Plato, Republic

Socrates
I¹ went down yesterday to the Peiraeus² with Glaucon, the son of Ariston, to pay my devotions³ to the Goddess,⁴ and also because I wished to see how they would conduct the festival since this was its inauguration.⁵ I thought the procession of the citizens very fine, but it was no better than the show, made by the marching of the Thracian contingent. [327b]

After we had said our prayers and seen the spectacle we were starting for town when Polemarchus, the son of Cephalus, caught sight of us from a distance as we were hastening homeward⁶ and ordered his boy⁷ run and bid us to wait⁸ for him, and the boy caught hold⁹ of my himation from behind and said, “Polemarchus wants you to wait.” And I turned around and asked where his master¹⁰ was. “There he is,” he said, “behind you, coming this way. Wait for him.” “So we will,” said Glaucon, [327c] and shortly after Polemarchus came up and Adeimantus, the brother of Glaucon, and Niceratus, the son of Nicias, and a few others apparently from the procession. Whereupon Polemarchus said, “Socrates, you appear to have turned your faces townward and to be going to leave us.” “Not a bad guess,” said I. “But you see how many we are?” he said. “Surely.” “You must either then prove yourselves the better men¹¹ or stay here.” “Why, is there not left,” said I, “the alternative of our persuading¹² you that you ought to let us go?” “But could you persuade us,” said he, “if we refused to listen?” “Nohow,” said Glaucon. “Well, we won't listen, and you might as well make up your minds to it.” “Do you mean to say,” interposed Adeimantus, [328a] “that you haven't heard that there is to be a torchlight race¹³ this evening on horseback in honor of the Goddess?” “On horseback?” said I. “That is a new idea. Will they carry torches and pass them along to one another as they race with the horses, or how do you mean?” “That's the way of it,” said Polemarchus, “and, besides, there is to be a night festival which will be worth seeing. For after dinner we will get up¹⁴ and go out and see the sights and meet a lot of the lads there and have good talk. So stay [328b] and do as we ask.”¹⁵“It looks as if we should have to stay,” said Glaucon. “Well,” said I, “if it so be, so be it.”

So we went with them to Polemarchus's house, and there we found Lysias and Euthydemus, the brothers of Polemarchus, yes, and¹⁶ Thrasymachus, too, of Chalcedon, and Charmantides of the deme of Paeania, and Kleitophon the son of Aristonymus. And the father of Polemarchus, Cephalus, was also at home.

And I thought him much aged, [328c] for it was a long time since I had seen him. He was sitting on a sort of couch with cushions and he had a chaplet¹⁷ on his head, for he had just finished sacrificing in the court. So we went and sat down beside him, for there were seats there disposed in a circle.¹⁸ As soon as he saw me Cephalus greeted me and said, “You are not a very frequent¹⁹ visitor, Socrates. You don't often come down to the Peiraeus to see us. That is not right. For if I were still able to make the journey up to town easily there would be no need of your resorting hither, [328d] but we would go to visit you. But as it is you should not space too widely your visits here. For I would have you know that, for my part, as the satisfactions of the body decay,²⁰ in the same measure my desire for the pleasures of good talk and my delight in them increase. Don't refuse then, but be yourself a companion to these lads and make our house your resort and regard us as your very good friends and intimates.” “Why, yes, Cephalus,” said I, “and I enjoy talking with the very aged. [328e] For to my thinking we have to learn of them as it were from wayfarers²¹ who have preceded us on a road on which we too, it may be, must some time fare—what²² it is like—is it rough²³ and hard going or easy and pleasant to travel. And so now I would fain learn of you what you think of this thing, now that your time has come to it, the thing that the poets call ‘the threshold²⁴ of old age.’ Is it a hard part of life to bear or what report have you to make of it?”

“Yes, indeed, Socrates,” he said, “I will tell you my own feeling about it. [329a] For it often happens that some of us elders of about the same age come together and verify²⁵ the old saw of like to like. At these reunions most of us make lament, longing for the lost joys of youth and recalling to mind the pleasures of wine, women, and feasts, and other things thereto appertaining, and they repine in the belief that the greatest things have been taken from them and that then they lived well and now it is no life at all.²⁶ And some of them [329b] complain of the indignities that friends and kinsmen put upon old age and thereto recite a doleful litany²⁷ of all the miseries for which they blame old age. But in my opinion, Socrates, they do not put the blame on the real cause.²⁸ For if it were the cause I too should have had the same experience so far as old age is concerned, and so would all others who have come to this time of life. But in fact I have ere now met with others who do not feel in this way, and in particular I remember hearing Sophocles the poet greeted by a fellow who asked, [329c] 'How about your service of Aphrodite, Sophocles—is your natural force still unabated?' And he replied, 'Hush, man, most gladly have I escaped this thing you talk of, as if I had run away from a raging and savage beast of a master.'²⁹ I thought it a good answer then and now I think so still more. For in very truth there comes to old age a great tranquillity in such matters and a blessed release. When the fierce tensions³⁰ of the passions and desires relax, then is the word of Sophocles approved, [329d] and we are rid of many and mad³¹ masters. But indeed in respect of these complaints and in the matter of our relations with kinsmen and friends there is just one cause, Socrates—not old age, but the character of the man. For if men are temperate and cheerful³² even old age is only moderately burdensome. But if the reverse, old age, Socrates, and youth are hard for such dispositions.”

And I was filled with admiration³³ for the man by these words, and desirous of hearing more I tried to draw him out and said, “I fancy, [329e] Cephalus, that most people, when they hear you talk in this way, are not convinced but think that you bear old age lightly not because of your character but because of your wealth. ‘For the rich,’ they say, ‘have many consolations.’”³⁴“You are right,” he said. “They don't accept my view and there is something in their objection, though not so much as they suppose. But the retort of Themistocles comes in pat here, who, when a man from the little island of Seriphus³⁵ grew abusive and told him that he owed his fame not to himself [330a] but to the city from which he came, replied that neither would he himself ever have made a name if he had been born in Seriphus nor the other if he had been an Athenian. And the same principle applies excellently to those who not being rich take old age hard; for neither would the reasonable man find it altogether easy to endure old age conjoined with poverty, nor would the unreasonable man by the attainment of riches ever attain to self-contentment and a cheerful temper.” “May I ask, Cephalus,” said I, “whether you inherited most of your possessions or acquired them yourself?” “Acquired, eh?” he said. [330b] “As a moneymaker, I hold a place somewhere halfway between my grandfather and my father. For my grandfather and namesake³⁶ inherited about as much property as I now possess and multiplied it many times, my father Lysanias reduced it below the present amount, and I am content if I shall leave the estate to these boys not less but by some slight measure more than my inheritance.” “The reason I asked,” I said, is that you appear to me not to be over-fond of money. [330c] And that is generally the case with those who have not earned it themselves.³⁷ But those who have themselves acquired it have a double reason in comparison with other men for loving it. For just as poets feel complacency about their own poems and fathers about their own sons,³⁸ so men who have made money take this money seriously as their own creation and they also value it for its uses as other people do. So they are hard to talk to since they are unwilling to commend anything except wealth.” [330d]

