República I 336b-350c: Exposição e crítica da tese sofística: a justiça é o interesse do mais forte

Durante nuestra conversación, Trasímaco había abierto muchas veces la boca, para interrumpirnos. Los que estaban sentados cerca de él se lo impidieron, porque querían oírnos hasta la conclusión; pero cuando nosotros cesamos de hablar, no pudo contenerse, y volviéndose de repente, se vino a nosotros como una bestia feroz para devorarnos. Polemarco y yo nos sentimos como aterrados. Y él, alzando la voz en medio de todos, dijo:

—Sócrates, ¿a qué viene toda esa palabrería? ¿A qué ese pueril cambio de mutuas concesiones? ¿Quieres saber sencillamente lo que es la justicia? No te limites a interrogar y a procurarte necia gloria de refutar las respuestas de los demás. No ignoras que es más fácil interrogar que responder. Respóndeme ahora tú. ¿Qué es la justicia? Y no me digas que es lo que conviene, lo que es útil, lo que es ventajoso, lo que es lucrativo, lo que es provechoso; responde neta y precisamente; porque yo no admitiré vaciedades como buenas respuestas.

Al oír estas palabras yo quedé como absorto. Le miraba temblando y creo que hubiera perdido el habla si él me hubiera mirado primero⁽²¹⁾; pero yo había fijado en él mi vista en el momento en que estalló su cólera. De esta manera me consideré en estado de poderle responder, y le dije, no sin algún miedo:

—Trasímaco, no te irrites contra nosotros. Si Polemarco y yo hemos errado en nuestra conversación, vive persuadido de que ha sido contra nuestra intención. Si buscáramos oro, no nos cuidaríamos de engañarnos uno a otro, haciendo así imposible el descubrimiento; y ahora que nuestras indagaciones tienen un fin mucho más precioso que el oro, esto es, la justicia, ¿nos crees tan insensatos que gastemos el tiempo en engañarnos, en lugar de consagrarnos seriamente a descubrirla? Guárdate de pensar así, querido mío. No por eso dejo de conocer que esta indagación es superior a nuestras fuerzas. Y así, a vosotros todos, que sois hombres entendidos, debe inspiraros un sentimiento de compasión y no de indignación nuestra flaqueza.

—¡Por Heracles! —replicó Trasímaco con una risa sarcástica—; he aquí la ironía acostumbrada de Sócrates. Sabía bien que no responderías, y ya había prevenido a todos que apelarías a tus conocidas mañas y que harías cualquier cosa menos responder.

—Avisado eres, Trasímaco —le dije—; sabías muy bien que si preguntases a uno de qué se compone el número doce, añadiendo: «No me digas que es dos veces seis, tres veces cuatro, seis veces dos, o cuatro veces tres, porque no me contentaré con ninguna de estas vaciedades»; sabías, digo, que no podría responder a una pregunta hecha de esta manera. Pero si él te decía a su vez: «Trasímaco, ¿cómo explicas la prohibición que me impones de no dar ninguna de las respuestas que tú acabas de decir? ¿Y si la verdadera respuesta es una de ésas, quieres que diga otra cosa que la verdad? ¿Cómo entiendes tú esto?». ¿Qué podrías responderle?

—¿Tiene verdaderamente eso —dijo Trasímaco— algo que ver con lo que yo dije?

—Quizá. Pero aun cuando la cosa sea diferente, si aquel a quien se dirige la pregunta juzga que es semejante, ¿crees tú que no responderá según él piense, ya se lo prohibamos nosotros o ya dejemos de prohibírselo?

—¿Es esto lo que tú intentas hacer? ¿Vas a darme por respuesta una de las que te prohibí desde luego que me dieras? —preguntó.

—Bien examinado todo, no tendré por qué sorprenderme si lo hago así —dije.

—Y bien; si te hago ver —dijo él— que hay una respuesta tocante a la justicia mejor que ninguna de las precedentes, ¿a qué te condenas?

—A la pena —repuse— que merecen los ignorantes, es decir, a aprender de los que son más entendidos que ellos. Me someto con gusto a esta pena.

—En verdad que eres complaciente —dijo—. Pero además de la pena de aprender, me darás dinero.

—Sí, cuando lo tenga —dije.

—Nosotros lo tenemos —dijo Glaucón—. Si es el dinero lo que te detiene, habla, Trasímaco; todos nosotros pagaremos por Sócrates.

—Conozco vuestra intención —dijo él—. Queréis que Sócrates, según su costumbre, en lugar de responder, me interrogue y me haga caer en contradicciones.

—Pero de buena fe —dije yo—, ¿qué respuesta quieres que te dé quien, en primer lugar, no sabe ninguna ni la oculta? En segundo, un hombre nada despreciable ha prohibido todas las respuestas que podían darle. A ti te toca más bien decir lo que es la justicia, puesto que te alabas de saberlo. Y así, no te hagas rogar. Responde por amor a mí y no hagas desear a Glaucón y a todos los que están aquí la instrucción que de ti esperan.

