The Myth of Er in Plato’s Republic: An Exemplar of Ideal, Simple Poetry for Glaucon

2.1 The five content patterns of the ideal mythology^[9]

Socrates claims that the ‘young are not able to distinguish what is and what is not allegory’^[10] (378d); lacking critical scrutiny and judgement, they tend to dwell only on a story’s surface meaning, failing to take in deeper, allegorical meanings.^[11] Hence, even if they employ useful metaphorical meanings, traditional poets whose myths appear to promote vile standards are not permitted in Kallipolis.^[12]

Poets should avoid unsuitable allegories, aiming instead to habituate young people to virtue and righteousness, by instilling true opinions and beliefs (doxai)^[13] through their myths. True beliefs are mainly addressed to the intermediate part of the soul,^[14] namely the spirited; they aim to render it a courageous ally of the rational part, which is to tame and control the excessive desires of the appetitive part (441e).^[15] The mythology Plato aims to establish is apparently an aid to organising the soul correctly – as Plato puts it, kata physin (naturally) – by allowing the superior parts to control the inferior ones (444b–e). This type of mythology helps justice to develop in the souls of young Guardians, since a just soul is a well-ordered and harmonious soul.^[16] Poets in Kallipolis should therefore adjust their compositions to fit five content patterns (FCPs).^[17] Poets who do not follow these rules will not be admitted to Kallipolis or allowed to write fables. But what exactly are these norms, and why does Plato’s just city require them?

According to the first CP, poems should not depict God as the cause of all things, but only of the good, because God is always good, salutary, and harmless (379c–380d). The existence of bad and harmful things must be explained without reference to gods or divine creatures, like daemons and heroes. Poets in Kallipolis should write fables in which gods are presented as they are, not allegorically (378b–e). Besides, according to the second CP, poets should not present God and divine creatures as mutable or variable. Since God is the fairest and best possible being, it is incongruous and illogical to present him as altering his form ‘to deceive, or lie, by presenting in either word or action what is only appearance’^[18] (382a). Poets like Homer, who falsely and mendaciously present God as volatile and alterable, will not be welcomed in the ideal city. Accepting such poetry for Guardians’ education would impede their becoming god-fearing and God-like (383c).

However, Guardians should not only be pious but most of all courageous. The third CP is introduced as a means to achieve this. To liberate Guardians from their greatest fear, death, poets must depict both aspects of Hades, disparaging the negative while extolling the positive. Their tales should be also cleansed of the wailings and laments of gods and men of great repute and value, as these outbursts are neither accurate representations nor proper ethical standards for young Guardians. Poets should only attribute lamentations and wailings to the most inferior and unworthy (377e–388a).

A remark of critical importance is Socrates’ admonition to poets not to misrepresent gods in their effort to imitate them – if poets ‘will so picture the gods at least not to have the effrontery to present so unlikely a likeness’ (388c1–2). Imitation is not entirely forbidden in Kallipolis, at least if the result is a plausible likeness of the divine beings and, most importantly, of their righteous and infallible comportment. To be accepted in the ideal city, a poem must meet two requirements: it must be or provide a likeness of the truth, and it must provide an appropriate model of behaviour. Plato addresses the issue of poetry both epistemologically and ethically:^[19] only if a poem represents knowledge and truth can it be edifying and morally beneficial, and thus be included in the education of young Guardians.

On this basis, the fourth CP is inserted: for the Guardians to acquire the virtue of self-control and obey their rulers, the latter should be presented as self-disciplined. Poets should avoid depicting rulers as prone to bodily appetites and pleasures; such a depiction would be not only misguided but also harmful and maleficent to the Guardians’ souls. Tales should portray these famous men as prudent and self-disciplined, never as greedy or bribe-takers, as they serve as ethical models for the Guardians (389d–390e). Socrates defines these norms as ‘the right way of speaking about gods and daemons and heroes and that other world’ (392a).

The fifth and final CP defines mythic norms concerning ordinary humans as well:

‘Because I presume we are going to say that so it is that both poets and writers of prose speak wrongly about men in matters of greatest moment, saying that there are many examples of men who, though unjust, are happy, and of just men who are wretched, and that there is profit in injustice if it be concealed, and that justice is the other man’s good and your own loss; and I presume that we shall forbid them to say this sort of thing and command them to sing and fable the opposite. Don’t you think so?’ ‘Nay, I well know it,’ he said. ‘Then, if you admit that I am right, I will say that you have conceded the original point of our inquiry?’ ‘Rightly apprehended,’ he said. ‘Then, as regards men that speech must be of this kind, that is a point that we will agree upon when we have discovered the nature of justice and the proof that it is profitable to its possessor whether he does or does not appear to be just.’^[20] ‘Most true,’ he replied.

