SOCRATES - GLAUCON
I WENT down
yesterday to the Piraeus with
Glaucon the son of Ariston,
that I might offer up my prayers to the goddess; and also because I
wanted to see in what manner they would celebrate the festival,
which was a new thing. I was delighted with the procession
of the inhabitants; but that of the Thracians was equally,
if not more, beautiful. When we had finished our prayers and
viewed the spectacle, we turned in the direction of the city;
and at that instant Polemarchus the son of Cephalus chanced
to catch sight of us from a distance as we were starting on our
way home, and told his servant to run and bid us wait for him.
The servant took hold of me by the cloak behind, and said:
Polemarchus desires you to wait.
I turned round,
and asked him where his master
was.
There he is,
said the youth, coming after
you, if you will only wait.
Certainly we
will, said Glaucon; and in
a few minutes Polemarchus appeared,
and with him Adeimantus, Glaucon's brother, Niceratus the son
of Nicias, and several others who had been at the procession.
SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS
- GLAUCON - ADEIMANTUS
Polemarchus
said to me: I perceive, Socrates,
that you and our
companion are already on your way to the city.
You are not
far wrong, I said.
But do you see,
he rejoined, how many we are?
Of course.
And are you
stronger than all these? for
if not, you will have
to remain where you are.
May there not
be the alternative, I said,
that we may persuade you
to let us go?
But can you
persuade us, if we refuse to
listen to you? he said.
Certainly not,
replied Glaucon.
Then we are
not going to listen; of that
you may be assured.
Adeimantus added:
Has no one told you of the
torch-race on horseback
in honour of the goddess which will take place in the evening?
With horses!
I replied: That is a novelty.
Will horsemen carry
torches and pass them one to another during the race?
Yes, said Polemarchus,
and not only so, but a festival
will
he celebrated at night, which you certainly ought to see.
Let us rise soon after supper and see this festival; there will be
a gathering of young men, and we will have a good talk. Stay then,
and do not be perverse.
Glaucon said:
I suppose, since you insist,
that we must.
Very good, I
replied.
GLAUCON - CEPHALUS
- SOCRATES
Accordingly
we went with Polemarchus to
his house; and there we
found his brothers Lysias and Euthydemus, and with them Thrasymachus
the Chalcedonian, Charmantides the Paeanian, and Cleitophon the son
of Aristonymus. There too was Cephalus the father of Polemarchus,
whom I had not seen for a long time, and I thought him very much aged.
He was seated on a cushioned chair, and had a garland on his head,
for he had been sacrificing in the court; and there were some other chairs
in the room arranged in a semicircle, upon which we sat down by him.
He saluted me eagerly, and then he said:--
You don't come
to see me, Socrates, as often
as you ought:
If I were still able to go and see you I would not ask you
to come to me. But at my age I can hardly get to the city,
and therefore you should come oftener to the Piraeus. For let
me tell you, that the more the pleasures of the body fade away,
the greater to me is the pleasure and charm of conversation.
Do not then deny my request, but make our house your resort and keep
company with these young men; we are old friends, and you will be
quite at home with us.
I replied: There
is nothing which for my part
I like better,
Cephalus, than conversing with aged men; for I regard them
as travellers who have gone a journey which I too may have to go,
and of whom I ought to enquire, whether the way is smooth and easy,
or rugged and difficult. And this is a question which I should
like to ask of you who have arrived at that time which the poets
call the `threshold of old age'--Is life harder towards the end,
or what report do you give of it?
I will tell
you, Socrates, he said, what
my own feeling is.
Men of my age flock together; we are birds of a feather,
as the old proverb says; and at our meetings the tale of my
acquaintance commonly is--I cannot eat, I cannot drink;
the pleasures of youth and love are fled away: there was a good
time once, but now that is gone, and life is no longer life.
Some complain of the slights which are put upon them by relations,
and they will tell you sadly of how many evils their old age is
the cause. But to me, Socrates, these complainers seem to blame
that which is not really in fault. For if old age were the cause,
I too being old, and every other old man, would have felt as they do.
But this is not my own experience, nor that of others whom I have known.
How well I remember the aged poet Sophocles, when in answer to
the question, How does love suit with age, Sophocles,--are you still
the man you were? Peace, he replied; most gladly have I escaped
the thing of which you speak; I feel as if I had escaped from a mad
and furious master. His words have often occurred to my mind since,
and they seem as good to me now as at the time when he uttered them.
For certainly old age has a great sense of calm and freedom;
when the passions relax their hold, then, as Sophocles says,
we are freed from the grasp not of one mad master only, but of many.
The truth is, Socrates, that these regrets, and also the complaints
about relations, are to be attributed to the same cause, which is
not old age, but men's characters and tempers; for he who is
of a calm and happy nature will hardly feel the pressure of age,
but to him who is of an opposite disposition youth and age are equally
a burden.
I listened in
admiration, and wanting to
draw him out, that he
might go on--Yes, Cephalus, I said: but I rather suspect that
people in general are not convinced by you when you speak thus;
they think that old age sits lightly upon you, not because of your
happy disposition, but because you are rich, and wealth is well
known to be a great comforter.
You are right,
he replied; they are not convinced:
and there is
something in what they say; not, however, so much as they imagine.
I might answer them as Themistocles answered the Seriphian who was
abusing him and saying that he was famous, not for his own merits
but because he was an Athenian: `If you had been a native of my
country or I of yours, neither of us would have been famous.'
And to those who are not rich and are impatient of old age,
the same reply may be made; for to the good poor man old age
cannot be a light burden, nor can a bad rich man ever have peace
with himself.
May I ask, Cephalus,
whether your fortune was for
the most part
inherited or acquired by you?
Acquired! Socrates;
do you want to know how much
I acquired? In the art
of making money I have been midway between my father and grandfather:
for my grandfather, whose name I bear, doubled and trebled the value
of his patrimony, that which he inherited being much what I possess now;
but my father Lysanias reduced the property below what it is at present:
and I shall be satisfied if I leave to these my sons not less
but a little more than I received.
That was why
I asked you the question, I
replied, because I see
that you are indifferent about money, which is a characteristic
rather of those who have inherited their fortunes than of those
who have acquired them; the makers of fortunes have a second love
of money as a creation of their own, resembling the affection
of authors for their own poems, or of parents for their children,
besides that natural love of it for the sake of use and profit which
is common to them and all men. And hence they are very bad company,
for they can talk about nothing but the praises of wealth.
That is true, he said.
Yes, that is
very true, but may I ask another
question?
What do you consider to be the greatest blessing which you have
reaped from your wealth?
One, he said,
of which I could not expect
easily to convince others.
For let me tell you, Socrates, that when a man thinks himself to be
near death, fears and cares enter into his mind which he never had before;
the tales of a world below and the punishment which is exacted
there of deeds done here were once a laughing matter to him,
but now he is tormented with the thought that they may be true:
either from the weakness of age, or because he is now drawing
nearer to that other place, he has a clearer view of these things;
suspicions and alarms crowd thickly upon him, and he begins
to reflect and consider what wrongs he has done to others.
