“No Justice, No Peace”

The football player Colin Kaepernick introduced the gesture of taking a knee during the singing of the national anthem in 2016 to draw attention to racial injustice and police brutality. The gesture went viral in 2020 following the death of George Floyd, an African American man who suffocated because of excessive police force. Since then, the gesture has become strongly associated with the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement. Taking a knee raises a number of philosophical questions: Do athletes perform on behalf of their communities, or do they merely provide entertainment? Is it bad sportsmanship to use athletic events to make political statements? Given the severe backlash against Kaepernick and those who followed him, we may even ask whether it is un-American or unpatriotic to speak out against one’s own country.

Greek philosophy has little to say about the politics of race for the simple reason that modern concepts of race did not exist in antiquity. The ancients noticed differences in skin color, yet they attributed no more moral significance to this than we do to the color of people’s eyes or hair. Augustine of Hippo, the focus of my graduate studies, was a late ancient philosopher from North Africa whose skin color we do not know because none of his contemporaries thought it was worth mentioning. Granted, the Greeks and Romans also practiced slavery. Yet, unlike the United States and other modern countries, they did not attempt to justify slavery on the basis of skin tone.² People became enslaved mostly by losing in battle or falling into extreme poverty.

Greek philosophy has more to say about the justice invoked by the racial justice movement. We might imagine Socrates attending a BLM rally, hearing the chants of “No Justice, No Peace,” engaging a protester in conversation, and winding around to the question, What is justice? Presumably he would shoot down the most immediate answer—punishing George Floyd’s killers—as merely an example and not the whole of justice. In response, our imagined protestor might suggest treating all people the same way, regardless of race. This, however, might go too wide. There are some who argue that since the US economy was built on the basis of slave labor, the United States as a whole owes a debt to descendants of enslaved people. The only way to pay such reparations is by treating races differently. At this point, our protester might suggest that justice has something to do with the structure of our society and its institutions. If so, the real question is, What? Happily, we do not need to imagine what Socrates would say about justice, since the attempt to define justice is the central project of Republic. Portions of this discussion can help us look at our current political landscape with fresh eyes. Getting to these insights, however, takes a bit of setup.

Opening Conversation: Republic 327a-331d

Republic is split into ten books.³Republic 1 resembles a self-contained Socratic dialogue, which starts with a day in the life of Socrates, brings up a controversial question, seeks to define a particular virtue, shoots down candidate definitions, and ends with everyone perplexed (aporia). It even opens with an athletic event: in this case, an upcoming torch race on horseback as part of a festival honoring the goddess Bendis. Unlike other dialogues, however, Republic reaches aporia and then keeps going for another nine books. Gym training is woven throughout later books, as is the idea that the virtues are a kind of mental health. These ideas are largely absent in book 1. Instead, we find war and politics, which (along with athletic events) embody the ancient Greek spirit of competition (agōn). These competitive topics of discussion, in turn, are mirrored by the verbal sparring between Socrates and a teacher of public speaking, or sophist, Thrasymachus. Scholars disagree as to whether Republic 1 was written as a stand-alone work that Plato later came back to, or as an intentional part of the whole from the start.⁴ Either way, it provides a sort of trailer for questions and theories to come.⁵ We will look at it here in the context of Socratic philosophy and return to books 2 to 10 in part 2 on Plato.

If Republic 1 is a trailer, then the opening dialogue between Socrates and Cephalus (327a-331d) is a trailer within a trailer. The festival has taken Socrates away from downtown Athens to visit the city’s port, Piraeus. While there, Socrates encounters his elderly friend Cephalus, who claims to enjoy conversations in his old age, now that he has lost the desire for sex, parties, and drinking. Socrates, polite as always, points out that it might be Cephalus’s great wealth that explains his happiness. Cephalus agrees but not for the reason most people think. The real use of wealth is that it frees one from having to cheat, steal, or engage in other activities that could bring punishment in the afterlife. The tone of this conversation would fit a not terribly exciting dinner party, but the philosophical point is that happiness is not a matter of one’s external circumstances but rather of what one does with them. There is much more to be said about this idea, but this is only a trailer. Socrates uses the talk of criminal activity to raise a question about justice. At this point, Cephalus hands the conversation over to his son and heir Polemarchus and heads off to a sacrifice.