R. 392a–c.

There are three important remarks in this passage. First, poets and prose writers should avoid portraying anyone who is unjust but blissful, or just but wretched, because such examples suggest that justice is detrimental to its possessor while beneficial to others. They should depict justice as a steadfast source of happiness (eudaimonia) for the just.

The second and most important remark is Socrates’ indication that the implementation of this norm is consistent with the inquiry’s original purpose – the opening premise according to which justice is beneficial to its possessor aside from any rewards associated with it. Socrates implies that myths should depict justice as something to be desired not for the rewards it brings but because it is essentially good for its bearers, in that it organises their souls in the right way. Those whose souls are naturally organised can be happy despite life’s challenges and shortcomings because they are protected from excessive pain and sadness, passions to which the soul’s inferior part, the appetitive, is drawn. The superior part, the rational, shields them from these in conjunction with the intermediate, spirited part. Socrates adds a third remark: that myths about justice should be told after justice has been defined and shown to benefit its possessor.

With these FCPs, Plato determines the proper content of mythology. Its use is necessary to imprint virtues like piousness, courage, and self-control onto the Guardians’ souls. However, Plato also defines the appropriate narrative form to which mythologists and poets must adapt their narrations if their poetry is to be accepted in the ideal city.

2.2 The narrative forms

In Book III, ‘Plato introduces the first-ever classification of forms of narrative discourse (diēgēsis)’ (Finkelberg 2018, 1). He distinguishes three narrative forms: (1) simple narration (haplē diēgēsis), (2) mimetic narration (hē dia mimēseōs), and (3) mixed narration (di’ amphoterōn) (392d). Each corresponds to a particular way of narrating a story. The first mode, simple narration, ‘uses only reported or indirect speech, giving the account an objective quality’. The poet-narrators who use this format do not present themselves as part of their stories: they do not imitate the characters’ actions and words. This narrative mode’s objectivity involves the complete absence of imitation, as long as the poet-narrators are merely describing the facts without involving themselves. According to Socrates, simple narration is mostly employed mainly in dithyrambs, which are hymns to the gods (394c).^[21]

In contrast, poet-narrators who employ mimetic narration imitate the actions and words of their various characters.^[22] They thus assume false identities, acquiring these characters’ ethics and values (Collobert 2014, 464). Socrates claims that this type of tale-telling works wholly through imitation (394c1) and corresponds to both tragedy and comedy, the main genres of traditional poetry. In other words, the traditional poets who compose and narrate tragedies and comedies fully impersonate the creatures their poems depict, whether divine or human. These imitators are the poets who misrepresent the nature of gods and men of repute and worth in their mythical compositions. This explains why, in Book III, we find for the first time that this type of poet has already been expelled from Kallipolis (398a).

Lastly, mixed narration is a hybrid of the first two modes, incorporating both simple and mimetic narration. Poet-narrators who employ mixed narration use both direct and indirect speech, which means they partially imitate mythical characters’ deeds and discourses as they relate their tales. Socrates asserts that this narrative mode is most prevalent in epic poetry (394c), Homer being its most prominent representative.^[23]

Following his exposition of the three narrative forms, Socrates and his interlocutors analyse them to determine which ought to be adopted as the customary approach for educating the Guardians. Interestingly, Socrates does not endorse the use of the simple narrative style that excludes any semblance of mimetic representation. Conversely, he asserts that a storyteller who is genuinely virtuous and authentic will receive authorisation from the city’s rulers. A narrator of the appropriate calibre will be inclined to utilise emulation, provided that two conditions are met: that only a small portion of imitation is used in a long discourse (396e), and that it concerns a good man or a steadfast and sensible action (396c–d).

More peculiarly, Socrates calls this kind of narration ‘simple’ and not ‘mixed’, though it contains the imitation of a specific moral model, that of the good and virtuous man. Plato does not explain why the simple mode of narration has been expanded to include mixed narration that imitates the simple style’s ethical norms. A possible explanation is that imitating a moral model leads one to identify with that norm: imitating the ethos of a virtuous man ultimately makes the imitator virtuous too. In this circumstance, however, the imitator does not become virtuous through knowledge but through habit.^[24]

Thus, the three narrative modes which Plato initially established are now reduced to two (397b): (1) the simple form, now expanded to include imitation under certain conditions, and (2) the mimetic form, which includes any kind of imitation, even that of a vicious and corrupted man. The simple form fosters the development of brave, pious, self-disciplined, and free men, whereas the mimetic fosters slavishness and immorality in their souls (395c–d).

