The works of Plato · Plato
ARGUMENT.
The life of the just, said he, is in my opinion the more profitable. Have you heard, said I, how many good things Thrasymachus just now enumerated in the life of the unjust? I heard, said he; but I am not persuaded. Do you wish, then, that we should persuade him (if we can find any means of doing so), that there is no truth in what he says? How should I not wish it? said he. If then, by way of opposition, said I, we advance, as argument against argument, how many good things are involved in being just,—and again, he on the other side, and we again rejoin, it will be requisite to compute and estimate what either of us says on either side; and we shall want also some judges to decide thereon. But if, as just now, we investigate these matters, by agreeing with each other, we shall ourselves be both judges and counsel? Certainly, said he. Which of these plans, then, said I, do you choose? The latter, said he.
CHAP. XX.—Come then, said I, Thrasymachus;—answer us from the beginning. Say you, that complete injustice is more profitable than complete justice? Assuredly, I do say so, replied he;—and why, too, I have already told you. Come, now, how can you affirm anything like the following concerning them?—Do you call one of them virtue; and the other vice? How not? Is not justice, then, a virtue,—and injustice a vice? Likely, indeed, that I should say so, facetious man; since I say that injustice is profitable, but justice not so! What then? Quite the contrary, said he. Do you call justice a vice? No; but a very generous folly. Do you, then, call injustice a want of principle? No, said he, but sagacity. Do the unjust, Thrasymachus, seem to you both wise and good? Such, at least, said he, as are able to do injustice in perfection, and can subject states and nations to themselves; but you think, perhaps, that I speak of cut-purses. Even such employment as this, said he, is profitable, if concealed; but yet is of no value in comparison with what I just mentioned. I am not ignorant, said I, of what you mean to say: but at this I am surprised,—that you should reckon injustice as a part of virtue and wisdom, and justice among their contraries.
But, I certainly do reckon it so. This, my good friend, said I, is somewhat too hard, and it is no longer easy to know what one can say: for if you had alleged that injustice is profitable, and had still allowed it to be a vice, or base, as some others do,—we should have had something to say, speaking according to received opinions. But now it is evident that you will say it is beautiful and strong, and will attribute to it all other properties which we ascribe to the just man, because, forsooth, you have ventured to class it with virtue and wisdom. You augur very truly, said he. I must not grudge, however, said I, to pursue our inquiry, so long as I conceive you speak what you really think; for you appear to me, Thrasymachus, without doubt, not to be jesting, but only to speak what you conceive to be the truth. What difference is it to you, said he, whether I think so, or not;—and why do you not refute my reasoning? No difference at all, said I:—but try further to reply to this likewise: does one just man appear to you to wish to have more than another just man?
By no means, said he; for otherwise he would not have been accommodating and silly, as we just conceived him. What; not even in a just action? No,—not even in one that is just, said he. But, would he deem it right to overreach the unjust man, and reckon it just; or would he not think it just? He would both count it just, said he, and deem it right; but yet he would not be able [to do it]. That, said I, I do not ask,—but, whether the just man would neither deem it right, nor feel a wish to overreach a just man, but yet would do so to the unjust? Such is the case, said he. What, then, would the unjust man [do?]—Would he deem it right to overreach the just man, even in a just action? How not, said he, since he deems it right to overreach all men? With respect, then, to the unjust man and unjust action, will not the unjust man desire to overreach both; and eagerly strive himself to receive most of all? Such is the fact.
CHAP. XXI.—This, then, is what we mean, said I:—the just man does not try to overreach one like himself, but one that is unlike, while the unjust man does so both to one like, and one unlike himself. You have expressed yourself admirably, said he. Well, then, said I, the unjust man is both wise and good; but the just man is neither. Well, again, said he. In that case, said I, is not the unjust man like the wise and the good, and the just man unlike. Of course, said he, a person of a certain character is likely to resemble one of like character; and he who is otherwise, not. Well said:—such an one then, of course, is either of those whom he resembles? Why doubt it? said he. Granted, Thrasymachus;—now do you call one man musical, and another unmusical? I do. Which of the two do you call wise, and which unwise? The musical, surely, wise, and the unmusical unwise. As being wise, then, is he not good; but as unwise, bad? Yes. And what as to the physician, is it not the same? The same.