And when he finds that the sum of his transgressions is great he
will many a time like a child start up in his sleep for fear,
and he is filled with dark forebodings. But to him who is conscious
of no sin, sweet hope, as Pindar charmingly says, is the kind nurse of
his age:
Hope, he says,
cherishes the soul of him who
lives in
justice and holiness and is the nurse of his age and the
companion of his journey;--hope which is mightiest to sway
the restless soul of man.
How admirable
are his words! And the great
blessing of riches, I do not
say to every man, but to a good man, is, that he has had no occasion
to deceive or to defraud others, either intentionally or unintentionally;
and when he departs to the world below he is not in any apprehension
about offerings due to the gods or debts which he owes to men.
Now to this peace of mind the possession of wealth greatly contributes;
and therefore I say, that, setting one thing against another,
of the many advantages which wealth has to give, to a man of sense this
is in my opinion the greatest.
Well said, Cephalus,
I replied; but as concerning
justice, what is it?--
to speak the truth and to pay your debts--no more than this?
And even to this are there not exceptions? Suppose that a friend
when in his right mind has deposited arms with me and he asks for them
when he is not in his right mind, ought I to give them back to him?
No one would say that I ought or that I should be right in doing so,
any more than they would say that I ought always to speak the truth to one
who is in his condition.
You are quite
right, he replied.
But then, I
said, speaking the truth and
paying your debts is not
a correct definition of justice.
CEPHALUS - SOCRATES
- POLEMARCHUS
Quite correct,
Socrates, if Simonides is to
be believed,
said Polemarchus interposing.
I fear, said
Cephalus, that I must go now,
for I have to look
after the sacrifices, and I hand over the argument to Polemarchus
and the company.
Is not Polemarchus
your heir? I said.
To be sure,
he answered, and went away
laughing to the sacrifices.
SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS
Tell me then,
O thou heir of the argument,
what did Simonides say,
and according to you truly say, about justice?
He said that
the repayment of a debt is
just, and in saying so he
appears to me to be right.
I should be
sorry to doubt the word of
such a wise and inspired man,
but his meaning, though probably clear to you, is the reverse of
clear to me. For he certainly does not mean, as we were now saying
that I ought to return a return a deposit of arms or of anything
else to one who asks for it when he is not in his right senses;
and yet a deposit cannot be denied to be a debt.
True.
Then when the
person who asks me is not in
his right mind I am
by no means to make the return?
Certainly not.
When Simonides
said that the repayment of
a debt was justice,
he did not mean to include that case?
Certainly not;
for he thinks that a friend
ought always to do
good to a friend and never evil.
You mean that
the return of a deposit of
gold which is to the injury
of the receiver, if the two parties are friends, is not the repayment
of a debt,--that is what you would imagine him to say?
Yes.
And are enemies
also to receive what we owe
to them?
To be sure,
he said, they are to receive
what we owe them, and an enemy,
as I take it, owes to an enemy that which is due or proper to him--
that is to say, evil.
Simonides, then,
after the manner of poets,
would seem to have
spoken darkly of the nature of justice; for he really meant to say
that justice is the giving to each man what is proper to him,
and this he termed a debt.
That must have
been his meaning, he said.
By heaven! I
replied; and if we asked him
what due or proper thing
is given by medicine, and to whom, what answer do you think that he
would make to us?
He would surely
reply that medicine gives drugs
and meat and drink
to human bodies.
And what due
or proper thing is given by
cookery, and to what?
Seasoning to
food.
And what is
that which justice gives, and
to whom?
If, Socrates,
we are to be guided at all
by the analogy of the preceding instances,
then justice is the art which gives good to friends and evil to enemies.
That is his
meaning then?
I think so.
And who is best
able to do good to his friends
and evil to his
enemies in time of sickness?
The physician.
Or when they
are on a voyage, amid the perils
of the sea?
The pilot.
And in what
sort of actions or with a view
to what result is the just
man most able to do harm to his enemy and good to his friends?
In going to
war against the one and in
making alliances with the other.
But when a man
is well, my dear Polemarchus,
there is no need
of a physician?
No.
And he who is
not on a voyage has no need
of a pilot?
No.
Then in time
of peace justice will be of
no use?
I am very far
from thinking so.
You think that
justice may be of use in peace
as well as in war?
Yes.
Like husbandry
for the acquisition of corn?
Yes.
Or like shoemaking
for the acquisition of shoes,--that
is what you mean?
Yes.
And what similar
use or power of acquisition
has justice in time
of peace?
In contracts,
Socrates, justice is of use.
And by contracts
you mean partnerships?
Exactly.
But is the just
man or the skilful player a
more useful and better
partner at a game of draughts?
The skilful
player.
And in the laying
of bricks and stones is the
just man a more useful
or better partner than the builder?
Quite the reverse.
Then in what
sort of partnership is the
just man a better partner
than the harp-player, as in playing the harp the harp-player
is certainly a better partner than the just man?
In a money partnership.
Yes, Polemarchus,
but surely not in the use of
money; for you do not
want a just man to be your counsellor the purchase or sale of a horse;
a man who is knowing about horses would be better for that,
would he not?
Certainly.
And when you
want to buy a ship, the shipwright
or the pilot would
be better?
True.
Then what is
that joint use of silver or
gold in which the just man
is to be preferred?
When you want
a deposit to be kept safely.
You mean when
money is not wanted, but allowed
to lie?
Precisely.
That is to say,
justice is useful when money
is useless?
That is the
inference.
And when you
want to keep a pruning-hook
safe, then justice is useful
to the individual and to the state; but when you want to use it,
then the art of the vine-dresser?
Clearly.
And when you
want to keep a shield or a
lyre, and not to use them,
you would say that justice is useful; but when you want to use them,
then the art of the soldier or of the musician?
Certainly.
And so of all
the other things;--justice
is useful when they
are useless, and useless when they are useful?
That is the
inference.
Then justice
is not good for much. But let
us consider this
further point: Is not he who can best strike a blow in a boxing
match or in any kind of fighting best able to ward off a blow?
Certainly.
And he who is
most skilful in preventing
or escaping from a disease
is best able to create one?
True.
And he is the
best guard of a camp who is
best able to steal a march
upon the enemy?
Certainly.
Then he who
is a good keeper of anything
is also a good thief?
That, I suppose,
is to be inferred.
Then if the
just man is good at keeping
money, he is good at stealing
it.
That is implied
in the argument.
Then after all
the just man has turned out
to be a thief.
And this is a lesson which I suspect you must have learnt out of Homer;
for he, speaking of Autolycus, the maternal grandfather of Odysseus,
who is a favourite of his, affirms that
He was excellent
above all men in theft and
perjury.
