Chapter V: Book I: ● (2)

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.