BOOK I

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THE REPUBLIC

by Plato

(360 B.C.)

translated by Benjamin Jowett

THE INTRODUCTION

THE Republic of Plato is the longest of his works with the exception of

the Laws, and is certainly the greatest of them. There are nearer

approaches to modern metaphysics in the Philebus and in the Sophist;

the Politicus or Statesman is more ideal; the form and institutions of

the State are more clearly drawn out in the Laws; as works of art, the

Symposium and the Protagoras are of higher excellence. But no other

Dialogue of Plato has the same largeness of view and the same

perfection of style; no other shows an equal knowledge of the world, or

contains more of those thoughts which are new as well as old, and not

of one age only but of all. Nowhere in Plato is there a deeper irony

or a greater wealth of humor or imagery, or more dramatic power. Nor

in any other of his writings is the attempt made to interweave life and

speculation, or to connect politics with philosophy. The Republic is

the centre around which the other Dialogues may be grouped; here

philosophy reaches the highest point to which ancient thinkers ever

attained. Plato among the Greeks, like Bacon among the moderns, was

the first who conceived a method of knowledge, although neither of them

always distinguished the bare outline or form from the substance of

truth; and both of them had to be content with an abstraction of

science which was not yet realized. He was the greatest metaphysical

genius whom the world has seen; and in him, more than in any other

ancient thinker, the germs of future knowledge are contained. The

sciences of logic and psychology, which have supplied so many

instruments of thought to after-ages, are based upon the analyses of

Socrates and Plato. The principles of definition, the law of

contradiction, the fallacy of arguing in a circle, the distinction

between the essence and accidents of a thing or notion, between means

and ends, between causes and conditions; also the division of the mind

into the rational, concupiscent, and irascible elements, or of

pleasures and desires into necessary and unnecessary--these and other

great forms of thought are all of them to be found in the Republic, and

were probably first invented by Plato. The greatest of all logical

truths, and the one of which writers on philosophy are most apt to lose

sight, the difference between words and things, has been most

strenuously insisted on by him, although he has not always avoided the

confusion of them in his own writings. But he does not bind up truth

in logical formulae,--logic is still veiled in metaphysics; and the

science which he imagines to "contemplate all truth and all existence"

is very unlike the doctrine of the syllogism which Aristotle claims to

have discovered.

Neither must we forget that the Republic is but the third part of a

still larger design which was to have included an ideal history of

Athens, as well as a political and physical philosophy. The fragment

of the Critias has given birth to a world-famous fiction, second only

in importance to the tale of Troy and the legend of Arthur; and is said

as a fact to have inspired some of the early navigators of the

sixteenth century. This mythical tale, of which the subject was a

history of the wars of the Athenians against the Island of Atlantis, is

supposed to be founded upon an unfinished poem of Solon, to which it

would have stood in the same relation as the writings of the

logographers to the poems of Homer. It would have told of a struggle

for Liberty, intended to represent the conflict of Persia and Hellas.

We may judge from the noble commencement of the Timaeus, from the

fragment of the Critias itself, and from the third book of the Laws, in

what manner Plato would have treated this high argument. We can only

guess why the great design was abandoned; perhaps because Plato became

sensible of some incongruity in a fictitious history, or because he had

lost his interest in it, or because advancing years forbade the

completion of it; and we may please ourselves with the fancy that had

this imaginary narrative ever been finished, we should have found Plato

himself sympathizing with the struggle for Hellenic independence,

singing a hymn of triumph over Marathon and Salamis, perhaps making the

reflection of Herodotus where he contemplates the growth of the

Athenian empire--"How brave a thing is freedom of speech, which has

made the Athenians so far exceed every other state of Hellas in

greatness!" or, more probably, attributing the victory to the ancient

good order of Athens and to the favor of Apollo and Athene.

Again, Plato may be regarded as the "captain" ('arhchegoz') or leader

of a goodly band of followers; for in the Republic is to be found the

original of Cicero's De Republica, of St. Augustine's City of God, of

the Utopia of Sir Thomas More, and of the numerous other imaginary

States which are framed upon the same model. The extent to which

Aristotle or the Aristotelian school were indebted to him in the

Politics has been little recognized, and the recognition is the more

necessary because it is not made by Aristotle himself. The two

philosophers had more in common than they were conscious of; and

probably some elements of Plato remain still undetected in Aristotle.

In English philosophy too, many affinities may be traced, not only in

the works of the Cambridge Platonists, but in great original writers

like Berkeley or Coleridge, to Plato and his ideas. That there is a

truth higher than experience, of which the mind bears witness to

herself, is a conviction which in our own generation has been

enthusiastically asserted, and is perhaps gaining ground. Of the Greek

authors who at the Renaissance brought a new life into the world Plato

has had the greatest influence. The Republic of Plato is also the

first treatise upon education, of which the writings of Milton and

Locke, Rousseau, Jean Paul, and Goethe are the legitimate descendants.

Like Dante or Bunyan, he has a revelation of another life; like Bacon,

he is profoundly impressed with the unity of knowledge; in the early

Church he exercised a real influence on theology, and at the Revival of

Literature on politics. Even the fragments of his words when "repeated

at second-hand" have in all ages ravished the hearts of men, who have

seen reflected in them their own higher nature. He is the father of

idealism in philosophy, in politics, in literature. And many of the

latest conceptions of modern thinkers and statesmen, such as the unity

of knowledge, the reign of law, and the equality of the sexes, have

been anticipated in a dream by him.

ARGUMENT

The argument of the Republic is the search after Justice, the nature of

which is first hinted at by Cephalus, the just and blameless old

man--then discussed on the basis of proverbial morality by Socrates and

Polemarchus--then caricatured by Thrasymachus and partially explained

by Socrates--reduced to an abstraction by Glaucon and Adeimantus, and

having become invisible in the individual reappears at length in the

ideal State which is constructed by Socrates. The first care of the

rulers is to be education, of which an outline is drawn after the old

Hellenic model, providing only for an improved religion and morality,

and more simplicity in music and gymnastic, a manlier strain of poetry,

and greater harmony of the individual and the State. We are thus led

on to the conception of a higher State, in which "no man calls anything

his own," and in which there is neither "marrying nor giving in

marriage," and "kings are philosophers" and "philosophers are kings;"

and there is another and higher education, intellectual as well as

moral and religious, of science as well as of art, and not of youth

only but of the whole of life. Such a State is hardly to be realized

in this world and would quickly degenerate. To the perfect ideal

succeeds the government of the soldier and the lover of honor, this

again declining into democracy, and democracy into tyranny, in an

imaginary but regular order having not much resemblance to the actual

facts. When "the wheel has come full circle" we do not begin again

with a new period of human life; but we have passed from the best to

the worst, and there we end. The subject is then changed and the old

quarrel of poetry and philosophy which had been more lightly treated in

the earlier books of the Republic is now resumed and fought out to a

conclusion. Poetry is discovered to be an imitation thrice removed

from the truth, and Homer, as well as the dramatic poets, having been

condemned as an imitator, is sent into banishment along with them. And

the idea of the State is supplemented by the revelation of a future

life.

The division into books, like all similar divisions, is probably later

than the age of Plato. The natural divisions are five in number;--(1)

Book I and the first half of Book II down to the paragraph beginning,

"I had always admired the genius of Glaucon and Adeimantus," which is

introductory; the first book containing a refutation of the popular and

sophistical notions of justice, and concluding, like some of the

earlier Dialogues, without arriving at any definite result. To this is

appended a restatement of the nature of justice according to common

opinion, and an answer is demanded to the question--What is justice,

stripped of appearances? The second division (2) includes the

remainder of the second and the whole of the third and fourth books,

which are mainly occupied with the construction of the first State and

the first education. The third division (3) consists of the fifth,

sixth, and seventh books, in which philosophy rather than justice is

the subject of inquiry, and the second State is constructed on

principles of communism and ruled by philosophers, and the

contemplation of the idea of good takes the place of the social and

political virtues. In the eighth and ninth books (4) the perversions

of States and of the individuals who correspond to them are reviewed in

succession; and the nature of pleasure and the principle of tyranny are

further analyzed in the individual man. The tenth book (5) is the

conclusion of the whole, in which the relations of philosophy to poetry

are finally determined, and the happiness of the citizens in this life,

which has now been assured, is crowned by the vision of another.

Or a more general division into two parts may be adopted; the first

(Books I-IV) containing the description of a State framed generally in

accordance with Hellenic notions of religion and morality, while in the

second (Books V-X) the Hellenic State is transformed into an ideal

kingdom of philosophy, of which all other governments are the

perversions. These two points of view are really opposed, and the

opposition is only veiled by the genius of Plato. The Republic, like

the Phaedrus, is an imperfect whole; the higher light of philosophy

breaks through the regularity of the Hellenic temple, which at last

fades away into the heavens. Whether this imperfection of structure

arises from an enlargement of the plan; or from the imperfect

reconcilement in the writer's own mind of the struggling elements of

thought which are now first brought together by him; or, perhaps, from

the composition of the work at different times--are questions, like the

similar question about the Iliad and the Odyssey, which are worth

asking, but which cannot have a distinct answer. In the age of Plato

there was no regular mode of publication, and an author would have the

less scruple in altering or adding to a work which was known only to a

few of his friends. There is no absurdity in supposing that he may

have laid his labors aside for a time, or turned from one work to

another; and such interruptions would be more likely to occur in the

case of a long than of a short writing. In all attempts to determine

the chronological he order of the Platonic writings on internal

evidence, this uncertainty about any single Dialogue being composed at

one time is a disturbing element, which must be admitted to affect

longer works, such as the Republic and the Laws, more than shorter

ones. But, on the other hand, the seeming discrepancies of the

Republic may only arise out of the discordant elements which the

philosopher has attempted to unite in a single whole, perhaps without

being himself able to recognize the inconsistency which is obvious to

us. For there is a judgment of after ages which few great writers have

ever been able to anticipate for themselves. They do not perceive the

want of connection in their own writings, or the gaps in their systems

which are visible enough to those who come after them. In the

beginnings of literature and philosophy, amid the first efforts of

thought and language, more inconsistencies occur than now, when the

paths of speculation are well worn and the meaning of words precisely

defined. For consistency, too, is the growth of time; and some of the

greatest creations of the human mind have been wanting in unity. Tried

by this test, several of the Platonic Dialogues, according to our

modern ideas, appear to be defective, but the deficiency is no proof

that they were composed at different times or by different hands. And

the supposition that the Republic was written uninterruptedly and by a

continuous effort is in some degree confirmed by the numerous

references from one part of the work to another.

