Between Justice and Power Plato, a Dialogue Across the Millennia
Between Justice and Power Plato, a Dialogue Across the Millennia
On the slopes of Mount Parnassus, near the Gulf of Corinth, lies a plane of knowledge where epochs blur and ideas are forced to confront one another without the shield of time. In this space of reflection spanning millennia, Plato’s quest for the just order questions the necessity of means: not as a historical exercise, but to discover whether power, when pushed to its limits, can ever be self-sufficient. On this journey, the distance between the ideal and the real narrows to the point of becoming unbearable. And it is here that the voice of one who has studied force answers the oldest question of all.
In this temporal spectrum, Plato thus asks whether justice is valuable in itself or only as a means of security. This question has long been debated between interlocutors who have never had the opportunity to confront each other in person, and perhaps for this very reason it has remained so poignant: because neither has been able to look the other in the eye while pronouncing certain consequences. It is therefore thanks to this journey, and to this suddenly shortened distance, that, millennia later, John [1]responds to Plato by arguing that states do not begin with justice but with vulnerability, and justice only enters later, as a useful language as long as it produces stability, generates security and recognition, and avoids collapse.
“It is the truth that Thucydides put into the mouths of the Athenians at Melos,” John continues , “‘Law is only between equals in power, while the strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must.’ Justice, in this light, is nothing but a luxury for those who have no fear of being crushed.”
John reiterates that “this vulnerability is the reflection of a selfish human nature that has remained unchanged since antiquity, driven by an inexorable triad of passions: fear, honor, and self-interest. In this state of nature, where malice is a given, self-defense becomes the only rational law to avoid perishing.”
Hans intervenes [2]and interrupts him almost with annoyance, because he already senses the risk of that reduction: even when politics obeys necessity, a tragic residue remains, because man knows that expediency and justice do not coincide; justice does not command, it does not direct the hand of the sovereign, but it prevents expediency from becoming innocent, at least prevents it from presenting itself as natural, inevitable, morally pure.
Edward arrives [3]and cuts deeper, offering no consolation, retorting, “Often ‘ just’ is the name victors give to their own order; universality is a form of hegemony established in language and then sanctified as if it had always existed.” And for a moment, Plato seems to recognize that blade, because it is the same blade that divides appearance and truth: if so, then justice is not only weak, but could also become useful to the strongest.
Kenneth [4]listens to his interlocutors and understands that, to gain a clearer picture, it’s necessary to shift the focus. ” Structure comes before morality . In a system of ‘self-regulation,’ anarchy isn’t passive, but a force that ‘pushes and presses’ actors, rewarding those who conform to the logic of power and punishing those who ignore it. It’s the structure, not the character of states—or the behavior of politicians—that makes conflict a tragically rational choice.”
John then replies to Kenneth in a tone that almost sounds like an accusation: equilibrium is only a truce, true security is the hegemony that precedes conflict, preemptive. “Remember, my dear, that states are short-term power maximizers .” Remaining “sufficiently strong” means accepting that tomorrow someone may become more powerful than you, and in that tomorrow your caution today will be reinterpreted as hesitation. Kenneth understands that this explanation is plausible, but partial, and explains that the expansion of a hegemony generates counter-reactions, transforming security into a permanent race: if you expand to be secure, you produce a systemic fear that prepares coalitions, hostility, and growing friction; hegemony, if not already definitive, becomes a never-ending task.
We then sense that John remains immovable: survival is existential, it is supreme. “The sovereign must accept the cost of prudence : whoever always wants to act with moral purity among men who are not, runs towards his own ruin. True political ethics is not innocence, but the responsibility of knowing how to “enter into evil,” as both Hans and a common acquaintance of ours said [5]when necessity demands it to ensure the survival of the community.”
Kenneth continues, “It is the spiral of the security dilemma : the attempt of one state to increase its own protection inevitably diminishes that of others, triggering a chain reaction where defense is read as a threat and uncertainty about the intentions of others makes every weapon a multiplier of fear.”
