The following is the essay I had submitted as part of the one week summer course I took at the Oxford University, where we read Plato’s Republic. The essay includes a few references to structure and specific content from the book, so if something doesn’t make sense, it’s probably because it refers to an “insider” joke.
PS: I’m the guy in the front and in the middle, the one who is wearing a white shirt.
I was sitting at my lunch table, eating bread and ruminating whether it was worth it for me to fly thousands of kilometers from India to Oxford, just to study one book: Plato’s Republic.
I observed Dr. Peter Wyss, my tutor, pass by me as he was about to leave the dining hall. I caught him and with some impatience asked what he thought about the value of reading philosophy, particularly Plato’s Republic.
Peter said, “Ah, I wish I could give you an answer that will satisfy you completely. But, as you can see, I need to be elsewhere. So, unfortunately, I can’t help you right now.”
“Peter, please,” I said. “I’ve endured an 18-hour flight to come here to gain knowledge, and while the food here is excellent, I’m wondering whether I made the right decision. You must answer me, please – I insist. After all, you’re my teacher. You have an obligation to ensure I understand all these complex ideas.”
“But do I? What if I feel I’ve done my job well, and rather it is you who’s not getting it?” Peter said, as he grinned and warmed up to having a conversation with me.
I sensed he was joking, so I requested him to sit beside me, and reiterated: “I fail to see the relevance of studying a book thousands of years old about politics. Why should I care?”
“Yes, if you put it that way, you’re quite right that learning about Plato’s conception of an ideal city doesn’t have a direct relevance to your everyday life today. But, Paras, tell me – do you think happiness is important to you?”
“Well, of course. Not just important, it’s perhaps the only thing I or anyone else cares about.”
“Very well. I agree,” said Peter as he continued: “But how do you get happiness? What has to happen in order to make you feel happy most of the time?”
I replied, “I would be happy if I get whatever I want, if I feel safe, and if I feel devoid of any conflict.”
“Can you be happy if you were all alone on an island?” Peter asked me.
“Absolutely. I would have the entire island to myself. I could eat anything I wanted. There would be no one to bother me. Isn’t that everyone’s dream to have their own private island?”
Peter looked at me and smiled, as if I had walked right into his setup. He then asked me: “Aren’t you forgetting something, Paras? You surely have more desires than just eating and meditating. What about shoes? You’d make your own? And what about when you fall sick? Wouldn’t you want a doctor to take care of you?”
I felt like a fool missing such a basic point. I said: “Of course! I couldn’t do everything on my own. I agree – it would be nice to have other people around to take care of my needs. In an ideal island, I would have many people tending to all of my wishes.”
Peter replied, “Okay, good. So far in our imaginary island, you’re the king whose desires are being fulfilled by other people. But what about other people’s desires? Surely, you don’t believe that the people you’re ruling over don’t have any desires, do you?”
“Of course not. Everyone has desires! And when they’re not fulfilled, they grow dissatisfied and that seeds conflict. If that were to happen on my island, people serving me would eventually start fighting with each other, thereby disrupting my own happiness. But I’m not sure where you’re going with this, Peter. What does this have to do with The Republic?”
“Hang on,” said Peter. “We’re getting there.”
He continued: “So far, we have established that your happiness depends on other people because you have desires, and those desires can only be fulfilled when other people do their jobs. I’m sure you’d also agree that people should do jobs that they’re best suited to, and not anything else. You wouldn’t want a doctor to be a shoemaker, and vice versa. Correct? Now, if on this imaginary island, you’re the ruler, wouldn’t you agree that it would fall on you to learn how to be the best ruler possible? Because if you’re not, someone else, who is better than you, ought to be the ruler.”
“Ah, yes! Of course, if I’m the king, I better do the best job possible. But is that even possible, Peter? As a human, wouldn’t I always fall short of the ideal?” I asked.
Peter, who by then had joined me for lunch by picking up bread from the basket, replied to me: “Well, of course, you’d fall short and make mistakes. But I hope it’s clear to you that the knowledge of the ideal is useful. You’d be a much better ruler in practice if you knew upfront what an ideal, but non-realizable, society you could aspire to build. For example, as the king of the island, would you allow men and women to be equals? Would you allow them to marry? What kinds of things would you teach the young children? What qualities would you seek in your soldiers? Such questions must be posed and answered because our happiness is dependent on other people, and hence on how our society is structured.”
Something clicked inside me, and I finally started understanding why Plato wrote The Republic. The book is his exploration into what an ideal society could look like. He knew that this perfect society would never exist in reality. But, as they say, “all models are wrong, but some are useful,” he knew that his unrealizable model society would spark ideas and discussions among people who aspire to live happily and harmoniously.
Peter sensed I had gotten a satisfactory answer to my original question, so he got up from the lunch table. I noticed that, as I also noticed one final unresolved feeling within me. So I got up as well and started walking silently with him as he left the dining hall.
Near the reception, I finally asked him: “Peter, thank you for being patient with me. I understand the central point of Plato’s Republic, and how it’s a good manual for constructing an ideal society. But personally, I’m neither a king, nor someone revolutionary enough to bring people together to form such an ideal society. So why should I bother with the book? What does the book have for me as an individual?”
Peter laughed and said: “Amazing! I was hoping you’d ask this. I agree that the book would be much less useful if it were just a manual for kings. After all, most of us aren’t kings. But Plato was a pretty smart guy. If you simply replace ‘society’ with your ‘inner self,’ and ‘the king’ with your ‘reasoning capacity,’ you’d see that Plato’s Republic is actually a manual for happiness.”
“How so?” I asked.
Peter replied: “You see, Paras, a society is nothing but individuals comprising it, and an ideal society is the one that’s harmonious because it’s ruled over by a wise king. Similarly, you’re nothing but a collection of your different parts, and you’ll live harmoniously and free of internal conflicts only if you let your wisdom guide your other parts such as your passions and desires. Moreover, just as a perfect king loves all his subjects, you need to be friends with your true nature, your inner self.”
“So are you saying that I need to be my own philosopher king, Peter? That I need to see my inner psyche as a rich and complex society that should be ruled over in a caring but thoughtful way?”
“Yes,” said Peter, “and if all individuals do that, collectively, we’d have an ideal society, don’t you think?”
“Of course! That is so beautiful.”
Finally, I got it! It all made sense. The city-soul wasn’t just a simple analogy; rather, it was correct and illuminating in many different ways.
“Peter, thank you for this. You’re a wonderful teacher! You’re already a philosopher; why not become a king as well and solve all of the world’s problems?”
“Ha, Paras! I wish. But the last time I got my blood reports, they said I’ve got silver in me!”
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