The second title, "Concerning Justice," is not the one by which the

Republic is quoted, either by Aristotle or generally in antiquity, and,

like the other second titles of the Platonic Dialogues, may therefore

be assumed to be of later date. Morgenstern and others have asked

whether the definition of justice, which is the professed aim, or the

construction of the State is the principal argument of the work. The

answer is, that the two blend in one, and are two faces of the same

truth; for justice is the order of the State, and the State is the

visible embodiment of justice under the conditions of human society.

The one is the soul and the other is the body, and the Greek ideal of

the State, as of the individual, is a fair mind in a fair body. In

Hegelian phraseology the State is the reality of which justice is the

ideal. Or, described in Christian language, the kingdom of God is

within, and yet develops into a Church or external kingdom; "the house

not made with hands, eternal in the heavens," is reduced to the

proportions of an earthly building. Or, to use a Platonic image,

justice and the State are the warp and the woof which run through the

whole texture. And when the constitution of the State is completed,

the conception of justice is not dismissed, but reappears under the

same or different names throughout the work, both as the inner law of

the individual soul, and finally as the principle of rewards and

punishments in another life. The virtues are based on justice, of

which common honesty in buying and selling is the shadow, and justice

is based on the idea of good, which is the harmony of the world, and is

reflected both in the institutions of States and in motions of the

heavenly bodies. The Timaeus, which takes up the political rather than

the ethical side of the Republic, and is chiefly occupied with

hypotheses concerning the outward world, yet contains many indications

that the same law is supposed to reign over the State, over nature, and

over man.

Too much, however, has been made of this question both in ancient and

in modern times. There is a stage of criticism in which all works,

whether of nature or of art, are referred to design. Now in ancient

writings, and indeed in literature generally, there remains often a

large element which was not comprehended in the original design. For

the plan grows under the author's hand; new thoughts occur to him in

the act of writing; he has not worked out the argument to the end

before he begins. The reader who seeks to find some one idea under

which the whole may be conceived, must necessarily seize on the vaguest

and most general. Thus Stallbaum, who is dissatisfied with the

ordinary explanations of the argument of the Republic, imagines himself

to have found the true argument "in the representation of human life in

a State perfected by justice and governed according to the idea of

good." There may be some use in such general descriptions, but they can

hardly be said to express the design of the writer. The truth is, that

we may as well speak of many designs as of one; nor need anything be

excluded from the plan of a great work to which the mind is naturally

led by the association of ideas, and which does not interfere with the

general purpose. What kind or degree of unity is to be sought after in

a building, in the plastic arts, in poetry, in prose, is a problem

which has to be determined relatively to the subject-matter. To Plato

himself, the inquiry "what was the intention of the writer," or "what

was the principal argument of the Republic" would have been hardly

intelligible, and therefore had better be at once dismissed.

Is not the Republic the vehicle of three or four great truths which, to

Plato's own mind, are most naturally represented in the form of the

State? Just as in the Jewish prophets the reign of Messiah, or "the

day of the Lord," or the suffering Servant or people of God, or the

"Sun of righteousness with healing in his wings" only convey, to us at

least, their great spiritual ideals, so through the Greek State Plato

reveals to us his own thoughts about divine perfection, which is the

idea of good--like the sun in the visible world;--about human

perfection, which is justice--about education beginning in youth and

continuing in later years--about poets and sophists and tyrants who are

the false teachers and evil rulers of mankind--about "the world" which

is the embodiment of them--about a kingdom which exists nowhere upon

earth but is laid up in heaven to be the pattern and rule of human

life. No such inspired creation is at unity with itself, any more than

the clouds of heaven when the sun pierces through them. Every shade of

light and dark, of truth, and of fiction which is the veil of truth, is

allowable in a work of philosophical imagination. It is not all on the

same plane; it easily passes from ideas to myths and fancies, from

facts to figures of speech. It is not prose but poetry, at least a

great part of it, and ought not to be judged by the rules of logic or

the probabilities of history. The writer is not fashioning his ideas

into an artistic whole; they take possession of him and are too much

for him. We have no need therefore to discuss whether a State such as

Plato has conceived is practicable or not, or whether the outward form

or the inward life came first into the mind of the writer. For the

practicability of his ideas has nothing to do with their truth; and the

highest thoughts to which he attains may be truly said to bear the

greatest "marks of design"--justice more than the external frame-work

of the State, the idea of good more than justice. The great science of

dialectic or the organization of ideas has no real content; but is only

a type of the method or spirit in which the higher knowledge is to be

pursued by the spectator of all time and all existence. It is in the

fifth, sixth, and seventh books that Plato reaches the "summit of

speculation," and these, although they fail to satisfy the requirements

of a modern thinker, may therefore be regarded as the most important,

as they are also the most original, portions of the work.

It is not necessary to discuss at length a minor question which has

been raised by Boeckh, respecting the imaginary date at which the

conversation was held (the year 411 B. C. which is proposed by him will

do as well as any other); for a writer of fiction, and especially a

writer who, like Plato, is notoriously careless of chronology, only

aims at general probability. Whether all the persons mentioned in the

Republic could ever have met at any one time is not a difficulty which

would have occurred to an Athenian reading the work forty years later,

or to Plato himself at the time of writing (any more than to

Shakespeare respecting one of his own dramas); and need not greatly

trouble us now. Yet this may be a question having no answer "which is

still worth asking," because the investigation shows that we can not

argue historically from the dates in Plato; it would be useless

therefore to waste time in inventing far-fetched reconcilements of them

in order avoid chronological difficulties, such, for example, as the

conjecture of C. F. Hermann, that Glaucon and Adeimantus are not the

brothers but the uncles of Plato, or the fancy of Stallbaum that Plato

intentionally left anachronisms indicating the dates at which some of

his Dialogues were written.

CHARACTERS

The principal characters in the Republic are Cephalus, Polemarchus,

Thrasymachus, Socrates, Glaucon, and Adeimantus. Cephalus appears in

the introduction only, Polemarchus drops at the end of the first

argument, and Thrasymachus is reduced to silence at the close of the

first book. The main discussion is carried on by Socrates, Glaucon,

and Adeimantus. Among the company are Lysias (the orator) and

Euthydemus, the sons of Cephalus and brothers of Polemarchus, an

unknown Charmantides--these are mute auditors; also there is

Cleitophon, who once interrupts, where, as in the Dialogue which bears

his name, he appears as the friend and ally of Thrasymachus.

Cephalus, the patriarch of house, has been appropriately engaged in

offering a sacrifice. He is the pattern of an old man who has almost

done with life, and is at peace with himself and with all mankind. He

feels that he is drawing nearer to the world below, and seems to linger

around the memory of the past. He is eager that Socrates should come

to visit him, fond of the poetry of the last generation, happy in the

consciousness of a well-spent life, glad at having escaped from the

tyranny of youthful lusts. His love of conversation, his affection,

his indifference to riches, even his garrulity, are interesting traits

of character. He is not one of those who have nothing to say, because

their whole mind has been absorbed in making money. Yet he

acknowledges that riches have the advantage of placing men above the

temptation to dishonesty or falsehood. The respectful attention shown

to him by Socrates, whose love of conversation, no less than the

mission imposed upon him by the Oracle, leads him to ask questions of

all men, young and old alike, should also be noted. Who better suited

to raise the question of justice than Cephalus, whose life might seem

to be the expression of it? The moderation with which old age is

pictured by Cephalus as a very tolerable portion of existence is

characteristic, not only of him, but of Greek feeling generally, and

contrasts with the exaggeration of Cicero in the De Senectute. The

evening of life is described by Plato in the most expressive manner,

yet with the fewest possible touches. As Cicero remarks (Ep. ad Attic.

iv. 16), the aged Cephalus would have been out of place in the

discussion which follows, and which he could neither have understood

nor taken part in without a violation of dramatic propriety.

His "son and heir" Polemarchus has the frankness and impetuousness of

youth; he is for detaining Socrates by force in the opening scene, and

will not "let him off" on the subject of women and children. Like

Cephalus, he is limited in his point of view, and represents the

proverbial stage of morality which has rules of life rather than

principles; and he quotes Simonides as his father had quoted Pindar.

But after this he has no more to say; the answers which he makes are

only elicited from him by the dialectic of Socrates. He has not yet

experienced the influence of the Sophists like Glaucon and Adeimantus,

nor is he sensible of the necessity of refuting them; he belongs to the

pre-Socratic or pre-dialectical age. He is incapable of arguing, and

is bewildered by Socrates to such a degree that he does not know what

he is saying. He is made to admit that justice is a thief, and that

the virtues follow the analogy of the arts. From his brother Lysias we

learn that he fell a victim to the Thirty Tyrants, but no allusion is

here made to his fate, nor to the circumstance that Cephalus and his

family were of Syracusan origin, and had migrated from Thurii to Athens.

The "Chalcedonian giant," Thrasymachus, of whom we have already heard

in the Phaedrus, is the personification of the Sophists, according to

Plato's conception of them, in some of their worst characteristics. He

is vain and blustering, refusing to discourse unless he is paid, fond

of making an oration, and hoping thereby to escape the inevitable

Socrates; but a mere child in argument, and unable to foresee that the

next "move" (to use a Platonic expression) will "shut him up." He has

reached the stage of framing general notions, and in this respect is in

advance of Cephalus and Polemarchus. But he is incapable of defending

them in a discussion, and vainly tries to cover his confusion in banter

and insolence. Whether such doctrines as are attributed to him by

Plato were really held either by him or by any other Sophist is

uncertain; in the infancy of philosophy serious errors about morality

might easily grow up--they are certainly put into the mouths of

speakers in Thucydides; but we are concerned at present with Plato's

description of him, and not with the historical reality. The

inequality of the contest adds greatly to the humor of the scene. The

pompous and empty Sophist is utterly helpless in the hands of the great

master of dialectic, who knows how to touch all the springs of vanity

and weakness in him. He is greatly irritated by the irony of Socrates,

but his noisy and imbecile rage only lays him more and more open to the

thrusts of his assailant. His determination to cram down their

throats, or put "bodily into their souls" his own words, elicits a cry

of horror from Socrates. The state of his temper is quite as worthy of

remark as the process of the argument. Nothing is more amusing than

his complete submission when he has been once thoroughly beaten. At

first he seems to continue the discussion with reluctance, but soon

with apparent good-will, and he even testifies his interest at a later

stage by one or two occasional remarks. When attacked by Glaucon he is

humorously protected by Socrates "as one who has never been his enemy

and is now his friend." From Cicero and Quintilian and from Aristotle's

Rhetoric we learn that the Sophist whom Plato has made so ridiculous

was a man of note whose writings were preserved in later ages. The

play on his name which was made by his contemporary Herodicus, "thou

wast ever bold in battle," seems to show that the description of him is

not devoid of verisimilitude.

