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 banquetter 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 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. 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? 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 he 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. And you also said that the just 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 that the best and most 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 or only with justice. If you are right in your 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 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 I 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 fail 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.