Do you think, then, my excellent friend, that any musician, when he is tuning a harp, wants to overreach, or deems it right to have more skill than a man who is a musician, in straining and slackening the strings? Not I. But what with respect to one unmusical? He could not help it, said he. And what as to the physician? In prescribing meats or drinks, would he try to overreach either another physician, or the art he professes? No, indeed. But one who is no physician [would?] Yes. Just consider then, as respects all science and ignorance, whether any skilful man, be he who he may, appears to you to have a desire to grasp at, or do, or say more than another skilful man,—and not rather to do the same things, in the same business as one equally skilful with himself? Aye, it seems, it must be so, said he. But what, as to him who is unskilled, will not he like to overreach both alike the skilful and the unskilled? Probably. But the skilful man [is] wise? I admit it.—And the wise, good?—I admit it. Both the good and the wise, then, will not want to overreach his like, but rather one unlike, and contrary to himself? It seems so, said he.
But the bad and the ignorant man [will want to overreach] both his like and his contrary? It appears so. In that case, Thrasymachus, said I;—the unjust man desires to overreach both one unlike and one like himself:—did not you say so? I did, said he. The just man, however, on his side, will not overreach his like, but one unlike? Yes. The just man then, said I, resembles the wise and the good, but the unjust, the evil and the ignorant? It seems so. But we agreed, that each of them was such as what he resembled? We did agree so. The just man, then, has been clearly shown to be good and wise, but the unjust, ignorant and evil.
CHAP. XXII.—Thrasymachus at last agreed to all these things,—not easily, as I now narrate them, but dragged to it, and with difficulty, and with a wondrous deal of sweating, just as if it was summer. Then, indeed, did I behold—I never did before—Thrasymachus blushing. And after we had agreed that justice was virtue and wisdom, and injustice, vice and ignorance,—well, said I, let this be so settled;—but we said also, that injustice is powerful:—do not you remember, Thrasymachus? I do remember, said he;—but, to me at least, what you now say is not pleasing, and I have somewhat to say about it; but should I mention it, I well know you would say I am declaiming.[51] Either, then, let me say what I please, or, if you wish to question me, do so, and I will say to you, as to gossiping old women,[52] “Be it so,” and will assent and dissent. Not by any means, said I, if against your own opinion. Just to please you, said he, since you will not let me speak: though what else do you wish? Nothing, by Zeus, said I: but if you will do this, do it, and I will ask questions. Ask, then.
This, then, I ask, as just now (that we may regularly examine our argument), of what quality is justice, compared with injustice? for I think it has been said that injustice was more powerful and stronger than justice.—But now, at any rate, said I, if justice be both virtue and wisdom, it will easily, methinks, be seen to be more powerful also than injustice, since injustice is ignorance; no one can any longer be ignorant of this—For my part, however, Thrasymachus, I am not desirous of getting rid of the question at once, but to consider it somehow thus.—Would you say that a state may be unjust, and attempt to enslave other states unjustly, and have enslaved them, and besides that actually hold many in slavery under herself? How not? said he: and this for the most part the best state will do, and one that is most completely unjust. I am aware, said I, that this was your assertion:—but this is what I wish to inquire; whether the state, which becomes more powerful than another state, is to hold this power without justice, or must necessarily do so with justice? If indeed, as you now alleged, said he, justice is wisdom—with justice; but if, as I said,—with injustice.
CHAP. XXIII.—You are very kind, my excellent friend, then tell me this too;—if this be the work of injustice to engender hatred wherever it exists, will it not, when exercised both among freemen and slaves, make them hate one another, and become seditious, and incapable of doing anything in concert for the common advantage? Certainly. But what if it happen in the case of two only; will they not differ, and hate, and become enemies both to one another and to the just also? They will, said he. If then, my admirable friend, injustice reside in a person,—will it lose its power, or still retain it? It will still retain it, he replied. Seems it not, then, to have some such power as this;—that, in whatever it exists, whether in a city, or race, or camp, or anywhere else, it first of all renders it unable to act of itself, owing to seditions and differences; besides which, it becomes an enemy not only to itself, but to every opponent, especially to the just—is it not so? Certainly. And, methinks, when injustice residing in one man will have all these effects, which it is natural for it to produce, it will, in the first place, render him unable to act, while at variance and discord with himself;—and, secondly, as being an enemy both to himself and the just:—is it not so? Yes. But, at any rate, friend, the gods are just? Granted, said he. As respects the gods, then, Thrasymachus, the unjust man will be a foe, but the just man a friend?