When Thrasymachus has been silenced, the two principal respondents,

Glaucon and Adeimantus, appear on the scene: here, as in Greek

tragedy, three actors are introduced. At first sight the two sons of

Ariston may seem to wear a family likeness, like the two friends

Simmias and Cebes in the Phaedo. But on a nearer examination of them

the similarity vanishes, and they are seen to be distinct characters.

Glaucon is the impetuous youth who can "just never have enough of

fechting" (cf. the character of him in Xen. Mem. iii. 6); the man of

pleasure who is acquainted with the mysteries of love; the "juvenis qui

gaudet canibus," and who improves the breed of animals; the lover of

art and music who has all the experiences of youthful life. He is full

of quickness and penetration, piercing easily below the clumsy

platitudes of Thrasymachus to the real difficulty; he turns out to the

light the seamy side of human life, and yet does not lose faith in the

just and true. It is Glaucon who seizes what may be termed the

ludicrous relation of the philosopher to the world, to whom a state of

simplicity is "a city of pigs," who is always prepared with a jest when

the argument offers him an opportunity, and who is ever ready to second

the humor of Socrates and to appreciate the ridiculous, whether in the

connoisseurs of music, or in the lovers of theatricals, or in the

fantastic behavior of the citizens of democracy. His weaknesses are

several times alluded to by Socrates, who, however, will not allow him

to be attacked by his brother Adeimantus. He is a soldier, and, like

Adeimantus, has been distinguished at the battle of Megara.

The character of Adeimantus is deeper and graver, and the profounder

objections are commonly put into his mouth. Glaucon is more

demonstrative, and generally opens the game. Adeimantus pursues the

argument further. Glaucon has more of the liveliness and quick

sympathy of youth; Adeimantus has the maturer judgment of a grown-up

man of the world. In the second book, when Glaucon insists that

justice and injustice shall be considered without regard to their

consequences, Adeimantus remarks that they are regarded by mankind in

general only for the sake of their consequences; and in a similar vein

of reflection he urges at the beginning of the fourth book that

Socrates falls in making his citizens happy, and is answered that

happiness is not the first but the second thing, not the direct aim but

the indirect consequence of the good government of a State. In the

discussion about religion and mythology, Adeimantus is the respondent,

but Glaucon breaks in with a slight jest, and carries on the

conversation in a lighter tone about music and gymnastic to the end of

the book. It is Adeimantus again who volunteers the criticism of

common sense on the Socratic method of argument, and who refuses to let

Socrates pass lightly over the question of women and children. It is

Adeimantus who is the respondent in the more argumentative, as Glaucon

in the lighter and more imaginative portions of the Dialogue. For

example, throughout the greater part of the sixth book, the causes of

the corruption of philosophy and the conception of the idea of good are

discussed with Adeimantus. Then Glaucon resumes his place of principal

respondent; but he has a difficulty in apprehending the higher

education of Socrates, and makes some false hits in the course of the

discussion. Once more Adeimantus returns with the allusion to his

brother Glaucon whom he compares to the contentious State; in the next

book he is again superseded, and Glaucon continues to the end.

Thus in a succession of characters Plato represents the successive

stages of morality, beginning with the Athenian gentleman of the olden

time, who is followed by the practical man of that day regulating his

life by proverbs and saws; to him succeeds the wild generalization of

the Sophists, and lastly come the young disciples of the great teacher,

who know the sophistical arguments but will not be convinced by them,

and desire to go deeper into the nature of things. These too, like

Cephalus, Polemarchus, Thrasymachus, are clearly distinguished from one

another. Neither in the Republic, nor in any other Dialogue of Plato,

is a single character repeated.

The delineation of Socrates in the Republic is not wholly consistent.

In the first book we have more of the real Socrates, such as he is

depicted in the Memorabilia of Xenophon, in the earliest Dialogues of

Plato, and in the Apology. He is ironical, provoking, questioning, the

old enemy of the Sophists, ready to put on the mask of Silenus as well

as to argue seriously. But in the sixth book his enmity towards the

Sophists abates; he acknowledges that they are the representatives

rather than the corrupters of the world. He also becomes more dogmatic

and constructive, passing beyond the range either of the political or

the speculative ideas of the real Socrates. In one passage Plato

himself seems to intimate that the time had now come for Socrates, who

had passed his whole life in philosophy, to give his own opinion and

not to be always repeating the notions of other men. There is no

evidence that either the idea of good or the conception of a perfect

State were comprehended in the Socratic teaching, though he certainly

dwelt on the nature of the universal and of final causes (cp. Xen.

Mem. i. 4; Phaedo 97); and a deep thinker like him in his thirty or

forty years of public teaching, could hardly have falled to touch on

the nature of family relations, for which there is also some positive

evidence in the Memorabilia (Mem. i. 2, 51 foll.) The Socratic method

is nominally retained; and every inference is either put into the mouth

of the respondent or represented as the common discovery of him and

Socrates. But any one can see that this is a mere form, of which the

affectation grows wearisome as the work advances. The method of

inquiry has passed into a method of teaching in which by the help of

interlocutors the same thesis is looked at from various points of view.

The nature of the process is truly characterized by Glaucon, when he

describes himself as a companion who is not good for much in an

investigation, but can see what he is shown, and may, perhaps, give the

answer to a question more fluently than another.

Neither can we be absolutely certain that, Socrates himself taught the

immortality of the soul, which is unknown to his disciple Glaucon in

the Republic; nor is there any reason to suppose that he used myths or

revelations of another world as a vehicle of instruction, or that he

would have banished poetry or have denounced the Greek mythology. His

favorite oath is retained, and a slight mention is made of the

daemonium, or internal sign, which is alluded to by Socrates as a

phenomenon peculiar to himself. A real element of Socratic teaching,

which is more prominent in the Republic than in any of the other

Dialogues of Plato, is the use of example and illustration

('taphorhtika auto prhospherhontez'): "Let us apply the test of common

instances." "You," says Adeimantus, ironically, in the sixth book, "are

so unaccustomed to speak in images." And this use of examples or

images, though truly Socratic in origin, is enlarged by the genius of

Plato into the form of an allegory or parable, which embodies in the

concrete what has been already described, or is about to be described,

in the abstract. Thus the figure of the cave in Book VII is a

recapitulation of the divisions of knowledge in Book VI. The composite

animal in Book IX is an allegory of the parts of the soul. The noble

captain and the ship and the true pilot in Book VI are a figure of the

relation of the people to the philosophers in the State which has been

described. Other figures, such as the dog in the second, third, and

fourth books, or the marriage of the portionless maiden in the sixth

book, or the drones and wasps in the eighth and ninth books, also form

links of connection in long passages, or are used to recall previous

discussions.

Plato is most true to the character of his master when he describes him

as "not of this world." And with this representation of him the ideal

State and the other paradoxes of the Republic are quite in accordance,

though they can not be shown to have been speculations of Socrates. To

him, as to other great teachers both philosophical and religious, when

they looked upward, the world seemed to be the embodiment of error and

evil. The common sense of mankind has revolted against this view, or

has only partially admitted it. And even in Socrates himself the

sterner judgment of the multitude at times passes into a sort of

ironical pity or love. Men in general are incapable of philosophy, and

are therefore at enmity with the philosopher; but their

misunderstanding of him is unavoidable: for they have never seen him as

he truly is in his own image; they are only acquainted with artificial

systems possessing no native force of truth--words which admit of many

applications. Their leaders have nothing to measure with, and are

therefore ignorant of their own stature. But they are to be pitied or

laughed at, not to be quarrelled with; they mean well with their

nostrums, if they could only learn that they are cutting off a Hydra's

head. This moderation towards those who are in error is one of the

most characteristic features of Socrates in the Republic. In all the

different representations of Socrates, whether of Xenophon or Plato,

and the differences of the earlier or later Dialogues, he always

retains the character of the unwearied and disinterested seeker after

truth, without which he would have ceased to be Socrates.

Leaving the characters we may now analyze the contents of the Republic,

and then proceed to consider (1) The general aspects of this Hellenic

ideal of the State, (2) The modern lights in which the thoughts of

Plato may be read.

BOOK I

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

I WENT down yesterday to the Piraeus with Glaucon the son of Ariston,

that I might offer up my prayers to the goddess; and also because I

wanted to see in what manner they would celebrate the festival, which

was a new thing. I was delighted with the procession of the

inhabitants; but that of the Thracians was equally, if not more,

beautiful. When we had finished our prayers and viewed the spectacle,

we turned in the direction of the city; and at that instant Polemarchus

the son of Cephalus chanced to catch sight of us from a distance as we

were starting on our way home, and told his servant to run and bid us

wait for him. The servant took hold of me by the cloak behind, and

said: Polemarchus desires you to wait.

I turned round, and asked him where his master was.

There he is, said the youth, coming after you, if you will only wait.

Certainly we will, said Glaucon; and in a few minutes Polemarchus

appeared, and with him Adeimantus, Glaucon's brother, Niceratus the son

of Nicias, and several others who had been at the procession.

SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS - GLAUCON - ADEIMANTUS

Polemarchus said to me: I perceive, Socrates, that you and our

companion are already on your way to the city.

You are not far wrong, I said.

But do you see, he rejoined, how many we are?

Of course.

And are you stronger than all these? for if not, you will have to

remain where you are.

May there not be the alternative, I said, that we may persuade you to

let us go?

But can you persuade us, if we refuse to listen to you? he said.