And so, you
and Homer and Simonides are
agreed that justice is
an art of theft; to be practised however `for the good of friends
and for the harm of enemies,'--that was what you were saying?
No, certainly
not that, though I do not now
know what I did say;
but I still stand by the latter words.
Well, there
is another question: By friends
and enemies do we mean
those who are so really, or only in seeming?
Surely, he said,
a man may be expected to love
those whom he
thinks good, and to hate those whom he thinks evil.
Yes, but do
not persons often err about
good and evil:
many who are not good seem to be so, and conversely?
That is true.
Then to them
the good will be enemies and
the evil
will be their friends? True.
And in that
case they will be right in
doing good to the evil
and evil to the good?
Clearly.
But the good
are just and would not do an
injustice?
True.
Then according
to your argument it is just
to injure those who do
no wrong?
Nay, Socrates;
the doctrine is immoral.
Then I suppose
that we ought to do good to
the just and harm
to the unjust?
I like that
better.
But see the
consequence:--Many a man who
is ignorant of human nature
has friends who are bad friends, and in that case he ought to do harm
to them; and he has good enemies whom he ought to benefit; but, if so,
we shall be saying the very opposite of that which we affirmed
to be the meaning of Simonides.
Very true, he
said: and I think that we had
better correct an error
into which we seem to have fallen in the use of the words `friend'
and `enemy.'
What was the
error, Polemarchus? I asked.
We assumed that
he is a friend who seems to
be or who is thought good.
And how is the
error to be corrected?
We should rather
say that he is a friend who
is, as well
as seems, good; and that he who seems only, and is not good,
only seems to be and is not a friend; and of an enemy the same may be said.
You would argue
that the good are our friends
and the bad our enemies?
Yes.
And instead
of saying simply as we did
at first, that it is just to
do
good to our friends and harm to our enemies, we should further say:
It is just to do good to our friends when they are good and harm
to our enemies when they are evil?
Yes, that appears
to me to be the truth.
But ought the
just to injure any one at all?
Undoubtedly
he ought to injure those who
are both wicked and his enemies.
When horses
are injured, are they improved
or deteriorated?
The latter.
Deteriorated,
that is to say, in the good
qualities of horses,
not of dogs?
Yes, of horses.
And dogs are
deteriorated in the good qualities
of dogs, and not
of horses?
Of course.
And will not
men who are injured be deteriorated
in that which is
the proper virtue of man?
Certainly.
And that human
virtue is justice?
To be sure.
Then men who
are injured are of necessity
made unjust?
That is the
result.
But can the
musician by his art make men
unmusical?
Certainly not.
Or the horseman
by his art make them bad horsemen?
Impossible.
And can the
just by justice make men unjust,
or speaking general
can the good by virtue make them bad?
Assuredly not.
Any more than
heat can produce cold?
It cannot.
Or drought moisture?
Clearly not.
Nor can the
good harm any one?
Impossible.
And the just
is the good?
Certainly.
Then to injure
a friend or any one else is
not the act of a just man,
but of the opposite, who is the unjust?
I think that
what you say is quite true,
Socrates.
Then if a man
says that justice consists
in the repayment of debts,
and that good is the debt which a man owes to his friends, and evil
the debt which he owes to his enemies,--to say this is not wise;
for it is not true, if, as has been clearly shown, the injuring of
another can be in no case just.
I agree with
you, said Polemarchus.
Then you and
I are prepared to take up arms
against any one
who attributes such a saying to Simonides or Bias or Pittacus,
or any other wise man or seer?
I am quite ready
to do battle at your side,
he said.
Shall I tell
you whose I believe the saying
to be?
Whose?
I believe that
Periander or Perdiccas or Xerxes
or Ismenias
the Theban, or some other rich and mighty man, who had a great
opinion of his own power, was the first to say that justice
is `doing good to your friends and harm to your enemies.'
Most true, he
said.
Yes, I said;
but if this definition of justice
also breaks down,
what other can be offered?
Several times
in the course of the discussion
Thrasymachus had made
an attempt to get the argument into his own hands, and had been
put down by the rest of the company, who wanted to hear the end.
But when Polemarchus and I had done speaking and there was a pause,
he could no longer hold his peace; and, gathering himself up,
he came at us like a wild beast, seeking to devour us. We were quite
panic-stricken at the sight of him.
SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS
- THRASYMACHUS
He roared out
to the whole company: What
folly. Socrates, has taken
possession of you all? And why, sillybillies, do you knock under to
one another? I say that if you want really to know what justice is,
you should not only ask but answer, and you should not seek honour
to yourself from the refutation of an opponent, but have your own answer;
for there is many a one who can ask and cannot answer. And now I
will not have you say that justice is duty or advantage or profit
or gain or interest, for this sort of nonsense will not do for me;
I must have clearness and accuracy.
I was panic-stricken
at his words, and could not
look at him
without trembling. Indeed I believe that if I had not fixed my eye
upon him, I should have been struck dumb: but when I saw his fury rising,
I looked at him first, and was therefore able to reply to him.
Thrasymachus,
I said, with a quiver, don't
be hard upon us.
Polemarchus and I may have been guilty of a little mistake in
the argument, but I can assure you that the error was not intentional.
If we were seeking for a piece of gold, you would not imagine
that we were `knocking under to one another,' and so losing our
chance of finding it. And why, when we are seeking for justice,
a thing more precious than many pieces of gold, do you say that we
are weakly yielding to one another and not doing our utmost
to get at the truth? Nay, my good friend, we are most willing
and anxious to do so, but the fact is that we cannot. And if so,
you people who know all things should pity us and not be angry
with us.
How characteristic
of Socrates! he replied, with
a bitter laugh;--
that's your ironical style! Did I not foresee--have I not already
told you, that whatever he was asked he would refuse to answer,
and try irony or any other shuffle, in order that he might
avoid answering?
You are a philosopher,
Thrasymachus, I replied, and
well
know that if you ask a person what numbers make up twelve,
taking care to prohibit him whom you ask from answering twice six,
or three times four, or six times two, or four times three,
`for this sort of nonsense will not do for me,'--then obviously,
that is your way of putting the question, no one can answer you.
But suppose that he were to retort, `Thrasymachus, what do you mean?
If one of these numbers which you interdict be the true answer
to the question, am I falsely to say some other number which is
not the right one?--is that your meaning?' --How would you
answer him?
Just as if the
two cases were at all alike!
he said.
Why should they
not be? I replied; and even
if they are not,
but only appear to be so to the person who is asked, ought he not
to say what he thinks, whether you and I forbid him or not?
I presume then
that you are going to make
one of the interdicted answers?
I dare say that
I may, notwithstanding the
danger, if upon reflection
I approve of any of them.
But what if
I give you an answer about
justice other and better,
he said, than any of these? What do you deserve to have done
to you?
Done to me!--as
becomes the ignorant, I must
learn from the wise--
that is what I deserve to have done to me.
