———●———

ARGUMENT.

The _first_ Book opens with a pleasant and highly dramatic dialogue, in the course of which the happy old Cephalus (a kind of Mæcenas on a small scale) sings the praises of an independent old age, free from anxiety and debt; and this leads Socrates to introduce the discussion of justice, which, by way of provoking inquiry, he first generally defines, as τὰ ἀληθῆ τε λέγειν καὶ, ἃ ἂν λάβοι τὶς, ἀποδιδόναι. The more complete definition, however, he first attempts by the negative process, purposely selecting two species of (false or inadequate) justice to be refuted,—thus to make way for the basis of a full and true definition. He then proceeds to consider the constituents of a state—magistrates and subjects; the former of whom he cautions against tyranny—the latter against indecent insubordination; insomuch as neither the one party should have reference to his own private advantage only, nor should the others live without care for the general advantage of the state, nor without a due regard for honest, upright principle.

SOCRATES, ADIMANTUS, CEPHALUS, POLEMARCHUS, GLAUCON, THRASYMACHUS.

[_The whole is in the form of a narrative related by Socrates in the presence of Timæus, Critias, Hermocrates, and another of unknown name.[24]—The scene is in the house of Cephalus at the Piræus._]

CHAP. I.—I went down yesterday to the Piræus, with Glaucon,[25] son of Ariston, to pay my devotion to the goddess,—and wishing, at the same time, to observe in what manner they would celebrate the festival, as they were now to do so for the first time.[26] The procession of the natives themselves, indeed, seemed beautiful; yet that which the Thracians conducted appeared not less elegant. After we had paid our devotions, and seen the solemnity, we were going back to the city, when Polemarchus, son of Cephalus, observing us from a distance, hurrying home, bid his boy run and tell us to wait for him; and the boy, taking hold of my robe behind, said:—Polemarchus desires you to wait. I turned then and asked, where he was. He is coming after you, answered he: but pray wait for him. Yes, we will wait, said Glaucon; and just afterwards came Polemarchus and Adimantus, the brother of Glaucon, and Niceratus, son of Nicias[27], and some others, as from the procession. Then said Polemarchus, Socrates, you seem to me to be hurrying to the city, as on your return. Aye, you do not make a bad guess, said I. See you, then, said he, how many we are? Yes, of course. Well, then, said he, you must either prove yourselves stronger than these, or else remain here. One expedient, said I, is still left; namely, to persuade you that you should let us go. How can you possibly persuade such as will not hear? By no means, said Glaucon. Make up your mind then, that we will not hear. But know you not, said Adimantus, that in the evening there is to be a torch-race on horseback to the goddess?[28] On horseback, said I; surely, this is a novelty. Are they to have torches, and to hand them to one another, contending together on horseback;—or how do you mean? Just so, replied Polemarchus. And besides, they will perform a nocturnal solemnity well worth seeing;—for we shall rise after supper and see it [the night festival,][29] and shall be there with many of our young [friends,] and have a chat. Do you also stay and do the same. It is right, I think, said Glaucon, that we should stay. Well,—if you please, said I, we will so.

Footnote 24:

See the opening of the Timæus.

Footnote 25:

Glaucon and Adimantus were the brothers of Plato. Comp. Xen. Mem. iii. 6.

Footnote 26:

The festival here alluded to is the Βενδίδεια, in which Artemis or Bendis was worshipped agreeably to the custom of the Thracians.

Footnote 27:

Nicias was one of the leading Athenian generals in the Peloponnesian war.

Footnote 28:

In the Panathenæan, Hephæstian, and Promethean festivals, it was customary for young men to run with torches or lamps lighted from the sacrificial altar; and in this contest that person only was victorious, whose lamp remained unextinguished in the race. We are here forcibly reminded of the figure used by Plato in the Laws, vi. p. 776 b, and also of Lucretius, ii. verse 78:—

Inque brevi spatio mutantur sæcla animantum, Et quasi cursores vitaï lampada tradunt.

Footnote 29:

By this nocturnal solemnity are meant the lesser Panathenæa, which, as the name implies, were sacred to Athena. As in the greater Panathenæa they carried about the veil of Athena, on which were represented the giants vanquished by the Olympian gods, so in the lesser Panathenæa another veil was exhibited, in which the Athenians, who were the pupils of Athena, were represented victorious in the battle against the inhabitants of the Atlantic island.

CHAP. II.—We went home therefore to Polemarchus’s [house,] and there we found, both Lysias and Euthydemus, brothers of Polemarchus,—likewise Thrasymachus the Chalcedonian, Charmantides the Pæoneian, and Clitiphon the son of Aristonymus. Cephalus, the father of Polemarchus, was likewise in the house; and he seemed to me to have become a good deal aged, for I had not seen him for a long time. He was sitting crowned on a cushioned seat; for he had been offering sacrifice in the inner court. So we sat down by him; for some seats stood there in a circle. Immediately, therefore, on seeing me, Cephalus saluted me, and said: Socrates, you do not often come down to us to the Piræus, though you ought; for, could I still easily go up to the city, there would have been no need for you to come hither, but we should have gone up to you. As it is, however, you should come hither more frequently; for be assured that with me, the more bodily pleasures decay, the more also do the desires and pleasures of conversation increase. Do not then fail us, but accompany these youths, and resort hither, as to friends, and very dear friends too. As for me, Cephalus, said I, I am delighted to converse with persons well advanced in years; for it appears to me a duty to learn from them, as from persons who have gone before us, on a road which we too must necessarily travel, what kind of road it is——whether rough and difficult, or level and easy. Moreover, I would gladly learn from you (as you are now at that time of life which the poets call the threshold of old age), what your opinion of it is, whether it be a burdensome part of life, or how you describe it.

CHAP. III.—By Zeus![30] said he, I will tell you, Socrates, what I, for my part, think of it; for several of us, who are of the same age, frequently meet together in the same place, observing the old proverb.[31] Most of us, therefore, when we are together, complain of missing the pleasures of youth, calling to remembrance the pleasures of love, those of drinking and feasting, and such like: and they are mightily in dudgeon, as being bereaved of some great things,—having once lived happily, but now scarce living at all. Some of them, too, bemoan the contempt which old age meets with from intimate friends: and, on this account, they whine about old age, as being the cause of so many of their ills. To me, however, Socrates, these men seem not to blame the [real] cause; for, if this were the cause, I myself likewise should have suffered these very same things through old age,—and all others, likewise, who have come to these years. Now I have met with several not thus affected; and particularly I was once in company with Sophocles the poet, when he was asked by some one: How, said he, do you feel, Sophocles, as to the pleasures of love; are you still able to enjoy them? Softly, friend, replied he;—most gladly, indeed, have I escaped from these pleasures, as from some furious and savage master.[32] To me, then, he, at that time, seemed to speak well, and now not less so: for, on the whole, as respects such things there is in old age great peace and freedom; because, when the appetites cease to be vehement and have let go their hold, what Sophocles said, most certainly happens; we are delivered from very many, and those too, furious masters. With relation to these things, however, and what concerns our intimates, there is one and the same cause; which is, not old age, Socrates, but the disposition of [different] men: for, if they be discreet and moderate, even old age is but moderately burdensome: but if not, Socrates,—to such an one, both old age and youth are grievous.

Footnote 30:

The translator wishes it to be understood, that in compliance with a now pretty general custom, he has preserved the Greek mythological names; Zeus for Jupiter, Athena for Minerva, Poseidon for Neptune, Artemis for Diana, and so on.

Footnote 31:

This alludes to the well-known Greek adage—ἥλιξ ἥλικα τέρπει. Nearly the whole of this and the following chapter is quoted by Cicero, de Senect. ch. 3.

Footnote 32:

This passage was evidently in the view of Cicero, when he wrote as follows:—Quum ex eo quidam jam affecto ætate quæreret, utereturne rebus venereis:—Dii meliora, inquit, s. lubenter verò istinc tanquam à domino agresti ac furioso profugi.—Cato Maj. ch. 47.

