Virtue and Power
A philosophical examination of the politics of good, evil, and everything in between
“Constitutions,” “direct democracy,” “communalism:” political theory enhanced by Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave” and historical context fill the walls of room 1142 in Mow. When prompted to construct a society for Profe Baidal’s class with discourse centered on the theme of virtue, students almost instinctually turned to government, as if the distribution of power is a necessity to organize humankind.
Resuming this conversation beyond the classroom and continuing to examine the nuanced relationship between power and virtue, the question remains: does virtue give an individual power? Such a question seems straightforward and binary on the surface, but it is important to consider that “power” holds two distinct, yet interconnected definitions, which complicate any simple, yes-no answer.
Oxford Languages defines power as both “the ability to do something or act in a particular way, especially as a faculty or quality” and “the capacity or ability to direct or influence the behavior of others or the course of events.”
As humans continue to imagine and build complex societies with new technologies but also embedded in entrenched systems of oppression, returning to such a fundamental question and breaking it into digestible components — in essence, taking a pause from the hustle of life to reflect and engage in critical, philosophical inquiry — become even more relevant to inform the present and guide humans into the future.
Beginning with the first definition of power, does virtue give one “the ability to do something or act in a particular way?” If yes, tackling this question prompts one to consider what human capacities morality might unlock.
For one thing, virtue grants people the power to survive and live among others. In the Greek telling of the creation of humans, which Protagoras recounts, “Zeus became worried that our species might perish altogether from the earth, so he asked Hermes to take down to people a sense of right and wrong.”
Humans are physically disadvantaged compared to other animals, but their intellect and ability to form complex communities contribute to their survival. Zeus recognizes that basic morality — e.g. not killing or stealing — becomes an intrinsic requirement for humans to maintain interpersonal relationships and build societies without “do[ing] one another wrong.”
Primo Levi, in his memoir Survival in Auschwitz, admits to the allure of vices such as selfishness and greed in an environment where all ethics are destroyed. However, he reveals that upholding virtue, despite requiring foresight and restricting convenient, temporary relief, ultimately allows one to preserve their humanity in the dehumanizing Lager (camp) and contributes to survival.
Italian civilian worker Lorenzo helps Levi survive “not for his material aid, as for his having constantly reminded [Levi] by his presence, by his natural and plain manner of being good,” which gives Levi a reason to fight for his life. Empathy — which can manifest in a gesture as simple as Schlome’s warm embrace at the beginning of Levi’s internment or extending a helping hand to save those drowning as Omar Tonella’s poster depicts — serves as a universal vocabulary that breaks through any language barrier, even in the multicultural Lager.
Virtue ultimately gives people the ability to co-exist despite their dissimilarities, which unlocks the true potential of humanity that thrives on collaboration and a combination of diverse ideas. However, humans throughout history have often lost sight of virtue when faced with difference, forgetting the value of human diversity in place of intolerance. Recognizing the importance of virtue to human existence and having compassion for others are crucial steps toward preventing humanity from recreating the atrocities in Nazi Germany and beyond, a reality that Levi cautions against.
Continuing on the first definition of power, what other capacities might virtue allow for? Morality is necessary in one’s journey toward enlightenment. To begin, education, in itself, is an empowering process. In “Allegory of the Cave,” Plato compares ignorance to imprisonment: almost like being confined to a two-dimensional space, prisoners in Plato’s metaphorical cave view reality through the shadow projections on the wall in front of them, and “chains will not let them turn their heads,” which two-dimensional organisms cannot do either. Using this powerful imagery, Plato paints enlightenment as an act of liberation, unlocking a new dimension of possibilities and the power to occupy the three-dimensional world freely.
However, while all humans have the ability to consume information, education is not simply “to put the power of sight into the soul’s eye, which already has it, but to ensure that…it is turned the way it ought to be.” Virtue plays the crucial role of guiding the application of information toward good, giving one’s life and knowledge purpose.
For instance, while surviving the horrible conditions of the Lager is beyond remarkable on its own, Levi feels that only by supporting the lives of those in the infectious disease ward just before emancipation, leveraging his observational and technical skills as a chemist, did he “finally [accomplish] something useful.” An intangible connection to those he cared for — a sense of belonging — meant that leaving to another hut with less danger of infection “did not even pass through [his] mind.”
As Plato and Levi describe, education is a powerful mechanism of upward mobility and liberation, even though educational inequalities along racial and socioeconomic lines — which are incredibly visible when examining the dichotomy between New York City public and private schools — complicate this notion. However, knowledge “never loses its power” when “in service of evil,” which speaks to the continued importance of virtue in education.
When political agendas and “culture wars” prevent crucial classroom conversations surrounding identity and sanitize the harsh realities of the past, neglecting virtue has derailed education in states like Florida and Texas to the point where it teeters on the line of indoctrination.
Shifting to the second definition of power, does virtue give one authority or the “ability to influence the behavior of others or the course of events?” Even though virtue is vital to human survival and education, being wholly virtuous is impossible, which Socrates reveals when analyzing Simonides’s poem in Protagoras.
Therefore, humans and the societies they create are not immune to vice. Flawed social constructs such as wealth often equate to authority, fueling greed, and entrenched systems of oppression like the patriarchy or racism continue to stifle historically marginalized communities from obtaining power.
In fact, the hierarchy in Nazi Germany and even among prisoners within Auschwitz was rooted in anti-Semitism, and one’s ability to obtain a privileged role in the Lager often contributed to survival, not solely virtue. While empathy allows Levi to nurture his emotional health and humanity, he can only physically survive the cold Polish winter as a specialized Kommando working in the heated laboratory because his knowledge of chemistry is of value to the Nazis.