What, and no
payment! a pleasant notion!
I will pay when
I have the money, I replied.
SOCRATES - THRASYMACHUS
- GLAUCON
But you have,
Socrates, said Glaucon: and
you, Thrasymachus, need be
under no anxiety about money, for we will all make a contribution
for Socrates.
Yes, he replied,
and then Socrates will do as
he always does--
refuse to answer himself, but take and pull to pieces the answer
of some one else.
Why, my good
friend, I said, how can any
one answer who knows,
and says that he knows, just nothing; and who, even if he has some faint
notions of his own, is told by a man of authority not to utter them?
The natural thing is, that the speaker should be some one like
yourself who professes to know and can tell what he knows.
Will you then kindly answer, for the edification of the company
and of myself ?
Glaucon and
the rest of the company joined
in my request and Thrasymachus,
as any one might see, was in reality eager to speak; for he thought
that he had an excellent answer, and would distinguish himself.
But at first he to insist on my answering; at length he consented
to begin. Behold, he said, the wisdom of Socrates; he refuses
to teach himself, and goes about learning of others, to whom he
never even says thank you.
That I learn
of others, I replied, is quite
true; but that I am ungrateful
I wholly deny. Money I have none, and therefore I pay in praise,
which is all I have: and how ready I am to praise any one who appears
to me to speak well you will very soon find out when you answer;
for I expect that you will answer well.
Listen, then,
he said; I proclaim that justice
is nothing else
than the interest of the stronger. And now why do you not me?
But of course you won't.
Let me first
understand you, I replied.
justice, as you say, is the
interest of the stronger. What, Thrasymachus, is the meaning of this?
You cannot mean to say that because Polydamas, the pancratiast,
is stronger than we are, and finds the eating of beef conducive
to his bodily strength, that to eat beef is therefore equally
for our good who are weaker than he is, and right and just for us?
That's abominable
of you, Socrates; you take
the words in the sense
which is most damaging to the argument.
Not at all,
my good sir, I said; I am trying
to understand them;
and I wish that you would be a little clearer.
Well, he said,
have you never heard that forms
of government differ;
there are tyrannies, and there are democracies, and there
are aristocracies?
Yes, I know.
And the government
is the ruling power in each
state?
Certainly.
And the different
forms of government make laws
democratical,
aristocratical, tyrannical, with a view to their several interests;
and these laws, which are made by them for their own interests,
are the justice which they deliver to their subjects, and him who
transgresses them they punish as a breaker of the law, and unjust.
And that is what I mean when I say that in all states there is the same
principle of justice, which is the interest of the government;
and as the government must be supposed to have power, the only reasonable
conclusion is, that everywhere there is one principle of justice,
which is the interest of the stronger.
Now I understand
you, I said; and whether you
are right or not I
will try to discover. But let me remark, that in defining justice you
have yourself used the word `interest' which you forbade me to use.
It is true, however, that in your definition the words `of the stronger'
are added.
A small addition,
you must allow, he said.
Great or small,
never mind about that: we must
first enquire whether
what you are saying is the truth. Now we are both agreed that justice
is interest of some sort, but you go on to say `of the stronger';
about this addition I am not so sure, and must therefore consider further.
Proceed.
I will; and
first tell me, Do you admit
that it is just or subjects
to obey their rulers?
I do.
But are the
rulers of states absolutely
infallible, or are they
sometimes liable to err?
To be sure,
he replied, they are liable
to err.
Then in making
their laws they may sometimes
make them rightly,
and sometimes not?
True.
When they make
them rightly, they make them
agreeably to their interest;
when they are mistaken, contrary to their interest; you admit that?
Yes.
And the laws
which they make must be obeyed
by their subjects,--
and that is what you call justice?
Doubtless.
Then justice,
according to your argument,
is not only obedience
to the interest of the stronger but the reverse?
What is that
you are saying? he asked.
I am only repeating
what you are saying, I believe.
But let us consider:
Have we not admitted that the rulers may be mistaken about their own
interest in what they command, and also that to obey them is justice?
Has not that been admitted?
Yes.
Then you must
also have acknowledged justice
not to be for the interest
of the stronger, when the rulers unintentionally command things
to be done which are to their own injury. For if, as you say,
justice is the obedience which the subject renders to their commands,
in that case, O wisest of men, is there any escape from the conclusion
that the weaker are commanded to do, not what is for the interest,
but what is for the injury of the stronger?
Nothing can
be clearer, Socrates, said
Polemarchus.
SOCRATES - CLEITOPHON
- POLEMARCHUS - THRASYMACHUS
Yes, said Cleitophon,
interposing, if you are allowed
to be his witness.
But there is
no need of any witness, said
Polemarchus, for Thrasymachus
himself acknowledges that rulers may sometimes command what is not
for their own interest, and that for subjects to obey them is justice.
Yes, Polemarchus,--Thrasymachus
said that for subjects to do
what was commanded by their rulers is just.
Yes, Cleitophon,
but he also said that justice
is the interest
of the stronger, and, while admitting both these propositions,
he further acknowledged that the stronger may command the weaker
who are his subjects to do what is not for his own interest;
whence follows that justice is the injury quite as much as the interest
of the stronger.
But, said Cleitophon,
he meant by the interest of
the stronger
what the stronger thought to be his interest,--this was what
the weaker had to do; and this was affirmed by him to be justice.
Those were not
his words, rejoined Polemarchus.
SOCRATES - THRASYMACHUS
Never mind,
I replied, if he now says that
they are, let us
accept his statement. Tell me, Thrasymachus, I said, did you
mean by justice what the stronger thought to be his interest,
whether really so or not?
Certainly not,
he said. Do you suppose that
I call him who is
mistaken the stronger at the time when he is mistaken?
Yes, I said,
my impression was that you
did so, when you admitted
that the ruler was not infallible but might be sometimes mistaken.
You argue like
an informer, Socrates. Do you
mean, for example,
that he who is mistaken about the sick is a physician in that he is
mistaken? or that he who errs in arithmetic or grammar is an arithmetician
or grammarian at the me when he is making the mistake, in respect
of the mistake? True, we say that the physician or arithmetician
or grammarian has made a mistake, but this is only a way of speaking;
for the fact is that neither the grammarian nor any other person
of skill ever makes a mistake in so far as he is what his name implies;
they none of them err unless their skill fails them, and then
they cease to be skilled artists. No artist or sage or ruler
errs at the time when he is what his name implies; though he is
commonly said to err, and I adopted the common mode of speaking.
But to be perfectly accurate, since you are such a lover of accuracy,
we should say that the ruler, in so far as he is the ruler,
is unerring, and, being unerring, always commands that which is for his
own interest; and the subject is required to execute his commands;
and therefore, as I said at first and now repeat, justice is the interest
of the stronger.
Indeed, Thrasymachus,
and do I really appear to you
to argue
like an informer?