Socrates argues that simplicity in music encourages sobriety, fostering the soundness of the soul, whereas variety in music breeds licentiousness, a disease of the soul (404e). Using the general term ‘music’, Plato refers to simplicity in terms not only of rhythm and narration but also of poetry’s content. He further claims that musical rhythm must be adjusted to suit the manner of speech and diction, which both reflect and conform to the disposition of the soul (400d–e).

In this way, simple poetry is a means of harmonising the soul, ensuring that the spirited part aligns with reason through the instillation of true beliefs. As Heath correctly argues, although the education of the Auxiliaries shapes their characters and instils correct opinions about virtue, they do not truly understand the virtues themselves. That deeper understanding requires the philosophical training the Philosopher-Kings receive (Heath 2012, 48–49). By cultivating habitual virtue and justice, simple poetry (along with gymnastics) prepares the soul for advanced education in mathematics, astronomy, and dialectic – disciplines through which its rational part ultimately assumes full control, stabilising the soul’s natural order and rendering it truly just. Conversely, excessive variety in music disrupts this harmony, fostering internal discord by strengthening the soul’s lower, irrational elements at the expense of reason. This imbalance results in a disordered, unjust soul – one that lacks unity and self-mastery.

By combining the FCPs and the simple narrative form, as described in Books II and III, we obtain a clear picture of how Plato envisioned the ideal form of poetry. I shall henceforth refer to this type of poetry as simple and the contrary type as mimetic. Below, I argue that only mimetic poetry is condemned and banished; without simple poetry, Kallipolis and its citizens cannot be just.

3.1 The fulfilment of the FCPs in the Myth of Er and justice as its own reward

Before even starting to narrate the myth, Socrates has already partly^[27] accomplished the fifth CP: together with his interlocutors, he has defined what justice is and demonstrated that, beyond any other rewards, it intrinsically benefits its possessor. Justice, both in the city and in the soul, is defined as oikēiopragia (434c–d). Justice as oikēiopragia is achieved in the city when each class is focused on its own task: Philosopher-Kings, with their knowledge, should govern by command; the courageous Auxiliaries should guard the city against internal and external enemies; and the Producers should produce the goods that the city requires for survival. Similarly, justice in the soul is attained when the superior, wise, rational part commands the inferior parts; the intermediate, spirited part courageously obeys the superior part’s orders; and the inferior, appetitive part willingly obeys the rational and spirited parts and performs the functions of eating, drinking, and reproduction that are essential for life.

Before he narrates the myth, Socrates notes the rewards and blessings that just individuals receive from both humans and gods during their lifetimes. He posits that these benefits are supplementary to those that only justice can confer upon its holder (613e–614a). Socrates establishes a functional contrast on which the Myth of Er is then built: a distinction between social justice, which seeks rewards from people and gods, and true justice, which seeks the reward that justice itself delivers to its owner. That reward is the natural organisation of one’s soul, which corresponds to its health; those with healthy souls are eudaimones. If the Myth of Er did not distinguish between the two types of justice and promote only the genuine one, or if the rewards the just and righteous souls receive were presented as gifts from humans or gods, then the myth would indeed contradict the premise that justice benefits its possessor even in the absence of rewards from humans or gods. As I will demonstrate, none of these contradictions is evident in the myth.

Socrates recounts that Er, a Pamphylian warrior who had fallen in battle, returned to life twelve days later, just as his body was placed on the funeral pyre. He then recounted what his psyche had experienced in the underworld. Er’s soul travelled with other souls until it reached the place where divine judges assessed each soul according to its deeds (614b–c). Here the third CP seems to be fulfilled, since both sides of the afterlife are presented, with one being praised and the other condemned: just souls, marching upward on a luminous path, are rewarded for their virtues with a millennium of happiness, whereas the unjust, marching to the underworld, receive a millennium of punishments for their wicked deeds and vices. With this description, Plato also completes the fifth CP, as he depicts unjust people as despondent and wretched, whereas the just are described as content and fortunate.

According to Socrates’ account, souls can be judged only by what they themselves have done during their lifetimes. As divine beings, the judges are exempt from liability; unjust souls are the only ones responsible for their own sentences. All souls are either condemned or rewarded tenfold, depending on the extent to which their actions were good or sinful (614b–616a). By presenting the divine judges as impartial and unbiased, Plato implements the fourth CP, according to which divine creatures, and especially rulers (these judges are the rulers of Hades), can never be depicted as greedy or as prepared to accept bribes.