Traditional Definitions of Justice: Republic 331c-336a

As Polemarchus takes over the conversation, Socrates brings up the more basic question: What is justice (dikaiosunē)? He even offers the first definition: “paying what is owed” (331c). Polemarchus offers the second: “benefiting friends and harming enemies” (332d). The first seems simple enough: if you borrow money, pay it back. The second fits well within military contexts. From what veterans have told me, soldiers in combat scenarios focus on taking care of their friends. In many cases this is accomplished by taking down enemies to stop them from harming those friends. Harming enemies may sound harsh for civilian life, but if we are honest, we tend to think this way when things get competitive: we want our political candidates to win, and their opponents to lose. The same goes for sports teams, college applications, and job interviews. If everyone is doing it, does that make it right?

Socrates quickly shoots down the first definition, paying what is owed. If a friend loans you a weapon and then has a mental health crisis, the just thing to do is not to give it back to him. Why? Because this would harm your friend. This leads naturally into the second definition, benefiting friends and harming enemies. Socrates has four responses. The first (332d-333e) treats justice as a craft (technē) and asks what it is useful for. After Socrates runs through various scenarios where other crafts are obviously more relevant (sailing, raising horses, etc.), Polemarchus agrees that justice is useful for storing resources but not for using them. Socrates replies that justice then seems pretty useless. The second response (333e-334b) relies on the fact that the person who knows how to be of benefit in a certain area is able to harm in the same area: doctors make the best poisons. Socrates concludes that justice is an art of stealing. Polemarchus is flustered but does not give up. Socrates’s third reply (334b-335a) is to ask whether friends in this definition are the people who actually are good and useful to oneself, or are simply believed to be so. Polemarchus opts for the second option, which leads to more contradictions. He quickly backpedals, specifying that friends are those who are thought to be, and actually are, good and useful.

Socrates’s final reply to Polemarchus is the most philosophically hefty: Is it ever just to harm anyone (335b-336a)? Polemarchus replies with what will strike many as the obvious answer, that it is just to harm bad people. Socrates responds: If justice is a virtue and if virtue is human excellence but harming people makes them worse, then we make people less virtuous through virtue. Since that makes no sense, Polemarchus admits defeat and drops the idea that justice is benefiting friends and harming enemies. This all goes by so quickly that it is easy to dismiss it as simple wordplay. But if we look at this exchange from the perspective of the BLM movement, the implications are huge.

The US criminal justice system is largely based on retributive justice. This is the idea that people who do bad things deserve to be punished. The trouble is that this approach can turn people who have committed small crimes (or no crimes at all) into hardened criminals. Add to this that African Americans make up 13 percent of the overall population but 39 percent of the prison population, and you have an efficient system for grinding down people who already start out at a disadvantage.⁶ Is this just? One attractive alternative is a system based on rehabilitative justice, which views sentencing as a form of treatment rather than punishment. Norway has such a system. Norway imprisons only 70 of every 100,000 people and reincarcerates 20 percent of them within three years. The United States imprisons 693 of every 100,000 people with a reincarceration rate of 68 percent.⁷ It is, of course, possible for a system to aim for both forms of justice. In the United States, however, the aims of retribution (“he is a bad person who deserves to be punished”) tend to undermine rehabilitation efforts (“he is a sick person who needs to be treated”). It is also impossible to justify the death penalty on the grounds of protecting the overall population, since legal fees for executing a prisoner outstrip the cost of a life sentence.⁸

Returning to our imagined conversation between Socrates and a BLM protester, we may now add a final critique: the problem is not only that the US justice system disproportionately harms African Americans; it is that it harms anyone at all. The point of a justice system, on Socrates’s line of reasoning, is to make people just. A system that singles out sections of the public and makes them more unjust is flawed at a fundamental level. What is the alternative? Republic 1 is a Socratic dialogue, and a trailer at that, so the only answers we get are what justice is not. Be that as it may, some of Socrates’s arguments pack a punch all these centuries later.

Philosophy vs. Sophistry: Republic 336b-354c

The intersection of sports and politics also plays out in antiquity through the competitive culture of public speaking. As we saw in chapter 2, nude athletics, democracy, and philosophy embodied egalitarian and competitive ideals that were central to Greece’s self-image. In the Athenian democracy, any citizen could bring political proposals to the assembly and bring charges against neighbors in court. And, as we will see in chapter 5, the ability to convince a crowd could be quite literally a matter of life and death. In this context, teachers of public speaking were highly valued, and the competition of such teachers for students was fierce. In the public eye, these sophists (teachers of wisdom) were sometimes hard to distinguish from philosophers (lovers of wisdom). Perhaps for this reason, Plato goes to great lengths in several works to contrast them. Thrasymachus, the star of Republic 1’s second half, is one of Plato’s most memorable attempts. His name, which means “bold in battle,” reflects his character. Fed up with Socrates’s discussion with Polemarchus, Thrasymachus bursts in, telling Socrates to get real. For readers who have had the sense that Socratic questioning is pointless intellectual bullying, Thrasymachus’s interruption comes as a breath of fresh air, as he calls out Socrates for his entire philosophical project of cross-examining others’ views. Socrates replies by claiming not to know what justice is, and Thrasymachus complains all the louder (336b-338b). With this, an intellectual sparring match begins, with sophistry and philosophy going head-to-head.