Certainly not, replied Glaucon.

Then we are not going to listen; of that you may be assured.

Adeimantus added: Has no one told you of the torch-race on horseback

in honour of the goddess which will take place in the evening?

With horses! I replied: That is a novelty. Will horsemen carry

torches and pass them one to another during the race?

Yes, said Polemarchus, and not only so, but a festival will he

celebrated at night, which you certainly ought to see. Let us rise

soon after supper and see this festival; there will be a gathering of

young men, and we will have a good talk. Stay then, and do not be

perverse.

Glaucon said: I suppose, since you insist, that we must.

Very good, I replied.

GLAUCON - CEPHALUS - SOCRATES

Accordingly we went with Polemarchus to his house; and there we found

his brothers Lysias and Euthydemus, and with them Thrasymachus the

Chalcedonian, Charmantides the Paeanian, and Cleitophon the son of

Aristonymus. There too was Cephalus the father of Polemarchus, whom I

had not seen for a long time, and I thought him very much aged. He was

seated on a cushioned chair, and had a garland on his head, for he had

been sacrificing in the court; and there were some other chairs in the

room arranged in a semicircle, upon which we sat down by him. He

saluted me eagerly, and then he said:--

You don't come to see me, Socrates, as often as you ought: If I were

still able to go and see you I would not ask you to come to me. But at

my age I can hardly get to the city, and therefore you should come

oftener to the Piraeus. For let me tell you, that the more the

pleasures of the body fade away, the greater to me is the pleasure and

charm of conversation. Do not then deny my request, but make our house

your resort and keep company with these young men; we are old friends,

and you will be quite at home with us.

I replied: There is nothing which for my part I like better, Cephalus,

than conversing with aged men; for I regard them as travellers who have

gone a journey which I too may have to go, and of whom I ought to

enquire, whether the way is smooth and easy, or rugged and difficult.

And this is a question which I should like to ask of you who have

arrived at that time which the poets call the 'threshold of old

age'--Is life harder towards the end, or what report do you give of it?

I will tell you, Socrates, he said, what my own feeling is. Men of my

age flock together; we are birds of a feather, as the old proverb says;

and at our meetings the tale of my acquaintance commonly is--I cannot

eat, I cannot drink; the pleasures of youth and love are fled away:

there was a good time once, but now that is gone, and life is no longer

life. Some complain of the slights which are put upon them by

relations, and they will tell you sadly of how many evils their old age

is the cause. But to me, Socrates, these complainers seem to blame

that which is not really in fault. For if old age were the cause, I

too being old, and every other old man, would have felt as they do.

But this is not my own experience, nor that of others whom I have

known. How well I remember the aged poet Sophocles, when in answer to

the question, How does love suit with age, Sophocles,--are you still

the man you were? Peace, he replied; most gladly have I escaped the

thing of which you speak; I feel as if I had escaped from a mad and

furious master. His words have often occurred to my mind since, and

they seem as good to me now as at the time when he uttered them. For

certainly old age has a great sense of calm and freedom; when the

passions relax their hold, then, as Sophocles says, we are freed from

the grasp not of one mad master only, but of many. The truth is,

Socrates, that these regrets, and also the complaints about relations,

are to be attributed to the same cause, which is not old age, but men's

characters and tempers; for he who is of a calm and happy nature will

hardly feel the pressure of age, but to him who is of an opposite

disposition youth and age are equally a burden.

I listened in admiration, and wanting to draw him out, that he might go

on--Yes, Cephalus, I said: but I rather suspect that people in general

are not convinced by you when you speak thus; they think that old age

sits lightly upon you, not because of your happy disposition, but

because you are rich, and wealth is well known to be a great comforter.

You are right, he replied; they are not convinced: and there is

something in what they say; not, however, so much as they imagine. I

might answer them as Themistocles answered the Seriphian who was

abusing him and saying that he was famous, not for his own merits but

because he was an Athenian: 'If you had been a native of my country or

I of yours, neither of us would have been famous.' And to those who are

not rich and are impatient of old age, the same reply may be made; for

to the good poor man old age cannot be a light burden, nor can a bad

rich man ever have peace with himself.

May I ask, Cephalus, whether your fortune was for the most part

inherited or acquired by you?

Acquired! Socrates; do you want to know how much I acquired? In the

art of making money I have been midway between my father and

grandfather: for my grandfather, whose name I bear, doubled and trebled

the value of his patrimony, that which he inherited being much what I

possess now; but my father Lysanias reduced the property below what it

is at present: and I shall be satisfied if I leave to these my sons not

less but a little more than I received.

That was why I asked you the question, I replied, because I see that

you are indifferent about money, which is a characteristic rather of

those who have inherited their fortunes than of those who have acquired

them; the makers of fortunes have a second love of money as a creation

of their own, resembling the affection of authors for their own poems,

or of parents for their children, besides that natural love of it for

the sake of use and profit which is common to them and all men. And

hence they are very bad company, for they can talk about nothing but

the praises of wealth. That is true, he said.

Yes, that is very true, but may I ask another question? What do you

consider to be the greatest blessing which you have reaped from your

wealth?

One, he said, of which I could not expect easily to convince others.

For let me tell you, Socrates, that when a man thinks himself to be

near death, fears and cares enter into his mind which he never had

before; the tales of a world below and the punishment which is exacted

there of deeds done here were once a laughing matter to him, but now he

is tormented with the thought that they may be true: either from the

weakness of age, or because he is now drawing nearer to that other

place, he has a clearer view of these things; suspicions and alarms

crowd thickly upon him, and he begins to reflect and consider what

wrongs he has done to others. And when he finds that the sum of his

transgressions is great he will many a time like a child start up in

his sleep for fear, and he is filled with dark forebodings. But to him

who is conscious of no sin, sweet hope, as Pindar charmingly says, is

the kind nurse of his age:

Hope, he says, cherishes the soul of him who lives in

justice and holiness and is the nurse of his age and the

companion of his journey;--hope which is mightiest to sway

the restless soul of man.

How admirable are his words! And the great blessing of riches, I do

not say to every man, but to a good man, is, that he has had no

occasion to deceive or to defraud others, either intentionally or

unintentionally; and when he departs to the world below he is not in

any apprehension about offerings due to the gods or debts which he owes

to men. Now to this peace of mind the possession of wealth greatly

contributes; and therefore I say, that, setting one thing against

another, of the many advantages which wealth has to give, to a man of

sense this is in my opinion the greatest.

Well said, Cephalus, I replied; but as concerning justice, what is

it?--to speak the truth and to pay your debts--no more than this? And

even to this are there not exceptions? Suppose that a friend when in

his right mind has deposited arms with me and he asks for them when he

is not in his right mind, ought I to give them back to him? No one

would say that I ought or that I should be right in doing so, any more

than they would say that I ought always to speak the truth to one who

is in his condition.

You are quite right, he replied.

But then, I said, speaking the truth and paying your debts is not a

correct definition of justice.

CEPHALUS - SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS

Quite correct, Socrates, if Simonides is to be believed, said

Polemarchus interposing.

I fear, said Cephalus, that I must go now, for I have to look after the

sacrifices, and I hand over the argument to Polemarchus and the company.

Is not Polemarchus your heir? I said.

To be sure, he answered, and went away laughing to the sacrifices.

SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS

Tell me then, O thou heir of the argument, what did Simonides say, and

according to you truly say, about justice?

He said that the repayment of a debt is just, and in saying so he

appears to me to be right.

I should be sorry to doubt the word of such a wise and inspired man,

but his meaning, though probably clear to you, is the reverse of clear

to me. For he certainly does not mean, as we were now saying that I

ought to return a return a deposit of arms or of anything else to one

who asks for it when he is not in his right senses; and yet a deposit

cannot be denied to be a debt.

True.

Then when the person who asks me is not in his right mind I am by no

means to make the return?

Certainly not.

When Simonides said that the repayment of a debt was justice, he did

not mean to include that case?

Certainly not; for he thinks that a friend ought always to do good to a

friend and never evil.

You mean that the return of a deposit of gold which is to the injury of

the receiver, if the two parties are friends, is not the repayment of a

debt,--that is what you would imagine him to say?

Yes.

And are enemies also to receive what we owe to them?

To be sure, he said, they are to receive what we owe them, and an

enemy, as I take it, owes to an enemy that which is due or proper to

him--that is to say, evil.

Simonides, then, after the manner of poets, would seem to have spoken

darkly of the nature of justice; for he really meant to say that

justice is the giving to each man what is proper to him, and this he

termed a debt.

That must have been his meaning, he said.

By heaven! I replied; and if we asked him what due or proper thing is

given by medicine, and to whom, what answer do you think that he would

make to us?

He would surely reply that medicine gives drugs and meat and drink to

human bodies.

And what due or proper thing is given by cookery, and to what?

Seasoning to food.

And what is that which justice gives, and to whom?

If, Socrates, we are to be guided at all by the analogy of the

preceding instances, then justice is the art which gives good to

friends and evil to enemies.

That is his meaning then?

I think so.

And who is best able to do good to his friends and evil to his enemies

in time of sickness?

The physician.

Or when they are on a voyage, amid the perils of the sea?

The pilot.

And in what sort of actions or with a view to what result is the just

man most able to do harm to his enemy and good to his friends?

In going to war against the one and in making alliances with the other.

But when a man is well, my dear Polemarchus, there is no need of a

physician?

No.

And he who is not on a voyage has no need of a pilot?

No.

Then in time of peace justice will be of no use?

I am very far from thinking so.

You think that justice may be of use in peace as well as in war?

Yes.

Like husbandry for the acquisition of corn?

Yes.

Or like shoemaking for the acquisition of shoes,--that is what you mean?

Yes.

And what similar use or power of acquisition has justice in time of

peace?

In contracts, Socrates, justice is of use.

And by contracts you mean partnerships?

Exactly.

But is the just man or the skilful player a more useful and better

partner at a game of draughts?

The skilful player.

And in the laying of bricks and stones is the just man a more useful or

better partner than the builder?

Quite the reverse.

Then in what sort of partnership is the just man a better partner than

the harp-player, as in playing the harp the harp-player is certainly a

better partner than the just man?

In a money partnership.

Yes, Polemarchus, but surely not in the use of money; for you do not

want a just man to be your counsellor the purchase or sale of a horse;

a man who is knowing about horses would be better for that, would he

not?