After a millennium of awards or punishments, both the just and the unjust souls arrived at the daemonic place, located between earth and the heavens, where the spindle of Necessity was stretched.^[28] There, in front of Lachesis, the Goddess of Fate, the souls made personal choices concerning their next lives. A prophet of hers uttered the following words while taking lots^[29] and patterns of lives from her lap:

“Souls that live for a day, now is the beginning of another cycle of mortal generation where birth is the beacon of death. No divinity shall cast lots for you, but you shall choose your own deity. Let him to whom falls the first lot first select a life to which he shall cleave of necessity. But virtue has no master over her, and each shall have more or less of her as he honors her or does her despite. The blame is his who chooses: God is blameless.”^[30]

R. 617d–e

The first CP suggests that the existence of bad and harmful things must be explained without reference to gods and divine creatures, because God is always good and harmless. Here, Plato is stating, indirectly but clearly, that God is not the cause of everything, only of good things. This implements the first CP.

After relaying the prophet’s words, Socrates directly addresses Glaucon, stressing that each soul must acquire two things if it is to choose the correct path in life and, consequently, to be truly happy. The first is the ability to distinguish and compose various things. In other words, souls must possess the abilities of division and collection which are ascribed to dialecticians in the Phaedrus.^[31] Using these dialectical processes to combine the various factors, a soul is more likely to make a wise decision regarding its life’s pattern. An equally important requirement is that souls must enter ‘the house of death’ with an ‘adamantine dôxa’ regarding their quality of life: a better life is one that makes a soul more just, while a worse life is one that makes it more unjust.^[32]

This notion of an adamantine dôxa is particularly significant in the context of the Republic, as it echoes Glaucon’s earlier claim in the Myth of Gyges that no one possesses such an adamantine disposition that they could resist injustice if they were guaranteed impunity (360b). Although Socrates does not explicitly state that this is Glaucon’s own supreme hazard, the resonance between these passages suggests that the warning is meant especially for him. Socrates is not merely making a general claim about the importance of firm convictions; he is subtly addressing Glaucon’s particular philosophical concerns. The absence of an explicit claim that this hazard is Glaucon’s own is important. Socrates directly addresses him, yet he presents the warning in general terms, allowing Glaucon to absorb its implications without feeling personally singled out. This indirect approach is characteristic of Socratic persuasion, guiding rather than dictating. In the next section, I will argue that Plato intentionally crafts the Myth of Er for Glaucon, using it as a philosophical intervention aimed at his particular disposition.

But what could an ‘adamantine dôxa’ be? In Book VI, we read that beliefs which are divorced from knowledge are ugly, and that someone who holds a true belief without nous is like a blind person who acts rightly without knowing why (506c). Someone who holds a true belief without any basis in reason acts virtuously but without knowing the reasons why. An adamantine dôxa – as beautiful, unbreakable, and resistant as a diamond – could be the opposite: a true belief (such as the one that the Myth of Er imprints), held in check by knowledge and nous, that makes its holder genuinely virtuous and cognisant of the reasons for their virtuous deeds.

And there, dear Glaucon, it appears, is the supreme hazard for a man. And this is the chief reason why it should be our main concern that each of us, neglecting all other studies, should seek after and study this thing – if in any way he may be able to learn of and discover the man who will give him the ability and the knowledge to distinguish the life that is good from that which is bad, and always and everywhere to choose the best that the conditions allow, and, taking into account all the things of which we have spoken and estimating the effect on the goodness of his life of their conjunction or their severance, to know how beauty commingled with poverty or wealth and combined with what habit of soul operates for good or for evil, and what are the effects of high and low birth and private station and office and strength and weakness and quickness of apprehension and dullness and all similar natural and acquired habits of the soul, when blended and combined with one another, so that with consideration of all these things he will be able to make a reasoned choice between the better and the worse life, with his eyes fixed on the nature of his soul, naming the worse life that which will tend to make it more unjust and the better that which will make it more just. But all other considerations he will dismiss, for we have seen that this is the best choice, both for life and death. And a man must take with him to the house of death an adamantine belief^[33] in this, that even there he may be undazzled by riches and similar trumpery, and may not precipitate himself into tyrannies and similar doings and so work many evils past cure and suffer still greater himself, but may know how always to choose in such things the life that is seated in the mean and shun the excess in either direction, both in this world so far as may be and in all the life to come; for this is the greatest happiness for man.

