Justice in the Soul

I suppose the thing that concerns me the most about Plato’s Republic is that it is painfully boring. There is no contrast and no chaos within the state as within the soul. In class, we mentioned that due to lack of experimentation, a lack of contrast, people in the Republic have no point of comparison between their role and an alternative ergon, and cannot know for a fact that their role is their true preference. This is where the noble lie saves the day.

But let us look at the soul. If everyone’s soul were harmonious as is the case in the Republic, then no one would have had the experience of a disordered soul. Beyond the seeming impossibility of this scenario, can we really imagine a life without the passions or desires occasionally taking over? Certainly, we would have made considerably fewer mistakes, if any at all. Recall every regret, embarrassment, and then recall the relief once this passed. Relief, or improvement of discord (inner and outer) can be a substantial part of satisfaction. While I do not want to claim that there is no pleasure without pain, I do believe there is value in our errors. This value is a point of comparison, an experience to learn from, and an essential element of agency.

We know we’re doing well by assessing our mistake rates, or range of inner conflicts. In the case of an orderly soul, how do we know we’re doing well? Can we tell ourselves a noble lie, and what would this look like?

Without learning from mistakes, how would the parts of the soul know what to do? They clearly cannot automatically know, as people are imperfect. Plato both indicates a natural propensity for order, and yet he also seems to imply some kind of learning process. On page 14, discussing the soul’s spirited part (emotion) and the rational part, he says, “having truly learned their own roles and been educated in them, will govern the appetitive part.” In the state, I imagine this would look something like instructing and teaching skills suited to particular roles—auxiliary members learning how to direct traffic, or farmers learning how to harvest crops. But in the just soul, I cannot imagine another way of instructing each component to do its job other than trial and error.

Let’s assume that the soul and state are naturally harmonious, resulting in components that remain unchanging. This Republic will likely never decline, but will unlikely evolve. Constant and fixed thriving—is this a contradiction? Thriving entails development and growth, but change requires transformation and reorganization. Without disorder, unrest, forms of injustice as points of comparison, we risk a sort of numb neutrality. Is the steady life really the good life?