CHAP. IV.—Delighted to hear him say these things, and wishing him to discourse further, I urged him, and said: I fancy, Cephalus, the generality will not agree with you in these opinions; but will imagine that you bear old age easily, not owing to your natural bias, but from possessing much wealth; for the rich, say they, have many consolations.[33] True, replied he; they do not agree with me; and there is something in what they say, yet not so much as they imagine. The saying of Themistocles, however, is just; who, when the Seriphian[34] reviled him, and said, that he was honoured, not on his own account, but on account of his country, replied, that neither would himself have been renowned, had he been a Seriphian, nor would he, the [Seriphian,] had he been an Athenian. To those likewise, who are not rich and bear old age with impatience, the same saying fairly applies;—that neither would the worthy man bear old age with poverty quite easily, nor would he who is unworthy, though enriched, ever be agreeable to himself. But, [tell me,] Cephalus, said I; was the greater part of what you possess, left you, or did you acquire it [yourself?] Somewhat, Socrates, replied he, I have acquired: as to money-getting I am in a medium between my grandfather and my father: for my grandfather of the same name with myself, who was left almost as much property as I possess at present, increased it manifold; while my father Lysanias made it yet less than it is now: I, on the other hand, am content, if I can leave my sons here not less, but some little more than I received. I asked you, said I, for this reason,—because you seem to me to have no excessive love for riches; and this is generally the case with those who have not acquired them; while those who have acquired them [themselves,] are doubly fond of them:[35] for, as poets love their own poems, and as parents love their own children,—in the same manner, too, those who have enriched themselves, value their wealth, as their own production, as well as for its utility,—on which ground it is valued by others. True, replied he.

Footnote 33:

This seems to allude to the very common Greek adage—τοῖς πλουσίοις πόλλ’ ἔστι τὰ παραμύθια.

Footnote 34:

From Seriphus, one of the Cyclades.

Footnote 35:

Aristotle expresses nearly the same sentiments in the Nicom. Eth. iv. 1, and ix. 4.

CHAP. V.—Aye, entirely so, said I. But further, tell me this;—-what do you conceive to be the greatest good realized through the possession of extensive property? That, probably, said he, of which I shall not persuade the generality, were I even to mention it. For, be assured, Socrates, continued he, that, after a man begins to think he is soon to die, he becomes inspired with a fear and concern about things, that had not entered his head before: for those stories concerning a future state, which tell us, that the man who has been unjust here must be punished hereafter, have a tendency, much as he formerly ridiculed them, to trouble his soul at such a time with apprehensions, that they may be true; and the man, either through the infirmity of old age, or being now, as it were, in closer proximity to them, views them more attentively, and consequently becomes full of suspicion and dread, and reflects and considers whether he has in any thing done any one a wrong. That man, then, who discovers in his own life much of iniquity, and, like children, constantly starting in his sleep, is full of terrors, and lives on with scarce a hope of the future. But with the man who is not conscious of any such iniquity,

Hope, the solace of old age, Is ever present,

As Pindar says: for this, Socrates, he has beautifully expressed, that whoever lives a life of justice and holiness,

With him to cheer his heart, the nurse of age, Sweet hope abides, companion blest, that sways With power supreme the changeful mind of man.[36]

In this he speaks well, and with great elegance. In conformity with this thought, therefore, I deem the possession of riches to be chiefly valuable, not to every man indeed, but to the man of worth: for as respects liberating us from the temptation of cheating or deceiving against our will,—or again from departing thither in fear, because we owe either sacrifices to God, or money to man,—for this, indeed, the possession of money has great advantages. It has many other also;—but for my part, Socrates, that seems not the least, among all others, which proves its high advantage to a man of understanding.

You speak admirably, Cephalus, replied I:—but this very thing, _Justice_,—shall we call it Truth, simply, and the restoring what one has received from another,—or shall we say, that it is possible to do the very same things at one time justly and at another unjustly? My meaning is somewhat as follows: Every one would probably be of opinion, that if a man received arms from a friend in sound mind, and that person should demand them back when mad, it would not be proper to restore such articles, nor would the restorer be just;[37] nor again, [would he] who, to a man so situated, should willingly tell the whole truth. Right, replied he. This, then, is not the definition of justice, [namely,] to speak the truth, and restore what one has received. Of course it is, Socrates, replied Polemarchus taking up the subject, if at least we are to believe Simonides. However that be, said Cephalus, I leave this conversation to you; for I must now go to attend to the sacred rites.[38] Well then, is not Polemarchus, said I, the heir of your [argument?] Certainly, replied he, smiling, and went off to the sacred rites.

Footnote 36:

This passage will be found in Boeckh’s Fragm. Pind. 243, vol. ii. p. 2, p. 682.

Footnote 37:

Comp. Cicero de Off. iii. 25.

Footnote 38:

Cicero very elegantly refers to this passage in his Epistles to Atticus, iv. 16.

CHAP. VI.—Tell me, then, said I, you who are heir in the conversation, what is it, that you affirm Simonides to have correctly alleged about justice? That to restore to each his due, is just, replied he: in saying this, he seems, to me at least, to speak correctly. Aye, indeed, said I, we cannot easily discredit Simonides; for he is a wise and divine man:—but as to his meaning in this passage, you, Polemarchus, are probably acquainted with it, but I am not; for it is plain he does not mean what we were saying just now,—that, when one has deposited any thing with us, we should return it to him, even if he demand it in his insanity: and yet the thing deposited is in some sense due, is it not? It is. At least, then, [you will grant] it must on no account whatever be restored, when a man asks for it in his insanity? True, replied he. Simonides then, it would seem, has some other meaning than this, in saying that to deliver up what is due, is just? Yes,—one quite different, replied he: for he is of opinion, that friends ought to do their friends good—not ill. I understand, said I;—that man does not give back what is due, who restores money deposited with him, if the repayment and receipt be really hurtful, and the receiver and restorer be friends:—is not this what you allege Simonides to say? Surely. What then?—are we to give our enemies, also, what may chance to be their due? By all means, said he, what is really due to them; and from an enemy to an enemy, there is due, I imagine, what is fitting too,—namely some evil.

CHAP. VII.—Simonides, then, it would seem, replied I, defined the nature of justice somewhat enigmatically, and after the manner of the poets; for it seems he had a notion, that justice consists in giving every one what was expedient for him; and this he called his due. But what is your opinion? said he. By Zeus, replied I, if any one then should ask him thus,—Simonides, what is the art, which, dispensing to certain persons something fitting and due, is called medicine, what, think you, would he answer us? That art, surely, replied he, which dispenses drugs to the body, and also meats and drinks. And what is the art, which, dispensing to certain things something fitting and due, is called cookery? The art which gives seasonings to victuals. Granted. What then, is that art, which may be called justice, as dispensing to certain persons something fitting and due? If we ought to be at all directed, Socrates, by what has been said above, [it is] the art which dispenses good offices to friends, and injuries to enemies. To do good, then, to friends, and ill to enemies, he calls justice? It seems so. Who then can best serve his friends, when they are sick, and most ill to his enemies, as either in sickness or health? A physician. And who to those at sea, as respects danger on the sea? A pilot. But what as to the just man? In what business, and with respect to what action, can he most serve his friends and harm his foes? In fighting in alliance with the one, and against the other,—so far as I think. Just so; but at any rate, to those who are not sick, Polemarchus, the physician is useless? Aye. And the pilot, to those who do not sail? He is. And is the just man, in like manner, useless to those not engaged in war? This, at any rate, is not at all my opinion. Is justice, then, useful also in time of peace? Yes, useful, too. And so is agriculture, is it not? Yes. Towards the getting in of crops? Yes. And is not shoemaking useful too? Yes. Towards the possession of shoes, methinks you will say? Certainly. But what then? For the use or possession of what is it, that would you say justice were useful in time of peace? For contracts, Socrates! By these contracts do you mean copartnerships, or what else? Copartnerships, certainly. Well then; is the just man or the dice-player, a good and useful copartner for playing at dice? The dice-player. But, in the laying of tiles or stones, is the just man a more useful and a better partner than the builder? By no means. In what copartnership then, is the just man a better copartner than the harper, as the harper is better than the just man for touching the strings of a harp? In one about money, as I imagine. And yet perhaps, with regard to the use of money, Polemarchus, when it is necessary jointly to buy or sell a horse, then, I should think, the jockey is the better copartner, is he not? He would appear so. And with respect to a ship, the shipwright or pilot? It seems so. When is it, then, with respect to the joint application of money, that the just man is more useful than others? When it is to be deposited and be safe, Socrates! Do you not mean when there is no need to use it, but to leave it in deposit? Certainly. When money then, is useless, justice is still useful with regard to it? It seems likely. When, therefore, one wants to put by a pruning-hook, justice is useful, both for a community and for a particular person: but when one wants to use it, then the art of vine-dressing [is useful.] It seems so. You will say, likewise, that when a shield or a lyre is to be kept and not used, then justice is useful; but when they are to be used, then the arts of warfare and music? Of course. And with reference to all other things, when they are to be used, justice is useless; but when they are not to be used, it is useful? It seems so.

