The Ancient art of Dialogue

Does it pay to be unethical?

I am often asked by colleagues and friends how I teach philosophy; how do you condense thousands of years of thought into four lessons a week and convey something of its depth and complexity, while making it relevant to young people in the 21st century?

I often reply that I do not teach them, so much as to set them in dialogue with thinkers who have tried to answer the very questions they themselves propose.

Our text is Plato’s Republic, and we begin with a question that is familiar to any student who has debated the merits of skipping class to go shopping down on Chapel Street:

Does it pay to be unethical?

Plato presents the case for injustice in the opening dialogues through the character of Thracymachus, a cranky sophist who argues not only that injustice pays, but you are a fool to be ethical.

‘Right’ is simply ‘what is in the interest of the stronger party’.

According to Thracymachus, those in power will naturally act in any way that will serve their own advantage, often at the expense of their subjects.

“But what if they get caught”? one student asks in response. “If they get caught, then it’s not to their advantage…”

“They’re only the ones you hear about,” says another. “There’s plenty who don’t get caught. They’re the ones who make more money, and become more successful.”

“But that’s only in the material sense”, another replies. “What about actual happiness?”

The students have already hit upon one central conflict in the text concerning the very nature of human fulfillment, a point that Plato returns to later.

At this stage he responds to Thracymachus with the analogy of a doctor who practices the skill of medicine not with her own interests in mind, but that of her patients.

Is not the art of ruling also a kind of skill which, if practiced properly, should serve the interests of the citizens?

Thracymachus scoffs at this response, and the students are quick to follow. They pick up on Plato’s appeal to ideal standards, as opposed to the force of realism. This is the fallacy of equivocation — proving something different from what one is asked to prove.

Thracymachus couldn’t care less about what one ought to do. His point is about the world as it is, about how we actually gain power and prestige.

Plato’s acolytes Adeimantus and Glaucon, who want to believe that an ethical life is better but are at this stage (like the class) far from convinced, mount an even more powerful case for injustice through the story of Gyges’ ring.

A shepherd finds a ring that can make him invisible. He sneaks into the palace, seduces the queen and together they murder the king.

There is a sense of disquiet as the students are asked to imagine what they would do with such a ring, an unease that is part of philosophy too — the discomfort of challenging the assumptions of one’s fundamental beliefs, values and views of who one is.

Would you use a magic ring to steal or cheat for your own self-gain? Indulge in ultimate freedom?

One student claims that she would not, and this is met with a raucous of comments, “yeah right…”; “as if you wouldn’t”.

“You might not do something really bad” says another. “But it would be hard to resist taking some kind of advantage.”

We debate this thought experiment for some time. Students are free to share their ideas and question each other. As the debate can sometimes become personal, we remind ourselves about the norms and protocols that govern our Community of Inquiry:

Respecting others’ views; asking for reasons or clarification; giving examples or counter-examples; listening to understand; taking a risk.

All of this is about building on each other’s ideas, so we make progress together, even if we don’t find an ‘answer’.

The story of Gyges’ ring provides an engaging pathway to a big concept in political philosophy. Glaucon offers an early version of the social contract theory of justice: while people are willing to wrong others to get what they want, it is worse to suffer at the hands of others, so all agree to follow the law out of mutual self-interest.

Even so, what Gyges’ ring shows is that anyone, if given the chance, would act unethically, and this assumes a pessimistic view of the human being as one who is naturally amoral and self-interested.

This is where critical voices against Thracymachus begin to emerge, as the students face the implications of their previous views. While some stay true to realism, others protest that humans aren’t just selfish — they have compassion and understanding. The human potential is greater than this.

Now Plato has made his mark. He thinks humans are essentially social beings whose souls are composed of reason, spirit and desire. Through education, they have the opportunity to cultivate their minds towards the acquisition of knowledge and truth. Only when reason rules their soul can they achieve a clarity of vision, because reason, the faculty of judgement and wisdom, is the only part of the soul that can look beyond itself to the interests of the whole. Then wise decisions can be made.

But what accounts for the corruption of human potential?

Plato quotes the words of the sages: “appearance has more force than reality.”

Why would anyone be just when one may reap the rewards of injustice, while maintaining all the appearances and benefits of virtue?

What’s more, while praising the virtues of justice and scathing unethical behaviour, what people really admire is success, along with the values that sustain this — ambition, astuteness, a certain ruthlessness.

This is why Plato thought that only a complete transformation of society could produce a truly just Republic, one where philosophers, the only genuine ‘lovers of wisdom’, ruled according to the dictates of knowledge.

“But wouldn’t that be like a dictatorship?” one student protests. “I mean, if only the philosopher ruler knows what knowledge is, everyone just has to take his word for it. Wouldn’t he just abuse his power?”

It is a good question, and again, we need to seize the opportunity. Much of teaching philosophy is about the art of facilitation — the willingness to give up control and enable the students’ agency to shape the course of learning.

Since Plato is part of the dialogue, he is also given the right of reply — an essential part of ‘doing philosophy’ that recognises criticism as only worthwhile if it can be shown to rest on a full and generous understanding of another’s point of view.

It’s a chance to check our initial responses against the actual arguments and distinctions in the text.

Plato was careful to distinguish his Republic from a tyranny, whose tyrants ruled through a motive of power and greed. By contrast, Philosopher Rulers were to live an austere life so as to remove the motive for corruption altogether, with no private property or material possessions:

Could you imagine our politicians living in communal barracks, forgoing their salaries, luxuries and privileges?

For Plato, this purification meant that reason itself would become the only true and proper motive for rulers.

Many of the students are still not convinced, and rightly so, but at least they are given to understand why Plato thinks it pays to be just:

A soul ruled by greed is an unhappy soul, the slave to its perpetual needs and desires.

Justice is not about following or breaking an external set of rules, it is about the internal quality and character of an individual. Fulfillment is not material, it is in the cultivation and enlightenment of the mind.

“So, Plato is like the first self-help guru?”

“Does that mean you can’t have justice if reason doesn’t rule your soul?”

The bell has gone and, dissatisfied, the students begin to leave. But this is a good thing, a puzzlement that will continue beyond the classroom, as the niggling fascination of questions take hold for life.