The Republic
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.
BOOK II.
With these words I was thinking that I had made an end of the
discussion; but the end, in truth, proved to be only a beginning. For
Glaucon, who is always the most pugnacious of men, was dissatisfied at
Thrasymachus’ retirement; he wanted to have the battle out. So he said
to me: Socrates, do you wish really to persuade us, or only to seem to
have persuaded us, that to be just is always better than to be unjust?
I should wish really to persuade you, I replied, if I could.
Then you certainly have not succeeded. Let me ask you now:—How would
you arrange goods—are there not some which we welcome for their own
sakes, and independently of their consequences, as, for example,
harmless pleasures and enjoyments, which delight us at the time,
although nothing follows from them?
I agree in thinking that there is such a class, I replied.
Is there not also a second class of goods, such as knowledge, sight,
health, which are desirable not only in themselves, but also for their
results?
Certainly, I said.
And would you not recognize a third class, such as gymnastic, and the
care of the sick, and the physician’s art; also the various ways of
money-making—these do us good but we regard them as disagreeable; and
no one would choose them for their own sakes, but only for the sake of
some reward or result which flows from them?
There is, I said, this third class also. But why do you ask?
Because I want to know in which of the three classes you would place
justice?
In the highest class, I replied,—among those goods which he who would
be happy desires both for their own sake and for the sake of their
results.
Then the many are of another mind; they think that justice is to be
reckoned in the troublesome class, among goods which are to be pursued
for the sake of rewards and of reputation, but in themselves are
disagreeable and rather to be avoided.
I know, I said, that this is their manner of thinking, and that this
was the thesis which Thrasymachus was maintaining just now, when he
censured justice and praised injustice. But I am too stupid to be
convinced by him.
I wish, he said, that you would hear me as well as him, and then I
shall see whether you and I agree. For Thrasymachus seems to me, like a
snake, to have been charmed by your voice sooner than he ought to have
been; but to my mind the nature of justice and injustice have not yet
been made clear. Setting aside their rewards and results, I want to
know what they are in themselves, and how they inwardly work in the
soul. If you, please, then, I will revive the argument of Thrasymachus.
And first I will speak of the nature and origin of justice according to
the common view of them. Secondly, I will show that all men who
practise justice do so against their will, of necessity, but not as a
good. And thirdly, I will argue that there is reason in this view, for
the life of the unjust is after all better far than the life of the
just—if what they say is true, Socrates, since I myself am not of their
opinion. But still I acknowledge that I am perplexed when I hear the
voices of Thrasymachus and myriads of others dinning in my ears; and,
on the other hand, I have never yet heard the superiority of justice to
injustice maintained by any one in a satisfactory way. I want to hear
justice praised in respect of itself; then I shall be satisfied, and
you are the person from whom I think that I am most likely to hear
this; and therefore I will praise the unjust life to the utmost of my
power, and my manner of speaking will indicate the manner in which I
desire to hear you too praising justice and censuring injustice. Will
you say whether you approve of my proposal?
Indeed I do; nor can I imagine any theme about which a man of sense
would oftener wish to converse.
I am delighted, he replied, to hear you say so, and shall begin by
speaking, as I proposed, of the nature and origin of justice.
They say that to do injustice is, by nature, good; to suffer injustice,
evil; but that the evil is greater than the good. And so when men have
both done and suffered injustice and have had experience of both, not
being able to avoid the one and obtain the other, they think that they
had better agree among themselves to have neither; hence there arise
laws and mutual covenants; and that which is ordained by law is termed
by them lawful and just. This they affirm to be the origin and nature
of justice;—it is a mean or compromise, between the best of all, which
is to do injustice and not be punished, and the worst of all, which is
to suffer injustice without the power of retaliation; and justice,
being at a middle point between the two, is tolerated not as a good,
but as the lesser evil, and honoured by reason of the inability of men
to do injustice. For no man who is worthy to be called a man would ever
submit to such an agreement if he were able to resist; he would be mad
if he did. Such is the received account, Socrates, of the nature and
origin of justice.
Now that those who practise justice do so involuntarily and because
they have not the power to be unjust will best appear if we imagine
something of this kind: having given both to the just and the unjust
power to do what they will, let us watch and see whither desire will
lead them; then we shall discover in the very act the just and unjust
man to be proceeding along the same road, following their interest,
which all natures deem to be their good, and are only diverted into the
path of justice by the force of law. The liberty which we are supposing
may be most completely given to them in the form of such a power as is
said to have been possessed by Gyges, the ancestor of Croesus the