A Literary Study of Plato's Republic
On Plato's attempt to survive the political turmoil of Athens...
Note: This is a repurposed essay from my final year at university, where it earned the top grade in my class. Plato is one of my favourite philosophers and writers, someone whose beliefs I deeply align with. This is a stance I feel strongly about—enjoy!
In an attempt to survive the political turmoil of Athens, Plato did what so many of us do to cope: he turned to literature.
In The Republic, he constructed a dystopia disguised as a utopia—something only a literary reading can truly uncover. To approach The Republic as a piece of literature rather than a rigid philosophical treatise opens up a wealth of interpretations, reinforcing the idea that we should be democratic in how we engage with texts.
There are three key ideas I want to explore:
The traditional interpretation of The Republic as an endorsement of totalitarianism.
How a literary reading dismantles this rigid view, revealing the text as a dramatic dialogue.
Plato’s deeper motivation for writing such a bleak vision of society.
Ultimately, this is a dystopian novel disguised as a utopian philosophical manifesto—Plato’s way of reckoning with the world around him.
A Literal Reading of The Republic
Reading The Republic at face value, one might conclude that Socrates advocates for an authoritarian state. In this interpretation, the polis is singularly focused on his philosophy, tightly intertwined with politics. Justice, Socrates argues, is achieved when each citizen performs only the role assigned to them:
"[...] to behave justly is to mind one's own business, not meddle in others' affairs" (Republic 433b).
Society is structured into three hierarchical classes: guardians, auxiliaries, and producers. Each must remain faithful to their designated role:
"So if we're going to save our original principle, that our guards need to be released from the activities of all other craftsmen to be true craftsmen of freedom for the city" (Republic 395d).
Socrates devotes most of his discussion to the guardian class, since they—alongside philosophers—hold the most influence over society. Their education is paramount, as they must be both courageous and disciplined, like well-trained guard dogs. The most controversial aspect of their education? The banishment of poetry:
"[...] the more poetical they are, the less they should be presented to boys and men who ought to be free" (Republic 387).
Poetry, Socrates argues, stirs up dangerous emotions, making individuals overly fearful or excessively bold. It distracts from truth, distorting reality through mimesis (imitation). Since art can never perfectly replicate the ideal Forms, it is inherently deceptive. A poet, by this logic, is merely an illusionist:
"He's an illusionist, producing nothing but illusions, standing altogether far removed from the truth" (Republic 605c).
In this strict reading, Plato’s polis is a rigid, heavily controlled society where imitation is discouraged, emotions are regulated, and artistic expression is dangerous. But this interpretation collapses under closer scrutiny.
Plato’s Literary Irony
The contradictions within The Republic expose the text's deeper complexity. Just as the Bible can be read literally or allegorically, so too can Plato’s dialogues. A literal reading, while possible, fails to do justice to the text’s nuances.
For instance, while the polis demands specialisation—each person performing only one role—Plato’s Socrates constantly shifts personas, playing multiple parts throughout the dialogue. Saxonhouse argues that The Republic is a dramatic work, its characters mere voices for Plato’s ideas. If Socrates truly condemns imitation, then why is he himself engaging in it?
"And this making oneself resemble someone else, whether in voices or his appearance, is a matter of imitating the person one's making oneself resemble" (Republic 393d).
Here, Socrates explicitly critiques imitation—yet he does so through mimesis itself. This paradox highlights a recurring theme: the tension between Plato’s form and content.
If The Republic were genuinely advocating for totalitarianism, why would Plato construct it as a dialogue, a literary form that invites debate and interpretation?
Plato’s Personal Crisis and The Republic as Dystopia
Plato does not present The Republic as a sincere political blueprint—he constructs it as a means of processing the chaos of his time. He introduces the concept of the “noble lie”: falsehoods designed to maintain social order.
"Falsehoods, then, will be a matter for rulers of our city" (Republic 389b).
These myths, Socrates argues, ensure harmony by making citizens accept their societal roles. But when we view The Republic as a dystopia, it seems as though Plato is constructing this noble lie for himself—a way to rationalise the oppressive world he lived in.
Plato’s Athens had just endured the Peloponnesian War (432–404 BC), leaving the city weakened and subjected to Sparta’s oligarchic rule. Many of the ideas in The Republic mirror the Spartan system, particularly its militaristic training and rigid class divisions. The education of Plato’s guardians closely resembles the Spartan Agoge, an institution designed to cultivate warriors. Why would Plato glorify a system that had devastated his own city?
The answer lies in how utopias and dystopias function in literature.
"Utopia is this to be seen essentially as a strategy for the questioning of reality and the present" (Vieira 2010, 23).
Utopias and dystopias are never truly about an ideal future—they are reflections of contemporary anxieties. Plato is not advocating for the polis of The Republic; he is trying to make sense of his world through fiction. Literature offers a means of ordering chaos, and Plato, like any writer, is shaping his reality into a narrative.
"Because we've lost sight of the analogy we proposed" (Republic 375d).
This is not a political manifesto—it is a thought experiment. There is no singular “correct” reading of The Republic, just as there is no single correct reading of any great literary work. The text resists definitive interpretation because it is designed to do so. To approach The Republic with literary sensitivity is to recognize that Plato was not a legislator of totalitarianism, but a writer attempting to process the disorder of his time.
If there is one takeaway from this newsletter, it is that we should read The Republic democratically—considering multiple perspectives rather than adhering to a rigid, literalist view. Rather than a prescriptive vision for governance, it is a deeply personal exploration of political instability.
Plato was not setting the foundations for tyranny—he was using literature as a means of survival. And if Socrates, the supposed enemy of democracy, invites us to interpret his words freely, then surely that is enough reason to believe there is more to The Republic than a rigid political doctrine.
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