Complete Works (212 page)

Apparently.

You’ll agree, then, that when one needs to keep a shield or a lyre safe and not to use them, justice is a useful thing, but when you need to use them, it is soldiery or musicianship that’s useful?

Necessarily.

And so, too, with everything else, justice is useless when they are in use but useful when they aren’t?

It looks that way.

[e] In that case, justice isn’t worth much, since it is only useful for useless things. But let’s look into the following point. Isn’t the person most able to land a blow, whether in boxing or any other kind of fight, also most able to guard against it?

Certainly.

And the one who is most able to guard against disease is also most able to produce it unnoticed?

So it seems to me, anyway.

And the one who is the best guardian of an army is the very one who
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can steal the enemy’s plans and dispositions?

Certainly.

Whenever someone is a clever guardian, then, he is also a clever thief.

Probably so.

If a just person is clever at guarding money, therefore, he must also be clever at stealing it.

According to our argument, at any rate.

A just person has turned out then, it seems, to be a kind of thief. Maybe you learned this from Homer, for he’s fond of Autolycus, the maternal grandfather of Odysseus, whom he describes as better than everyone at [b] lying and stealing.
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According to you, Homer, and Simonides, then, justice seems to be some sort of craft of stealing, one that benefits friends and harms enemies. Isn’t that what you meant?

No, by god, it isn’t. I don’t know any more what I did mean, but I still believe that to benefit one’s friends and harm one’s enemies is justice.

Speaking of friends, do you mean those a person believes to be good and useful to him or those who actually are good and useful, even if he [c] doesn’t think they are, and similarly with enemies?

Probably, one loves those one considers good and useful and hates those one considers bad and harmful.

But surely people often make mistakes about this, believing many people to be good and useful when they aren’t, and making the opposite mistake about enemies?

They do indeed.

And then good people are their enemies and bad ones their friends?

That’s right.

And so it’s just to benefit bad people and harm good ones? [d]

Apparently.

But good people are just and able to do no wrong?

True.

Then, according to your account, it’s just to do bad things to those who do no injustice.

No, that’s not just at all, Socrates; my account must be a bad one.

It’s just, then, is it, to harm unjust people and benefit just ones?

That’s obviously a more attractive view than the other one, anyway.

Then, it follows, Polemarchus, that it is just for the many, who are mistaken in their judgment, to harm their friends, who are bad, and benefit their enemies, who are good. And so we arrive at a conclusion opposite [e] to what we said Simonides meant.

That certainly follows. But let’s change our definition, for it seems that we didn’t define friends and enemies correctly.

How did we define them, Polemarchus?

We said that a friend is someone who is believed to be useful.

And how are we to change that now?

Someone who is both believed to be useful and is useful is a friend; someone who is believed to be useful but isn’t, is believed to be a friend but isn’t. And the same for the enemy.
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According to this account, then, a good person will be a friend and a bad one an enemy.

Yes.

So you want us to add something to what we said before about justice, when we said that it is just to treat friends well and enemies badly. You want us to add to this that it is just to treat well a friend who is good and to harm an enemy who is bad?

[b] Right. That seems fine to me.

Is it, then, the role of a just man to harm anyone?

Certainly, he must harm those who are both bad and enemies.

Do horses become better or worse when they are harmed?

Worse.

With respect to the virtue
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that makes dogs good or the one that makes horses good?

The one that makes horses good.

And when dogs are harmed, they become worse in the virtue that makes dogs good, not horses?

Necessarily.

Then won’t we say the same about human beings, too, that when they [c] are harmed they become worse in human virtue?

Indeed.

But isn’t justice human virtue?

Yes, certainly.

Then people who are harmed must become more unjust?

So it seems.

Can musicians make people unmusical through music?

They cannot.

Or horsemen make people unhorsemanlike through horsemanship?

No.

Well, then, can those who are just make people unjust through justice? [d] In a word, can those who are good make people bad through virtue?

They cannot.

It isn’t the function of heat to cool things but of its opposite?

Yes.

Nor the function of dryness to make things wet but of its opposite?

Indeed.

Nor the function of goodness to harm but of its opposite?

Apparently.

And a just person is good?

Indeed.

Then, Polemarchus, it isn’t the function of a just person to harm a friend or anyone else, rather it is the function of his opposite, an unjust person?

In my view that’s completely true, Socrates.

If anyone tells us, then, that it is just to give to each what he’s owed [e] and understands by this that a just man should harm his enemies and benefit his friends, he isn’t wise to say it, since what he says isn’t true, for it has become clear to us that it is never just to harm anyone?

I agree.

You and I shall fight as partners, then, against anyone who tells us that Simonides, Bias, Pittacus, or any of our other wise and blessedly happy men said this.

I, at any rate, am willing to be your partner in the battle.

Do you know to whom I think the saying belongs that it is just to benefit
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friends and harm enemies?

Who?

I think it belongs to Periander, or Perdiccas, or Xerxes, or Ismenias of Corinth, or some other wealthy man who believed himself to have great power.
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That’s absolutely true.

All right, since it has become apparent that justice and the just aren’t what such people say they are, what else could they be?

While we were speaking, Thrasymachus had tried many times to take over the discussion but was restrained by those sitting near him, who [b] wanted to hear our argument to the end. When we paused after what I’d just said, however, he couldn’t keep quiet any longer. He coiled himself up like a wild beast about to spring, and he hurled himself at us as if to tear us to pieces.

Polemarchus and I were frightened and flustered as he roared into our midst: What nonsense have you two been talking, Socrates? Why do you act like idiots by giving way to one another? If you truly want to know [c] what justice is, don’t just ask questions and then refute the answers simply to satisfy your competitiveness or love of honor. You know very well that it is easier to ask questions than answer them. Give an answer yourself, and tell us what you say the just is. And don’t tell me that it’s the right, the beneficial, the profitable, the gainful, or the advantageous, but tell me [d] clearly and exactly what you mean; for I won’t accept such nonsense from you.