R. 618b–619b

Socrates then quotes a second speech by Lachesis’ prophet:

Even for him who comes forward last, if he make his choice wisely and live strenuously, there is reserved an acceptable life, no evil one. Let not the foremost in the choice be heedless nor the last be discouraged.

R. 619b

In his second speech, the prophet advises the souls that if they choose wisely and live moderately, their lives will be at least tolerable and not immoral, regardless of their lot. The prophet does not use lies to please or deceive the souls. As a divine being, he is portrayed as a constant and unchanging entity who strives to help the souls by transmitting the truth to them, as the second CP requires. The prophet is simple, not only in appearance but also in his words, and he seeks to protect souls by warning and informing them about the best way to make decisions about their next lives. Socrates’ statement regarding the prophet’s second speech supports this claim: he suggests that the negative outcomes which the soul with the first lot experiences are a direct consequence of disregarding the prophet’s admonition. That soul belongs to ‘a man who had lived in a well-ordered polity in his former existence, participating in virtue by habit and not by philosophy’ (619c–d). However, this soul, driven by folly and greed, not only chooses a life of great tyranny and horrors, such as eating his own children, but he also laments this and blames the gods, fortune, and anything else but himself for his woes, all because, Socrates says, he did not heed the prophet’s warning (619b). With this statement, Plato plainly implies that the prophet’s primary goal as a divine entity is to help souls select a good life pattern.

The lamentation of the soul that has chosen tyranny is a reminder of the third CP, according to which lamentations and wailings are reserved for the most unworthy. Tyrants fit that description because their souls are organised unnaturally and are controlled by the inferior, appetitive part (571c–d) – whereas philosophers’ souls are organised naturally and are ruled by their superior, rational part.^[34]

Bloom (1991, 436) suggests that the soul who habitually lived virtuously but chooses a tyrant’s life reflects a character like Cephalus,^[35] whose adherence to law and convention once constrained him. While Bloom associates this soul with Cephalus, I will argue that he more closely resembles Glaucon. As I will try to show in the following pages, if we interpret this passage in light of Republic Book IX, this soul is not merely shaped by habituated virtue but is also a philonikos – one who values justice competitively rather than philosophically. In the same way, Glaucon’s philonikia – his love of victory – places him at risk of the same misjudgment, mistaking tyranny for a noble life unless his spirited nature is properly aligned with reason.

Socrates uses this example to warn Glaucon (and us) that souls who become only habitually righteous, not philosophically virtuous, run the risk of choosing tyranny, the worst possible life pattern, because they are oblivious to what they are choosing and to the repercussions of their actions. Commenting on the prophet’s second speech, he contends once more that true justice, which brings its possessor eternal happiness, can be found only in a soul that practises philosophy in every life (619d–e).^[36] A soul becomes truly just and happy when each life is organised in the proper and natural manner through the application of philosophy.

Gonzalez, however, argues that the Myth of Er is far from being morally edifying. One claim he makes^[37] is that the myth undermines its own assertion that philosophy is a precondition for choosing a good life: many souls emerging from beneath the earth are able to make sound decisions and choose a good life, not through practising philosophy, but because they have directly experienced or observed the suffering an immoral life causes. According to Gonzalez (2012, 267), this implies that philosophy is not a prerequisite for selecting a morally sound path, as the myth claims. But is he correct?

I contend that Gonzalez’s argument is flawed due to a fundamental misinterpretation. Like the dialogue itself, the myth presents at least two distinct conceptions of the good life. The first, the truly good life, is rooted in philosophy and knowledge, which lead to the highest form of happiness. This life ensures stable and lasting fulfilment, both in the present and in the afterlife, as its ultimate reward is internal: the harmony of the soul, achieved through justice. In contrast, the conventionally or habitually good life derives from custom and habit rather than philosophical understanding. While it may offer temporary happiness and external rewards, these benefits are fleeting: they last only within a single lifetime and on a single occasion in the afterlife. In essence, there is only one truly good life: the philosopher’s life, because only philosophers are truly just. Conventionally or habitually good lives are merely good in comparison with outright bad ones, as they lack the foundation of philosophy and rely instead on habit.

Things become clearer when 618a–619b is interpreted in light of Book IX (580a–588b). Socrates presents a spectrum of lives, ranging from the best, which promote justice, to the worst, which foster injustice. At the pinnacle of this hierarchy stands the philosophos (φιλόσοφος): the true lover of wisdom, the aristocrat or Philosopher-King, whose soul is naturally ordered and governed by reason, the highest faculty. Only the philosopher attains true pleasure and eudaimonia.