Certainly.

And when you want to buy a ship, the shipwright or the pilot would be

better?

True.

Then what is that joint use of silver or gold in which the just man is

to be preferred?

When you want a deposit to be kept safely.

You mean when money is not wanted, but allowed to lie?

Precisely.

That is to say, justice is useful when money is useless?

That is the inference.

And when you want to keep a pruning-hook safe, then justice is useful

to the individual and to the state; but when you want to use it, then

the art of the vine-dresser?

Clearly.

And when you want to keep a shield or a lyre, and not to use them, you

would say that justice is useful; but when you want to use them, then

the art of the soldier or of the musician?

Certainly.

And so of all the other things;--justice is useful when they are

useless, and useless when they are useful?

That is the inference.

Then justice is not good for much. But let us consider this further

point: Is not he who can best strike a blow in a boxing match or in

any kind of fighting best able to ward off a blow?

Certainly.

And he who is most skilful in preventing or escaping from a disease is

best able to create one?

True.

And he is the best guard of a camp who is best able to steal a march

upon the enemy?

Certainly.

Then he who is a good keeper of anything is also a good thief?

That, I suppose, is to be inferred.

Then if the just man is good at keeping money, he is good at stealing

it.

That is implied in the argument.

Then after all the just man has turned out to be a thief. And this is

a lesson which I suspect you must have learnt out of Homer; for he,

speaking of Autolycus, the maternal grandfather of Odysseus, who is a

favourite of his, affirms that

He was excellent above all men in theft and perjury.

And so, you and Homer and Simonides are agreed that justice is an art

of theft; to be practised however 'for the good of friends and for the

harm of enemies,'--that was what you were saying?

No, certainly not that, though I do not now know what I did say; but I

still stand by the latter words.

Well, there is another question: By friends and enemies do we mean

those who are so really, or only in seeming?

Surely, he said, a man may be expected to love those whom he thinks

good, and to hate those whom he thinks evil.

Yes, but do not persons often err about good and evil: many who are not

good seem to be so, and conversely?

That is true.

Then to them the good will be enemies and the evil will be their

friends? True.

And in that case they will be right in doing good to the evil and evil

to the good?

Clearly.

But the good are just and would not do an injustice?

True.

Then according to your argument it is just to injure those who do no

wrong?

Nay, Socrates; the doctrine is immoral.

Then I suppose that we ought to do good to the just and harm to the

unjust?

I like that better.

But see the consequence:--Many a man who is ignorant of human nature

has friends who are bad friends, and in that case he ought to do harm

to them; and he has good enemies whom he ought to benefit; but, if so,

we shall be saying the very opposite of that which we affirmed to be

the meaning of Simonides.

Very true, he said: and I think that we had better correct an error

into which we seem to have fallen in the use of the words 'friend' and

'enemy.'

What was the error, Polemarchus? I asked.

We assumed that he is a friend who seems to be or who is thought good.

And how is the error to be corrected?

We should rather say that he is a friend who is, as well as seems,

good; and that he who seems only, and is not good, only seems to be and

is not a friend; and of an enemy the same may be said.

You would argue that the good are our friends and the bad our enemies?

Yes.

And instead of saying simply as we did at first, that it is just to do

good to our friends and harm to our enemies, we should further say: It

is just to do good to our friends when they are good and harm to our

enemies when they are evil?

Yes, that appears to me to be the truth.

But ought the just to injure any one at all?

Undoubtedly he ought to injure those who are both wicked and his

enemies.

When horses are injured, are they improved or deteriorated?

The latter.

Deteriorated, that is to say, in the good qualities of horses, not of

dogs?

Yes, of horses.

And dogs are deteriorated in the good qualities of dogs, and not of

horses?

Of course.

And will not men who are injured be deteriorated in that which is the

proper virtue of man?

Certainly.

And that human virtue is justice?

To be sure.

Then men who are injured are of necessity made unjust?

That is the result.

But can the musician by his art make men unmusical?

Certainly not.

Or the horseman by his art make them bad horsemen?

Impossible.

And can the just by justice make men unjust, or speaking general can

the good by virtue make them bad?

Assuredly not.

Any more than heat can produce cold?

It cannot.

Or drought moisture?

Clearly not.

Nor can the good harm any one?

Impossible.

And the just is the good?

Certainly.

Then to injure a friend or any one else is not the act of a just man,

but of the opposite, who is the unjust?

I think that what you say is quite true, Socrates.

Then if a man says that justice consists in the repayment of debts, and

that good is the debt which a man owes to his friends, and evil the

debt which he owes to his enemies,--to say this is not wise; for it is

not true, if, as has been clearly shown, the injuring of another can be

in no case just.

I agree with you, said Polemarchus.

Then you and I are prepared to take up arms against any one who

attributes such a saying to Simonides or Bias or Pittacus, or any other

wise man or seer?

I am quite ready to do battle at your side, he said.

Shall I tell you whose I believe the saying to be?

Whose?

I believe that Periander or Perdiccas or Xerxes or Ismenias the Theban,

or some other rich and mighty man, who had a great opinion of his own

power, was the first to say that justice is 'doing good to your friends

and harm to your enemies.'

Most true, he said.

Yes, I said; but if this definition of justice also breaks down, what

other can be offered?

Several times in the course of the discussion Thrasymachus had made an

attempt to get the argument into his own hands, and had been put down

by the rest of the company, who wanted to hear the end. But when

Polemarchus and I had done speaking and there was a pause, he could no

longer hold his peace; and, gathering himself up, he came at us like a

wild beast, seeking to devour us. We were quite panic-stricken at the

sight of him.

SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS - THRASYMACHUS

He roared out to the whole company: What folly. Socrates, has taken

possession of you all? And why, sillybillies, do you knock under to

one another? I say that if you want really to know what justice is,

you should not only ask but answer, and you should not seek honour to

yourself from the refutation of an opponent, but have your own answer;

for there is many a one who can ask and cannot answer. And now I will

not have you say that justice is duty or advantage or profit or gain or

interest, for this sort of nonsense will not do for me; I must have

clearness and accuracy.

I was panic-stricken at his words, and could not look at him without

trembling. Indeed I believe that if I had not fixed my eye upon him, I

should have been struck dumb: but when I saw his fury rising, I looked

at him first, and was therefore able to reply to him.

Thrasymachus, I said, with a quiver, don't be hard upon us.

Polemarchus and I may have been guilty of a little mistake in the

argument, but I can assure you that the error was not intentional. If

we were seeking for a piece of gold, you would not imagine that we were

'knocking under to one another,' and so losing our chance of finding

it. And why, when we are seeking for justice, a thing more precious

than many pieces of gold, do you say that we are weakly yielding to one

another and not doing our utmost to get at the truth? Nay, my good

friend, we are most willing and anxious to do so, but the fact is that

we cannot. And if so, you people who know all things should pity us

and not be angry with us.

How characteristic of Socrates! he replied, with a bitter

laugh;--that's your ironical style! Did I not foresee--have I not

already told you, that whatever he was asked he would refuse to answer,

and try irony or any other shuffle, in order that he might avoid

answering?

You are a philosopher, Thrasymachus, I replied, and well know that if

you ask a person what numbers make up twelve, taking care to prohibit

him whom you ask from answering twice six, or three times four, or six

times two, or four times three, 'for this sort of nonsense will not do

for me,'--then obviously, that is your way of putting the question, no

one can answer you. But suppose that he were to retort, 'Thrasymachus,

what do you mean? If one of these numbers which you interdict be the

true answer to the question, am I falsely to say some other number

which is not the right one?--is that your meaning?'--How would you

answer him?

Just as if the two cases were at all alike! he said.

Why should they not be? I replied; and even if they are not, but only

appear to be so to the person who is asked, ought he not to say what he

thinks, whether you and I forbid him or not?

I presume then that you are going to make one of the interdicted

answers?

I dare say that I may, notwithstanding the danger, if upon reflection I

approve of any of them.

But what if I give you an answer about justice other and better, he

said, than any of these? What do you deserve to have done to you?

Done to me!--as becomes the ignorant, I must learn from the wise--that

is what I deserve to have done to me.

What, and no payment! a pleasant notion!

I will pay when I have the money, I replied.

SOCRATES - THRASYMACHUS - GLAUCON

But you have, Socrates, said Glaucon: and you, Thrasymachus, need be

under no anxiety about money, for we will all make a contribution for

Socrates.

Yes, he replied, and then Socrates will do as he always does--refuse to

answer himself, but take and pull to pieces the answer of some one else.

Why, my good friend, I said, how can any one answer who knows, and says

that he knows, just nothing; and who, even if he has some faint notions

of his own, is told by a man of authority not to utter them? The

natural thing is, that the speaker should be some one like yourself who

professes to know and can tell what he knows. Will you then kindly

answer, for the edification of the company and of myself?

Glaucon and the rest of the company joined in my request and

Thrasymachus, as any one might see, was in reality eager to speak; for

he thought that he had an excellent answer, and would distinguish

himself. But at first he to insist on my answering; at length he

consented to begin. Behold, he said, the wisdom of Socrates; he

refuses to teach himself, and goes about learning of others, to whom he

never even says thank you.

That I learn of others, I replied, is quite true; but that I am

ungrateful I wholly deny. Money I have none, and therefore I pay in

praise, which is all I have: and how ready I am to praise any one who

appears to me to speak well you will very soon find out when you

answer; for I expect that you will answer well.

Listen, then, he said; I proclaim that justice is nothing else than the

interest of the stronger. And now why do you not me? But of course

you won't.

Let me first understand you, I replied. Justice, as you say, is the

interest of the stronger. What, Thrasymachus, is the meaning of this?

You cannot mean to say that because Polydamas, the pancratiast, is

stronger than we are, and finds the eating of beef conducive to his

bodily strength, that to eat beef is therefore equally for our good who

are weaker than he is, and right and just for us?

That's abominable of you, Socrates; you take the words in the sense

which is most damaging to the argument.

Not at all, my good sir, I said; I am trying to understand them; and I

wish that you would be a little clearer.

Well, he said, have you never heard that forms of government differ;

there are tyrannies, and there are democracies, and there are

aristocracies?

Yes, I know.

And the government is the ruling power in each state?

Certainly.