His words startled me, and, looking at him, I was afraid. And I think that if I hadn’t seen him before he stared at me, I’d have been dumbstruck. But as it was, I happened to look at him just as our discussion began to exasperate him, so I was able to answer, and, trembling a little, I said: [e] Don’t be too hard on us, Thrasymachus, for if Polemarchus and I made an error in our investigation, you should know that we did so unwillingly. If we were searching for gold, we’d never willingly give way to each other, if by doing so we’d destroy our chance of finding it. So don’t think that in searching for justice, a thing more valuable than even a large quantity of gold, we’d mindlessly give way to one another or be less than completely serious about finding it. You surely mustn’t think that, but rather—as I do—that we’re incapable of finding it. Hence it’s surely far more appropriate for
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us to be pitied by you clever people than to be given rough treatment.

When he heard that, he gave a loud, sarcastic laugh. By Heracles, he said, that’s just Socrates’ usual irony. I knew, and I said so to these people earlier, that you’d be unwilling to answer and that, if someone questioned
you
, you’d be ironical and do anything rather than give an answer.

That’s because you’re a clever fellow, Thrasymachus. You knew very well that if you ask someone how much twelve is, and, as you ask, you [b] warn him by saying “Don’t tell me, man, that twelve is twice six, or three times four, or six times two, or four times three, for I won’t accept such nonsense,” then you’ll see clearly, I think, that no one could answer a question framed like that. And if he said to you: “What are you saying, Thrasymachus, am I not to give any of the answers you mention, not even if twelve happens to be one of those things? I’m amazed. Do you want me to say something other than the truth? Or do you mean something [c] else?” What answer would you give him?

Well, so you think the two cases are alike?

Why shouldn’t they be alike? But even if they aren’t alike, yet seem so to the person you asked, do you think him any less likely to give the answer that seems right to him, whether we forbid him to or not?

Is that what you’re going to do, give one of the forbidden answers?

I wouldn’t be surprised—provided that it’s the one that seems right to me after I’ve investigated the matter.

What if I show you a different answer about justice than all these—and [d] a better one? What would you deserve then?

What else than the appropriate penalty for one who doesn’t know, namely, to learn from the one who does know? Therefore, that’s what I deserve.

You amuse me, but in addition to learning, you must pay a fine.

I will as soon as I have some money.

He has some already, said Glaucon. If it’s a matter of money, speak, Thrasymachus, for we’ll all contribute for Socrates.

I know, he said, so that Socrates can carry on as usual. He gives no [e] answer himself, and then, when someone else does give one, he takes up the argument and refutes it.

How can someone give an answer, I said, when he doesn’t know it and doesn’t claim to know it, and when an eminent man forbids him to express the opinion he has? It’s much more appropriate for you to answer, since you say you know and can tell us. So do it as a favor to me, and don’t
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begrudge your teaching to Glaucon and the others.

While I was saying this, Glaucon and the others begged him to speak. It was obvious that Thrasymachus thought he had a fine answer and that he wanted to earn their admiration by giving it, but he pretended that he wanted to indulge his love of victory by forcing me to answer. However, he agreed in the end, and then said: There you have Socrates’ wisdom; he [b] himself isn’t willing to teach, but he goes around learning from others and isn’t even grateful to them.

When you say that I learn from others you are right, Thrasymachus, but when you say that I’m not grateful, that isn’t true. I show what gratitude I can, but since I have no money, I can give only praise. But just how enthusiastically I give it when someone seems to me to speak well, you’ll know as soon as you’ve answered, for I think that you will speak well.

Listen, then. I say that justice is nothing other than the advantage of the [c] stronger. Well, why don’t you praise me? But then you’d do anything to avoid having to do that.

I must first understand you, for I don’t yet know what you mean. The advantage of the stronger, you say, is just. What do you mean, Thrasymachus? Surely you don’t mean something like this: Polydamus, the pancratist,
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is stronger than we are; it is to his advantage to eat beef to build up his physical strength; therefore, this food is also advantageous and just for us who are weaker than he is? [d]

You disgust me, Socrates. Your trick is to take hold of the argument at the point where you can do it the most harm.

Not at all, but tell us more clearly what you mean.

Don’t you know that some cities are ruled by a tyranny, some by a democracy, and some by an aristocracy?

Of course.

And in each city this element is stronger, namely, the ruler?

Certainly.

And each makes laws to its own advantage. Democracy makes democratic laws, tyranny makes tyrannical laws, and so on with the others. And [e] they declare what they have made—what is to their own advantage—to be just for their subjects, and they punish anyone who goes against this as lawless and unjust. This, then, is what I say justice is, the same in all cities, the advantage of the established rule. Since the established rule is
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is the same everywhere, namely, the advantage of the stronger.

Now I see what you mean. Whether it’s true or not, I’ll try to find out. But you yourself have answered that the just is the advantageous, Thrasymachus, whereas you forbade that answer to me. True, you’ve added “of the stronger” to it.

[b] And I suppose you think that’s an insignificant addition.

It isn’t clear yet whether it’s significant. But it is clear that we must investigate to see whether or not it’s true. I agree that the just is some kind of advantage. But you add that it’s
of the stronger
. I don’t know about that. We’ll have to look into it.

Go ahead and look.

We will. Tell me, don’t you also say that it is just to obey the rulers? I do.

[c] And are the rulers in all cities infallible, or are they liable to error?

No doubt they are liable to error.

When they undertake to make laws, therefore, they make some correctly, others incorrectly?