CHAP. VIII.—Justice, then, my friend, can be no very important matter, if it is useful only in respect of things not to be used. But let us consider this matter:—is not he who is the cleverest at striking in a fight, whether with the fists or some other way, the cleverest likewise, in self-defence? Certainly. And as to the person who is clever in warding off and escaping from a distemper, is he not very clever also in bringing it on? So I suppose. And he too the best guardian of a camp, who can steal the counsels, and the other operations of the enemy? Certainly. Of whatever, then, any one is a good guardian, of that likewise he is a clever thief. It seems so. If, therefore, the just man be clever in guarding money, he is clever likewise in stealing. So it would seem, said he, from this reasoning. The just man, then, has been shewn to be a sort of thief; and it is likely you have learned this from Homer; for he not only admires Autolycus, the maternal grandfather of Ulysses, but says, that he was distinguished beyond all men for thievishness and swearing.[39] Justice, then, seems in your opinion as well as in that of Homer and Simonides, to be a sort of thieving carried on for the benefit of our friends on the one hand, and for the injury of our enemies on the other:—did not you say so? No, by Zeus, I did not; nor, indeed, do I any longer know what I was saying:—yet it is still my opinion, that justice benefits friends, but injures foes. But [tell me,] whether you pronounce such to be friends, as seem to be honest; or such merely as are so, though not seeming so;—and in the same way as to enemies? It is reasonable, said he, to love those whom one deems honest, and to hate those [one deems] wicked. But do not men fall into error on this point, so that many appear to them honest who are not so, and many the contrary? Yes, they do. To such as these, then, the good are enemies, and the bad friends? Certainly. But still is it, in that case, just for them to benefit the wicked, and hurt the good? So it seems. The good, moreover, are just, and incapable of doing any ill. True. According to your argument, then, is it just to do those harm, who do no harm [themselves?] By no means [think that,] Socrates, replied he; for that opinion seems to be vicious. With respect to the unjust, then, said I, is it right to injure these, but to do good to the just? This opinion seems fairer than the other. To many, then, it will occur [to think,] Polemarchus,—that is, to as many as have formed wrong opinions of men,—that they may justly hurt their friends (for they are wicked to them), and, on the other hand, benefit their enemies, inasmuch as they are good:—and thus we shall state the very reverse of what we alleged Simonides to say. That is precisely the case, said he:—but, let us change our definition; for we seem not to have rightly defined a friend and a foe. How were they defined, Polemarchus? That he who seems honest, is a friend. How then are we now to alter our definition, said I? That the person, replied he, who seems, and also is honest, is a friend; but that he who is apparently honest, but not really so, seems to be, yet is not [really] a friend: the definition, too, respecting an enemy, exactly corresponds. The good man, according to this reasoning, will, it seems, be a friend; and the wicked man a foe? Yes. Do you bid us then make an addition to our former definition of justice, by saying that it is just to serve a friend and harm a foe:—and are we now to say, in addition to this, that it is just to serve a friend who is good, but to hurt an enemy who is bad? This last, said he, seems to me perfectly well expressed.

Footnote 39:

Μητρὸς ἑῆς πατέρ’ ἐσθλὸν, ὃς ἀνθρώπους ἐκέκαστο Κλεπτοσύνῃ θ’, ὅρκῳτε.—Odyss. xix. 395.

His mother’s noble sire, who all mankind In furtive arts and fraudful oaths excelled.—_Cowper._

CHAP. IX.—Is it the just man’s part, then, said I, to hurt any one mortal whatever? By all means, said he; the wicked at least, and his enemies, he ought certainly to injure. And horses, when hurt, do they become better or worse? Worse. Do they so, as regards the virtue of dogs or horses? That of horses. And, do not dogs, when hurt, become worse as regards the virtue of dogs, but not of horses? Necessarily so. As to men, then, friend, may we not likewise say, that when hurt, they become worse with reference to man’s virtue? Certainly. But is not justice a human virtue? This too we must [allow.] It follows, then, friend, that those men who are hurt become more unjust? It seems so. Can musicians, then, by music, make men unmusical? Impossible.—Or horsemen, by horsemanship, make men unskilled in horsemanship? They cannot. Is it possible, either, that by justice the just [can make men] unjust; or in general that by virtue, the good can make men wicked? It is impossible. [Yes,] for it is not, methinks, the effect of heat to make cold, but [the effect] of its contrary? Yes. Nor of drought to make moist, but that of its contrary? Certainly. Neither is it the part of a good man to hurt, but that of his contrary? It appears so. But, at any rate, the just is good? Certainly. Neither, then, is it the part of a just man, Polemarchus, to hurt either friend or any other, but [that] of his contrary, the unjust man. In all respects, Socrates, said he, you seem to reason truly. If, then, any one affirms it just to give every one his due, and consequently thinks this within himself, that injury is due from a just man to enemies, but service to friends,—he was not wise who said so, for he spoke not the truth:—for in no case has the justice been proved of injuring any one at all. I agree, said he. You and I then will jointly dispute the point, said I, if any one allege, that Simonides, or Bias, or Pittacus, or any other of those wise and happy men said so. I am ready, for my part, said he, to take part in this discussion. But know you, said I, whose saying I conceive it to be,—that it is just to serve friends, and hurt enemies? Whose, said he? I conceive it to be Periander’s, or Perdiccas’s, or Xerxes’s, or Ismenius’s, the Theban, or of some other rich man, who thought himself mightily important. You say most truly, said he. Be it so, said I:—but as this has not been shewn to be justice nor the just, what else may one say it is?

CHAP. X.—Now Thrasymachus had frequently during our discourse been on the point of breaking in upon the discussion with some objection,[40] but was hindered by the sitters-by, who wanted to hear out the conversation. When, however, we came to a pause, and after my making these last remarks, he could no longer keep quiet; but, taking his spring like a wild beast, attacked us, as if he would tear us in pieces. Both myself and Polemarchus were frightened and terror-struck. But he, raising his voice in the midst, cried out:—What is this, Socrates, which has so long possessed you; and why do you thus play the fool together, conceding mutually to one another? But if in particular you really want to know the nature of justice, do not only ask questions, and value yourself in refuting the answers you may get, well knowing that it is easier to ask than to answer; but answer yourself, and state your own view of the nature of justice. And [take care] that you do not tell me that it is what is fit, or what is due, or what is profitable, or what is gainful, or what is expedient; but, whatever you mean, express it plainly and accurately; for I will not allow you to utter such trifles as these. I was astounded on hearing this; and when I looked at him, I was frightened; and, methinks, had I not perceived him before he perceived me, I should have become speechless.[41] But just when he began to grow fierce under our discussion, I observed him first, so that I was now able to answer him, and said, somewhat in a flutter:—Be not hard on us, Thrasymachus; if I and he [Polemarchus] err in the working out of our arguments, be well assured we err unwittingly: for, think not, that if we were searching for gold, we would ever wittingly yield to one another in the search, thus frustrating all chance of discovering it, and yet searching for justice,—a matter far more valuable than gold, foolishly make concessions to each other, and not labour with the utmost ardour for its discovery:—think you so, friend? Nay, methinks, we could not. That we should be sympathized with by your clever[42] persons is far more to be expected then, than that we should be treated with contempt.