And the different forms of government make laws democratical,

aristocratical, tyrannical, with a view to their several interests; and

these laws, which are made by them for their own interests, are the

justice which they deliver to their subjects, and him who transgresses

them they punish as a breaker of the law, and unjust. And that is what

I mean when I say that in all states there is the same principle of

justice, which is the interest of the government; and as the government

must be supposed to have power, the only reasonable conclusion is, that

everywhere there is one principle of justice, which is the interest of

the stronger.

Now I understand you, I said; and whether you are right or not I will

try to discover. But let me remark, that in defining justice you have

yourself used the word 'interest' which you forbade me to use. It is

true, however, that in your definition the words 'of the stronger' are

added.

A small addition, you must allow, he said.

Great or small, never mind about that: we must first enquire whether

what you are saying is the truth. Now we are both agreed that justice

is interest of some sort, but you go on to say 'of the stronger'; about

this addition I am not so sure, and must therefore consider further.

Proceed.

I will; and first tell me, Do you admit that it is just or subjects to

obey their rulers?

I do.

But are the rulers of states absolutely infallible, or are they

sometimes liable to err?

To be sure, he replied, they are liable to err.

Then in making their laws they may sometimes make them rightly, and

sometimes not?

True.

When they make them rightly, they make them agreeably to their

interest; when they are mistaken, contrary to their interest; you admit

that?

Yes.

And the laws which they make must be obeyed by their subjects,--and

that is what you call justice?

Doubtless.

Then justice, according to your argument, is not only obedience to the

interest of the stronger but the reverse?

What is that you are saying? he asked.

I am only repeating what you are saying, I believe. But let us

consider: Have we not admitted that the rulers may be mistaken about

their own interest in what they command, and also that to obey them is

justice? Has not that been admitted?

Yes.

Then you must also have acknowledged justice not to be for the interest

of the stronger, when the rulers unintentionally command things to be

done which are to their own injury. For if, as you say, justice is the

obedience which the subject renders to their commands, in that case, O

wisest of men, is there any escape from the conclusion that the weaker

are commanded to do, not what is for the interest, but what is for the

injury of the stronger?

Nothing can be clearer, Socrates, said Polemarchus.

SOCRATES - CLEITOPHON - POLEMARCHUS - THRASYMACHUS

Yes, said Cleitophon, interposing, if you are allowed to be his witness.

But there is no need of any witness, said Polemarchus, for Thrasymachus

himself acknowledges that rulers may sometimes command what is not for

their own interest, and that for subjects to obey them is justice.

Yes, Polemarchus,--Thrasymachus said that for subjects to do what was

commanded by their rulers is just.

Yes, Cleitophon, but he also said that justice is the interest of the

stronger, and, while admitting both these propositions, he further

acknowledged that the stronger may command the weaker who are his

subjects to do what is not for his own interest; whence follows that

justice is the injury quite as much as the interest of the stronger.

But, said Cleitophon, he meant by the interest of the stronger what the

stronger thought to be his interest,--this was what the weaker had to

do; and this was affirmed by him to be justice.

Those were not his words, rejoined Polemarchus.

SOCRATES - THRASYMACHUS

Never mind, I replied, if he now says that they are, let us accept his

statement. Tell me, Thrasymachus, I said, did you mean by justice what

the stronger thought to be his interest, whether really so or not?

Certainly not, he said. Do you suppose that I call him who is mistaken

the stronger at the time when he is mistaken?

Yes, I said, my impression was that you did so, when you admitted that

the ruler was not infallible but might be sometimes mistaken.

You argue like an informer, Socrates. Do you mean, for example, that

he who is mistaken about the sick is a physician in that he is

mistaken? or that he who errs in arithmetic or grammar is an

arithmetician or grammarian at the me when he is making the mistake, in

respect of the mistake? True, we say that the physician or

arithmetician or grammarian has made a mistake, but this is only a way

of speaking; for the fact is that neither the grammarian nor any other

person of skill ever makes a mistake in so far as he is what his name

implies; they none of them err unless their skill fails them, and then

they cease to be skilled artists. No artist or sage or ruler errs at

the time when he is what his name implies; though he is commonly said

to err, and I adopted the common mode of speaking. But to be perfectly

accurate, since you are such a lover of accuracy, we should say that

the ruler, in so far as he is the ruler, is unerring, and, being

unerring, always commands that which is for his own interest; and the

subject is required to execute his commands; and therefore, as I said

at first and now repeat, justice is the interest of the stronger.

Indeed, Thrasymachus, and do I really appear to you to argue like an

informer?

Certainly, he replied.

And you suppose that I ask these questions with any design of injuring

you in the argument?

Nay, he replied, 'suppose' is not the word--I know it; but you will be

found out, and by sheer force of argument you will never prevail.

I shall not make the attempt, my dear man; but to avoid any

misunderstanding occurring between us in future, let me ask, in what

sense do you speak of a ruler or stronger whose interest, as you were

saying, he being the superior, it is just that the inferior should

execute--is he a ruler in the popular or in the strict sense of the

term?

In the strictest of all senses, he said. And now cheat and play the

informer if you can; I ask no quarter at your hands. But you never

will be able, never.

And do you imagine, I said, that I am such a madman as to try and

cheat, Thrasymachus? I might as well shave a lion.

Why, he said, you made the attempt a minute ago, and you failed.

Enough, I said, of these civilities. It will be better that I should

ask you a question: Is the physician, taken in that strict sense of

which you are speaking, a healer of the sick or a maker of money? And

remember that I am now speaking of the true physician.

A healer of the sick, he replied.

And the pilot--that is to say, the true pilot--is he a captain of

sailors or a mere sailor?

A captain of sailors.

The circumstance that he sails in the ship is not to be taken into

account; neither is he to be called a sailor; the name pilot by which

he is distinguished has nothing to do with sailing, but is significant

of his skill and of his authority over the sailors.

Very true, he said.

Now, I said, every art has an interest?

Certainly.

For which the art has to consider and provide?

Yes, that is the aim of art.

And the interest of any art is the perfection of it--this and nothing

else?

What do you mean?

I mean what I may illustrate negatively by the example of the body.

Suppose you were to ask me whether the body is self-sufficing or has

wants, I should reply: Certainly the body has wants; for the body may

be ill and require to be cured, and has therefore interests to which

the art of medicine ministers; and this is the origin and intention of

medicine, as you will acknowledge. Am I not right?

Quite right, he replied.

But is the art of medicine or any other art faulty or deficient in any

quality in the same way that the eye may be deficient in sight or the

ear fail of hearing, and therefore requires another art to provide for

the interests of seeing and hearing--has art in itself, I say, any

similar liability to fault or defect, and does every art require

another supplementary art to provide for its interests, and that

another and another without end? Or have the arts to look only after

their own interests? Or have they no need either of themselves or of

another?--having no faults or defects, they have no need to correct

them, either by the exercise of their own art or of any other; they

have only to consider the interest of their subject-matter. For every

art remains pure and faultless while remaining true--that is to say,

while perfect and unimpaired. Take the words in your precise sense,

and tell me whether I am not right."

Yes, clearly.

Then medicine does not consider the interest of medicine, but the

interest of the body?

True, he said.

Nor does the art of horsemanship consider the interests of the art of

horsemanship, but the interests of the horse; neither do any other arts

care for themselves, for they have no needs; they care only for that

which is the subject of their art?

True, he said.

But surely, Thrasymachus, the arts are the superiors and rulers of

their own subjects?

To this he assented with a good deal of reluctance.

Then, I said, no science or art considers or enjoins the interest of

the stronger or superior, but only the interest of the subject and

weaker?

He made an attempt to contest this proposition also, but finally

acquiesced.

Then, I continued, no physician, in so far as he is a physician,

considers his own good in what he prescribes, but the good of his

patient; for the true physician is also a ruler having the human body

as a subject, and is not a mere money-maker; that has been admitted?

Yes.

And the pilot likewise, in the strict sense of the term, is a ruler of

sailors and not a mere sailor?

That has been admitted.

And such a pilot and ruler will provide and prescribe for the interest

of the sailor who is under him, and not for his own or the ruler's

interest?

He gave a reluctant 'Yes.'

Then, I said, Thrasymachus, there is no one in any rule who, in so far

as he is a ruler, considers or enjoins what is for his own interest,

but always what is for the interest of his subject or suitable to his

art; to that he looks, and that alone he considers in everything which

he says and does.

When we had got to this point in the argument, and every one saw that

the definition of justice had been completely upset, Thrasymachus,

instead of replying to me, said: Tell me, Socrates, have you got a

nurse?

Why do you ask such a question, I said, when you ought rather to be

answering?

Because she leaves you to snivel, and never wipes your nose: she has

not even taught you to know the shepherd from the sheep.

What makes you say that? I replied.

Because you fancy that the shepherd or neatherd fattens of tends the

sheep or oxen with a view to their own good and not to the good of

himself or his master; and you further imagine that the rulers of

states, if they are true rulers, never think of their subjects as

sheep, and that they are not studying their own advantage day and

night. Oh, no; and so entirely astray are you in your ideas about the

just and unjust as not even to know that justice and the just are in

reality another's good; that is to say, the interest of the ruler and

stronger, and the loss of the subject and servant; and injustice the

opposite; for the unjust is lord over the truly simple and just: he is

the stronger, and his subjects do what is for his interest, and

minister to his happiness, which is very far from being their own.

Consider further, most foolish Socrates, that the just is always a

loser in comparison with the unjust. First of all, in private

contracts: wherever the unjust is the partner of the just you will find

that, when the partnership is dissolved, the unjust man has always more

and the just less. Secondly, in their dealings with the State: when

there is an income tax, the just man will pay more and the unjust less

on the same amount of income; and when there is anything to be received

the one gains nothing and the other much. Observe also what happens

when they take an office; there is the just man neglecting his affairs

and perhaps suffering other losses, and getting nothing out of the

public, because he is just; moreover he is hated by his friends and

acquaintance for refusing to serve them in unlawful ways. But all this

is reversed in the case of the unjust man. I am speaking, as before,

of injustice on a large scale in which the advantage of the unjust is

more apparent; and my meaning will be most clearly seen if we turn to

that highest form of injustice in which the criminal is the happiest of

men, and the sufferers or those who refuse to do injustice are the most

miserable--that is to say tyranny, which by fraud and force takes away

the property of others, not little by little but wholesale;

comprehending in one, things sacred as well as profane, private and

public; for which acts of wrong, if he were detected perpetrating any

one of them singly, he would be punished and incur great disgrace--they

who do such wrong in particular cases are called robbers of temples,

and man-stealers and burglars and swindlers and thieves. But when a

man besides taking away the money of the citizens has made slaves of

them, then, instead of these names of reproach, he is termed happy and

blessed, not only by the citizens but by all who hear of his having

achieved the consummation of injustice. For mankind censure injustice,

fearing that they may be the victims of it and not because they shrink

from committing it. And thus, as I have shown, Socrates, injustice,

when on a sufficient scale, has more strength and freedom and mastery

than justice; and, as I said at first, justice is the interest of the

stronger, whereas injustice is a man's own profit and interest.