“You are right,” he replied. “I assuredly am,” said I. “But tell me further this. What do you regard as the greatest benefit you have enjoyed from the possession of property?” “Something,” he said, “which I might not easily bring many to believe if I told them.³⁹ For let me tell you, Socrates,” he said, “that when a man begins to realize that he is going to die, he is filled with apprehensions and concern about matters that before did not occur to him. The tales that are told of the world below and how the men who have done wrong here must pay the penalty there,⁴⁰ though he may have laughed them down⁴¹ hitherto, [330e] then begin to torture his soul with the doubt that there may be some truth in them. And apart from that the man himself⁴² either from the weakness of old age or possibly as being now nearer to the things beyond has a somewhat clearer view of them. Be that as it may, he is filled with doubt, surmises, and alarms and begins to reckon up and consider whether he has ever wronged anyone. Now he to whom the ledger of his life shows an account of many evil deeds starts up⁴³ even from his dreams like children again and again in affright and his days are haunted by anticipations of worse to come. But on him who is conscious of no wrong [331a] that he has done a sweet hope⁴⁴ ever attends and a goodly to be nurse of his old age, as Pindar⁴⁵ too says. For a beautiful saying it is, Socrates, of the poet that when a man lives out his days in justice and piety“ sweet companion with him, to cheer his heart and nurse his old age, accompanies
Hope, who chiefly rules the changeful mind of mortals.
”Pindar Frag. 214, LoebThat is a fine saying and an admirable. It is for this, then, that I affirm that the possession of wealth is of most value [331b] not it may be to every man but to the good man. Not to cheat any man even unintentionally or play him false, not remaining in debt to a god⁴⁶ for some sacrifice or to a man for money, so to depart in fear to that other world—to this result the possession of property contributes not a little. It has also many other uses. But, setting one thing against another, I would lay it down, Socrates, that for a man of sense this is the chief service of wealth.” “An admirable sentiment, Cephalus,” [331c] said I. “But speaking of this very thing, justice, are we to affirm thus without qualification⁴⁷ that it is truth-telling and paying back what one has received from anyone, or may these very actions sometimes be just and sometimes unjust? I mean, for example, as everyone I presume would admit, if one took over weapons from a friend who was in his right mind and then the lender should go mad and demand them back, that we ought not to return them in that case and that he who did so return them would not be acting justly—nor yet would he who chose to speak nothing but the truth [331d] to one who was in that state.” “You are right,” he replied. “Then this is not the definition of justice: to tell the truth and return what one has received.” “Nay, but it is, Socrates,” said Polemarchus breaking in, “if indeed we are to put any faith in Simonides.” “Very well,” said Cephalus, “indeed I make over the whole argument⁴⁸ to you. For it is time for me to attend the sacrifices.” “Well,” said I, “is not Polemarchus the heir of everything that is yours?” “Certainly,” said he with a laugh, and at the same time went out to the sacred rites.⁴⁹ [331e]

“Tell me, then, you the inheritor of the argument, what it is that you affirm that Simonides says and rightly says about justice.” “That it is just,” he replied, “to render to each his due.⁵⁰ In saying this I think he speaks well.” “I must admit,” said I, “that it is not easy to disbelieve Simonides. For he is a wise and inspired man.⁵¹ But just what he may mean by this you, Polemarchus, doubtless know, but I do not. Obviously he does not mean what we were just speaking of, this return of a deposit⁵² to anyone whatsoever even if he asks it back when not in his right mind. And yet what the man deposited [332a] is due to him in a sense, is it not?” “Yes.” “But rendered to him it ought not to be by any manner of means when he demands it not being his right mind.” “True,” said he. “It is then something other than this that Simonides must, as it seems, mean by the saying that it is just to render back what is due.” “Something else in very deed,” he replied, “for he believes that friends owe it to friends to do them some good and no evil.” “I see,” said I; “you mean that⁵³ he does not render what is due or owing who returns a deposit of gold [332b] if this return and the acceptance prove harmful and the returner and the recipient are friends. Isn't that what you say Simonides means?” “Quite so.” “But how about this—should one not render to enemies what is their due?” “By all means,” he said, “what is due⁵⁴ and owing to them, and there is due and owing from an enemy to an enemy what also is proper for him, some evil.”

“It was a riddling⁵⁵ definition of justice, then, that Simonides gave after the manner of poets; for while his meaning, [332c] it seems, was that justice is rendering to each what befits him, the name that he gave to this was the due.'” “What else do you suppose?” said he. “In heaven's name!” said I, “suppose⁵⁶ someone had questioned him thus: 'Tell me, Simonides, the art that renders what that is due and befitting to what is called the art of medicine.'⁵⁷ What do you take it would have been his answer?” “Obviously,” he said, “the art that renders to bodies drugs, foods, and drinks.” “And the art that renders to what things what that is due and befitting is called the culinary art?” [332d] “Seasoning to meats.” “Good. In the same way tell me the art that renders what to whom would be denominated justice.” “If we are to follow the previous examples,⁵⁸ Socrates, it is that which renders benefits and harms to friends and enemies.” “To do good to friends and evil to enemies,⁵⁹ then, is justice in his meaning?” “I think so.” “Who then is the most able when they are ill to benefit friends and harm enemies in respect to disease and health?” “The physician.” [332e] “And who navigators in respect of the perils of the sea?” “The pilot.” “Well then, the just man, in what action and for what work is he the most competent to benefit friends and harm enemies?” “In making war and as an ally, I should say.” “Very well. But now if they are not sick, friend Polemarchus, the physician is useless to them.” “True.” “And so to those who are not at sea the pilot.” “Yes.” “Shall we also say this that for those who are not at war the just man is useless?” “By no means.” “There is a use then even in peace for justice?” [333a] “Yes, it is useful.” “But so is agriculture, isn't it?” “Yes.” “Namely, for the getting of a harvest?” “Yes.” “But likewise the cobbler's art?” “Yes.” “Namely, I presume you would say, for the getting of shoes.” “Certainly.” “Then tell me, for the service and getting of what would you say that justice is useful in time of peace?” “In engagements and dealings, Socrates.” “And by dealings do you mean associations, partnerships, or something else?” “Associations, of course.” “Is it the just man, [333b] then, who is a good and useful associate and partner in the placing of draughts or the draught-player?” “The player.” “And in the placing of bricks and stones is the just man a more useful and better associate than the builder?” “By no means.” “Then what is the association⁶⁰ in which the just man is a better partner than the harpist as an harpist is better than the just man for striking the chords?” “For money-dealings,⁶¹ I think.” “Except, I presume, Polemarchus, for the use of money when there is occasion to buy in common [333c] or sell a horse. Then, I take it, the man who knows horses, isn't it so?” “Apparently.” “And again, if it is a vessel, the shipwright or the pilot.” “It would seem so.” “What then is the use of money in common for which a just man is the better partner?” “When it is to be deposited and kept safe, Socrates.” “You mean when it is to be put to no use but is to lie idle⁶²?” “Quite so.” “Then it is when money is useless that justice is useful in relation to it?” [333d] “It looks that way.” “And similarly when a scythe is to be kept safe, then justice is useful both in public and private. But when it is to be used, the vinedresser's art is useful?” “Apparently.” “And so you will have to say that when a shield and a lyre are to be kept and put to no use, justice is useful, but when they are to be made use of, the military art and music.” “Necessarily.” “And so in all other cases, in the use of each thing, justice is useless but in its uselessness useful?” “It looks that way.” [333e]