Footnote 40:

For this sense of ἀντιλαμβάνεσθαι, comp. book vi. p. 497 d, and p. 504; also Gorgias, 506 a.

Footnote 41:

This alludes to the popular belief that men were rendered speechless by the fixed look of a wolf; but this, they thought, was not the case, if they saw the wolf first.

Footnote 42:

ὑφ’ ὑμῶν τῶν δεινῶν, alluding of course to the Sophists, who deemed themselves emphatically δεινοί. Comp. Protagor. p. 341 a.

CHAP. XI.—On hearing this he [Thrasymachus] gave a disdainful sort of laugh, and said:—By Heracles, this is Socrates’s wonted irony; and this I both knew, and foretold to these here,—that you never incline to answer, but use your irony, and do any thing rather than answer, if any one asks you any thing. Aye; you are a wise man, Thrasymachus, said I; for you knew well, that if you asked any one, how many make twelve; and, if asking, you should tell him, you must not tell me, man, that twelve are twice six,—or three times four,—or four times three; because I will not admit it, if you are such a trifler; it was plain to you, methinks, that no man would answer one so inquiring. But if he should say to you, What mean you, Thrasymachus, may I not answer in any of these ways you have told me,—not even though the real answer happen to be one of them; but am I rather to say something else than the truth? Or, how is it you mean? What would you say to him in reply to these things? If they were alike, I should give an answer; for the one, forsooth, is like the other. That is no real objection, said I[43]; but even if it be not like, but only appears so to him who has been asked, do you think he would the less readily express his opinion, whether we should forbid him or not? And, will you do so now? said he. Will you state, in reply, some of those things which I forbade you to say? I should not wonder, if I did, said I, if it appeared so to me on inquiry. What, then, said he, if I should shew you another answer, besides all these about justice, and better, too, than these,—what will you deserve to suffer? What else, said I, but what the ignorant ought to suffer?—and it is proper, perhaps, to learn from a wise man I consequently deserve to suffer this. You are merry now, said he; but besides learning, you must pay money too. Aye, when I have it, said I. We have got some, said Glaucon; but, as for the money, Thrasymachus, say on, for all of us will club for Socrates. By all means, I think, said he, in order that Socrates may go on in his usual manner,—not answer himself, but when another answers, take up the discourse and confute. How, then, in the first place, my good fellow, said I, can a man answer, when he neither knows, nor pretends to know; and when, supposing him to have any opinion at all about these matters, he is forbidden to say what he thinks by no ordinary person? But it is more reasonable, then, that you speak, as you say you know, and can tell us. Do not refuse, then, but oblige me by answering, and do not begrudge instructing Glaucon here, and the rest of the company.

Footnote 43:

Thrasymachus here alleges with a sneer, that the example adduced by Socrates had no connection with the subject treated in the last chapter.

CHAP. XII.—On my saying this, both Glaucon and the rest of the company entreated him not to decline it:—and Thrasymachus in particular, was evidently most anxious to speak, in order to gain applause, reckoning he had a mighty clever answer to make, and pretending to be earnest that I should be the answerer; but at last he agreed. Now, this, forsooth, said he, is the wisdom of Socrates, that he himself is unwilling to teach, but goes about learning from others, and gives no thanks for it. That I learn from others, Thrasymachus, is quite true, said I; but in saying, that I do not thank persons for it, you are wrong. I pay as much as I am able, and I can only give them praise, for money I have none; but how readily I do this, when any one appears to me to speak well, you shall perfectly know directly, whenever you make your answer; for methinks you will speak well. Hear, then, said he, for I say that the just is nothing else but what is expedient for the strongest.[44] But why do not you commend?—Ah! you do not like that. Let me learn first, said I, what it is you are talking about; for as yet I know not. That which is expedient for the strongest you say, is the just. And what, at all, is it that you are talking of now, Thrasymachus? for you certainly do not mean any thing like this. If Polydamas, the wrestler,[45] be stronger than we, and if beef be better for his body, this food is likewise both just and beneficial to us, who are weaker than himself. You are a saucy fellow, Socrates, and lay hold of my argument just on that side where you may damage it most. By no means, my good fellow, said I; but say more plainly what is your meaning. Know you not, then, said he, that with reference to States, some are tyrannical, others democratical, and others aristocratical? Of course. And is not the governing part of each State the more powerful? Certainly: and every government makes laws precisely to suit itself,—a democracy, democratic laws; a tyranny, tyrannic; and the rest in like manner:—and when they have made them, they declare that to be just for the governed, which is advantageous for themselves, and any one who transgresses it, they punish as one acting contrary both to law and justice. This, then, most excellent Socrates, is what I say, that in all States the same thing constitutes justice, viz., what is expedient for the established government. This, then, is the fact with him who reasons rightly, that in all cases whatever that same is just which is expedient for the more powerful. Now, said I, I understand what you mean. But as to its truth or otherwise, I will try to find out. As for the expedient, then, even you yourself, Thrasymachus, have affirmed it to be the just; and yet, though you forbade me to give the answer, still you are adding the expression _of the more powerful_. Quite a trifling addition, perhaps, said he. It is not clear yet, whether it is small or great; but it is clear that we must inquire whether you speak the truth, since I, too, acknowledge that the just is something that is expedient; but you say, in addition, that it is that also which belongs to the most powerful. This I am not sure of; but that is what we have to inquire. Inquire then, said he.

Footnote 44:

The Sophists were used to recommend that the laws of a state should be made by the most powerful and influential, and that in making them it was quite right that they should consult their own advantage, there being no fixed standard for virtue and justice, but only that of expediency. Comp. Gorgias, p. 483, b, c, d; and Protagor. p. 337.

Footnote 45:

A celebrated wrestler of Scotussa in Thessaly, who won the prize in the Pancratium, at the Olympic games, B.C. 408. He was of immense size; and it is related of him, that he killed without arms a huge and fierce lion on Mount Olympus, and could stop a chariot at full gallop.

CHAP. XIII.—We will do so, said I:—and, tell me,—do you not say, that it is just to obey governors? Yes, I do. Are the governors in the several states infallible, or are they capable of erring? Certainly, said he, they are liable to err. When they set about making laws, then, do they not make some of them right, and some of them wrong? I think so. To make them right, then, is to make them expedient for themselves, and to make them not right, [is that] inexpedient;—or how mean you? Just so. And what they enact is to be observed by the governed; and this is what is just? Of course. According to your reasoning, then, it is just, to do what is expedient to the stronger, while the contrary is what is not expedient:—what say you, replied he? I am of the same opinion as yourself. But let us inquire better. Is it not granted, that governors in bidding the governed do certain things, may sometimes be in error as to what is best for themselves; and that what the governors enjoin, is just for the governed to do? Have not these [truths] been granted? I think so, said he. Consider also, therefore, said I, that you have allowed it to be just to do what is inexpedient for governors and the more powerful, whenever governors unwillingly enjoin what is ill for themselves; and yet you say, that it is just for the others to do what these enjoin. Must it not necessarily happen, then, most sage Thrasymachus, that, in this case, it may be just to do the contrary of what you say; for that which is the disadvantage of the more powerful, is sometimes enjoined on the inferiors? Yes, by Zeus, said Polemarchus, these things are quite clear, Socrates. Yes, if you bear him witness, said Clitiphon in rejoinder. What need, said I, of a witness?—for Thrasymachus himself acknowledges that governors sometimes order what is ill for themselves, and that it is just for the governed to do these things. Aye, Polemarchus; for he laid it down, that it is just to do what is bidden by the governors, and he has also defined that as just, Clitiphon, which is expedient for the more powerful; and, having laid down both these propositions, he has granted that the more powerful sometimes bid the inferiors and governed to do what is inexpedient for themselves; and, from these concessions, what is expedient for the more powerful can no more be just than what is not expedient. But he alleged, said Clitiphon, that what was expedient for the strongest was what the strongest judged expedient for himself; this, too, was to be done by the inferior, and this he defined as the just. Aye,—but that was not stated, said Polemarchus. There is no difference, Polemarchus, said I; but, if Thrasymachus says so now, so let us understand him.