Certainly, he
replied.
And you suppose
that I ask these questions
with any design
of injuring you in the argument?
Nay, he replied,
`suppose' is not the word--I
know it; but you will
be found out, and by sheer force of argument you will never prevail.
I shall not
make the attempt, my dear man;
but to avoid any misunderstanding
occurring between us in future, let me ask, in what sense do you
speak of a ruler or stronger whose interest, as you were saying,
he being the superior, it is just that the inferior should execute--
is he a ruler in the popular or in the strict sense of the term?
In the strictest
of all senses, he said. And
now cheat and play
the informer if you can; I ask no quarter at your hands.
But you never will be able, never.
And do you imagine,
I said, that I am such a madman
as to try
and cheat, Thrasymachus? I might as well shave a lion.
Why, he said,
you made the attempt a minute
ago, and you failed.
Enough, I said,
of these civilities. It will
be better that I should
ask you a question: Is the physician, taken in that strict sense
of which you are speaking, a healer of the sick or a maker of money?
And remember that I am now speaking of the true physician.
A healer of
the sick, he replied.
And the pilot--that
is to say, the true pilot--is
he a captain
of sailors or a mere sailor?
A captain of
sailors.
The circumstance
that he sails in the ship is
not to be taken
into account; neither is he to be called a sailor; the name pilot
by which he is distinguished has nothing to do with sailing,
but is significant of his skill and of his authority over the sailors.
Very true, he
said.
Now, I said,
every art has an interest?
Certainly.
For which the
art has to consider and provide?
Yes, that is
the aim of art.
And the interest
of any art is the perfection
of it--this and
nothing else?
What do you
mean?
I mean what
I may illustrate negatively
by the example of the body.
Suppose you were to ask me whether the body is self-sufficing
or has wants, I should reply: Certainly the body has wants;
for the body may be ill and require to be cured, and has therefore
interests to which the art of medicine ministers; and this is
the origin and intention of medicine, as you will acknowledge.
Am I not right?
Quite right,
he replied.
But is the art
of medicine or any other art
faulty or deficient
in any quality in the same way that the eye may be deficient
in sight or the ear fail of hearing, and therefore requires
another art to provide for the interests of seeing and hearing--
has art in itself, I say, any similar liability to fault or defect,
and does every art require another supplementary art to provide
for its interests, and that another and another without end?
Or have the arts to look only after their own interests? Or have they
no need either of themselves or of another?--having no faults or defects,
they have no need to correct them, either by the exercise of their
own art or of any other; they have only to consider the interest
of their subject-matter. For every art remains pure and faultless
while remaining true--that is to say, while perfect and unimpaired.
Take the words in your precise sense, and tell me whether I am
not right."
Yes, clearly.
Then medicine
does not consider the interest
of medicine,
but the interest of the body?
True, he said.
Nor does the
art of horsemanship consider
the interests
of the art of horsemanship, but the interests of the horse;
neither do any other arts care for themselves, for they have no needs;
they care only for that which is the subject of their art?
True, he said.
But surely,
Thrasymachus, the arts are
the superiors and rulers
of their own subjects?
To this he assented
with a good deal of reluctance.
Then, I said,
no science or art considers
or enjoins the interest
of the stronger or superior, but only the interest of the subject
and weaker?
He made an attempt
to contest this proposition
also, but finally acquiesced.
Then, I continued,
no physician, in so far as
he is a physician,
considers his own good in what he prescribes, but the good
of his patient; for the true physician is also a ruler having
the human body as a subject, and is not a mere money-maker;
that has been admitted?
Yes.
And the pilot
likewise, in the strict sense
of the term, is a ruler
of sailors and not a mere sailor?
That has been
admitted.
And such a pilot
and ruler will provide and
prescribe for the interest
of the sailor who is under him, and not for his own or the ruler's interest?
He gave a reluctant
`Yes.'
Then, I said,
Thrasymachus, there is no one
in any rule who, in so far
as he is a ruler, considers or enjoins what is for his own interest,
but always what is for the interest of his subject or suitable to his art;
to that he looks, and that alone he considers in everything which he
says and does.
When we had
got to this point in the argument,
and every one saw
that the definition of justice had been completely upset, Thrasymachus,
instead of replying to me, said: Tell me, Socrates, have you got a nurse?
Why do you ask
such a question, I said, when
you ought rather
to be answering?
Because she
leaves you to snivel, and never
wipes your nose:
she has not even taught you to know the shepherd from the sheep.
What makes you
say that? I replied.
Because you
fancy that the shepherd or
neatherd fattens of tends the
sheep
or oxen with a view to their own good and not to the good of himself
or his master; and you further imagine that the rulers of states,
if they are true rulers, never think of their subjects as sheep,
and that they are not studying their own advantage day and night.
Oh, no; and so entirely astray are you in your ideas about the just
and unjust as not even to know that justice and the just are in
reality another's good; that is to say, the interest of the ruler
and stronger, and the loss of the subject and servant; and injustice
the opposite; for the unjust is lord over the truly simple and just:
he is the stronger, and his subjects do what is for his interest,
and minister to his happiness, which is very far from being their own.
Consider further, most foolish Socrates, that the just is always a loser
in comparison with the unjust. First of all, in private contracts:
wherever the unjust is the partner of the just you will find that,
when the partnership is dissolved, the unjust man has always more
and the just less. Secondly, in their dealings with the State:
when there is an income tax, the just man will pay more and
the unjust less on the same amount of income; and when there is
anything to be received the one gains nothing and the other much.
Observe also what happens when they take an office; there is the just
man neglecting his affairs and perhaps suffering other losses,
and getting nothing out of the public, because he is just;
moreover he is hated by his friends and acquaintance for refusing
to serve them in unlawful ways. But all this is reversed in the case
of the unjust man. I am speaking, as before, of injustice on a
large scale in which the advantage of the unjust is more apparent;
and my meaning will be most clearly seen if we turn to that highest
form of injustice in which the criminal is the happiest of men,
and the sufferers or those who refuse to do injustice are the
most miserable--that is to say tyranny, which by fraud and force takes
away the property of others, not little by little but wholesale;
comprehending in one, things sacred as well as profane, private and public;
for which acts of wrong, if he were detected perpetrating any one
of them singly, he would be punished and incur great disgrace--
they who do such wrong in particular cases are called robbers
of temples, and man-stealers and burglars and swindlers and thieves.
But when a man besides taking away the money of the citizens has
made slaves of them, then, instead of these names of reproach,
he is termed happy and blessed, not only by the citizens but by all
who hear of his having achieved the consummation of injustice.
For mankind censure injustice, fearing that they may be the victims
of it and not because they shrink from committing it. And thus,
as I have shown, Socrates, injustice, when on a sufficient scale,
has more strength and freedom and mastery than justice; and, as I said
at first, justice is the interest of the stronger, whereas injustice
is a man's own profit and interest.