“Then, my friend, justice cannot be a thing of much worth⁶³ if it is useful only for things out of use and useless. But let us consider this point. Is not the man who is most skilful to strike or inflict a blow in a fight, whether as a boxer or elsewhere, also the most wary to guard against⁶⁴ a blow?” “Assuredly.” “Is it not also true that he who best knows how to guard against disease is also most cunning to communicate it and escape detection?” “I think so.” “But again [334a] the very same man is a good guardian of an army who is good at stealing a march⁶⁵ upon the enemy in respect of their designs and proceedings generally.” “Certainly.” “Of whatsoever, then, anyone is a skilful guardian, of that he is also a skilful thief?” “It seems so.” “If then the just man is an expert in guarding money he is an expert in stealing it.” “The argument certainly points that way.”⁶⁶“A kind of thief then the just man it seems has turned out to be, and it is likely that you acquired this idea from Homer.⁶⁷ For he regards with complacency Autolycus,⁶⁸ [334b] the maternal uncle of Odysseus, and says “‘he was gifted beyond all men in thievery and perjury.’”Hom. Od. 19.395 So justice, according to you and Homer and Simonides, seems to be a kind of stealing, with the qualification that it is for the benefit of friends and the harm of enemies. Isn't that what you meant?” “No, by Zeus,” he replied. “I no longer know what I did mean.⁶⁹ Yet this I still believe, that justice benefits friends and harms enemies.” [334c] “May I ask whether by friends you mean those who seem⁷⁰ to a man to be worthy or those who really are so, even if they do not seem, and similarly of enemies?” “It is likely,” he said, “that men will love those whom they suppose to be good and dislike those whom they deem bad.” “Do not men make mistakes in this matter so that many seem good to them who are not and the reverse?” “They do.” “For those, then, who thus err the good are their enemies and the bad their friends?” “Certainly.” “But all the same is then just for them to benefit the bad [334d] and injure the good?” “It would seem so.” “But again the good are just and incapable of injustice.” “True.” “On your reasoning then it is just to wrong those who do no injustice.” “Nay, nay, Socrates,” he said, “the reasoning can't be right.”⁷¹“Then,” said I, “it is just to harm the unjust and benefit the just.” “That seems a better conclusion than the other.” “It will work out, then, for many, Polemarchus, who have misjudged men that it is just to harm their friends, [334e] for they have got bad ones, and to benefit their enemies, for they are good. And so we shall find ourselves saying the very opposite of what we affirmed Simonides to mean.” “Most certainly,” he said, “it does work out so. But let us change our ground; for it looks as if we were wrong in the notion we took up about the friend and the enemy.” “What notion, Polemarchus?” “That the man who seems to us good is the friend.” “And to what shall we change it now?” said I. “That the man who both seems and is good is the friend, but that he who seems [335a] but is not really so seems but is not really the friend. And there will be the same assumption about the enemy.” “Then on this view it appears the friend will be the good man and the bad the enemy.” “Yes.” “So you would have us qualify our former notion of the just man by an addition. We then said it was just to do good to a friend and evil to an enemy, but now we are to add that it is just to benefit the friend if he is good and harm the enemy if he is bad?” [335b] “By all means,” he said, “that, I think, would be the right way to put it.”

“Is it then,” said I, “the part of a good man to harm anybody whatsoever?”⁷²“Certainly it is,” he replied; “a man ought to harm those who are both bad and his enemies.” “When horses⁷³ are harmed does it make them better or worse?” “Worse.” “In respect of the excellence or virtue of dogs or that of horses?” “Of horses.” “And do not also dogs when harmed become worse in respect of canine and not of equine virtue?” “Necessarily.” [335c] “And men, my dear fellow, must we not say that when they are harmed it is in respect of the distinctive excellence or virtue of man that they become worse?” “Assuredly.” “And is not justice the specific virtue of man?”⁷⁴“That too must be granted.” “Then it must also be admitted, my friend, that men who are harmed become more unjust.” “It seems so.” “Do musicians then make men unmusical by the art of music?” “Impossible.” “Well, do horsemen by horsemanship unfit men for dealing with horses?” “No.” “By justice then do the just make men unjust, [335d] or in sum do the good by virtue make men bad?” “Nay, it is impossible.” “It is not, I take it, the function⁷⁵ of heat to chill but of its opposite.” “Yes.” “Nor of dryness to moisten but of its opposite.” “Assuredly.” “Nor yet of the good to harm but of its opposite.” “So it appears.” “But the just man is good?” “Certainly.” “It is not then the function of the just man, Polemarchus, to harm either friend or anyone else, but of his opposite.” “I think you are altogether right, [335e] Socrates.” “If, then, anyone affirms that it is just to render to each his due and he means by this, that injury and harm is what is due to his enemies from the just man⁷⁶ and benefits to his friends, he was no truly wise man who said it. For what he meant was not true. For it has been made clear to us that in no case is it just to harm anyone.” “I concede it,” he said. “We will take up arms against him, then,” said I, “you and I together, if anyone affirms that either Simonides or Bias⁷⁷ or Pittacus or any other of the wise and blessed said such a thing.” “I, for my part,” he said, “am ready to join in the battle with you.” [336a] “Do you know,” said I, “to whom I think the saying belongs—this statement that it is just to benefit friends and harm enemies?” “To whom?” he said. “I think it was the saying of Periander or Perdiccas or Xerxes or Ismenias⁷⁸ the Theban or some other rich man who had great power in his own conceit.”⁷⁹“That is most true,” he replied. “Very well,” said I, “since it has been made clear that this too is not justice and the just, what else is there that we might say justice to be?”⁸⁰ [336b]

Now Thrasymachus,⁸¹ even while we were conversing, had been trying several times to break in and lay hold of the discussion but he was restrained by those who sat by him who wished to hear the argument out. But when we came to a pause after I had said this, he couldn't any longer hold his peace. But gathering himself up like a wild beast he hurled himself upon us as if he would tear us to pieces. And Polemarchus and I were frightened and fluttered apart, and he bawled out into our midst, [336c] “What balderdash is this that you have been talking, and why do you Simple Simons truckle and give way to one another? But if you really wish, Socrates, to know what the just is, don't merely ask questions or plume yourself upon controverting any answer that anyone gives—since your acumen has perceived that it is easier to ask questions than to answer them,⁸² but do you yourself answer and tell [336d] what you say the just is. And don't you be telling me⁸³ that it is that which ought to be, or the beneficial or the profitable or the gainful or the advantageous, but express clearly and precisely whatever you say. For I won't take from you any such drivel as that!” And I, when I heard him, was dismayed, and looking upon him was filled with fear, and I believe that if I had not looked at him before he did at me I should have lost my voice.⁸⁴ But as it is, at the very moment when he began to be exasperated by the course of the argument [336e] I glanced at him first, so that I became capable of answering him and said with a light tremor: “Thrasymachus, don't be harsh⁸⁵ with us. If I and my friend have made mistakes in the consideration of the question, rest assured that it is unwillingly that we err. For you surely must not suppose that while⁸⁶ if our quest were for gold⁸⁷ we would never willingly truckle to one another and make concessions in the search and so spoil our chances of finding it, yet that when we are searching for justice, a thing more precious than much fine gold, we should then be so foolish as to give way to one another and not rather do our serious best to have it discovered. You surely must not suppose that, my friend. But you see it is our lack of ability that is at fault. It is pity then that we should far more reasonably receive [337a] from clever fellows like you than severity.”

And he on hearing this gave a great guffaw and laughed sardonically and said, “Ye gods! here we have the well-known irony⁸⁸ of Socrates, and I knew it and predicted that when it came to replying you would refuse and dissemble and do anything rather than answer any question that anyone asked you.” “That's because you are wise, Thrasymachus, and so you knew very well that if you asked a man how many are twelve, [337b] and in putting the question warned him: don't you be telling me, fellow, that twelve is twice six or three times four or six times two or four times three, for I won't accept any such drivel as that from you as an answer—it was obvious I fancy to you that no one could give an answer to a question framed in that fashion. Suppose he had said to you, 'Thrasymachus, what do you mean? Am I not to give any of the prohibited answers, not even, do you mean to say, if the thing really is one of these, but must I say something different from the truth, [337c] or what do you mean?' What would have been your answer to him?” “Humph!” said he, “how very like the two cases are!” “There is nothing to prevent,” said I; “yet even granted that they are not alike, yet if it appears to the person asked the question that they are alike, do you suppose that he will any the less answer what appears to him, whether we forbid him or whether we don't?” “Is that, then,” said he, “what you are going to do? Are you going to give one of the forbidden answers?” “I shouldn't be surprised,” I said, “if on reflection that would be my view.” “What then,” [337d] he said, “if I show you another answer about justice differing from all these, a better one—what penalty do you think you deserve?” “Why, what else,” said I, “than that which it befits anyone who is ignorant to suffer? It befits him, I presume, to learn from the one who does know. That then is what I propose that I should suffer.” “I like your simplicity,”⁸⁹ said he; “but in addition to 'learning' you must pay a fine of money.” “Well, I will when I have got it,” I said. “It is there,” said Glaucon: “if money is all that stands in the way, Thrasymachus, go on with your speech. We will all contribute for Socrates.” “Oh yes, of course,” [337e] said he, “so that Socrates may contrive, as he always does, to evade answering himself but may cross-examine the other man and refute his replies.” “Why, how,” I said, “my dear fellow, could anybody answer if in the first place he did not know and did not even profess to know, and secondly even if he had some notion of the matter, he had been told by a man of weight that he mustn't give any of his suppositions as an answer? [338a] Nay, it is more reasonable that you should be the speaker. For you do affirm that you know and are able to tell. Don't be obstinate, but do me the favor to reply and don't be chary⁹⁰ of your wisdom, and instruct Glaucon here and the rest of us.”

