The Modern-Day Ring of Gyges

In Plato’s Republic there is a conversation about virtue—whether it is better to be just or unjust. Do I do the good thing because it is good? Do I want the good for its own sake? Do I avoid doing the bad thing only because I fear being caught and punished? Is virtue something real, or just a performance?

To dramatize these questions, Glaucon tells a story about a shepherd named Gyges. It goes something like this: Gyges is tending his flock when an earthquake occurs. The violent shaking opens the ground, revealing a hidden cavern. Curious, Gyges enters the cave and finds a golden sarcophagus containing the body of a giant who wears a gold ring. Gyges takes the ring, placing it on his hand. When he returns to the shepherd’s camp and sits among his friends, they discuss him as if he wasn’t there. Gyges soon learns that by turning the ring on his finger he can turn himself invisible.

Realizing that he may now act with impunity, Gyges uses the ring to engage in a series of corrupt acts—killing the king, usurping the throne, taking the queen as his wife. Glaucon’s thought experiment endeavors to show that all humans, given the opportunity, choose injustice when it benefits them personally and that virtue is just a performance done in fear of reprisal from others. Glaucon continues by imagining an experiment:

Suppose now that there were two such magic rings, and the just put on one of them and the unjust the other; no man can be imagined to be of such an iron nature that he would stand fast in justice. No man would keep his hands off what was not his own when he could safely take what he liked out of the market, or go into houses and lie with any one at his pleasure, or kill or release from prison whom he would, and in all respects be like a god among men.

Then the actions of the just would be as the actions of the unjust; they would both come at last to the same point. And this we may truly affirm to be a great proof that a man is just, not willingly or because he thinks that justice is any good to him individually, but of necessity, for wherever any one thinks that he can safely be unjust, there he is unjust.

For all men believe in their hearts that injustice is far more profitable to the individual than justice, and he who argues as I have been supposing, will say that they are right. If you could imagine any one obtaining this power of becoming invisible, and never doing any wrong or touching what was another’s, he would be thought by the lookers-on to be a most wretched idiot, although they would praise him to one another’s faces, and keep up appearances with one another from a fear that they too might suffer injustice.

There is something here to learn about the use of Generative AI in the context of scholastic endeavor. Generative AI can write essays, solve problem sets, compose code, analyze data, summarize readings, and produce work that is largely undetectable as machine-generated. You can submit work that isn’t yours, and no one will see. The ring is there for the taking; what do we do when no one can see us?

In the Republic Socrates offers a response to Glaucon, arguing that justice does not merely result in external rewards, but also produces a well-ordered soul. The just person isn’t just because they fear punishment; they’re just because injustice will deform them. To act unjustly is to corrupt the part of yourself that is most truly you.

This is a harder case to make. It requires believing that there’s something real at stake in how we form ourselves—that the shortcuts we take don’t just risk external consequences but shape who we become.

Consider what happens when a student uses AI to write an essay they were supposed to struggle through themselves. Externally, nothing changes. The grade appears. The transcript updates. The student advances to the next term. But within? A determination has been made: I am the kind of person who takes shortcuts. And then another. And another.

This is Socrates’ concern—not that you’ll get caught, but that you’ll get away with it, and in getting away with it, become someone who always needs to get away with things. The ring doesn’t just make you invisible to others. It makes you invisible to yourself. You’re no longer a person, but a pale ghost.

Ultimately, the invisibility is an illusion. Gyges could hide his actions from shepherds and kings, but he couldn’t hide the fact of what he’d done from himself. When students use AI to complete their work they face a similar problem of self-deception. Yes, you can submit the essay, but you cannot un-know that you didn’t write it. You can’t pretend, in your own heart and mind, that you did the reading, had the insight, made the argument. The transcript may never reflect the truth, but you will carry it and be deformed by the knowledge.

And here’s the thing that students miss: the point was never the essay. The point was what writing the essay does to you. The struggle to articulate a thought you half-understand; that late-night frustration of realizing your argument doesn’t hold; the slow discovery that emerges from revision; the sudden insight wrested from the text. These experiences don’t show up on a transcript, but they’re the actual purpose of education. When you use AI to skip the struggle, you get the grade but miss the point.

But let’s not pretend this is so simple. The ring is tempting for reasons that aren’t entirely the fault of the student. Educational institutions are utterly broken. They function as a credentialing system, a pay-to-play game that ends with a ticket to the middle class. If the system treats your essay as a box to check rather than an experience to have, why shouldn’t you treat it the same way? If employers will never read your paper on post-apocalyptic fiction, why struggle through it honestly when an AI tool can produce a draft for you with a few keystrokes?

This is the systemic form of Glaucon’s argument: the game is already corrupt, so playing it with a ring is just about increasing your odds. There is a real logic at work here. The student who cheats in a broken system is responding rationally to distorted incentives it offers. The moral failure isn’t the student’s alone—it’s shared by institutions that have commodified education and made friction-maxxing seem foolish.

However, acknowledging this fact doesn’t eliminate the personal stakes. You still have to decide what kind of person you’re going to be. In those moments when nobody is watching, the question becomes genuinely philosophical: Why be good?

• Glaucon’s answer is: no reason, unless you might get caught.

• Socrates’ answer is: because your soul is at stake.

I admit it; I’m really struggling here because I don’t know how to prove that what Socrates says is right. There is nothing I can say to convince a determined cynic that something called “integrity” actually exists and that it matters. But I still believe in it.

I believe that the person who refuses the ring, the person who does the work even when no one would ever know, is building something within themselves that the person who wears the ring is destroying each time they use it. I believe that the struggle matters, that who you become is more important than what you “produce”.

I don’t think anyone can be argued into this view. At some point, you have to decide what you think a human life is for, and then you just have to live that life. The question isn’t whether you can get away with it. You probably can. The real question is where “getting away with it” gets you.