Thrasymachus,
when he had thus spoken, having,
like a bathman,
deluged our ears with his words, had a mind to go away. But the company
would not let him; they insisted that he should remain and defend
his position; and I myself added my own humble request that he
would not leave us. Thrasymachus, I said to him, excellent man,
how suggestive are your remarks! And are you going to run away
before you have fairly taught or learned whether they are true or not?
Is the attempt to determine the way of man's life so small a matter
in your eyes--to determine how life may be passed by each one of us
to the greatest advantage?
And do I differ
from you, he said, as to the
importance of the enquiry?
You appear rather,
I replied, to have no care
or thought about us,
Thrasymachus--whether we live better or worse from not knowing what you
say you know, is to you a matter of indifference. Prithee, friend,
do not keep your knowledge to yourself; we are a large party;
and any benefit which you confer upon us will be amply rewarded.
For my own part I openly declare that I am not convinced, and that I
do not believe injustice to be more gainful than justice, even if
uncontrolled and allowed to have free play. For, granting that there
may be an unjust man who is able to commit injustice either by fraud
or force, still this does not convince me of the superior advantage
of injustice, and there may be others who are in the same predicament
with myself. Perhaps we may be wrong; if so, you in your wisdom
should convince us that we are mistaken in preferring justice to injustice.
And how am I
to convince you, he said, if
you are not already
convinced by what I have just said; what more can I do for you?
Would you have me put the proof bodily into your souls?
Heaven forbid!
I said; I would only ask you
to be consistent;
or, if you change, change openly and let there be no deception.
For I must remark, Thrasymachus, if you will recall what was previously said,
that although you began by defining the true physician in an exact sense,
you did not observe a like exactness when speaking of the shepherd;
you thought that the shepherd as a shepherd tends the sheep not
with a view to their own good, but like a mere diner or banqueter
with a view to the pleasures of the table; or, again, as a trader
for sale in the market, and not as a shepherd. Yet surely the art
of the shepherd is concerned only with the good of his subjects;
he has only to provide the best for them, since the perfection of the art
is already ensured whenever all the requirements of it are satisfied.
And that was what I was saying just now about the ruler. I conceived
that the art of the ruler, considered as ruler, whether in a state
or in private life, could only regard the good of his flock or subjects;
whereas you seem to think that the rulers in states, that is to say,
the true rulers, like being in authority.
Think! Nay,
I am sure of it.
Then why in
the case of lesser offices
do men never take them
willingly without payment, unless under the idea that they govern
for the advantage not of themselves but of others? Let me ask you
a question: Are not the several arts different, by reason of their
each having a separate function? And, my dear illustrious friend,
do say what you think, that we may make a little progress.
Yes, that is
the difference, he replied.
And each art
gives us a particular good
and not merely a general one--
medicine, for example, gives us health; navigation, safety at sea,
and so on?
Yes, he said.
And the art
of payment has the special
function of giving pay:
but we do not confuse this with other arts, any more than
the art of the pilot is to be confused with the art of medicine,
because the health of the pilot may be improved by a sea voyage.
You would not be inclined to say, would you, that navigation is
the art of medicine, at least if we are to adopt your exact use
of language?
Certainly not.
Or because a
man is in good health when
he receives pay you would
not say that the art of payment is medicine?
I should say
not.
Nor would you
say that medicine is the art
of receiving pay
because a man takes fees when he is engaged in healing?
Certainly not.
And we have
admitted, I said, that the
good of each art is specially
confined to the art?
Yes.
Then, if there
be any good which all artists
have in common,
that is to be attributed to something of which they all have
the common use?
True, he replied.
And when the
artist is benefited by receiving
pay the advantage
is gained by an additional use of the art of pay, which is not
the art professed by him?
He gave a reluctant
assent to this.
Then the pay
is not derived by the several
artists from their
respective arts. But the truth is, that while the art of medicine
gives health, and the art of the builder builds a house, another art
attends them which is the art of pay. The various arts may be doing
their own business and benefiting that over which they preside,
but would the artist receive any benefit from his art unless he
were paid as well?
I suppose not.
But does he
therefore confer no benefit
when he works for nothing?
Certainly, he
confers a benefit.
Then now, Thrasymachus,
there is no longer any doubt
that neither
arts nor governments provide for their own interests; but, as we
were before saying, they rule and provide for the interests
of their subjects who are the weaker and not the stronger--
to their good they attend and not to the good of the superior.
And this is
the reason, my dear Thrasymachus,
why, as I was just
now saying, no one is willing to govern; because no one likes
to take in hand the reformation of evils which are not his
concern without remuneration. For, in the execution of his work,
and in giving his orders to another, the true artist does
not regard his own interest, but always that of his subjects;
and therefore in order that rulers may be willing to rule,
they must be paid in one of three modes of payment: money, or honour,
or a penalty for refusing.
SOCRATES - GLAUCON
What do you
mean, Socrates? said Glaucon.
The first two modes
of payment are intelligible enough, but what the penalty is I
do not understand, or how a penalty can be a payment.
You mean that
you do not understand the nature
of this payment
which to the best men is the great inducement to rule? Of course you
know that ambition and avarice are held to be, as indeed they are,
a disgrace?
Very true.
And for this
reason, I said, money and honour
have no attraction for them;
good men do not wish to be openly demanding payment for governing
and so to get the name of hirelings, nor by secretly helping
themselves out of the public revenues to get the name of thieves.
And not being ambitious they do not care about honour.
Wherefore necessity must be laid upon them, and they must
be induced to serve from the fear of punishment. And this,
as I imagine, is the reason why the forwardness to take office,
instead of waiting to be compelled, has been deemed dishonourable.
Now the worst part of the punishment is that he who refuses
to rule is liable to be ruled by one who is worse than himself.
And the fear of this, as I conceive, induces the good to take office,
not because they would, but because they cannot help--not under the idea
that they are going to have any benefit or enjoyment themselves,
but as a necessity, and because they are not able to commit
the task of ruling to any one who is better than themselves,
or indeed as good. For there is reason to think that if a city
were composed entirely of good men, then to avoid office would be
as much an object of contention as to obtain office is at present;
then we should have plain proof that the true ruler is not meant
by nature to regard his own interest, but that of his subjects;
and every one who knew this would choose rather to receive
a benefit from another than to have the trouble of conferring one.
So far am I from agreeing with Thrasymachus that justice is the
interest of the stronger. This latter question need not be further
discussed at present; but when Thrasymachus says that the life
of the unjust is more advantageous than that of the just, his new
statement appears to me to be of a far more serious character.
Which of us has spoken truly? And which sort of life, Glaucon,
do you prefer?
I for my part
deem the life of the just to
be the more advantageous,
he answered.
Did you hear
all the advantages of the unjust
which Thrasymachus
was rehearsing?
Yes, I heard
him, he replied, but he has
not convinced me.