When I had spoken thus Glaucon and the others urged him not to be obstinate. It was quite plain that Thrasymachus was eager to speak in order that he might do himself credit, since he believed that he had a most excellent answer to our question. But he demurred and pretended to make a point of my being the respondent. Finally he gave way and then said, [338b] “Here you have the wisdom of Socrates, to refuse himself to teach, but go about and learn from others and not even pay thanks⁹¹ therefor.” “That I learn from others,” I said, “you said truly, Thrasymachus. But in saying that I do not pay thanks you are mistaken. I pay as much as I am able. And I am able only to bestow praise. For money I lack.⁹² But that I praise right willingly those who appear to speak well you will well know forthwith as soon as you have given your answer. [338c] For I think that you will speak well.” “Hearken and hear then,” said he. “I affirm that the just is nothing else than⁹³ the advantage of the stronger.⁹⁴ WeIl, why don't you applaud? Nay, you'll do anything but that.” “Provided only I first understand your meaning,” said I; “for I don't yet apprehend it. The advantage of the stronger is what you affirm the just to be. But what in the world do you mean by this? I presume you don't intend to affirm this, that if Polydamas the pancratiast is stronger than we are and the flesh of beeves⁹⁵ is advantageous for him, [338d] for his body, this viand is also for us who are weaker than he both advantageous and just.” “You're a buffoon,⁹⁶ Socrates, and take my statement⁹⁷ in the most detrimental sense.” “Not at all, my dear fellow” said I; “I only want you to make your meaning plainer.”⁹⁸“Don't you know then,” said he, “that some cities are governed by tyrants, in others democracy rules, in others aristocracy?”⁹⁹“Assuredly.” “And is not this the thing that is strong and has the mastery¹⁰⁰ in each—the ruling party?” “Certainly.” [338e] “And each form of government enacts the laws with a view to its own advantage, a democracy democratic laws and tyranny autocratic and the others likewise, and by so legislating they proclaim that the just for their subjects is that which is for their—the rulers'—advantage and the man who deviates¹⁰¹ from this law they chastise as a law-breaker and a wrongdoer. This, then, my good sir, is what I understand as the identical principle of justice that obtains in all states [339a] —the advantage of the established government. This I presume you will admit holds power and is strong, so that, if one reasons rightly, it works out that the just is the same thing everywhere,¹⁰² the advantage of the stronger.” “Now,” said I, “I have learned your meaning, but whether it is true or not I have to try to learn. The advantageous, then, is also your reply, Thrasymachus, to the question, what is the just—though you forbade me to give that answer. [339b] But you add thereto that of the stronger.” “A trifling addition¹⁰³ perhaps you think it,” he said. “It is not yet clear¹⁰⁴ whether it is a big one either; but that we must inquire whether what you say is true, is clear.¹⁰⁵ For since I too admit that the just is something that is of advantage¹⁰⁶—but you are for making an addition and affirm it to be the advantage of the stronger, while I don't profess to know,¹⁰⁷ we must pursue the inquiry.” “Inquire away,” he said.

“I will do so,” said I. “Tell me, then; you affirm also, do you not, that obedience to rulers is just?” [339c] “I do.” “May I ask whether the rulers in the various states are infallible¹⁰⁸ or capable sometimes of error?” “Surely,” he said, “they are liable to err.” “Then in their attempts at legislation they enact some laws rightly and some not rightly, do they not?” “So I suppose.” “And by rightly we are to understand for their advantage, and by wrongly to their disadvantage? Do you mean that or not?” “That.” “But whatever they enact¹⁰⁹ must be performed by their subjects and is justice?” “Of course.” [339d] “Then on your theory it is just not only to do what is the advantage of the stronger but also the opposite, what is not to his advantage.” “What's that you're saying?”¹¹⁰ he replied. “What you yourself are saying,¹¹¹ I think. Let us consider it more closely. Have we not agreed that the rulers in giving orders to the ruled sometimes mistake their own advantage, and that whatever the rulers enjoin is just for the subjects to perform? Was not that admitted?” “I think it was,” he replied. [339e] “Then you will have to think,”¹¹² I said, “that to do what is disadvantageous to the rulers and the stronger has been admitted by you to be just in the case when the rulers unwittingly enjoin what is bad for themselves, while you affirm that it is just for the others to do what they enjoined. In that way does not this conclusion inevitably follow, my most sapient¹¹³ Thrasymachus, that it is just to do the very opposite¹¹⁴ of what you say? For it is in that case surely the disadvantage of the stronger or superior that the inferior [340a] are commanded to perform.” “Yes, by Zeus, Socrates,” said Polemarchus, “nothing could be more conclusive.” “Of course,” said Cleitophon, breaking in, “if you are his witness.”¹¹⁵“What need is there of a witness?” Polemarchus said. “Thrasymachus himself admits that the rulers sometimes enjoin what is evil for themselves and yet says that it is just for the subjects to do this.” “That, Polemarchus, is because Thrasymachus laid it down that it is just to obey the orders¹¹⁶ of the rulers.” “Yes, Cleitophon, but he also took the position that the advantage of the stronger is just. [340b] And after these two assumptions he again admitted that the stronger sometimes bid the inferior and their subjects do what is to the disadvantage of the rulers. And from these admissions the just would no more be the advantage of the stronger than the contrary.” “O well,” said Cleitophon, “by the advantage of the superior he meant what the superior supposed to be for his advantage. This was what the inferior had to do, and that this is the just was his position.” “That isn't what he said,” [340c] replied Polemarchus. “Never mind, Polemarchus,” said I, “but if that is Thrasymachus's present meaning, let us take it from him¹¹⁷ in that sense.

“XIV. So tell me, Thrasymachus, was this what you intended to say, that the just is the advantage of the superior as it appears to the superior whether it really is or not? Are we to say this was your meaning?” “Not in the least,” he said.¹¹⁸“Do you suppose that I call one who is in error a superior when he errs?” “I certainly did suppose that you meant that,” I replied, “when you agreed that rulers are not infallible [340d] but sometimes make mistakes.” “That is because you argue like a pettifogger, Socrates. Why, to take the nearest example, do you call one who is mistaken about the sick a physician in respect of his mistake or one who goes wrong in a calculation a calculator when he goes wrong and in respect of this error? Yet that is what we say literally—we say that the physician¹¹⁹ erred and the calculator and the schoolmaster. But the truth, I take it, is, that each of these [340e] in so far as he is that which we entitle him never errs; so that, speaking precisely, since you are such a stickler for precision,¹²⁰ no craftsman errs. For it is when his knowledge abandons him that he who goes wrong goes wrong—when he is not a craftsman. So that no craftsman, wise man, or ruler makes a mistake then when he is a ruler, though everybody would use the expression that the physician made a mistake and the ruler erred. It is in this loose way of speaking, then, that you must take the answer I gave you a little while ago. But the most precise statement is that other, that the ruler [341a] in so far forth as ruler does not err, and not erring he enacts what is best for himself, and this the subject must do, so that, even as I meant from the start, I say the just is to do what is for the advantage of the stronger.”