In contrast, the philonikos (φιλόνικος), the lover of victory, and the philotimos (φιλότιμος), the lover of honour, exemplify the timocratic character. Ruled by the spirited part of the soul (thumos), they adhere to a habitual but imperfect virtue. While they live relatively good lives, their pleasures are illusory and fall short of true fulfilment –an issue of particular significance, since, as we shall see, one such individual is Glaucon, to whom the Myth of Er is recounted.

At the opposite extreme stands the tyrant, the embodiment of the philokerdos (φιλοκέρδος), the lover of gain, and the philochrêmatos (φιλοχρήματος), the lover of wealth. His soul is entirely in thrall to its own appetitive part (epithymia), insatiably driven by the pursuit of deceptive pleasures. Consequently, he remains the furthest removed from true happiness. Between the timocrat and the tyrant are the oligarch and democrat, whose lives are relatively bad – marked by varying degrees of disorder and illusion – but not as utterly wretched as the tyrant’s.

It is therefore safe to assume that Gonzalez explores the interchange between relatively good and bad lives among souls – those that are neither truly good (as philosophical souls are) nor truly bad (as tyrannical souls are). He focuses on the interchange that occurs between habitually virtuous souls, who descend from the heavens, and vicious yet curable souls, emerging from below. Souls from beneath do not choose a truly good life – the philosopher’s life^[38] – but rather opt for a comparatively good life. This is not entirely unexpected, as the only option worse than what they have experienced is a tyrant’s life, the worst possible choice. Conversely, they have numerous better lives available to them, among which the habitually virtuous life is their best possible choice. In contrast, habitually virtuous souls have many worse lives to choose from but only one superior alternative: the philosopher’s life. Vicious yet curable souls sometimes make the best choice available to them, whereas habitually virtuous souls occasionally select the worst possible existence. However, neither group is genuinely oriented towards the truly good life, that of the philosopher.

This subtle distinction between truly and relatively good lives is significant, as it aligns the myth with the broader argument of the Republic. The dialogue consistently maintains that the philosophical life, characterised by the proper organisation of the soul, is the only truly good life. Halliwell rightly asserts that ‘the myth of Er supports the cumulative moral case made by the entire Republic for the identification of a good and happy life with a just life’.^[39] The final myth of the Republic clarifies that the only genuinely just and happy life is one guided by virtue, not merely through habit but through philosophy. The myth not only underscores the necessity of philosophical inquiry in every lifetime but also affirms it as the sole pathway to true happiness, both in earthly life and in the afterlife.

This interpretation is further reinforced when we consider the myth’s epistemological framework. According to the myth, the only ones who consistently choose the best possible life, the one ‘seated in the mean’ (618e–619a), are those with an adamantine doxa: individuals who, believing that the best life is the most just and the worst life is the most unjust, have firmly grounded this belief through episteme and nous. This is because true justice itself bestows a reward that enables one to make the right choice every time: a naturally organised soul within which reason governs. As a result, the just attain the highest form of happiness. These are the philosophers who, by committing to philosophy, secure the happiest and the truly good life – the ultimate benefit conferred by true justice.

Conversely, those who have not anchored their true beliefs in knowledge and philosophy during their lifetimes – the habitually virtuous or, in the context of Book IX, the philonikoi and philotimoi – experience a spurious and therefore temporary eudaimonia, for their souls are not ordered naturally. Instead of being governed by reason, they are ruled by the spirited part. This is the fate of the first soul in the Myth of Er, who, as a philonikos, succumbs to folly and ignorance, hastily choosing a tyrant’s life. As we shall see in the next section, this condition also characterises Glaucon, to whom Socrates recounts the myth. Like the first soul, Glaucon is a philonikos whose spirited nature threatens to lead him astray unless it can become properly aligned with reason. Socrates employs the myth as an intervention, designed to guide his competitive and honour-driven disposition toward a philosophical understanding of justice.

But what causes the habitually virtuous, like the first soul, to lose their way and descend into ignorance and folly? In the myth, habitually virtuous souls are in a worse position than those returning from the underworld. Plato’s depiction is both shocking and thought-provoking, prompting important questions. Why does Plato offer such a portrayal? Is this depiction connected to the broader themes of the dialogue, and, if so, what message is it meant to convey?^[40]

To address these questions, I propose an epistemological approach to the issue which aligns the myth’s content with that of the dialogue as a whole. During their stay in the afterlife, both conventionally virtuous and curable souls appear to undergo a shift in their beliefs regarding what constitutes a good or bad life. The habitually virtuous souls seemingly held true beliefs on these matters during their lifetimes, having lived within a well-ordered society. In contrast, the curable souls adhered to false beliefs during their earthly existence. However, both groups experience a posthumous transformation in their views, raising the question: What accounts for this change?