Then shall we
try to find some way of convincing
him, if we can,
that he is saying what is not true?
Most certainly,
he replied.
If, I said,
he makes a set speech and we
make another recounting
all the advantages of being just, and he answers and we rejoin,
there must be a numbering and measuring of the goods which are claimed
on either side, and in the end we shall want judges to decide;
but if we proceed in our enquiry as we lately did, by making admissions
to one another, we shall unite the offices of judge and advocate
in our own persons.
Very good, he
said.
And which method
do I understand you to prefer?
I said.
That which you
propose.
Well, then,
Thrasymachus, I said, suppose
you begin at the beginning
and answer me. You say that perfect injustice is more gainful
than perfect justice?
SOCRATES - GLAUCON
- THRASYMACHUS
Yes, that is
what I say, and I have given
you my reasons.
And what is
your view about them? Would
you call one of them
virtue and the other vice?
Certainly.
I suppose that
you would call justice virtue
and injustice vice?
What a charming
notion! So likely too, seeing
that I affirm
injustice to be profitable and justice not.
What else then
would you say?
The opposite,
he replied.
And would you
call justice vice?
No, I would
rather say sublime simplicity.
Then would you
call injustice malignity?
No; I would
rather say discretion.
And do the unjust
appear to you to be wise and
good?
Yes, he said;
at any rate those of them who
are able to be perfectly
unjust, and who have the power of subduing states and nations;
but perhaps you imagine me to be talking of cutpurses.
Even this profession
if undetected has advantages,
though they
are not to be compared with those of which I was just now speaking.
I do not think
that I misapprehend your meaning,
Thrasymachus, I replied;
but still I cannot hear without amazement that you class injustice
with wisdom and virtue, and justice with the opposite.
Certainly I
do so class them.
Now, I said,
you are on more substantial
and almost unanswerable ground;
for if the injustice which you were maintaining to be profitable
had been admitted by you as by others to be vice and deformity,
an answer might have been given to you on received principles;
but now I perceive that you will call injustice honourable and strong,
and to the unjust you will attribute all the qualities which were
attributed by us before to the just, seeing that you do not hesitate to
rank injustice with wisdom and virtue.
You have guessed
most infallibly, he replied.
Then I certainly
ought not to shrink from going
through
with the argument so long as I have reason to think that you,
Thrasymachus, are speaking your real mind; for I do believe
that you are now in earnest and are not amusing yourself at our expense.
I may be in
earnest or not, but what is
that to you?--to refute
the argument is your business.
Very true, I
said; that is what I have to
do: But will you
be so good as answer yet one more question? Does the just man
try to gain any advantage over the just?
Far otherwise;
if he did would not be the
simple, amusing creature
which he is.
And would he
try to go beyond just action?
He would not.
And how would
he regard the attempt to gain
an advantage over the unjust;
would that be considered by him as just or unjust?
He would think
it just, and would try to gain
the advantage;
but he would not be able.
Whether he would
or would not be able, I said,
is not to the point.
My question is only whether the just man, while refusing to have
more than another just man, would wish and claim to have more than
the unjust?
Yes, he would.
And what of
the unjust--does he claim to
have more than the just
man and to do more than is just
Of course, he
said, for he claims to have
more than all men.
And the unjust
man will strive and struggle
to obtain more than
the unjust man or action, in order that he may have more than all?
True.
We may put the
matter thus, I said--the just
does not desire
more than his like but more than his unlike, whereas the unjust
desires more than both his like and his unlike?
Nothing, he
said, can be better than that
statement.
And the unjust
is good and wise, and the just
is neither?
Good again,
he said.
And is not the
unjust like the wise and good
and the just unlike them?
Of course, he
said, he who is of a certain
nature, is like those
who are of a certain nature; he who is not, not.
Each of them,
I said, is such as his like
is?
Certainly, he
replied.
Very good, Thrasymachus,
I said; and now to take the
case of the arts:
you would admit that one man is a musician and another not a musician?
Yes.
And which is
wise and which is foolish?
Clearly the
musician is wise, and he who
is not a musician is foolish.
And he is good
in as far as he is wise, and
bad in as far as he
is foolish?
Yes.
And you would
say the same sort of thing
of the physician?
Yes.
And do you think,
my excellent friend, that a
musician when he
adjusts the lyre would desire or claim to exceed or go beyond
a musician in the tightening and loosening the strings?
I do not think
that he would.
But he would
claim to exceed the non-musician?
Of course.
And what would
you say of the physician? In
prescribing meats
and drinks would he wish to go beyond another physician or beyond
the practice of medicine?
He would not.
But he would
wish to go beyond the non-physician?
Yes.
And about knowledge
and ignorance in general; see
whether you think
that any man who has knowledge ever would wish to have the choice
of saying or doing more than another man who has knowledge.
Would he not rather say or do the same as his like in the same case?
That, I suppose,
can hardly be denied.
And what of
the ignorant? would he not
desire to have more than
either the knowing or the ignorant?
I dare say.
And the knowing
is wise?
Yes.
And the wise
is good?
True.
Then the wise
and good will not desire to
gain more than his like,
but more than his unlike and opposite?
I suppose so.
Whereas the
bad and ignorant will desire
to gain more than both?
Yes.
But did we not
say, Thrasymachus, that the
unjust goes beyond
both his like and unlike? Were not these your words? They were.
They were.
And you also
said that the lust will not
go beyond his like but his
unlike?
Yes.
Then the just
is like the wise and good,
and the unjust like the evil
and ignorant?
That is the
inference.
And each of
them is such as his like is?
That was admitted.
Then the just
has turned out to be wise and
good and the unjust
evil and ignorant.
Thrasymachus
made all these admissions,
not fluently,
as I repeat them, but with extreme reluctance; it was a hot
summer's day, and the perspiration poured from him in torrents;
and then I saw what I had never seen before, Thrasymachus blushing.
As we were now agreed that justice was virtue and wisdom,
and injustice vice and ignorance, I proceeded to another point:
Well, I said,
Thrasymachus, that matter is
now settled; but were we
not also saying that injustice had strength; do you remember?
Yes, I remember,
he said, but do not suppose
that I approve of what
you are saying or have no answer; if however I were to answer,
you would be quite certain to accuse me of haranguing; therefore either
permit me to have my say out, or if you would rather ask, do so,
and I will answer `Very good,' as they say to story-telling old women,
and will nod `Yes' and `No.'
Certainly not,
I said, if contrary to your
real opinion.
Yes, he said,
I will, to please you, since
you will not let me speak.
What else would you have?
Nothing in the
world, I said; and if you are
so disposed I will ask
and you shall answer.
Proceed.
Then I will
repeat the question which I
asked before,
in order that our examination of the relative nature of justice
and injustice may be carried on regularly. A statement was made
that injustice is stronger and more powerful than justice,
but now justice, having been identified with wisdom and virtue,
is easily shown to be stronger than injustice, if injustice
is ignorance; this can no longer be questioned by any one.