“So then, Thrasymachus,” said I, “my manner of argument seems to you pettifogging?” “It does,” he said. “You think, do you, that it was with malice aforethought and trying to get the better of you unfairly that I asked that question?” “I don't think it, I know it,” he said, “and you won't make anything by it, for you won't get the better of me by stealth and [341b] , failing stealth, you are not of the force¹²¹ to beat me in debate.” “Bless your soul,” said I, “I wouldn't even attempt such a thing. But that nothing of the sort may spring up between us again, define in which sense you take the ruler and stronger. Do you mean the so-called ruler¹²² or that ruler in the precise sense of whom you were just now telling us, and for whose advantage as being the superior it will be just for the inferior to act?” “I mean the ruler in the very most precise sense of the word,” he said. “Now bring on against this your cavils and your shyster's tricks if you are able. [341c] I ask no quarter. But you'll find yourself unable.” “Why, do you suppose,” I said, “that I am so mad to try to try to beard a lion¹²³ and try the pettifogger on Thrasymachus?” “You did try it just now,” he said, “paltry fellow though you be.”¹²⁴“Something too much¹²⁵ of this sort of thing,” said I. “But tell me, your physician in the precise sense of whom you were just now speaking, is he a moneymaker, an earner of fees, or a healer of the sick? And remember to speak of the physician who is really such.” “A healer of the sick,” he replied. “And what of the lot—the pilot rightly so called—is he a ruler of sailors or a sailor?” [341d] “A ruler of sailors.” “We don't, I fancy, have to take into account the fact that he actually sails in the ship, nor is he to be denominated a sailor. For it is not in respect of his sailing that he is called a pilot but in respect of his art and his ruling of the sailors.” “True,” he said. “Then for each of them¹²⁶ is there not a something that is for his advantage?” “Quite so.” “And is it not also true,” said I, “that the art naturally exists for this, to discover and provide for each his advantage?” “Yes, for this.” “Is there, then, for each of the arts any other advantage than to be perfect as possible¹²⁷?” [341e] “What do you mean by that question?” “Just as if,” I said, “you should ask me whether it is enough for the body to be the body or whether it stands in need of something else, I would reply, 'By all means it stands in need. That is the reason why the art of medicine has now been invented, because the body is defective and such defect is unsatisfactory. To provide for this, then, what is advantageous, that is the end for which the art was devised.' Do you think that would be a correct answer, or not?” [342a] “Correct,” he said. “But how about this? Is the medical art itself defective or faulty, or has any other art any need of some virtue, quality, or excellence—as the eyes of vision, the ears of hearing, and for this reason is there need of some art over them that will consider and provide what is advantageous for these very ends—does there exist in the art itself some defect and does each art require another art to consider its advantage and is there need of still another for the considering art and so on ad infinitum, or will the art look out for its own advantage? [342b] Or is it a fact that it needs neither itself nor another art to consider its advantage and provide against its deficiency? For there is no defect or error at all that dwells in any art. Nor does it befit an art to seek the advantage of anything else than that of its object. But the art itself is free from all harm and admixture of evil, and is right so long as each art is precisely and entirely that which it is. And consider the matter in that precise way of speaking. Is it so or not?” “It appears to be so,” he said. “Then medicine,” said I, [342c] “does not consider the advantage of medicine but of the body?” “Yes.” “Nor horsemanship of horsemanship but of horses, nor does any other art look out for itself—for it has no need—but for that of which it is the art.” “So it seems,” he replied. “But surely,¹²⁸ Thrasymachus, the arts do hold rule and are stronger than that of which they are the arts.” He conceded this but it went very hard. “Then no art considers or enjoins¹²⁹ the advantage of the stronger but every art that of the weaker [342d] which is ruled by it.” This too he was finally brought to admit though he tried to contest it. But when he had agreed—“Can we deny, then,” said I, “that neither does any physician in so far as he is a physician seek or enjoin the advantage of the physician but that of the patient? For we have agreed that the physician, 'precisely' speaking, is a ruler and governor of bodies and not a moneymaker. Did we agree on that?” He assented. “And so the 'precise' pilot is a ruler of sailors, [342e] not a sailor?” That was admitted. “Then that sort of a pilot and ruler will not consider and enjoin the advantage of the pilot but that of the sailor whose ruler he is.” He assented reluctantly. “Then,” said I, “Thrasymachus, neither does anyone in any office of rule in so far as he is a ruler consider and enjoin his own advantage but that of the one whom he rules and for whom he exercises his craft, and he keeps his eyes fixed on that and on what is advantageous and suitable to that in all that he says and does.” [343a]

When we had come to this point in the discussion and it was apparent to everybody that his formula of justice had suffered a reversal of form, Thrasymachus, instead of replying,¹³⁰ said, “Tell me, Socrates, have you got a nurse?” “What do you mean?” said I. “Why didn't you answer me instead of asking such a question?” “Because,” he said, “she lets her little 'snotty' run about drivelling¹³¹ and doesn't wipe your face clean, though you need it badly, if she can't get you to know¹³² the difference between the shepherd and the sheep.” “And what, pray, makes you think that?” said I. “Because you think that the shepherds [343b] and the neat-herds are considering the good of the sheep and the cattle and fatten and tend them with anything else in view than the good of their masters and themselves; and by the same token you seem to suppose that the rulers in our cities, I mean the real rulers,¹³³ differ at all in their thoughts of the governed from a man's attitude towards his sheep¹³⁴ or that they think of anything else night and day than [343c] the sources of their own profit. And you are so far out¹³⁵ concerning the just and justice and the unjust and injustice that you don't know that justice and the just are literally¹³⁶ the other fellow's good¹³⁷—the advantage of the stronger and the ruler, but a detriment that is all his own of the subject who obeys and serves; while injustice is the contrary and rules those who are simple in every sense of the word and just, and they being thus ruled do what is for his advantage who is the stronger and make him happy [343d] in serving him, but themselves by no manner of means. And you must look at the matter, my simple-minded Socrates, in this way: that the just man always comes out at a disadvantage in his relation with the unjust. To begin with, in their business dealings in any joint undertaking of the two you will never find that the just man has the advantage over the unjust at the dissolution of the partnership but that he always has the worst of it. Then again, in their relations with the state, if there are direct taxes or contributions to be paid, the just man contributes more from an equal estate and the other less, and when there is a distribution [343e] the one gains much and the other nothing. And so when each holds office, apart from any other loss the just man must count on his own affairs¹³⁸ falling into disorder through neglect, while because of his justice makes no profit from the state, and thereto he will displease his friends and his acquaintances by his unwillingness to serve them unjustly. But to the unjust man all the opposite advantages accrue. I mean, of course, the one I was just speaking of, [344a] the man who has the ability to overreach on a large scale. Consider this type of man, then, if you wish to judge how much more profitable it is to him personally to be unjust than to be just. And the easiest way of all to understand this matter will be to turn to the most consummate form of injustice which makes the man who has done the wrong most happy and those who are wronged and who would not themselves willingly do wrong most miserable. And this is tyranny, which both by stealth and by force takes away what belongs to others, both sacred and profane, both private and public, not little by little but at one swoop.¹³⁹ [344b] For each several part of such wrongdoing the malefactor who fails to escape detection is fined and incurs the extreme of contumely; for temple-robbers, kidnappers, burglars, swindlers, and thieves the appellations of those who commit these partial forms of injustice. But when in addition to the property of the citizens men kidnap and enslave the citizens themselves, instead of these opprobrious names they are pronounced happy and blessed¹⁴⁰ not only by their fellow-citizens [344c] but by all who hear the story of the man who has committed complete and entire injustice.¹⁴¹ For it is not the fear of doing¹⁴² but of suffering wrong that calls forth the reproaches of those who revile injustice. Thus, Socrates, injustice on a sufficiently large scale is a stronger, freer, and a more masterful thing than justice, and, as I said in the beginning, it is the advantage of the stronger that is the just, while the unjust is what profits man's self and is for his advantage.” [344d]