Acknowledging the shortcomings of existing structures of power, Plato envisions a commonwealth where those “rich, not in gold, but in the wealth that brings happiness” lead. He hopes for a society where the most virtuous philosopher rules, not because they are power-hungry but because their responsibility to govern is “an unavoidable necessity.”
While a society with one all-knowing, benevolent leader and where virtue directly equates to power is unattainable in real life, humans can extract important lessons from Plato’s ideal, allowing them to incorporate more virtue into existing systems of power.
For instance, when Plato demands that those who reached enlightenment must “not be allowed…to remain on the heights, refusing to come down again to the prisoners,” he calls for a relationship between the educated and ignorant — those in power “on the heights” and those without it confined to the cave — rooted in mutual aid and a celebration of diverse experiences, rather than division.
Plato’s words become even more relevant today not only during a time of incredible polarization but also as policy that affects real Americans comes to a standstill due to extremists in the House of Representatives that ousted Speaker Kevin McCarthy after taking 15 rounds of voting to be elected in the first place. Too many leaders today act not out of virtue and their responsibility to those they rule but in self-interest, which fuels corruption.
Continuing on the second definition of power but considering the opposite relationship, does power inherently degrade virtue? The privilege that comes with power often creates blind spots that make one vulnerable to vice.
While Plato makes important challenges against corruption in “Allegory of the Cave,” his preference for a philosopher-king, a form of aristocracy, might be a product of his own bias as an esteemed philosopher in ancient Greece. When he devalues democracy by describing it as merely one political regime away from tyranny in The Republic, Plato paints the common person as incapable of engaging in politics, likely an effort to secure his position of power by not having to share it.
Similarly, when Meno suggests that “a good woman [must]…always obey her man” and that being good is “wanting fine things and being able to acquire them,” he implicitly aims to reproduce his position of power by maintaining patriarchal and classist systems that benefit him as a wealthy male aristocrat and by positioning his identity at the pinnacle of virtuousness. Socrates, through his line of questioning, exposes that Meno’s desire to maintain his authority makes him blind to how his definition of virtue ironically plays into the vice of prejudice.
It is interesting how Meno, as someone exposed to the Thessalian community of sophists that includes Gorgias, serves almost as a sophist foil to the philosopher Socrates, similar to Protagoras. Socrates recognizes that his ideas are not permanent and acknowledges — like Raphael’s School of Athens suggests — that education is inherently messy yet collaborative.
Exemplified in his dialectical instruction of geometry to Meno’s slave, Socrates aims to engage in an equal, democratic exchange of knowledge and has the selflessness and intellectual humility to “midwife” an idea for his pupil. However, since their education is rooted in hierarchy and the superiority of their ideas, sophists are reluctant to budge, viewing different perspectives as threats they must crush to maintain their credibility.
Meno, like a sophist, struggles to renegotiate his flawed definition of virtue to the point where he feels his “mind and [his] tongue have literally gone numb,” viewing Socrates’s challenges as a personal attack on his position of power. However, he fails to realize that this paralysis — taking a moment to pause from the pursuit of answers, embrace uncertainty, and question one’s own beliefs — is crucial to help one combat their blind spots.
While philosophers at Stanford University reveal that all humans “have their blind spots,” privilege distances those in power from the realities and struggles of common people, making them more susceptible to prejudice which degrades virtue. This means that self-reflection fueled by philosophy becomes even more important for those in power, especially since the platform and authority they have amplifies the harm their internalized biases can cause.
Ultimately, breaking the word “power” into its constituent definitions allows me to capture the nuances of its intersection with virtue. Virtue may grant one the power to live among others and work toward enlightenment, but since it can limit temporary relief in favor of long-term fulfillment, humans often surrender to vice, which becomes the basis of our power dynamics. Even the most benevolent leaders have to play into corrupt systems to obtain their positions of power and hold blind spots as a product of their privilege, which degrades virtue and perpetuates a cycle of vice.
As I take a step back from my philosophical examination, the activist in me yearns to know what I can do to dismantle such a vicious cycle. Even though I leave with more questions than answers, making some meaning of the relationship between virtue and power, in a way, was therapeutic and liberating for me and will inform my advocacy.
Specifically, Levi teaches me to approach difference from a place of empathy, and Meno’s prejudices remind me to reflect on my own internalized biases. When he dismantles exceptionalism narratives about glorified Greek politicians and presents new ideas, which eventually lead to his death, Socrates in Meno gives me the courage to similarly challenge the status quo despite the risk.
In “The Experience Machine,” Harvard professor Robert Nozick reminds me that as I go through significant life moments like the college application process, I must not get lost in the hope of admission but stop to take a moment to appreciate this transitionary stage — a place to make mistakes and grow — and my time at Riverdale.
Plato reminds me of the power of education, and beyond ILS, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz from Spanish V and Tony Kushner from Constructing America reveal that the pen really is mightier than the sword, leveraging literature and art as a means of political commentary, which I hope to replicate through my passion for street photography.
Finally, I find it interesting how both Omar Tonella — where the outstretched arm in his poster parallels the hand of God in Michelangelo’s The Creation of Adam — and the Greek human origin story link morality with divinity. Virtue may be a gift to humanity from higher forces but that equally makes it a responsibility akin to a God’s. The readings in ILS’s “Introduction to Virtue” unit ultimately push me to challenge problematic institutions of power with virtue driving my activism and to remind others of our collective duty to strive for good.