Thrasymachus, when he had thus spoken, having, like a bathman, deluged

our ears with his words, had a mind to go away. But the company would

not let him; they insisted that he should remain and defend his

position; and I myself added my own humble request that he would not

leave us. Thrasymachus, I said to him, excellent man, how suggestive

are your remarks! And are you going to run away before you have fairly

taught or learned whether they are true or not? Is the attempt to

determine the way of man's life so small a matter in your eyes--to

determine how life may be passed by each one of us to the greatest

advantage?

And do I differ from you, he said, as to the importance of the enquiry?

You appear rather, I replied, to have no care or thought about us,

Thrasymachus--whether we live better or worse from not knowing what you

say you know, is to you a matter of indifference. Prithee, friend, do

not keep your knowledge to yourself; we are a large party; and any

benefit which you confer upon us will be amply rewarded. For my own

part I openly declare that I am not convinced, and that I do not

believe injustice to be more gainful than justice, even if uncontrolled

and allowed to have free play. For, granting that there may be an

unjust man who is able to commit injustice either by fraud or force,

still this does not convince me of the superior advantage of injustice,

and there may be others who are in the same predicament with myself.

Perhaps we may be wrong; if so, you in your wisdom should convince us

that we are mistaken in preferring justice to injustice.

And how am I to convince you, he said, if you are not already convinced

by what I have just said; what more can I do for you? Would you have

me put the proof bodily into your souls?

Heaven forbid! I said; I would only ask you to be consistent; or, if

you change, change openly and let there be no deception. For I must

remark, Thrasymachus, if you will recall what was previously said, that

although you began by defining the true physician in an exact sense,

you did not observe a like exactness when speaking of the shepherd; you

thought that the shepherd as a shepherd tends the sheep not with a view

to their own good, but like a mere diner or banqueter with a view to

the pleasures of the table; or, again, as a trader for sale in the

market, and not as a shepherd. Yet surely the art of the shepherd is

concerned only with the good of his subjects; he has only to provide

the best for them, since the perfection of the art is already ensured

whenever all the requirements of it are satisfied. And that was what I

was saying just now about the ruler. I conceived that the art of the

ruler, considered as ruler, whether in a state or in private life,

could only regard the good of his flock or subjects; whereas you seem

to think that the rulers in states, that is to say, the true rulers,

like being in authority.

Think! Nay, I am sure of it.

Then why in the case of lesser offices do men never take them willingly

without payment, unless under the idea that they govern for the

advantage not of themselves but of others? Let me ask you a question:

Are not the several arts different, by reason of their each having a

separate function? And, my dear illustrious friend, do say what you

think, that we may make a little progress.

Yes, that is the difference, he replied.

And each art gives us a particular good and not merely a general

one--medicine, for example, gives us health; navigation, safety at sea,

and so on?

Yes, he said.

And the art of payment has the special function of giving pay: but we

do not confuse this with other arts, any more than the art of the pilot

is to be confused with the art of medicine, because the health of the

pilot may be improved by a sea voyage. You would not be inclined to

say, would you, that navigation is the art of medicine, at least if we

are to adopt your exact use of language?

Certainly not.

Or because a man is in good health when he receives pay you would not

say that the art of payment is medicine?

I should say not.

Nor would you say that medicine is the art of receiving pay because a

man takes fees when he is engaged in healing?

Certainly not.

And we have admitted, I said, that the good of each art is specially

confined to the art?

Yes.

Then, if there be any good which all artists have in common, that is to

be attributed to something of which they all have the common use?

True, he replied.

And when the artist is benefited by receiving pay the advantage is

gained by an additional use of the art of pay, which is not the art

professed by him?

He gave a reluctant assent to this.

Then the pay is not derived by the several artists from their

respective arts. But the truth is, that while the art of medicine

gives health, and the art of the builder builds a house, another art

attends them which is the art of pay. The various arts may be doing

their own business and benefiting that over which they preside, but

would the artist receive any benefit from his art unless he were paid

as well?

I suppose not.

But does he therefore confer no benefit when he works for nothing?

Certainly, he confers a benefit.

Then now, Thrasymachus, there is no longer any doubt that neither arts

nor governments provide for their own interests; but, as we were before

saying, they rule and provide for the interests of their subjects who

are the weaker and not the stronger--to their good they attend and not

to the good of the superior.

And this is the reason, my dear Thrasymachus, why, as I was just now

saying, no one is willing to govern; because no one likes to take in

hand the reformation of evils which are not his concern without

remuneration. For, in the execution of his work, and in giving his

orders to another, the true artist does not regard his own interest,

but always that of his subjects; and therefore in order that rulers may

be willing to rule, they must be paid in one of three modes of payment:

money, or honour, or a penalty for refusing.

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

What do you mean, Socrates? said Glaucon. The first two modes of

payment are intelligible enough, but what the penalty is I do not

understand, or how a penalty can be a payment.

You mean that you do not understand the nature of this payment which to

the best men is the great inducement to rule? Of course you know that

ambition and avarice are held to be, as indeed they are, a disgrace?

Very true.

And for this reason, I said, money and honour have no attraction for

them; good men do not wish to be openly demanding payment for governing

and so to get the name of hirelings, nor by secretly helping themselves

out of the public revenues to get the name of thieves. And not being

ambitious they do not care about honour. Wherefore necessity must be

laid upon them, and they must be induced to serve from the fear of

punishment. And this, as I imagine, is the reason why the forwardness

to take office, instead of waiting to be compelled, has been deemed

dishonourable. Now the worst part of the punishment is that he who

refuses to rule is liable to be ruled by one who is worse than himself.

And the fear of this, as I conceive, induces the good to take office,

not because they would, but because they cannot help--not under the

idea that they are going to have any benefit or enjoyment themselves,

but as a necessity, and because they are not able to commit the task of

ruling to any one who is better than themselves, or indeed as good.

For there is reason to think that if a city were composed entirely of

good men, then to avoid office would be as much an object of contention

as to obtain office is at present; then we should have plain proof that

the true ruler is not meant by nature to regard his own interest, but

that of his subjects; and every one who knew this would choose rather

to receive a benefit from another than to have the trouble of

conferring one. So far am I from agreeing with Thrasymachus that

justice is the interest of the stronger. This latter question need not

be further discussed at present; but when Thrasymachus says that the

life of the unjust is more advantageous than that of the just, his new

statement appears to me to be of a far more serious character. Which

of us has spoken truly? And which sort of life, Glaucon, do you prefer?

I for my part deem the life of the just to be the more advantageous, he

answered.

Did you hear all the advantages of the unjust which Thrasymachus was

rehearsing?

Yes, I heard him, he replied, but he has not convinced me.

Then shall we try to find some way of convincing him, if we can, that

he is saying what is not true?

Most certainly, he replied.

If, I said, he makes a set speech and we make another recounting all

the advantages of being just, and he answers and we rejoin, there must

be a numbering and measuring of the goods which are claimed on either

side, and in the end we shall want judges to decide; but if we proceed

in our enquiry as we lately did, by making admissions to one another,

we shall unite the offices of judge and advocate in our own persons.

Very good, he said.

And which method do I understand you to prefer? I said.

That which you propose.

Well, then, Thrasymachus, I said, suppose you begin at the beginning

and answer me. You say that perfect injustice is more gainful than

perfect justice?

SOCRATES - GLAUCON - THRASYMACHUS

Yes, that is what I say, and I have given you my reasons.

And what is your view about them? Would you call one of them virtue

and the other vice?

Certainly.

I suppose that you would call justice virtue and injustice vice?

What a charming notion! So likely too, seeing that I affirm injustice

to be profitable and justice not.

What else then would you say?

The opposite, he replied.

And would you call justice vice?

No, I would rather say sublime simplicity.

Then would you call injustice malignity?

No; I would rather say discretion.

And do the unjust appear to you to be wise and good?

Yes, he said; at any rate those of them who are able to be perfectly

unjust, and who have the power of subduing states and nations; but

perhaps you imagine me to be talking of cutpurses.

Even this profession if undetected has advantages, though they are not

to be compared with those of which I was just now speaking.

I do not think that I misapprehend your meaning, Thrasymachus, I

replied; but still I cannot hear without amazement that you class

injustice with wisdom and virtue, and justice with the opposite.

Certainly I do so class them.

Now, I said, you are on more substantial and almost unanswerable

ground; for if the injustice which you were maintaining to be

profitable had been admitted by you as by others to be vice and

deformity, an answer might have been given to you on received

principles; but now I perceive that you will call injustice honourable

and strong, and to the unjust you will attribute all the qualities

which were attributed by us before to the just, seeing that you do not

hesitate to rank injustice with wisdom and virtue.

You have guessed most infallibly, he replied.

Then I certainly ought not to shrink from going through with the

argument so long as I have reason to think that you, Thrasymachus, are

speaking your real mind; for I do believe that you are now in earnest

and are not amusing yourself at our expense.

I may be in earnest or not, but what is that to you?--to refute the

argument is your business.

Very true, I said; that is what I have to do: But will you be so good

as answer yet one more question? Does the just man try to gain any

advantage over the just?

Far otherwise; if he did would not be the simple, amusing creature

which he is.

And would he try to go beyond just action?

He would not.

And how would he regard the attempt to gain an advantage over the

unjust; would that be considered by him as just or unjust?

He would think it just, and would try to gain the advantage; but he

would not be able.