Feast yourself boldly on this reasoning, said he; for I will not oppose you, that I may not render myself odious to those who think so.[53] Come then, said I, and satiate me with the rest of the feast, by answering as you were doing just now: for as respects the just appearing wiser and better and more able to act, but the unjust being capable of doing nothing in concert; and besides that, as to what we said with reference to the unjust, that they are ever at any time able strenuously to act in mutual concert,—this we advanced not quite correctly, for being thoroughly unjust, they would not spare one another: but yet it was evident that there was a justice in them, which made them refrain at any rate from injuring one another and those of their party,—owing to which they performed what they did; and they rushed into unjust actions, through injustice, in a kind of half-wicked feeling; for the completely wicked are both perfectly unjust, and also quite incapable of action:—that this is really so, I understand, but not in the way that you first defined it. Besides, whether the just live better than the unjust, and are more happy (which we proposed to consider afterwards), is now to be considered:—and, methinks, they appear to do so even at present, from what we have said:—but let us consider the matter still better; for the discussion is not about a casual matter, but about the manner in which we ought to live.
CHAP. XXIV.—Now, methinks, you may understand better what I was asking, when I inquired whether the work of each be not that which, of all others, one performs either alone or in the best manner. I understand you, said he; and this seems to me to be each one’s peculiar work. Granted, said I:—and does there not likewise appear to you to be a virtue belonging to everything, to which a certain work is assigned? But let us run over the same ground once more:—We say that the eyes have a certain work? Yes. Is there not then a virtue belonging to the eyes? A virtue also. Well, then, have the ears a certain work? Yes. And of course a virtue also? A virtue also. And, about all the rest;—is it not thus? It is. But, hold:—could the eyes ever cleverly perform their work, when not possessed of their own proper virtue, but vice instead of virtue? How could they? said he; for perhaps you mean blindness instead of sight. Whatever, said I, be their virtue, that I mean,—for I do not yet enter on this question; but, whether by their own proper virtue they will perform their own proper work well, whatever they undertake; and by vice, badly? In this, at least, said he, you speak the truth.
And will not the ears also, when deprived of their virtue, perform their work ill? Certainly. And, are we to settle all other things by the same reasoning? So I suppose. Come then, after this, consider what follows: has the soul a certain work, which you can perform by no other living thing,—such as this, to take care, to govern, to consult, and all such [acts?] Is there any other than the soul, to which we can justly ascribe them, and say they are its proper functions? No other. But what of this?—To live; shall we say it is the work of the soul? Most assuredly, said he. Do not we say, then, that there is some virtue, also, peculiar to the soul? We do. And can the soul, then, Thrasymachus, ever perform its own works cleverly, whilst deprived of its proper virtue;—or, is this impossible? Impossible. Of necessity, then, a bad soul must govern and take care of things badly, and a good soul perform all these things well? Necessarily so. Did we not then agree, that justice was the virtue of the soul, and injustice its vice? We did so agree. The just soul, then, and the just man, will live well, and the unjust ill? It appears so, said he, according to your reasoning. Surely, then, he who lives well is both blessed and happy; and he who does not, the opposite? How not? The just, then, is happy, and the unjust miserable? Granted, said he. But at any rate, it is not advantageous to be miserable, but happy? How not? In that case, excellent Thrasymachus, injustice is never more profitable than justice. Well, now, Socrates, said he, you have been capitally well feasted at these Bendideia.
Aye, by you, Thrasymachus, I certainly have; for you are grown quite mild, and have ceased to be troublesome:—and if I have not feasted handsomely, it is owing to myself, not you.—But just as greedy guests, ever gloating on what is fresh brought before them, taste thereof, without having properly enjoyed what went before,—so I, methinks, without having first ascertained what we were before investigating,—namely the nature of justice, have omitted this, and rushed eagerly forward to inquire concerning it, whether it be vice and ignorance, or wisdom and virtue;—and when an assertion was afterwards introduced, that injustice is more profitable than justice, I could not refrain from coming to this, from the other; so that now, from this conversation, I have learnt nothing at all;—for since I do not know what justice is, I can scarcely know whether it be a virtue or not,—and whether he who possesses it be unhappy or happy.
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