Thrasymachus’s name is also reflected in the ideas he brings to the discussion. He sees the world in terms of winners and losers. What matters to him is winning, and he is willing to do whatever it takes to come out on top. His disregard for sportsmanship or any other norms of conduct is reflected in his own definition of justice, “the advantage of the stronger who rule” (338c-d). This is the kind of view that cynical people usually call realistic. Today, we might say that justice is whatever the people with money and power decide it is. While we rarely talk this way, the reality of American democracy is that big money backs both major political parties, and for decades, if not centuries, has been making sure that policies are made in big money’s own best interests. Having laid out how things really are, Thrasymachus waits for everyone to be impressed. Socrates has other ideas.

Socrates opens by asking whether it is just to obey rulers and whether rulers can be mistaken about what benefits them. Thrasymachus agrees to both. Socrates points out that by Thrasymachus’s own definition justice could call on us to harm rulers, which would be unjust (338e-340c). The crowd of onlookers at Cephalus’s house loves this. Thrasymachus replies that his definition refers to a ruler “in the precise sense”—an ideal ruler that real-world individuals can fall short of. Rulers in this sense will always do what is in their own self-interest. In this, Thrasymachus treats ruling as a kind of craft (technē). Socrates runs with the idea, pointing out that all other crafts seek to benefit not their practitioner but their charges: doctors benefit patients not doctors; horse breeders benefit horses not themselves, and so on. By analogy, a ruler in the precise sense benefits his charge, not himself (341c-342e).

At this point, Thrasymachus calls Socrates a “snot-nosed brat” (343a) and launches into a rant about how shepherds benefit themselves, not their sheep, how justice is for chumps, and injustice on a grand enough scale, such as taking over one’s government, is perfect happiness (343b-344c). Having poured all this out “like a bath attendant” (344d), Thrasymachus attempts to leave the room. But his friends pin him down so that Socrates can respond. Socrates’s first line of argument is that caring for things can be a pain (345b-347d). Sheep are stupid and smelly. That is why we compensate shepherds for caring for them. The craft of shepherding, though, is concerned only with the welfare of sheep. Likewise, ruling a state is a lot of trouble, and that is why we compensate people for doing it. Flipping typical views on their head, Socrates claims that the compensation a real ruler wants is not money or honor but not being ruled by a worse person.

Socrates then turns to Thrasymachus’s idea that justice is for chumps. As Thrasymachus puts it, wisdom is getting ahead unjustly; only a fool plays by the rules; happiness is attained by outdoing everyone else however you can. In other words, Thrasymachus views life as a game with clear winners and losers. Socrates responds to this in three waves. The ideas go by quickly and without anything close to adequate support. Again, this is just the trailer. In the process, though, we get a hint of big ideas to come.

The first wave of argument focuses on Thrasymachus’s idea of outdoing (pleonekteō; 347e-352d). If we treat injustice as a kind of wisdom, then it is something one can be an expert in. In other cases of expertise, an expert wants to outdo nonexperts but not other experts. A nonexpert, by contrast, wants to outdo everyone. Socrates offers the example of tuning an instrument. An actual musician will not be interested in outdoing other actual musicians when it comes to tuning a string. If an instrument is in tune, it is in tune. End of story. Someone who does not know anything about music, however, could think, “I am going to tune this better than other people who get it in tune!” Socrates, who is championing philosophy in this match, looks to the musician’s musician and the athlete’s athlete. This is a jab at Thrasymachus whose ultimate concern as a sophist is not swaying experts but swaying crowds. Still, we might object that the example of tuning assumes that there is a right way to tune something, a perfect middle ground between sharp and flat. Why should we think justice is like tuning in this respect? What, in this context, dictates the right amount? Thrasymachus, however, does not raise these questions. Instead, he agrees to each step in Socrates’s response, although “reluctantly and with a great quantity of sweat” (350c-d).