I suggest that the answer lies in Book III, where we read that a belief’s departure from the mind is either voluntary or involuntary. Voluntary departure occurs when a false belief is relinquished by someone who learns of its falsity, while involuntary departure pertains to every true belief (412e–413a). However, when a true belief is replaced by a false one, the reasons are more complex: Socrates argues that individuals are unwittingly deprived of their true beliefs through theft, sorcery, or force (413a–b).

By ‘theft’, he refers to a process that takes away true beliefs, either through persuasive speech or by a gradual erosion of memory that leads individuals to forget their genuine beliefs. In both cases, the individual remains unaware of this shift. Those whom Socrates terms ‘victims of sorcery’ undergo alterations in their beliefs under the influence of pleasure or fear. Finally, some individuals are compelled by pain or suffering to change their minds (413b–c). On this spectrum, the habitually virtuous souls who alter their beliefs do so involuntarily, whereas the curable souls do so voluntarily. Let us now examine the myth in light of these distinctions.

As the Myth of Er illustrates, when curable souls have altered their beliefs, this is a result of the cumulative punishments they have endured in the afterlife (615e), their direct experience of suffering, and their witnessing the suffering of others (619e). A lack of such experience is one of the reasons why some habitually virtuous souls make the worst possible choice – that of a tyrant’s life.

Gonzalez’s interpretation, under which the myth undermines its own defence of philosophy, overlooks the connection between punishment, hardship, and the right order of the soul, as well as their broader philosophical implications within the Republic. At 591a–b, Socrates argues that when the exposure of one’s injustices leaves one chastened, much like the curable souls in the myth, the brutish part of one’s soul is subdued, the gentler part is liberated, and the soul as a whole is restored to its best nature. Through this process, one attains a far more valuable state, acquiring sobriety, righteousness, and wisdom – qualities as essential to the soul as strength, beauty, and health are to the body (591b). In other words, souls who undergo punishment are restored to their natural order; this can be understood as an automatic reset of the soul. This process explains why many curable souls make better choices in selecting their next lives, though not the best, as they are not yet practising philosophy.

As we see in Book III, the experience of hardship, pain, and suffering is also a fundamental aspect of the early education of future Philosopher-Kings. Young Guardians’ education first instructs them in mythology and inculcates the true belief that they must act in the best interests of the state (413d–e).^[41] Only those Guardians who steadfastly maintain this true belief – after being subjected to extreme pains, suffering, and pleasures – are chosen to pursue advanced education and ultimately become Philosopher-Kings. The very factor that leads some curable souls to choose better lives, voluntarily replacing false with true beliefs, and causes some habitually virtuous souls to select the worst possible life, involuntarily replacing true with false beliefs, is also a critical criterion in the selection and formation of those destined to become philosophers.

However, habitually virtuous souls do not change their beliefs solely due to inexperience with suffering. Several other factors are involved. First, their true beliefs were not grounded in knowledge; their virtue was based on habit rather than philosophical understanding. Second, unable to resist the temptations of wealth and superficial allurements, they ultimately succumbed to folly and greed (618b–619a). Socrates observes that ignorance and folly represent a kind of emptiness within the soul’s habitual disposition (585b). Emptied of their true beliefs, these souls cease to be habitually virtuous and instead become ignorant in the afterlife. But how, and more importantly, why does this emptiness arise?

These dynamics can be clarified with a comparison between the myth’s content and Socrates’ account in Book III of how beliefs are altered. The conventionally virtuous souls spent 1,000 years in the heavens (615a), enjoying rewards and happiness; they were not forced to change their beliefs through pain or suffering, so this rules out force as a cause. While the myth depicts souls engaging in discussions and recounting their experiences of reward and punishment (614e–615a), it seems unlikely that a habitually virtuous soul would be persuaded to choose a tyrant’s life simply through such conversations. On the contrary, having heard of the pain and suffering endured by tyrants, such souls would presumably be even more determined to avoid that path.

Instead, it is highly probable that spending a millennium in the heavens led them to forget their true beliefs about the nature of a good life. This forgetfulness likely arose because their beliefs were not firmly grounded in knowledge; their virtue was not rooted in philosophy but was merely habitual. Although they had been educated with true beliefs, these beliefs were not reinforced by reason. As a result, these souls, blinded by folly and driven by greed, became dazzled by wealth, pleasure, and other trivialities, and ultimately chose the path of tyranny (619a).^[42] In short, what changed their beliefs was a combination of theft – the gradual erosion of memory – and sorcery – the seductive allure of a tyrant’s life.