But I want to view the matter, Thrasymachus, in a different way:
You would not deny that a state may be unjust and may be unjustly
attempting to enslave other states, or may have already enslaved them,
and may be holding many of them in subjection?
True, he replied;
and I will add the best and
perfectly unjust
state will be most likely to do so.
I know, I said,
that such was your position;
but what I would further
consider is, whether this power which is possessed by the superior
state can exist or be exercised without justice.
If you are right
in you view, and justice is
wisdom, then only
with justice; but if I am right, then without justice.
I am delighted,
Thrasymachus, to see you not
only nodding assent
and dissent, but making answers which are quite excellent.
That is out
of civility to you, he replied.
You are very
kind, I said; and would you
have the goodness
also to inform me, whether you think that a state, or an army,
or a band of robbers and thieves, or any other gang of evil-doers
could act at all if they injured one another?
No indeed, he
said, they could not.
But if they
abstained from injuring one
another, then they might
act together better?
Yes.
And this is
because injustice creates divisions
and hatreds
and fighting, and justice imparts harmony and friendship;
is not that true, Thrasymachus?
I agree, he
said, because I do not wish
to quarrel with you.
How good of
you, I said; but I should like
to know also whether injustice,
having this tendency to arouse hatred, wherever existing,
among slaves or among freemen, will not make them hate one another
and set them at variance and render them incapable of common action?
Certainly.
And even if
injustice be found in two only,
will they not quarrel
and fight, and become enemies to one another and to the just
They will.
And suppose
injustice abiding in a single
person, would your wisdom
say that she loses or that she retains her natural power?
Let us assume
that she retains her power.
Yet is not the
power which injustice exercises
of such a nature
that wherever she takes up her abode, whether in a city,
in an army, in a family, or in any other body, that body is,
to begin with, rendered incapable of united action by reason
of sedition and distraction; and does it not become its own enemy
and at variance with all that opposes it, and with the just?
Is not this the case?
Yes, certainly.
And is not injustice
equally fatal when existing
in a single person;
in the first place rendering him incapable of action because he
is not at unity with himself, and in the second place making him
an enemy to himself and the just? Is not that true, Thrasymachus?
Yes.
And O my friend,
I said, surely the gods are
just?
Granted that
they are.
But if so, the
unjust will be the enemy of
the gods, and the just
will be their friend?
Feast away in
triumph, and take your fill
of the argument;
I will not oppose you, lest I should displease the company.
Well then, proceed
with your answers, and let
me have the remainder
of my repast. For we have already shown that the just are clearly
wiser and better and abler than the unjust, and that the unjust
are incapable of common action; nay ing at more, that to speak as we
did of men who are evil acting at any time vigorously together,
is not strictly true, for if they had been perfectly evil, they would
have laid hands upon one another; but it is evident that there must
have been some remnant of justice in them, which enabled them to combine;
if there had not been they would have injured one another as well
as their victims; they were but half--villains in their enterprises;
for had they been whole villains, and utterly unjust, they would
have been utterly incapable of action. That, as I believe,
is the truth of the matter, and not what you said at first.
But whether the just have a better and happier life than the unjust
is a further question which we also proposed to consider. I think
that they have, and for the reasons which to have given; but still
I should like to examine further, for no light matter is at stake,
nothing less than the rule of human life.
Proceed.
I will proceed
by asking a question: Would
you not say that a horse
has some end?
I should.
And the end
or use of a horse or of anything
would be that which could
not be accomplished, or not so well accomplished, by any other thing?
I do not understand,
he said.
Let me explain:
Can you see, except with the
eye?
Certainly not.
Or hear, except
with the ear?
No.
These then may
be truly said to be the ends
of these organs?
They may.
But you can
cut off a vine-branch with
a dagger or with a chisel,
and in many other ways?
Of course.
And yet not
so well as with a pruning-hook
made for the purpose?
True.
May we not say
that this is the end of a pruning-hook?
We may.
Then now I think
you will have no difficulty
in understanding my
meaning when I asked the question whether the end of anything would
be that which could not be accomplished, or not so well accomplished,
by any other thing?
I understand
your meaning, he said, and
assent.
And that to
which an end is appointed has
also an excellence?
Need I ask again whether the eye has an end?
It has.
And has not
the eye an excellence?
Yes.
And the ear
has an end and an excellence
also?
True.
And the same
is true of all other things;
they have each of them
an end and a special excellence?
That is so.
Well, and can
the eyes fulfil their end if
they are wanting
in their own proper excellence and have a defect instead?
How can they,
he said, if they are blind
and cannot see?
You mean to
say, if they have lost their
proper excellence,
which is sight; but I have not arrived at that point yet.
I would rather ask the question more generally, and only enquire
whether the things which fulfil their ends fulfil them by their own
proper excellence, and fall of fulfilling them by their own defect?
Certainly, he
replied.
I might say
the same of the ears; when
deprived of their own proper
excellence they cannot fulfil their end?
True.
And the same
observation will apply to all
other things?
I agree.
Well; and has
not the soul an end which nothing
else can fulfil?
for example, to superintend and command and deliberate and the like.
Are not these functions proper to the soul, and can they rightly be
assigned to any other?
To no other.
And is not life
to be reckoned among the ends
of the soul?
Assuredly, he
said.
And has not
the soul an excellence also?
Yes.
And can she
or can she not fulfil her own
ends when deprived
of that excellence?
She cannot.
Then an evil
soul must necessarily be an
evil ruler and superintendent,
and the good soul a good ruler?
Yes, necessarily.
And we have
admitted that justice is the
excellence of the soul,
and injustice the defect of the soul?
That has been
admitted.
Then the just
soul and the just man will
live well, and the unjust
man will live ill?
That is what
your argument proves.
And he who lives
well is blessed and happy,
and he who lives ill
the reverse of happy?
Certainly.
Then the just
is happy, and the unjust miserable?
So be it.
But happiness
and not misery is profitable.
Of course.
Then, my blessed
Thrasymachus, injustice can
never be more profitable
than justice.
Let this, Socrates,
he said, be your entertainment
at the Bendidea.
For which I
am indebted to you, I said,
now that you have grown
gentle towards me and have left off scolding. Nevertheless, I have
not been well entertained; but that was my own fault and not yours.
As an epicure snatches a taste of every dish which is successively
brought to table, he not having allowed himself time to enjoy
the one before, so have I gone from one subject to another without
having discovered what I sought at first, the nature of justice.
I left that enquiry and turned away to consider whether justice is
virtue and wisdom or evil and folly; and when there arose a further
question about the comparative advantages of justice and injustice,
I could not refrain from passing on to that. And the result
of the whole discussion has been that I know nothing at all.
For I know not what justice is, and therefore I am not likely to know
whether it is or is not a virtue, nor can I say whether the just man
is happy or unhappy.
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