After this Thrasymachus was minded to depart when like a bathman¹⁴³ he had poured his speech in a sudden flood over our ears. But the company would not suffer him and were insistent that he should remain and render an account of what he had said. And I was particularly urgent and said, “I am surprised at you, Thrasymachus; after hurling¹⁴⁴ such a doctrine at us, can it be that you propose to depart without staying to teach us properly or learn yourself whether this thing is so or not? Do you think it is a small matter¹⁴⁵ that you are attempting to determine [344e] and not the entire conduct of life that for each of us would make living most worth while?” “Well, do I deny it?”¹⁴⁶ said Thrasymachus. “You seem to,” said I, “or else¹⁴⁷ to care nothing for us and so feel no concern whether we are going to live worse or better lives in our ignorance of what you affirm that you know. Nay, my good fellow, do your best to make the matter clear to us also: [345a] it will be no bad investment¹⁴⁸ for you—any benefit that you bestow on such company as this. For I tell you for my part that I am not convinced, neither do I think that injustice is more profitable¹⁴⁹ than justice, not even if one gives it free scope and does not hinder it of its will.¹⁵⁰ But, suppose, sir, a man to be unjust and to be able to act unjustly either because he is not detected or can maintain it by violence,¹⁵¹ all the same he does not convince me that it is more profitable than justice. [345b] Now it may be that there is someone else among us who feels in this way and that I am not the only one. Persuade us, then, my dear fellow, convince us satisfactorily that we are ill advised in preferring justice to injustice.” “And how am I to persuade you?”¹⁵² he said. “If you are not convinced by what I just now was saying, what more can I do for you? Shall I take the argument and ram¹⁵³ it into your head?” “Heaven forbid!” I said, “don't do that. But in the first place when you have said a thing stand by it,¹⁵⁴ or if you shift your ground change openly and don't try to deceive us. [345c] But, as it is, you see, Thrasymachus—let us return to the previous examples—you see that while you began by taking the physician in the true sense of the word, you did not think fit afterwards to be consistent and maintain with precision the notion of the true shepherd, but you apparently think that he herds his sheep in his quality of shepherd not with regard to what is best for the sheep but as if he were a banqueter about to be feasted with regard to the good cheer or again with a view to the sale of them [345d] as if he were a money-maker and not a shepherd. But the art of the shepherd¹⁵⁵ surely is concerned with nothing else than how to provide what is best for that over which is set, since its own affairs, its own best estate, are entirely sufficiently provided for so long as it in nowise fails of being the shepherd's art. And in like manner I supposed that we just now were constrained to acknowledge that every form of rule¹⁵⁶ in so far as it is rule considers what is best for nothing else than that which is governed and cared for by it, [345e] alike in political and private rule. Why, do you think that the rulers and holders of office in our cities—the true rulers¹⁵⁷—willingly hold office and rule?” “I don't think,” he said, “I know right well they do.”

“But what of other forms of rule, Thrasymachus? Do you not perceive that no one chooses of his own will to hold the office of rule, but they demand pay, which implies that not to them will benefit accrue from their holding office but to those whom they rule? [346a] For tell me this: we ordinarily say, do we not, that each of the arts is different from others because its power or function is different? And, my dear fellow, in order that we may reach some result, don't answer counter to your real belief.¹⁵⁸” “Well, yes,” he said, “that is what renders it different.” And does not each art also yield us benefit¹⁵⁹ that is peculiar to itself and not general,¹⁶⁰ as for example medicine health, the pilot's art safety at sea, and the other arts similarly?” “Assuredly.” “And does not the wage-earner's art yield wage? For that is its function. [346b] Would you identify medicine and the pilot's art? Or if you please to discriminate 'precisely' as you proposed, none the more if a pilot regains his health because a sea voyage is good for him, no whit the more, I say, for this reason do you call his art medicine, do you?” “Of course not,” he said. “Neither, I take it, do you call wage-earning medicine if a man earning wages is in health.” “ Surely not.” [346c] “But what of this? Do you call medicine wage-earning, if a man when giving treatment earns wages?” “No,” he said. “And did we not agree that the benefit derived from each art is peculiar to it?” “So be it,” he said. “Any common or general benefit that all craftsmen receive, then, they obviously derive from their common use of some further identical thing.” “It seems so,” he said. “And we say that the benefit of earning wages accrues to the craftsmen from their further exercise of the wage-earning art.” He assented reluctantly. “Then the benefit, [346d] the receiving of wages does not accrue to each from his own art. But if we are to consider it 'precisely' medicine produces health but the fee-earning art the pay, and architecture a house but the fee-earning art accompanying it the fee, and so with all the others, each performs its own task and benefits that over which it is set, but unless pay is added to it is there any benefit which the craftsman receives from the craft?” “Apparently not,” he said. “Does he then bestow no benefit either [346e] when he works for nothing?” “I'll say he does.” “Then, Thrasymachus, is not this immediately apparent, that no art or office provides what is beneficial for itself—but as we said long ago it provides and enjoins what is beneficial to its subject, considering the advantage of that, the weaker, and not the advantage the stronger? That was why, friend Thrasymachus, I was just now saying that no one of his own will chooses to hold rule and office and take other people's troubles¹⁶¹ in hand to straighten them out, but everybody expects pay for that, [347a] because he who is to exercise the art rightly never does what is best for himself or enjoins it when he gives commands according to the art, but what is best for the subject. That is the reason, it seems, why pay¹⁶² must be provided for those who are to consent to rule, either in form of money or honor or a penalty if they refuse.”

“What do you mean by that, Socrates?” said Glaucon. “The two wages I recognize, but the penalty you speak of and described as a form of wage I don't understand.¹⁶³” “Then,” said I, “you don't understand the wages of the best men [347b] for the sake of which the finest spirits hold office and rule when they consent to do so. Don't you know that to be covetous of honor and covetous of money is said to be and is a reproach?” “I do,” he said. “Well, then,” said I, “that is why the good are not willing to rule either for the sake of money or of honor. They do not wish to collect pay openly for their service of rule and be styled hirelings nor to take it by stealth from their office and be called thieves, nor yet for the sake of honor, [347c] for they are not covetous of honor. So there must be imposed some compulsion and penalty to constrain them to rule if they are to consent to hold office. That is perhaps why to seek office oneself and not await compulsion is thought disgraceful. But the chief penalty is to be governed by someone worse¹⁶⁴ if a man will not himself hold office and rule. It is from fear of this, as it appears to me, that the better sort hold office when they do, and then they go to it not in the expectation of enjoyment nor as to a good thing,¹⁶⁵ but as to a necessary evil and because they are unable to turn it over to better men than themselves [347d] or to their like. For we may venture to say that, if there should be a city of good men¹⁶⁶ only, immunity from office-holding would be as eagerly contended for as office is now,¹⁶⁷ and there it would be made plain that in very truth the true ruler does not naturally seek his own advantage but that of the ruled; so that every man of understanding would rather choose to be benefited by another than to be bothered with benefiting him. This point then I [347e] by no means concede to Thrasymachus, that justice is the advantage of the superior. But that we will reserve for another occasion.¹⁶⁸ A far weightier matter seems to me Thrasymachus's present statement, his assertion that the life of the unjust man is better than that of the just. Which now do you choose, Glaucon?” said I, “and which seems to you to be the truer statement?” “That the life of the just man is more profitable, I say,” he replied. [348a] “Did you hear,” said I, “all the goods that Thrasymachus just now enumerated for the life of the unjust man?” “I heard,” he said, “but I am not convinced.” “Do you wish us then to try to persuade him, supposing we can find a way, that what he says is not true?” “Of course I wish it,” he said. “If then we oppose¹⁶⁹ him in a set speech enumerating in turn the advantages of being just and he replies and we rejoin, we shall have to count up and measure the goods listed in the respective speeches [348b] and we shall forthwith be in need of judges to decide between us. But if, as in the preceding discussion, we come to terms with one another as to what we admit in the inquiry, we shall be ourselves both judges and pleaders.” “Quite so,” he said. “Which method do you like best?” said I. “This one,” he said.