Hedley [6], who has remained on the sidelines until now, introduces an opposite idea, almost as if he wanted to save a remnant of form in the chaos: “since we have entered the meanders of dilemmas, let me argue that even without a sovereign there exists an imperfect international society made up of rules and practices, not by virtue but by shared convenience; a hegemon is not necessary since order does not eliminate conflict, it contains and channels it, makes it predictable, makes it pay for itself sooner rather than later, and in this sense it is not a utopia but a device for mutual survival .
” Order as a device for mutual survival ?” the participants whisper.
Martin [7]intervenes in support of Hedley —his old and most esteemed student—recalling that great powers are not simple accumulations of brute force but rather institutions of the system themselves. “Great powers,” Martin insists , “are defined not only by how much power they possess, but by their ability to manage the international order on behalf of the society of states, transforming force into a function of stability.”
“However,” Hedley continues , nodding toward his master , “these rules remain fragile in the face of what we might call the prisoner’s dilemma : even when cooperation would yield a common good, certain conditions of ignorance—not knowing the intentions of others—mean that rationality can dictate that one should be the first to defect to avoid the risk of being caught in retreat by another’s betrayal. Anarchy thus prevents us from transforming mutual advantage into a secure obligation that would move from an anarchic society to a global society.”
Carl [8]breaks the silence. Until now he had not expressed himself, but now it seems clear that a step back is needed, a return to the origin. His interlocutors focus on a sedimented order, on a fait accompli, without seeing the underlying origin. “We navigate the surface of the sea, wondering what the seabed is like, analyzing the ripples in the water,” he says, and continues, “only by removing the water, removing normality, can we understand what supported the sea; only by eliminating it can we see who supported your order. As long as the sea covers the seabed, we can delude ourselves that the ocean surface was its own cause; but when you eliminate the normal, power emerges.” Indeed, he paraphrases Carl, when the exception arrives, explicit or implicit rules recede, and sovereignty—with its essential territorial connection, its right to exist in space and not on paper—reveals itself in the decision that precedes the norm; law follows power, pursues it, records it. Hedley then objects that even sovereign decision is bound by expectations and recognition, otherwise it is not order but arbitrariness; but it is precisely here that Carl disagrees: order is a fruit, not a seed. “It does not arise from the ought-to-be, it arises from the ability to hold on when the ought-to-be is suspended.”
“Dr. Carr” – Plato’s voice interrupts the atmosphere – “you who have seen the illusions of twenty years crumble [9], tell us…: if justice is only the victor’s dress and the real sovereign is seen only in exceptionality, when you pronounce its name, that is, Justice, are you seeking the truth… or are you only choosing which lie is best called order?”
“I’m doing something worse, Plato,” Edward replies. “I’m depriving the victor of the privilege of lying without a name. Because the mistake isn’t that power justifies itself—it always will—the mistake is that the vanquished learn to call what dominates them ‘universal.’ Justice and international morality aren’t born to impede force: they’re born to stabilize it. And when we stop seeing this origin, then justice truly becomes a civil religion: it doesn’t correct the world, it lulls and seduces it, enclosing it in dogma. There’s a difference between understanding and believing.”
Edward then attempts to grasp a synthesis and recalls time, continuing: “All justice claims to be eternal, but it ages, and in its aging it reveals its historical origins, the context that produced it, the power that made it credible, demolishing that original claim to universality.” What appears fair today may appear oppressive tomorrow, and what appears necessary today may appear merely antiquated tomorrow. But even this answer, for Plato, is not exhaustive, because time explains the decline of forms, but it still does not explain why the polis continues to call them “just” as they change. “What you referred to, my dear Edward, responds to a dilemma of my master: ‘Is justice dear to the gods because it is just, or is it just because it is dear to the gods?'”
“You understand well,” Plato continues, “that transposing it to the international order has implications: if justice is a product of history, then it is a convention, not a universal beacon.”