In the second wave, Socrates turns to Thrasymachus’s idea that injustice is profitable (352d-354a). Socrates argues that a group of unjust people cannot achieve a single purpose, presumably because they will always be lying and cheating each other. By analogy, he argues, an unjust individual cannot achieve anything because he will be an enemy to other people, to the gods, and to even himself. At the moment it is unclear how one can be an enemy to himself. Should we assume some sort of inner conflict? (The idea returns at length in books 2–10.)

Socrates’s final response is to present an argument from function (353d-354a). A thing’s function (ergon) is what can be done only or best with that thing: hedge clippers, for instance, are for clipping hedges. A thing’s virtue, meanwhile, is to perform that function well: cutting hedges with ease and accuracy. The soul’s function is living, which often includes ruling (archō) and caring for (epimeleomai) things (353d-e), and virtues such as justice are what allow us to live well. A thing that performs its function well is in its best state. In the case of humans, the best state is happiness. Therefore, justice is not in fact for chumps but the key to happiness. There is a lot going on in this passage. This argument will come back in Republic 2–10 and provides the central argument for Aristotle’s ethical theory as well. In the present context, though, Socrates undermines his own conclusion. Having laid out this theory, he points out that he has argued that justice is profitable without first saying what justice is. All of this is built on sand. No one has yet gotten a handle on justice, and the discussion ends in perplexity.

Thrasymachus’s Contribution

Republic 1 hints at profound ideas through discussions that are frustratingly brief. In terms of the work’s drama, Thrasymachus steals the show. His outbursts and cynicism come as reality checks in the midst of what can sound like pointless banter. Socrates’s responses hint at ideas that will be fleshed out later. For the moment, though, let us focus on Thrasymachus’s contribution, which gives us three main takeaways.

From a psychological perspective, Thrasymachus has some good points. When it comes to “outdoing” others, studies of contentment have shown that in judging one’s own wealth, people do not use objective standards, such as how much they need; rather, they compare themselves to the people around them. This is what psychologists call the adaptive-level phenomenon.⁹ In this sense, happiness (at least in terms of self-contentment) really can be thought of as “outdoing” others. Does this form of contentment add up to the best life for a human being? As Cephalus has pointed out, happiness is not a matter of your external circumstances so much as what you do with them. This is the chief insight behind cognitive behavioral therapy, of which Socrates seems to be an early pioneer.¹⁰

From a methodological perspective, Thrasymachus also has a point when he calls out Socrates for his practice of merely refuting others’ ideas. Sure, we can throw words around and think through ideas that people carry around with them, but what guarantee do we have that this will actually accomplish anything? In Republic 1, Socrates leaned heavily into the meaning of the Greek word aretē to draw conclusions that he then admitted were not based on anything solid. While this approach to wrestling with ideas may have various benefits for those involved, is actually arriving at correct answers one of them?¹¹ Plato himself seems to have realized this problem. In his non-Socratic works, he sets aside Socrates’s characteristic approach to refuting others and takes a new approach, one based in a substantive theory of human nature. This is exactly what is missing from Socrates’s function argument, which makes claims about human nature without first defining what a human being is.

From the perspective of competition, Thrasymachus’s sophistic approach to debate serves as a foil to Socrates’s philosophical one. Up to this point, Socrates’s discussion partners have been willing participants even after their views were shot down. Charmides and Critias (jokingly) say they will force Socrates to continue the discussion of discipline another day. Lysis and Menexenus actually enjoy having their ideas about friendship ripped to bits. Laches gets flustered after he fails to define bravery, but it is Nicias that he sees as his rival, not Socrates. Thrasymachus is different. As a sophist, his livelihood depends on training young men to speak persuasively in law courts and political assemblies on topics such as justice. People paid dearly for such training (337d). By attacking Thrasymachus’s ideas, Socrates represents a direct threat to Thrasymachus’s livelihood. By pitting these characters against each other, Plato contrasts Thrasymachus’s “logic of domination” with Socratic “cooperative inquiry.”¹² The one seeks to win at any cost; the other invokes norms of conduct and sportsmanship (even if it is still unclear what those norms are grounded in). These two approaches to discussion are mirrored in the ideas these same two characters set out as Thrasymachus defines justice in terms of outdoing others, and Socrates responds by talking about harmony and care. As one scholar puts it, “Book 1 is a struggle between a sweaty sophist who wants to throw his weight around and a friendly philosopher who wants to spend his spare time today in Piraeus checking out a new festival for a girl-power goddess.”¹³ In short, Thrasymachus is a sore loser.¹⁴ Socrates, by contrast, enjoys a good contest and is open to improving his own knowledge and skills by sparring with a worthy opponent.