From this epistemological perspective, the forgetfulness^[43] that can cause a habitually virtuous soul to choose tyranny not only corresponds with, but may even prefigure, Socrates’ portrayal of the Plain of Oblivion and the River of Lēthe.^[44] As Socrates concludes the myth, he explains that once all the souls had selected their lives according to their allotted order (620d), each was guided by its divine guardian to the three Fates, who ratified the outcome of its choice. Thereafter, the souls journeyed to the Plain of Oblivion and encamped beside the River of Lēthe, where they were required to drink a quantity of its water determined by the degree of their wisdom and knowledge (621a).^[45] With a thunderclap and an earth tremor, the souls ‘were suddenly wafted, one this way, one that, upward to their birth like shooting stars’ (621b).

Thus far, we have briefly examined the content of the Myth of Er to determine whether it adheres to the FCPs which Socrates established in Books II and III, and whether it upholds the dialogue’s central claim that justice is its own reward. Our analysis has shown not only that the myth fully conforms to these content patterns but also that it is a culminating reaffirmation of the Republic’s core argument. Far from being an incongruous addition, the myth reinforces the philosophical framework of the dialogue, illustrating that true justice – grounded in the proper ordering of the soul – inherently benefits its possessor, irrespective of external rewards.

3.2 The narrative form of the myth

Does the Myth of Er also meet the criteria concerning the narrative form of simple poetry?

The myth easily meets the requirement regarding the brevity of imitational narration, as its longest portion consists of indirect speech. Socrates narrates his long story mainly in oratio obliqua, with only three short passages in oratio recta. He uses the latter for the first time when narrating a soul’s response to another soul’s enquiry about Ardiaeos’ fate (615d–616a); he also employs oratio recta for Lachesis’ prophet’s two speeches (617d–e; 619b). Is this myth, however, consistent with the requirement that any action the narrator imitates must be that of a good man, or one that is steadfast and sensible? Let us examine the relevant passages one by one.

In the first passage, Socrates conveys the words of a soul who informs us that Ardiaeos’ soul could not access the place where souls were choosing their next life patterns. This soul also provides insight into his fateful punishments and the reasons for them: Ardiaeos’ extreme suffering was the result of his earthly life as a tyrant who committed vast and terrible crimes. By living in this way, Ardiaeos has made his soul incurably wicked, which is why he is now receiving the appropriate punishments (615d–e). Having the ability to link Ardiaeos’ bad life as a tyrant to his soul’s condition, this soul appears to possess the dialectical ability noted in Socrates’ comment after the prophet’s first speech: the ability to distinguish between good and bad lives according to their impact on the soul. We can safely assume that this soul is truly virtuous and just, since only these souls appear to have such knowledge.

What about the myth’s other mimetic segments? In both, Socrates impersonates a divine being: the prophet of Lachesis, an intermediary between the Fate Lachesis (another divine being) and the souls of individuals.^[46] His impersonation exemplifies the conduct of a reliable and sagacious entity: one that not only imparts guidance on how to select one’s path in life but also counsels souls to make the optimal choice, based on their wisdom and moral excellence.

In all three instances of direct narration, Socrates emulates entities that conform to the ethical criteria he previously established. In the first, he emulates a dialectical and virtuous soul, while in the other two passages, he emulates a celestial entity, the prophet of Lachesis, who counsels souls on the optimal selection of their life patterns.

The Myth of Er thus appears to be consistent with both the FCPs and the narrative form of simple poetry, as well as the premise that justice benefits its possessor regardless of the external rewards derived from it. This suggests that Plato chose to conclude the Republic with this myth not only as a model of his ideal form of poetry but also as a decisive affirmation of the dialogue’s central argument: that true virtue and justice, those cultivated through philosophy, naturally order the soul. Only a soul in its proper natural order, that in which reason governs, can attain true and lasting eudaimonia, ensuring its stability and fulfilment beyond fleeting pleasures or external fortunes.

However, the Myth of Er is not presented as a myth composed by a supervised poet for the education of the Guardians in Plato’s ideal city. Instead, it is a tale deliberately narrated by Socrates to Glaucon, and this indicates that it serves a distinct philosophical and rhetorical purpose. Why does Plato direct this myth specifically toward Glaucon? What deeper significance does it hold for his character and role within the Republic?^[47]