souls.
What do we think of this arrangement? Is it good?
Why all of these limitations on what they can and cannot have?
Why do they have to be striped of their privacy and be made utter dependent upon the citizens?
But more importantly, what does this imply about the sufficiency of the education laid out in the previous books? Does it sufficiently secure the guardians to the city to solve the political problem posed by the talented ambitious types? It’s not fit to be too sure about the education these warriors have received. Even the best among us can be seduced by power. Thus, Socrates has to take these auxiliary precautions.
But what kind of property or house can prevent you from harming others? Is the stripping of privacy sufficient? Again, notice they have no private property, no privacy, nothing to hide them from the public view – they will always be on display.
Here you should think about the problems privacy creates for justice: we do things in private that we would never do in public. A related problem is that of anonymity: we will say and do things when we are anonymous that we would never say or do if they would attach themselves to our reputation. This s why people cut loose in big cities, or say, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” Of course, not everything that happens in Vegas can be left behind.
Finally, notice that while Glaucon was not satisfied with the city of pigs, he is satisfied with this arrangement—it is Adeimantus who objects and asks about the guardians’ happiness. He does so because he, like most of Plato’s readers (including yourself I assume), identifies with the ruling class. Here the lower classes get all the wealth; the upper class gets all the honor and gets to rule. What kind of person is satisfied with such wages?