CHAP. XIV.—Now tell me, Thrasymachus; was this what you meant by justice,—namely, the advantage of the more powerful, such as appeared so to the more powerful, whether it really were so, or not:—shall we say that you mean this? Not at all, said he:—for, think you, I call him who errs, the more powerful, at the time he errs? For my part, said I, I thought you meant this, when you acknowledged that governors were not infallible, but that in some things even they erred. You are a sycophant, said he, in reasoning, Socrates![46] For, for instance do you call him a physician, who errs about the treatment of the sick, in respect of that very thing in which he errs; or him a reasoner, who errs in reasoning, at the very time he errs, and with reference to that very error? But, we say, in common language, I fancy, that the physician erred, the reasoner erred, and the grammarian likewise; but in fact I think, each of these, so far as he is what we designate him, never errs; so that, strictly speaking (especially as you are a strict reasoner), no artist errs;—for he who errs, errs through defect of science, in what he is not an artist; and hence no artist, or wise man, or governor, errs, in so far as he is a governor. Yet every one would say ‘the physician erred,’ and ‘the governor erred.’ You must understand, then, that it was in this way I just now answered you. But the most accurate answer is this:—that the governor, in as far as he is governor, errs not; and as he does not err, he enacts that which is best for himself, and this must be observed by the governed. So that as I said at the beginning, I call justice the doing that which is for the advantage of the strongest [_i. e._ the best].

Footnote 46:

There was a prevalent corruption in the law-courts of Athens, which at length gave rise to a separate class,—the infamous sycophants, who lived by extortion and making criminal charges against the opulent citizens of timid natures and quiet habits, who were ordinarily led to purchase the silence of these informers, who hence rose to wealth and importance.

CHAP. XV.—Be it so, said I, Thrasymachus;—but do I seem to you to act the sycophant? Aye, surely, said he. Do you think that I insidiously mislead you in the argument, to put the question to you as I did? I know it well, said he, and you shall gain nothing by it; for neither shall you mislead me unawares, nor can you unawares get the better of me in argument. I shall not attempt it, said I, my excellent friend, but, that nothing of this kind may happen to us again,—define in which way you speak of a ruler, and superior, according only to common talk, or in the strict sense of the word, as you just now said, he, whose advantage, in that he is the more powerful, it is just for the inferior to observe. [I speak of him,] who is a ruler in the strictest sense of the word. For this now abuse and calumniate me, as you like. I do not deprecate your doing so; but you are quite unable. Do you think me so mad, said I, as to attempt to shave a lion,[47] and traduce Thrasymachus? You have just attempted it, said he, but with no effect. Enough of such matters, said I; but tell me he who is, strictly speaking, a physician, whom you just now mentioned, is he a gainer of money, or a tender of the sick?—and mind—tell us of him who is really a physician. A tender of the sick, said he. But what of the pilot? is he who is really a pilot, a master of sailors, or a sailor? A master of sailors. It matters not, I fancy, that he sails in a ship, and is not to be called a sailor; for he it is not called a pilot from his sailing, but from his art, and his mastery of the sailors. True, said he. Has not each of these, then, something that is advantageous for him? Certainly. Was not the art then acquired for this very purpose, said I, to seek out and supply to each what is advantageous for him? For that purpose, said he. To each of the arts, then, is any other advantage wanting, than to be as perfect as possible?—How mean you by this question? If you were to ask me, said I, whether it is sufficient for the body to be a body, or whether it needs something else, I should say, that it certainly does stand in need of something else. For this reason, indeed, has the medicinal art been already invented, because the body is infirm, and it is not sufficient for it to be such as it is:—in order then to supply what is advantageous for it, art has been provided. Do you think then, said I, that I am right, or not, in thus speaking? Right, said he. But what then? Is this very art of medicine, or any other whatever, imperfect, as being deficient in a certain virtue; just as the eyes, when deficient as to sight, and the ears as to hearing; and for these reasons need they a certain additional art to seek out and furnish what is expedient for these very organs? Is there then in art itself some imperfection, and does every art need another art, to consider what is expedient for it, and does that which considers again need another, and so on to infinity; or will each art consider what is expedient for itself; or will each need neither itself, nor any other, to consider what is expedient for it with reference to its own imperfection?—For there is no imperfection nor error in any art whatever; nor is it the business of art to seek what is expedient for anything else, but that of which it is the art;—but as for itself, it is infallible and pure, because it is right, so long as each, whatever it is, be an accurate whole:—and consider now, in that same strict sense of the words, whether it be thus or otherwise. It seems so, said he. The art of medicine, then, said I, does not consider what is expedient for the art of medicine, but for the body? Yes, said he. Nor the art of managing horses, what is expedient for that art, but for horses. Nor any other art for itself (for that is needless), but only for that of which it is the art? So it appears, he said. However, Thrasymachus, the arts rule and govern that of which they are arts? He assented to this, though with great difficulty. No science whatever, then, either considers or dictates what is expedient for the superior, but only what is so for the inferior,—that, namely, which is governed by it? To this also he at length assented, though he attempted to contend about it. But when he had assented, What else is this, said I, but saying that no physician, so far as he is a physician, either considers or dictates what is expedient for the physician, but only what is expedient for the sick?—For the physician, strictly so called, has been acknowledged to be one who has charge of the body, and is not an amasser of wealth.—Has it not been acknowledged? He assented. And likewise that the pilot, so called, is the master of the sailors, and not a sailor? It has been acknowledged. Such a pilot and master then, will not consider and dictate what is expedient for the pilot, but what is so to the sailor and the governed? He acquiesced, but unwillingly. Nor yet, Thrasymachus, said I, does any other in any government whatever, so far as he is a governor, consider or dictate what is expedient for himself, but only for the governed and those to whom he acts as steward; and, with an eye to this, and to what is expedient and suitable for this, he both says what he says, and does what he does.

Footnote 47:

A proverb, meaning—_To undertake any thing above one’s power_. There is a similar one in Latin.