Whether he would or would not be able, I said, is not to the point. My

question is only whether the just man, while refusing to have more than

another just man, would wish and claim to have more than the unjust?

Yes, he would.

And what of the unjust--does he claim to have more than the just man

and to do more than is just.

Of course, he said, for he claims to have more than all men.

And the unjust man will strive and struggle to obtain more than the

unjust man or action, in order that he may have more than all?

True.

We may put the matter thus, I said--the just does not desire more than

his like but more than his unlike, whereas the unjust desires more than

both his like and his unlike?

Nothing, he said, can be better than that statement.

And the unjust is good and wise, and the just is neither?

Good again, he said.

And is not the unjust like the wise and good and the just unlike them?

Of course, he said, he who is of a certain nature, is like those who

are of a certain nature; he who is not, not.

Each of them, I said, is such as his like is?

Certainly, he replied.

Very good, Thrasymachus, I said; and now to take the case of the arts:

you would admit that one man is a musician and another not a musician?

Yes.

And which is wise and which is foolish?

Clearly the musician is wise, and he who is not a musician is foolish.

And he is good in as far as he is wise, and bad in as far as he is

foolish?

Yes.

And you would say the same sort of thing of the physician?

Yes.

And do you think, my excellent friend, that a musician when he adjusts

the lyre would desire or claim to exceed or go beyond a musician in the

tightening and loosening the strings?

I do not think that he would.

But he would claim to exceed the non-musician?

Of course.

And what would you say of the physician? In prescribing meats and

drinks would he wish to go beyond another physician or beyond the

practice of medicine?

He would not.

But he would wish to go beyond the non-physician?

Yes.

And about knowledge and ignorance in general; see whether you think

that any man who has knowledge ever would wish to have the choice of

saying or doing more than another man who has knowledge. Would he not

rather say or do the same as his like in the same case?

That, I suppose, can hardly be denied.

And what of the ignorant? would he not desire to have more than either

the knowing or the ignorant?

I dare say.

And the knowing is wise?

Yes.

And the wise is good?

True.

Then the wise and good will not desire to gain more than his like, but

more than his unlike and opposite?

I suppose so.

Whereas the bad and ignorant will desire to gain more than both?

Yes.

But did we not say, Thrasymachus, that the unjust goes beyond both his

like and unlike? Were not these your words? They were.

They were.

And you also said that the lust will not go beyond his like but his

unlike?

Yes.

Then the just is like the wise and good, and the unjust like the evil

and ignorant?

That is the inference.

And each of them is such as his like is?

That was admitted.

Then the just has turned out to be wise and good and the unjust evil

and ignorant.

Thrasymachus made all these admissions, not fluently, as I repeat them,

but with extreme reluctance; it was a hot summer's day, and the

perspiration poured from him in torrents; and then I saw what I had

never seen before, Thrasymachus blushing. As we were now agreed that

justice was virtue and wisdom, and injustice vice and ignorance, I

proceeded to another point:

Well, I said, Thrasymachus, that matter is now settled; but were we not

also saying that injustice had strength; do you remember?

Yes, I remember, he said, but do not suppose that I approve of what you

are saying or have no answer; if however I were to answer, you would be

quite certain to accuse me of haranguing; therefore either permit me to

have my say out, or if you would rather ask, do so, and I will answer

'Very good,' as they say to story-telling old women, and will nod 'Yes'

and 'No.'

Certainly not, I said, if contrary to your real opinion.

Yes, he said, I will, to please you, since you will not let me speak.

What else would you have?

Nothing in the world, I said; and if you are so disposed I will ask and

you shall answer.

Proceed.

Then I will repeat the question which I asked before, in order that our

examination of the relative nature of justice and injustice may be

carried on regularly. A statement was made that injustice is stronger

and more powerful than justice, but now justice, having been identified

with wisdom and virtue, is easily shown to be stronger than injustice,

if injustice is ignorance; this can no longer be questioned by any one.

But I want to view the matter, Thrasymachus, in a different way: You

would not deny that a state may be unjust and may be unjustly

attempting to enslave other states, or may have already enslaved them,

and may be holding many of them in subjection?

True, he replied; and I will add the best and perfectly unjust state

will be most likely to do so.

I know, I said, that such was your position; but what I would further

consider is, whether this power which is possessed by the superior

state can exist or be exercised without justice.

If you are right in you view, and justice is wisdom, then only with

justice; but if I am right, then without justice.

I am delighted, Thrasymachus, to see you not only nodding assent and

dissent, but making answers which are quite excellent.

That is out of civility to you, he replied.

You are very kind, I said; and would you have the goodness also to

inform me, whether you think that a state, or an army, or a band of

robbers and thieves, or any other gang of evil-doers could act at all

if they injured one another?

No indeed, he said, they could not.

But if they abstained from injuring one another, then they might act

together better?

Yes.

And this is because injustice creates divisions and hatreds and

fighting, and justice imparts harmony and friendship; is not that true,

Thrasymachus?

I agree, he said, because I do not wish to quarrel with you.

How good of you, I said; but I should like to know also whether

injustice, having this tendency to arouse hatred, wherever existing,

among slaves or among freemen, will not make them hate one another and

set them at variance and render them incapable of common action?

Certainly.

And even if injustice be found in two only, will they not quarrel and

fight, and become enemies to one another and to the just.

They will.

And suppose injustice abiding in a single person, would your wisdom say

that she loses or that she retains her natural power?

Let us assume that she retains her power.

Yet is not the power which injustice exercises of such a nature that

wherever she takes up her abode, whether in a city, in an army, in a

family, or in any other body, that body is, to begin with, rendered

incapable of united action by reason of sedition and distraction; and

does it not become its own enemy and at variance with all that opposes

it, and with the just? Is not this the case?

Yes, certainly.

And is not injustice equally fatal when existing in a single person; in

the first place rendering him incapable of action because he is not at

unity with himself, and in the second place making him an enemy to

himself and the just? Is not that true, Thrasymachus?

Yes.

And O my friend, I said, surely the gods are just?

Granted that they are.

But if so, the unjust will be the enemy of the gods, and the just will

be their friend?

Feast away in triumph, and take your fill of the argument; I will not

oppose you, lest I should displease the company.

Well then, proceed with your answers, and let me have the remainder of

my repast. For we have already shown that the just are clearly wiser

and better and abler than the unjust, and that the unjust are incapable

of common action; nay ing at more, that to speak as we did of men who

are evil acting at any time vigorously together, is not strictly true,

for if they had been perfectly evil, they would have laid hands upon

one another; but it is evident that there must have been some remnant

of justice in them, which enabled them to combine; if there had not

been they would have injured one another as well as their victims; they

were but half--villains in their enterprises; for had they been whole

villains, and utterly unjust, they would have been utterly incapable of

action. That, as I believe, is the truth of the matter, and not what

you said at first. But whether the just have a better and happier life

than the unjust is a further question which we also proposed to

consider. I think that they have, and for the reasons which to have

given; but still I should like to examine further, for no light matter

is at stake, nothing less than the rule of human life.

Proceed.

I will proceed by asking a question: Would you not say that a horse

has some end?

I should.

And the end or use of a horse or of anything would be that which could

not be accomplished, or not so well accomplished, by any other thing?

I do not understand, he said.

Let me explain: Can you see, except with the eye?

Certainly not.

Or hear, except with the ear?

No.

These then may be truly said to be the ends of these organs?

They may.

But you can cut off a vine-branch with a dagger or with a chisel, and

in many other ways?

Of course.

And yet not so well as with a pruning-hook made for the purpose?

True.

May we not say that this is the end of a pruning-hook?

We may.

Then now I think you will have no difficulty in understanding my

meaning when I asked the question whether the end of anything would be

that which could not be accomplished, or not so well accomplished, by

any other thing?

I understand your meaning, he said, and assent.

And that to which an end is appointed has also an excellence? Need I

ask again whether the eye has an end?

It has.

And has not the eye an excellence?

Yes.

And the ear has an end and an excellence also?

True.

And the same is true of all other things; they have each of them an end

and a special excellence?

That is so.

Well, and can the eyes fulfil their end if they are wanting in their

own proper excellence and have a defect instead?

How can they, he said, if they are blind and cannot see?

You mean to say, if they have lost their proper excellence, which is

sight; but I have not arrived at that point yet. I would rather ask

the question more generally, and only enquire whether the things which

fulfil their ends fulfil them by their own proper excellence, and fall

of fulfilling them by their own defect?

Certainly, he replied.

I might say the same of the ears; when deprived of their own proper

excellence they cannot fulfil their end?

True.

And the same observation will apply to all other things?

I agree.

Well; and has not the soul an end which nothing else can fulfil? for

example, to superintend and command and deliberate and the like. Are

not these functions proper to the soul, and can they rightly be

assigned to any other?

To no other.

And is not life to be reckoned among the ends of the soul?

Assuredly, he said.

And has not the soul an excellence also?

Yes.

And can she or can she not fulfil her own ends when deprived of that

excellence?

She cannot.

Then an evil soul must necessarily be an evil ruler and superintendent,

and the good soul a good ruler?

Yes, necessarily.

And we have admitted that justice is the excellence of the soul, and

injustice the defect of the soul?

That has been admitted.

Then the just soul and the just man will live well, and the unjust man

will live ill?

That is what your argument proves.

And he who lives well is blessed and happy, and he who lives ill the

reverse of happy?

Certainly.

Then the just is happy, and the unjust miserable?

So be it.

But happiness and not misery is profitable.

Of course.

Then, my blessed Thrasymachus, injustice can never be more profitable

than justice.

Let this, Socrates, he said, be your entertainment at the Bendidea.

For which I am indebted to you, I said, now that you have grown gentle

towards me and have left off scolding. Nevertheless, I have not been

well entertained; but that was my own fault and not yours. As an

epicure snatches a taste of every dish which is successively brought to

table, he not having allowed himself time to enjoy the one before, so

have I gone from one subject to another without having discovered what

I sought at first, the nature of justice. I left that enquiry and

turned away to consider whether justice is virtue and wisdom or evil

and folly; and when there arose a further question about the

comparative advantages of justice and injustice, I could not refrain

from passing on to that. And the result of the whole discussion has

been that I know nothing at all. For I know not what justice is, and

therefore I am not likely to know whether it is or is not a virtue, nor

can I say whether the just man is happy or unhappy.