“Come then, Thrasymachus,” I said, “go back to the beginning and answer us. You affirm that perfect and complete injustice is more profitable than justice that is complete.” [348c] “I affirm it,” he said, “and have told you my reasons.” “Tell me then how you would express yourself on this point about them. You call one of them, I presume, a virtue and the other a vice?” “Of course.” “Justice the virtue and injustice the vice?” “It is likely,¹⁷⁰ you innocent, when I say that injustice pays and justice doesn't pay.” “But what then, pray?” “The opposite,” he replied. “What! justice vice?” “No, but a most noble simplicity¹⁷¹ or goodness of heart.” “Then do you call injustice badness of heart?” [348d] “No, but goodness of judgement.” “Do you also, Thrasymachus, regard the unjust as intelligent and good?” “Yes, if they are capable of complete injustice,” he said, “and are able to subject to themselves cities and tribes of men. But you probably suppose that I mean those who take purses. There is profit to be sure even in that sort of thing,” he said, “if it goes undetected. But such things are not worth taking into the account, [348e] but only what I just described.” “I am not unaware of your meaning in that,” I said; “but this is what surprised me,¹⁷² that you should range injustice under the head of virtue and wisdom, and justice in the opposite class.” “Well, I do so class them,” he said. “That,” said I, “is a stiffer proposition,¹⁷³ my friend, and if you are going as far as that it is hard to know what to answer. For if your position were that injustice is profitable yet you conceded it to be vicious and disgraceful as some other¹⁷⁴ disputants do, there would be a chance for an argument on conventional principles. But, as it is, you obviously are going to affirm that it is honorable and strong and you will attach to it all the other qualities [349a] that we were assigning to the just, since you don't shrink from putting it in the category of virtue and wisdom.” “You are a most veritable prophet,” he replied. “Well,” said I, “I mustn't flinch from following out the logic of the inquiry, so long as I conceive you to be saying what you think.¹⁷⁵ For now, Thrasymachus, I absolutely believe that you are not 'mocking' us but telling us your real opinions about the truth.¹⁷⁶” “What difference does it make to you,” he said, “whether I believe it or not?” “Why don't you test the argument?” [349b] “No difference,” said I, “but here is something I want you to tell me in addition to what you have said. Do you think the just man would want to overreach¹⁷⁷ or exceed another just man?” “By no means,” he said; “otherwise he would not be the delightful simpleton that he is.” “And would he exceed or overreach or go beyond the just action?” “Not that either,” he replied. “But how would he treat the unjust man—would he deem it proper and just to outdo, overreach, or go beyond him or would he not?” “He would,” he said, “but he wouldn't be able to.” “That is not my question,” I said, [349c] “but whether it is not the fact that the just man does not claim and wish to outdo the just man but only the unjust?” “That is the case,” he replied. “How about the unjust then? Does he claim to overreach and outdo the just man and the just action?” “Of course,” he said, “since he claims to overreach and get the better of everything.” “Then the unjust man will overreach and outdo also both the unjust man and the unjust action, and all his endeavor will be to get the most in everything for himself.” “That is so.”

“Let us put it in this way,” I said; “the just man does not seek to take advantage of his like but of his unlike, but the unjust man [349d] of both.” “Admirably put,” he said. “But the unjust man is intelligent and good and the just man neither.” “That, too, is right,” he said. “Is it not also true,” I said, “that the unjust man is like the intelligent and good and the just man is not?” “Of course,” he said, “being such he will be like to such and the other not.” “Excellent. Then each is such¹⁷⁸ as that to which he is like.” “What else do you suppose?” he said. “Very well, Thrasymachus, [349e] but do you recognize that one man is a musician¹⁷⁹ and another unmusical?” “I do.” “Which is the intelligent and which the unintelligent?” “The musician, I presume, is the intelligent and the unmusical the unintelligent.” “And is he not good in the things in which he is intelligent¹⁸⁰ and bad in the things in which he is unintelligent?” “Yes.” “And the same of the physician?” “The same.” “Do you think then, my friend, that any musician in the tuning of a lyre would want to overreach¹⁸¹ another musician in the tightening and relaxing of the strings or would claim and think fit to exceed or outdo him?” “I do not.” “But would the the unmusical man?” “Of necessity,” he said. “And how about the medical man? [350a] In prescribing food and drink would he want to outdo the medical man or the medical procedure?” “Surely not.” “But he would the unmedical man?” “Yes.” “Consider then with regard to all¹⁸² forms of knowledge and ignorance whether you think that anyone who knows would choose to do or say other or more than what another who knows would do or say, and not rather exactly what his like would do in the same action.” “Why, perhaps it must be so,” he said, “in such cases.” “But what of the ignorant man—of him who does not know? Would he not overreach or outdo equally [350b] the knower and the ignorant?” “It may be.” “But the one who knows is wise?” “I'll say so.” “And the wise is good?” “I'll say so.” “Then he who is good and wise will not wish to overreach his like but his unlike and opposite.” “It seems so,” he said. “But the bad man and the ignoramus will overreach both like and unlike?” “So it appears.” “And does not our unjust man, Thrasymachus, overreach both unlike and like? Did you not say that?” “I did,” he replied. [350c] “But the just man will not overreach his like but only his unlike?” “Yes.” “Then the just man is like the wise and good, and the unjust is like the bad and the ignoramus.” “It seems likely.” “But furthermore we agreed that such is each as that to which he is like.” “Yes, we did.” “Then the just man has turned out¹⁸³ on our hands to be good and wise and the unjust man bad and ignorant.”

Thrasymachus made all these admissions [350d] not as I now lightly narrate them, but with much baulking and reluctance¹⁸⁴ and prodigious sweating, it being summer, and it was then I beheld what I had never seen before—Thrasymachus blushing.¹⁸⁵ But when we did reach our conclusion that justice is virtue and wisdom and injustice vice and ignorance, “Good,” said I, “let this be taken as established.¹⁸⁶ But we were also affirming that injustice is a strong and potent thing. Don't you remember, Thrasymachus?” “I remember,” he said; “but I don't agree with what you are now saying either and I have an answer to it, [350e] but if I were to attempt to state it, I know very well that you would say that I was delivering a harangue.¹⁸⁷ Either then allow me to speak at such length as I desire,¹⁸⁸ or, if you prefer to ask questions, go on questioning and I, as we do for old wives¹⁸⁹ telling their tales, will say 'Very good' and will nod assent and dissent.” “No, no,” said I, “not counter to your own belief.” “Yes, to please you,” he said, “since you don't allow me freedom of speech. And yet what more do you want?” “Nothing, indeed,” said I; “but if this is what you propose to do, do it and I will ask the questions.” “Ask on, then.” “This, then, is the question I ask, the same as before, so that our inquiry may proceed in sequence. [351a] What is the nature of injustice as compared with justice? For the statement made, I believe, was that injustice is a more potent and stronger thing than justice. But now,” I said, “if justice is wisdom and virtue, it will easily, I take it, be shown to be also a stronger thing than injustice, since injustice is ignorance—no one could now fail to recognize that—but what I want is not quite so simple¹⁹⁰ as that. I wish, Thrasymachus, to consider it in some such fashion as this. A city, you would say, may be unjust and [351b] try to enslave other cities unjustly, have them enslaved and hold many of them in subjection.” “Certainly,” he said; “and this is what the best state will chiefly do, the state whose injustice is most complete.” “I understand,” I said, “that this was your view. But the point that I am considering is this, whether the city that thus shows itself superior to another will have this power without justice or whether she must of necessity combine it with justice.” [351c] “If,¹⁹¹” he replied, “what you were just now saying holds good, that justice is wisdom, with justice; if it is as I said, with injustice.” “Admirable, Thrasymachus,” I said; “you not only nod assent and dissent, but give excellent answers.” “I am trying to please you,” he replied.

