Today I took a little more time to reflect on a topic that is particularly dear to me: morality. What is it, and how can it be defined? Is a moral person always moral? Or could there be situations in which that sense of morality might in fact be compromised, without, however, seeping into the personal core of our personality and ultimately changing us?
In my attempt to explore the topic of “morality” a bit further, I decided to look not only at literature written long ago but also at the ideas of more recent and contemporary thinkers. That’s when I came across Plato’s famous work, The Republic.
In this work, Plato—a student of Socrates—hypothetically sketches out an imaginary scenario, not a real one, but one that ultimately sheds a great deal of light on one of humanity’s greatest dilemmas. What is, in fact, “moral”?
In his book, there is a character named Gyges. And in this story (I’m summarizing here, of course), Gyges finds a ring that belonged to a dead giant as he passed by the giant’s corpse lying on the ground.
When Gyges removed his ring, he noticed that if he put it on with the stone facing his palm, he would become magically invisible to the eyes of others. Completely unrecognizable. His presence could not be detected, yet he would retain his physical form. And he could interact normally with reality.
Gyges, who until then had been considered a respectable nobleman, admired by his peers and subjects, felt an overwhelming urge within him whenever he put on the ring to do things he would never dare to do without it.
In reality, his manner, demeanor, decisions, and actions were in some way “shaped” not by his intrinsic morality, but by something less significant from a moral standpoint—yet something that had an incredible power to dissuade him from acting on them: the judgmental gaze of others. Gyges was terrified of failing to live up to the expectations of those who admired him. He always acted in accordance with what was “formally stipulated” to be done in a given situation and in the presence of a particular person.
The protection that invisibility afforded Gyges meant that, at that moment, he became a true villain, a scoundrel, and one without any sense of accountability. In other words, what actually determined the way that gentle and highly respected nobleman acted was not his nature or his view of himself, but the possibility of getting away with it—of being able to do exactly whatever he pleased—since no connection would be made between his person and the action committed.
I think that the things I wouldn’t be able to do “in the open” I certainly wouldn’t be able to do—or even try to do—if I knew I could get away with them.
Anyone who accepts changing their behavior according to external constraints ends up becoming a slave.
A slave to what lies outside oneself—to what one cannot control. One must constantly assess the outside world and those watching, rather than remaining true to oneself, looking inward at one’s own actions, and acting in accordance with one’s own vision. Establishing a firm, indestructible moral compass that no storm or earthquake can shake.
Image by armennano from Pixabay
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