Nicholas [10]then decides to intervene, almost impatiently, as if he wanted to bring everyone back down to earth, and exclaims, “Carl spoke of the surface of the seas in a metaphorical sense, but you are forgetting the spatial dimension, as well as Carl’s territorial one. You talk about systems, power, sovereignty, and nomos , but you forget to take into account that each actor resides in a specific space, and that each space imposes constraints and limits: space is not homogeneous ,” and continues, “without considering borders, resources, position, depth, and distance, the policies and behaviors of actors remain abstract, just as justice remains abstract; and what is abstract, in politics, inevitably becomes fragile or instrumental.”
Plato then understands that his question has not been answered, but rather broken down and drawn into its real conditions, as if each had taken a part of the enigma to expose its wound: vulnerability and utility, tragic residue and prudence, hegemony and mask, structure and constraint, society and practice, exception and decision, time that consumes, space that limits. Notice how close Thucydides had already come to the three unalterable drivers that drive every community to conflict: fear, honor, and self-interest. If, therefore, the structure is the body of politics, then these passions are its tainted blood, making conflict a millennial repetition of necessary errors.
Euthyphro ‘s dilemma on justice can probably be resolved when you can give me definitions.”— no one on the mountain says a word— “But now, my dears, try to resolve the dilemma of the Sorites first: when you can discern the atoms of human action, then, and only then, perhaps, will you be able to answer my questions.”
“Now, then, you force me to synthesize , not to pacify, not to synthesize, but to integrate: none of your positions is complete, each resides in a perspective, and if justice is valid only when it protects, then it is an instrument; if it is also valid when it loses, then it is a gamble against the world. But in both cases, it does not exist in a vacuum: it lives within power, time, space, and necessity, and every city that pronounces the word “just” is always also saying something else, more secret, more naked— how much am I willing to risk to continue existing?”
Time dissolved, the window closed and the participants never saw each other again.
But the challenge remained open and the dialogue continues.
Alessandro Verdoliva – The Delphi Institute
Rome – January 23, 2026
– κτῆμ α ἐσ ἀεί –
[1] John J. Mearsheimer (1947– ), American – School of thought: Offensive Realism (IR). Profession: political scientist , professor of International Relations (University of Chicago).
[2] Hans J. Morgenthau (1904–1980), German-American – School of thought: Classical Realism (IR). Profession: Jurist and political scientist , international relations theorist.
[3] Edward H. Carr (1892–1982), British – School of thought: Historical-critical realism (IR). Profession: Historian, diplomat, and international relations theorist .
[4] Kenneth N. Waltz (1924–2013), American – School of thought: Neorealism / Structural Realism (IR). Profession: Political scientist , professor and theorist of International Relations.
[5] Niccolò Machiavelli (1469–1527), Italian – School of thought: Political realism/modern political thought . Occupation: Official and secretary of the Republic of Florence , diplomat, historian, and political theorist.
[6] Hedley Bull (1932–1985), Australian – School of thought: English School / English School (IR). Profession: political scientist , scholar of international relations theory and international law.
[7] Martin Wight (1913–1972), British – School of thought: English School (International Relations theory). Profession: Political scientist and historian of International Relations , teacher and theorist of international politics.
[8] Carl Schmitt (1888–1985), German – School of thought: Decisionism / Theory of the Political . Profession: Jurist and legal philosopher , theorist of sovereignty and the state.
[9] E. H. Carr, The Twenty Years’ Crisis: 1919–1939. An Introduction to the Study of International Relations , Macmillan, 1939. A cornerstone of twentieth-century realism, this work deconstructs the idealism of the post-World War I era, calling it “utopianism.” Carr argues that moral principles and international law are not universal values, but projections of the interests of hegemonic powers aimed at preserving the status quo . The book introduces the fundamental distinction between the (illusory) harmony of interests and the reality of power relations.
[10] Nicholas J. Spykman (1893–1943), Dutch-American – School of thought: Realist geopolitics . Profession: Political scientist and geopolitician , lecturer and analyst of international politics.