CHAP. XVI.—When we were at this part of the discussion, and it was evident to all, that the definition of justice stood now quite contrary [to that of Thrasymachus,] Thrasymachus, instead of replying, said: Tell me, Socrates, have you a nurse? What now, said I;—ought you not rather to answer, than put such questions? Because, forsooth, said he, she neglects you when your nose is stuffed,[48] and does not wipe it when it needs it, you, who as well as she, understand neither about sheep nor shepherd. What is the meaning of all this? said I. Because you think that shepherds and herdsmen consider the good of the sheep or oxen, to fatten and tend them, having their eye on something else than their master’s good and their own; moreover, that those who rule in cities, those, who rule truly, are somehow differently disposed towards the governed, than [a shepherd] would be towards sheep, and that they attend day and night to somewhat else than the question, how they shall be gainers themselves; and so far are you from the notion of the just and justice, and the unjust and injustice, that you seem ignorant that both justice and the just are, in reality, a foreign good, expedient for the stronger and ruling party, but positively injurious to the subject and servant,—while injustice, on the contrary, takes the rule of such as are truly simple and just, and the governed do what is expedient for him, since he possesses the most power, and promote his happiness, by serving him, but themselves not at all.—In this case, most simple Socrates, we should consider, that a just man gets less on all occasions than an unjust.—First, in mutual contracts with one another, where a certain party joins with another, you will never find on the dissolution of the partnership, that the just man gets more than the unjust, but less:—then, again, in civil affairs, when public imposts are to be paid. the just man, from equal means, pays more, the other less; and when anything is to be gained, the one gains nothing, the other much; and when each of these holds any public office, if no other loss befals the just man, at any rate his domestic affairs become deteriorated through neglect, and from the public he derives no benefit, because he is just;—besides which, he becomes hated by his domestics and acquaintance, since he will never serve them, beyond what is just.—But with the unjust man, all the contrary of this occurs; for I maintain, what I lately said, that such an one has a great power of becoming unfairly rich.—Consider the case of this man, therefore, if you would discern how much more it conduces to his private interest to be unjust, rather than just. This you will most easily of all understand if you come to the most finished injustice, such as renders the unjust man most happy, but the injured and those who are unwilling to do injustice, most wretched.—This, now, is tyranny, which takes away the goods of others, as well by secret fraud as open violence, both things sacred and holy, private and public, and these in no small portions, but all at once—In all particular cases of such crimes, when a man undisguisedly commits injustice, he is both punished and treated with the greatest ignominy: and as a proof of this, they are called sacrilegious, kidnappers, housebreakers, pilferers, and thieves, according to the several kinds of the wickedness committed. But when a man, in addition to the property of the citizens, takes prisoners and enslaves the citizens themselves, instead of these ugly names, he is called happy and blest, not only by the citizens, but likewise by all the rest, whoever may get informed that he has committed [such] enormous injustice;—for those who revile wickedness, revile it—not because they are afraid of doing, but because they are afraid of suffering what is unjust.—Thus, Socrates, is it, that injustice, when it attains a certain point, is both more powerful, more free, and more absolutely despotic than justice: and (as I said at the beginning) the advantage of the stronger happens to be just, while that is unjust which profits and benefits one’s self.

Footnote 48:

Gr. κορυζῶντα, _having a cold_ or rheum _in the nose_.

CHAP. XVII.—Saying this, Thrasymachus purposed going off, after pouring on our ears, as a bath-keeper, this impetuous and lengthened discourse.[49] Those present, however, would not suffer him, but forced him to stay and give account of what he had advanced; and I myself, also, strongly urged him, and said: Oh! wonderful Thrasymachus; do you purpose, after throwing on us such strange talk, to go away without rightly instructing us, or informing yourself whether the case be as you say, or otherwise? Do you think that you are trying to determine some small matter, and not the guide of life, by which each of us being conducted may pass his life most profitably? Can I think that the case is otherwise? said Thrasymachus. You seem, at any rate, said I, to care nothing at all about us, nor to be any way concerned whether we shall live well or ill, through our ignorance of what you say you know:—but, my good friend, be so obliging as to show it to us also; nor will the favour be ill-placed,[50] whatever you may bestow on so many of us as are here present. And I, for my part, can say that I am not persuaded, nor do I think, that injustice is more gainful than justice,—not even should we allow it play, and not prevent it doing what it likes. But, my good friend, even supposing him to be unjust and able to do unjustly, either secretly or by open force, yet I at least am not persuaded that injustice is more gainful than justice; and on this point probably some of us here are of the same mind, and not I alone. Persuade us, therefore, sufficiently, my admirable friend, that we are wrong in deeming justice of more value than injustice. But how, said he, am I to persuade you? for if you are not persuaded by what I have said already, what further can I do for you? Shall I take and implant my arguments in your very soul? By Zeus, no, said I;—but, first of all, whatever you have said, abide by it: or, if you do change, change openly, and do not deceive us. Now, you see, Thrasymachus—(for we will reconsider what has been above said),—that in first defining the true physician, you did not think it needful afterwards, that the true shepherd should strictly keep his flock, but fancy, that so far as he is a shepherd, he may feed his flock without regarding the best interests of the sheep, but rather as some glutton going to feast on them at some entertainment, or to dispose of them as a merchant, and not [care for them] as a shepherd. The shepherd art, however, has certainly no other care but that for which it is appointed, namely, to afford it what is best, since its own affairs are already so sufficiently provided for, as to be in the very best state without needing any of the shepherd art. So likewise, I, for my part, conceived that there you must necessarily agree with us in this, that every government, in as far as it is government, considers what is best for nothing else but for that which is governed and tended, whether in political or private government. But with respect to rulers in cities, think you that such as are really rulers govern willingly? No, by Zeus, said he, [I do not think so;] but I am quite certain.

Footnote 49:

Lucian must have had this passage in view, when writing Encom. Demosth. § 16:—ἦ πού γε, ἔφην, διανοεῖ καταχεῖν μου τῶν ὤτων, ὥσπερ βαλανεὺς καταντλήσας τὸν λοιπὸν λόγον.

Footnote 50:

Analogous phrases are common among the Greek Classics. Comp. Gorg. p. 506 c., and Thucyd. i. c. 129:—Κείσεταί σοι εὐεργεσία ἐν πῷ ἡμετέρῳ οἴκῳ εἰσαεὶ ἀνάγραπτος.

CHAP. XVIII.—Why now, Thrasymachus, said I, do you not perceive, as regards all other governments, that no one undertakes them willingly, but men ask for recompense, since the benefits likely to accrue from governing are not to come to themselves, but to the governed? Tell me this, then;—do we not always say that each several art is distinct in this, in having a distinct function? And my admirable friend, do not answer contrary to your opinion, that we may make some real progress. In this respect, at any rate, said he, it is distinct. And does not each of them afford us some certain peculiar advantage, and not a common one;—as, for instance, the medicinal, health; the pilot art, safety in sailing,—and the rest in like manner? Certainly. And has not the mercenary art mercenary reward? for this is its function. Do you call both the medicinal art and the pilot art one and the same? Or, if you mean to define them strictly, as you proposed, though one in piloting recover his health, on account of the expedience of his going to sea, you will not at all the more on this account call it the medicinal art? Not at all, said he. Nor [will you call] the mercenary art the medicinal, I fancy, though in earning a reward one may recover his health? No, indeed. What then? Will you call the medicinal the mercenary art, if, in performing a cure, one earn a reward? No, said he. Have we not acknowledged, then, that each art has its peculiar advantage? Granted, said he. Whatever, then, be that advantage, with which all artists in common are advantaged, it must plainly be by using some same thing in common to all, that they are advantaged by it. It seems so, said he. Still, we say that the advantage accruing to artists from receiving a reward comes to them from the adoption of a mercenary art. He acquiesced unwillingly. This, then, is not the advantage which each receives from his own art, [namely,] the receiving a reward?—But if we strictly consider it, the art of medicine produces health, that of money-getting a reward, masonry a house, and the mercenary art accompanying it, a reward; and all the others in like manner,—every one performs its own work, and confers advantage on that for which it was designed; but if it meet not with a reward, is the artist benefited at all by his art? It appears not, said he. But confers he no service when he works gratuitously? I think he does. This, then, is now evident, Thrasymachus, that no art or government provides what is advantageous for itself; but, as we said long ago, it both provides and prescribes for the governed what is advantageous to him, having in view the interest of the inferior and not that of the more powerful. For these reasons, then, friend Thrasymachus, I even just now said, that no one is willing to govern and undertake the setting right of others’ troubles without asking a reward; because, whoever intends to practise his art well, never himself does nor enjoins [on others] what is best for himself, if he enjoins according to his art, but rather what is best for the governed; for which reason, therefore, as it seems, a recompense must be given to those who are likely to be willing governors,—either money, or honour,—or punishment, on the other hand, if a man will not govern.

