An Analysis of Gyges and the Cave. Part I.

In this paper, I will examine both the account of the perfectly just man—as symbolized by the philosopher-king in the Analogy of the Cave in Book VII of Plato’s Republic—as well as the account of the perfectly unjust man—as symbolized in the tale of the Ring of Gyges in Book II—in hopes to determine what exactly separates these two men in terms of their happiness, or their human flourishing. In other words, in looking at these two stories, I hope to see what makes the just man happier than the unjust man. I am unsure as to the exact relationship between these two stories since they are so far spread apart in the dialogue, but I believe that, even if they are not to be so closely related, the similarities and differences between them are such that a comparison between the stories would be beneficial to our understanding of justice.

First, let us look closely at the Analogy of the Cave, as told by Socrates in Book VII, and at his champion of justice, the philosopher-king, as seen in this tale. After discussing various analogies for how the Good can come to be better understood, such as the Analogy of the Sun and the Divided Line at the conclusion of Book VI, Socrates and the interlocutors come to discuss the state of man, and how he can come to know the Good. About man, Socrates says this:

"Picture men dwelling in a sort of subterranean cavern with a long entrance open to the light on its entire width. Conceive them as having their legs and necks fettered from childhood, so that they remain in the same spot, able to look forward only, and prevented by the fetters from turning their heads. Picture further the light from a fire burning higher up and at a distance behind them and between the fire and the prisoners and above them a road along which a low wall has been built, as the exhibitors of puppet shows have partitions before the men themselves, above which they show the puppets."

Basically, it seems that man is in quite a wretched state. He is stuck at the bottom of an enormous cave, chained down and able to look only straight ahead—much like a horse with blinders on—at a wall on which is projected, by the light of a fire behind them, the shadows of images. These images are not what they play either, for they themselves are only false representations of what is true (for example, the man in the cave has never actually seen another man—he has only seen the shadow of the image of a man). These shadows of images are being presented to men by other men who, from Socrates’ description, seem to be a kind of puppeteer; they maintain the illusion that the cave-dwellers see and believe to be reality (this is, of course, not to say that the puppeteers are necessarily malicious, or that the illusion is necessarily evil).

Because of man’s wretched state—chained down and made to believe in the illusion of these appearances, it seems that he has no choice but to believe that this illusion is reality. Socrates confirms this, and says, “Then in every way such prisoners would deem reality to be nothing else than the shadows of the artificial objects.” Ultimately, what choice would they have, since because they are necessarily stuck in this position, it is impossible that they could have knowledge of anything other than the shadows at which they are made to look?