“Very kind of you. But please me in one thing more and tell me this: do you think that a city,¹⁹² an army, or bandits, or thieves, or any other group that attempted any action in common, could accomplish anything if they wronged one another?” [351d] “Certainly not,” said he. “But if they didn't, wouldn't they be more likely to?” “Assuredly.” “For factions, Thrasymachus, are the outcome of injustice, and hatreds and internecine conflicts, but justice brings oneness of mind and love. Is it not so?” “So be it,” he replied, “not to differ from you.” “That is good of you, my friend; but tell me this: if it is the business of injustice to engender hatred wherever it is found, will it not, when it springs up either among freemen or slaves, cause them to hate and be at strife with one another, and make them incapable [351e] of effective action in common?” “By all means.” “Suppose, then, it springs up between two, will they not be at outs with and hate each other and be enemies both to one another and to the just?” “They will,” he said. “And then will you tell me that if injustice arises in one¹⁹³ it will lose its force and function or will it none the less keep it?” “Have it that it keeps it,” he said. “And is it not apparent that its force is such that wherever it is found in city, family, camp, or in anything else [352a] it first renders the thing incapable of cooperation with itself owing to faction and difference, and secondly an enemy to itself¹⁹⁴ and to its opposite in every case, the just? Isn't that so?” “By all means.” “Then in the individual too, I presume, its presence will operate all these effects which it is its nature to produce. It will in the first place make him incapable of accomplishing anything because of inner faction and lack of self-agreement, and then an enemy to himself and to the just. Is it not so?” “Yes.” “But, my friend, [352b] the gods too¹⁹⁵ are just.” “Have it that they are,” he said. “So to the gods also, it seems, the unjust man will be hateful, but the just man dear.” “Revel in your discourse,” he said, “without fear, for I shall not oppose you, so as not to offend your partisans here.” “Fill up the measure of my feast,¹⁹⁶ then, and complete it for me,” I said, “by continuing to answer as you have been doing. Now that the just appear to be wiser and better and more capable of action and the unjust incapable of any common action, [352c] and that if we ever say that any men who are unjust have vigorously combined to put something over, our statement is not altogether true, for they would not have kept their hands from one another if they had been thoroughly unjust, but it is obvious that there was in them some justice which prevented them from wronging at the same time one another too as well as those whom they attacked; and by dint of this they accomplished whatever they did and set out to do injustice only half corrupted¹⁹⁷ by injustice, since utter rascals completely unjust [352d] are completely incapable of effective action—all this I understand to be the truth, and not what you originally laid down. But whether it is also true¹⁹⁸ that the just have a better life than the unjust and are happier, which is the question we afterwards proposed for examination, is what we now have to consider. It appears even now that they are, I think, from what has already been said. But all the same we must examine it more carefully.¹⁹⁹ For it is no ordinary²⁰⁰ matter that we are discussing, but the right conduct of life.” “Proceed with your inquiry,” he said. “I proceed,” said I. “Tell me then—would you say [352e] that a horse has a specific work²⁰¹ or function?” “I would.” “Would you be willing to define the work of a horse or of anything else to be that which one can do only with it or best with it?” “I don't understand,” he replied. “Well, take it this way: is there anything else with which you can see except the eyes?” “Certainly not.” “Again, could you hear with anything but ears?” “By no means.” “Would you not rightly say that these are the functions of these (organs)?” “By all means.” “Once more, [353a] you could use a dirk to trim vine branches and a knife and many other instruments.” “Certainly.” “But nothing so well, I take it, as a pruning-knife fashioned for this purpose.” “That is true.” “Must we not then assume this to be the work or function of that?” “We must.”

“You will now, then, I fancy, better apprehend the meaning of my question when I asked whether that is not the work of a thing which it only or it better than anything else can perform.” “Well,” he said, “I do understand, and agree [353b] that the work of anything is that.” “Very good,” said I. “Do you not also think that there is a specific virtue or excellence of everything for which a specific work or function is appointed? Let us return to the same examples. The eyes we say have a function?” “They have.” “Is there also a virtue of the eyes?” “There is.” “And was there not a function of the ears?” “Yes.” “And so also a virtue?” “Also a virtue.” “And what of all other things? Is the case not the same?” “The same.” “Take note now. Could the eyes possibly fulfil their function well [353c] if they lacked their own proper excellence and had in its stead the defect?” “How could they?” he said; “for I presume you meant blindness instead of vision.” “Whatever,” said I, “the excellence may be. For I have not yet come²⁰² to that question, but am only asking whether whatever operates will not do its own work well by its own virtue and badly by its own defect.” “That much,” he said, “you may affirm to be true.” “Then the ears, too, if deprived of their own virtue will do their work ill?” “Assuredly.” “And do we then apply [353d] the same principle to all things?” “I think so.” “Then next consider this. The soul, has it a work which you couldn't accomplish with anything else in the world, as for example, management, rule, deliberation, and the like, is there anything else than soul to which you could rightly assign these and say that they were its peculiar work?” “Nothing else.” “And again life? Shall we say that too is the function of the soul?” “Most certainly,” he said. “And do we not also say that there is an excellence virtue of the soul?” [353e] “We do.” “Will the soul ever accomplish its own work well if deprived of its own virtue, or is this impossible?” “It is impossible.” “Of necessity, then, a bad soul will govern and manage things badly while the good soul will in all these things do well.²⁰³” “Of necessity.” “And did we not agree that the excellence or virtue of soul is justice and its defect injustice?” “Yes, we did.” “The just soul and the just man then will live well and the unjust ill?” “So it appears,” he said, “by your reasoning.” [354a] “But furthermore, he who lives well is blessed and happy, and he who does not the contrary.” “Of course.” “Then the just is happy and the unjust miserable.” “So be it,” he said. “But it surely does not pay to be miserable, but to be happy.” “Of course not.” “Never, then, most worshipful Thrasymachus, can injustice be more profitable than justice.” “Let this complete your entertainment, Socrates, at the festival of Bendis.” “A feast furnished by you, Thrasymachus,” I said, “now that you have become gentle with me and are no longer angry.²⁰⁴ I have not dined well, however— [354b] by my own fault, not yours. But just as gluttons²⁰⁵ snatch at every dish that is handed along and taste it before they have properly enjoyed the preceding, so I, methinks, before finding the first object of our inquiry—what justice is—let go of that and set out to consider something about it, namely whether it is vice and ignorance or wisdom and virtue; and again, when later the view was sprung upon us that injustice is more profitable than justice I could not refrain from turning to that from the other topic. So that for me [354c] the present outcome of the discussion²⁰⁶ is that I know nothing.²⁰⁷ For if I don't know what the just is,²⁰⁸ I shall hardly know whether it is a virtue or not, and whether its possessor is or is not happy.”