CHAP. XIX.—How say you this, Socrates? said Glaucon:—the two rewards, indeed, I understand; but the punishment, that you mention, and how you can speak of it under the head of reward, I know not. As for the reward, then, of the best of men, said I, do you not understand why the most worthy govern, when they are willing to govern:—or, do you not know, that to be ambitious and covetous, is both deemed a reproach, and is so? I do, said he. For these reasons, then, said I, good men are not willing to govern, either for money or for honour; inasmuch as they neither wish to be called mercenary, for openly making gain by governing,—nor thieves, for taking clandestinely from what belongs to their office:—nor again [are they willing to govern] for honour, since they are not ambitious. Hence if they are to be induced to govern willingly, there must be laid on them both compulsion and punishment; and hence it seems likely, that a willing undertaking of government, without waiting for compulsion, has been reckoned dishonourable. The greatest part of the punishment, however, in case he is not willing to govern himself, is the being governed by one who is inferior. It is chiefly through fear of this, methinks, that the good govern, when they do govern: and in that case they enter on the government, not as on anything good, or as about to derive any advantage therefrom, but as on a necessary task, and finding none better than, or even like, themselves, to intrust with the government. It seems likely, indeed, that if there were a state of good men, the contest would be, not to govern, as now it is to govern; and, hence, it would be manifest, that the really true governor does not naturally aim at his own advantage, but at that of the governed; so that any one who has sense would rather choose to be benefited by another, than have trouble in benefiting another. This, therefore, I, for my part, by no means grant to Thrasymachus; that justice is what is expedient for the stronger:—but this, indeed, we shall consider again hereafter.—What Thrasymachus says now, however, seems to me of much more importance,—when he says, that the life of the unjust man is better than that of the just. You, then, Glaucon, said I, which opinion do you choose; and which of the two seems to you most consistent with truth? The life of the just, said he, is in my opinion the more profitable. Have you heard, said I, how many good things Thrasymachus just now enumerated in the life of the unjust? I heard, said he; but I am not persuaded. Do you wish, then, that we should persuade him (if we can find any means of doing so), that there is no truth in what he says? How should I not wish it? said he. If then, by way of opposition, said I, we advance, as argument against argument, how many good things are involved in being just,—and again, he on the other side, and we again rejoin, it will be requisite to compute and estimate what either of us says on either side; and we shall want also some judges to decide thereon. But if, as just now, we investigate these matters, by agreeing with each other, we shall ourselves be both judges and counsel? Certainly, said he. Which of these plans, then, said I, do you choose? The latter, said he.

CHAP. XX.—Come then, said I, Thrasymachus;—answer us from the beginning. Say you, that complete injustice is more profitable than complete justice? Assuredly, I do say so, replied he;—and why, too, I have already told you. Come, now, how can you affirm anything like the following concerning them?—Do you call one of them virtue; and the other vice? How not? Is not justice, then, a virtue,—and injustice a vice? Likely, indeed, that I should say so, facetious man; since I say that injustice is profitable, but justice not so! What then? Quite the contrary, said he. Do you call justice a vice? No; but a very generous folly. Do you, then, call injustice a want of principle? No, said he, but sagacity. Do the unjust, Thrasymachus, seem to you both wise and good? Such, at least, said he, as are able to do injustice in perfection, and can subject states and nations to themselves; but you think, perhaps, that I speak of cut-purses. Even such employment as this, said he, is profitable, if concealed; but yet is of no value in comparison with what I just mentioned. I am not ignorant, said I, of what you mean to say: but at this I am surprised,—that you should reckon injustice as a part of virtue and wisdom, and justice among their contraries. But, I certainly do reckon it so. This, my good friend, said I, is somewhat too hard, and it is no longer easy to know what one can say: for if you had alleged that injustice is profitable, and had still allowed it to be a vice, or base, as some others do,—we should have had something to say, speaking according to received opinions. But now it is evident that you will say it is beautiful and strong, and will attribute to it all other properties which we ascribe to the just man, because, forsooth, you have ventured to class it with virtue and wisdom. You augur very truly, said he. I must not grudge, however, said I, to pursue our inquiry, so long as I conceive you speak what you really think; for you appear to me, Thrasymachus, without doubt, not to be jesting, but only to speak what you conceive to be the truth. What difference is it to you, said he, whether I think so, or not;—and why do you not refute my reasoning? No difference at all, said I:—but try further to reply to this likewise: does one just man appear to you to wish to have more than another just man? By no means, said he; for otherwise he would not have been accommodating and silly, as we just conceived him. What; not even in a just action? No,—not even in one that is just, said he. But, would he deem it right to overreach the unjust man, and reckon it just; or would he not think it just? He would both count it just, said he, and deem it right; but yet he would not be able [to do it]. That, said I, I do not ask,—but, whether the just man would neither deem it right, nor feel a wish to overreach a just man, but yet would do so to the unjust? Such is the case, said he. What, then, would the unjust man [do?]—Would he deem it right to overreach the just man, even in a just action? How not, said he, since he deems it right to overreach all men? With respect, then, to the unjust man and unjust action, will not the unjust man desire to overreach both; and eagerly strive himself to receive most of all? Such is the fact.

CHAP. XXI.—This, then, is what we mean, said I:—the just man does not try to overreach one like himself, but one that is unlike, while the unjust man does so both to one like, and one unlike himself. You have expressed yourself admirably, said he. Well, then, said I, the unjust man is both wise and good; but the just man is neither. Well, again, said he. In that case, said I, is not the unjust man like the wise and the good, and the just man unlike. Of course, said he, a person of a certain character is likely to resemble one of like character; and he who is otherwise, not. Well said:—such an one then, of course, is either of those whom he resembles? Why doubt it? said he. Granted, Thrasymachus;—now do you call one man musical, and another unmusical? I do. Which of the two do you call wise, and which unwise? The musical, surely, wise, and the unmusical unwise. As being wise, then, is he not good; but as unwise, bad? Yes. And what as to the physician, is it not the same? The same. Do you think, then, my excellent friend, that any musician, when he is tuning a harp, wants to overreach, or deems it right to have more skill than a man who is a musician, in straining and slackening the strings? Not I. But what with respect to one unmusical? He could not help it, said he. And what as to the physician? In prescribing meats or drinks, would he try to overreach either another physician, or the art he professes? No, indeed. But one who is no physician [would?] Yes. Just consider then, as respects all science and ignorance, whether any skilful man, be he who he may, appears to you to have a desire to grasp at, or do, or say more than another skilful man,—and not rather to do the same things, in the same business as one equally skilful with himself? Aye, it seems, it must be so, said he. But what, as to him who is unskilled, will not he like to overreach both alike the skilful and the unskilled? Probably. But the skilful man [is] wise? I admit it.—And the wise, good?—I admit it. Both the good and the wise, then, will not want to overreach his like, but rather one unlike, and contrary to himself? It seems so, said he. But the bad and the ignorant man [will want to overreach] both his like and his contrary? It appears so. In that case, Thrasymachus, said I;—the unjust man desires to overreach both one unlike and one like himself:—did not you say so? I did, said he. The just man, however, on his side, will not overreach his like, but one unlike? Yes. The just man then, said I, resembles the wise and the good, but the unjust, the evil and the ignorant? It seems so. But we agreed, that each of them was such as what he resembled? We did agree so. The just man, then, has been clearly shown to be good and wise, but the unjust, ignorant and evil.

CHAP. XXII.—Thrasymachus at last agreed to all these things,—not easily, as I now narrate them, but dragged to it, and with difficulty, and with a wondrous deal of sweating, just as if it was summer. Then, indeed, did I behold—I never did before—Thrasymachus blushing. And after we had agreed that justice was virtue and wisdom, and injustice, vice and ignorance,—well, said I, let this be so settled;—but we said also, that injustice is powerful:—do not you remember, Thrasymachus? I do remember, said he;—but, to me at least, what you now say is not pleasing, and I have somewhat to say about it; but should I mention it, I well know you would say I am declaiming.[51] Either, then, let me say what I please, or, if you wish to question me, do so, and I will say to you, as to gossiping old women,[52] “Be it so,” and will assent and dissent. Not by any means, said I, if against your own opinion. Just to please you, said he, since you will not let me speak: though what else do you wish? Nothing, by Zeus, said I: but if you will do this, do it, and I will ask questions. Ask, then. This, then, I ask, as just now (that we may regularly examine our argument), of what quality is justice, compared with injustice? for I think it has been said that injustice was more powerful and stronger than justice.—But now, at any rate, said I, if justice be both virtue and wisdom, it will easily, methinks, be seen to be more powerful also than injustice, since injustice is ignorance; no one can any longer be ignorant of this—For my part, however, Thrasymachus, I am not desirous of getting rid of the question at once, but to consider it somehow thus.—Would you say that a state may be unjust, and attempt to enslave other states unjustly, and have enslaved them, and besides that actually hold many in slavery under herself? How not? said he: and this for the most part the best state will do, and one that is most completely unjust. I am aware, said I, that this was your assertion:—but this is what I wish to inquire; whether the state, which becomes more powerful than another state, is to hold this power without justice, or must necessarily do so with justice? If indeed, as you now alleged, said he, justice is wisdom—with justice; but if, as I said,—with injustice. I am quite delighted, Thrasymachus, said I, that you not merely assent and dissent; but also that you answer quite capitally. For I oblige you, he said. Therein doing well: oblige me, then, in this too, and tell me,—think you that a city, or camp, or robbers, or thieves, or any other company of men, such as jointly undertake anything unjustly, can meet with any success, if they injure one another? No, indeed, said he. But what, if they do no wrong?—-will they not [get on] better? Certainly. For, somehow or other, Thrasymachus, injustice induces seditions, and hatreds and contentions among men,—while justice [brings] harmony and friendship. Does it not? Granted, said he, that I may not differ from you.

Footnote 51:

A sly hit at the Sophists, of which dogmatic set Thrasymachus is throughout a very apt representative.

Footnote 52:

The term γραῶν ὕθλος or μῦθος was quite proverbial among the Greeks. Comp. Gorg. p. 527 a. Τάχα δ’ οὖν ταῦτα μῦθος σοι δοκεῖ λέγεσθαι ὥσπερ γραός.

CHAP. XXIII.—You are very kind, my excellent friend, then tell me this too;—if this be the work of injustice to engender hatred wherever it exists, will it not, when exercised both among freemen and slaves, make them hate one another, and become seditious, and incapable of doing anything in concert for the common advantage? Certainly. But what if it happen in the case of two only; will they not differ, and hate, and become enemies both to one another and to the just also? They will, said he. If then, my admirable friend, injustice reside in a person,—will it lose its power, or still retain it? It will still retain it, he replied. Seems it not, then, to have some such power as this;—that, in whatever it exists, whether in a city, or race, or camp, or anywhere else, it first of all renders it unable to act of itself, owing to seditions and differences; besides which, it becomes an enemy not only to itself, but to every opponent, especially to the just—is it not so? Certainly. And, methinks, when injustice residing in one man will have all these effects, which it is natural for it to produce, it will, in the first place, render him unable to act, while at variance and discord with himself;—and, secondly, as being an enemy both to himself and the just:—is it not so? Yes. But, at any rate, friend, the gods are just? Granted, said he. As respects the gods, then, Thrasymachus, the unjust man will be a foe, but the just man a friend? Feast yourself boldly on this reasoning, said he; for I will not oppose you, that I may not render myself odious to those who think so.[53] Come then, said I, and satiate me with the rest of the feast, by answering as you were doing just now: for as respects the just appearing wiser and better and more able to act, but the unjust being capable of doing nothing in concert; and besides that, as to what we said with reference to the unjust, that they are ever at any time able strenuously to act in mutual concert,—this we advanced not quite correctly, for being thoroughly unjust, they would not spare one another: but yet it was evident that there was a justice in them, which made them refrain at any rate from injuring one another and those of their party,—owing to which they performed what they did; and they rushed into unjust actions, through injustice, in a kind of half-wicked feeling; for the completely wicked are both perfectly unjust, and also quite incapable of action:—that this is really so, I understand, but not in the way that you first defined it. Besides, whether the just live better than the unjust, and are more happy (which we proposed to consider afterwards), is now to be considered:—and, methinks, they appear to do so even at present, from what we have said:—but let us consider the matter still better; for the discussion is not about a casual matter, but about the manner in which we ought to live.

Footnote 53:

A clever way of extricating himself from the dilemma in which his general scepticism has involved him!

Consider, then, said he. I am considering, said I;—and tell me, does there seem to you to be any work peculiar to a horse? Yes. Would you not call that the [peculiar] work both of a horse, and indeed of any being whatever, which he can do, or best do, with him alone? I do not understand, said he. But thus;—see you with anything else than the eyes? Surely not. What then? Could you hear with anything else than the ears? By no means. Should we not, then, justly call these the works peculiar to them? Certainly. And what—could you not with a sword, a knife, and many other things, lop off a vine-branch? How not? But with nothing, at any rate, methinks, so well as with a pruning-knife made for that purpose. True. Shall we not then define this to be its [peculiar] work? We will so define it then.

CHAP. XXIV.—Now, methinks, you may understand better what I was asking, when I inquired whether the work of each be not that which, of all others, one performs either alone or in the best manner. I understand you, said he; and this seems to me to be each one’s peculiar work. Granted, said I:—and does there not likewise appear to you to be a virtue belonging to everything, to which a certain work is assigned? But let us run over the same ground once more:—We say that the eyes have a certain work? Yes. Is there not then a virtue belonging to the eyes? A virtue also. Well, then, have the ears a certain work? Yes. And of course a virtue also? A virtue also. And, about all the rest;—is it not thus? It is. But, hold:—could the eyes ever cleverly perform their work, when not possessed of their own proper virtue, but vice instead of virtue? How could they? said he; for perhaps you mean blindness instead of sight. Whatever, said I, be their virtue, that I mean,—for I do not yet enter on this question; but, whether by their own proper virtue they will perform their own proper work well, whatever they undertake; and by vice, badly? In this, at least, said he, you speak the truth. And will not the ears also, when deprived of their virtue, perform their work ill? Certainly. And, are we to settle all other things by the same reasoning? So I suppose. Come then, after this, consider what follows: has the soul a certain work, which you can perform by no other living thing,—such as this, to take care, to govern, to consult, and all such [acts?] Is there any other than the soul, to which we can justly ascribe them, and say they are its proper functions? No other. But what of this?—To live; shall we say it is the work of the soul? Most assuredly, said he. Do not we say, then, that there is some virtue, also, peculiar to the soul? We do. And can the soul, then, Thrasymachus, ever perform its own works cleverly, whilst deprived of its proper virtue;—or, is this impossible? Impossible. Of necessity, then, a bad soul must govern and take care of things badly, and a good soul perform all these things well? Necessarily so. Did we not then agree, that justice was the virtue of the soul, and injustice its vice? We did so agree. The just soul, then, and the just man, will live well, and the unjust ill? It appears so, said he, according to your reasoning. Surely, then, he who lives well is both blessed and happy; and he who does not, the opposite? How not? The just, then, is happy, and the unjust miserable? Granted, said he. But at any rate, it is not advantageous to be miserable, but happy? How not? In that case, excellent Thrasymachus, injustice is never more profitable than justice. Well, now, Socrates, said he, you have been capitally well feasted at these Bendideia. Aye, by you, Thrasymachus, I certainly have; for you are grown quite mild, and have ceased to be troublesome:—and if I have not feasted handsomely, it is owing to myself, not you.—But just as greedy guests, ever gloating on what is fresh brought before them, taste thereof, without having properly enjoyed what went before,—so I, methinks, without having first ascertained what we were before investigating,—namely the nature of justice, have omitted this, and rushed eagerly forward to inquire concerning it, whether it be vice and ignorance, or wisdom and virtue;—and when an assertion was afterwards introduced, that injustice is more profitable than justice, I could not refrain from coming to this, from the other; so that now, from this conversation, I have learnt nothing at all;—for since I do not know what justice is, I can scarcely know whether it be a virtue or not,—and whether he who possesses it be unhappy or happy.

THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.