En el momento de decir yo esto, Glaucón y todos los presentes le conjuraron para que se explicara. Sin embargo, Trasímaco se hacía el desdeñoso, aunque se conocía bien que ardía en deseos de hablar para conquistarse aplausos; porque estaba persuadido de que respondería cosas maravillosas. Al fin accedió.

—Tal es —dijo— el gran secreto de Sócrates; no quiere enseñar nada a los demás, mientras que va por todas partes mendigando la ciencia, sin tener que agradecerlo a nadie.

—Tienes razón, Trasímaco —repuse yo—, en decir que yo aprendo de los demás, pero no la tienes en añadir que no les esté agradecido. Les manifiesto mi reconocimiento en cuanto de mí depende, y les aplaudo, que es todo lo que puedo hacer, careciéndo como carezco de dinero. Verás cómo te aplaudo con gusto en el momento que respondas, si lo que dices me parece bien dicho, porque estoy convencido de que tu respuesta será excelente.

—Pues bien, escucha. Digo que la justicia no es otra cosa que lo que es provechoso al más fuerte. ¡Y bien!, ¿por qué no aplaudes? Ya sabía yo que no lo habías de hacer.

—Espera, por lo menos —repliqué—, a que haya comprendido tu pensamiento, porque aún no lo entiendo. La justicia dices que es lo que es útil al más fuerte. ¿Qué entiendes por esto, Trasímaco? ¿Quieres decir que, porque el atleta Polidamante es más fuerte que nosotros, y es ventajoso para el sostenimiento de sus fuerzas comer carne de buey, sea igualmente provechoso para nosotros, que somos inferiores, comer la misma carne?

—Eres un burlón, Sócrates —dijo—, y sólo te propones dar un giro torcido a lo que se dice.

—¿Yo? Nada de eso —repuse—; pero por favor, explícate más claramente.

—¿No sabes que los diferentes Estados son tiránicos, democráticos o aristocráticos?

—Lo sé.

—El gobierno de cada Estado, ¿no es el que tiene la fuerza?

—Sin duda.

—¿No hace leyes cada uno de ellos en ventaja suya, el gobierno del pueblo leyes populares, la tiranía leyes tiránicas y así los demás? Una vez hechas estas leyes, ¿no declaran que la justicia para los gobernados consiste en lo conveniente para ellos? ¿No se castiga a los que las traspasan como culpables de una acción injusta? Aquí tienes mi pensamiento. En cada Estado la justicia no es más que la conveniencia del que tiene la autoridad en sus manos y, por consiguiente, del más fuerte. De donde se sigue, para todo hombre que sabe discurrir, que la justicia y lo que es conveniente al más fuerte en todas partes y siempre es una misma cosa.

—Comprendo ahora lo que quieres decir —dije yo—; pero ¿eso es cierto? Examinémoslo. Defines la justicia como lo que es conveniente, a pesar de que me habías a mí prohibido definirla de esa manera. Es cierto que añades: al más fuerte.

—¿Eso no es nada? —dijo.

—Yo no sé aún si es una gran cosa; lo que sé es que preciso ver si lo que dices es verdad. Convengo contigo en que la justicia es una cosa provechosa; pero añades que lo es sólo para el más fuerte. He aquí lo que yo ignoro, y lo que es preciso examinar.

—Examínalo, pues —dijo.

—Desde luego —repliqué—. Respóndeme: ¿no dices que la justicia consiste en obedecer a los que gobiernan?

—Sí.

—Pero los que gobiernan en los diferentes Estados, ¿pueden engañarse o no?

—Pueden engañarse —dijo.

—Luego cuando hacen las leyes unas estarán bien hechas y otras mal hechas.

—Así lo creo.

—Es decir, que hacerlas bien será hacerlas convenientes para ellos y hacerlas mal, inconvenientes. O ¿cómo lo concibes?

—Así.

—Sin embargo, los súbditos deben obedecerlas, y en esto consiste la justicia, ¿no es así?

—Sin duda.

—Luego es justo, en tu opinión, hacer, no sólo lo que es conveniente, sino también lo que es inconveniente para el más fuerte.

—¿Qué es lo que dices? —preguntó.

—Lo mismo que tú, creo. Pero pongamos la cosa más en claro. ¿No estás conforme en que los que gobiernan se engañan algunas veces sobre sus intereses al dar las leyes que imponen a sus súbditos y que es justo que éstos hagan sin distinción todo lo que se les ordena y manda? ¿No estábamos de acuerdo en eso?

—Así lo creo —dijo.

—Cree también, por consiguiente, que sosteniendo tú que es justo que los súbditos hagan todo lo que se les manda, tienes que convenir en que la justicia consiste en hacer lo que es inconveniente para los que gobiernan, es decir, para los más fuertes, en el caso en que, aunque sin quererlo, manden cosas contrarias a sus intereses. De aquí, ¿no debe concluirse, sapientísimo Trasímaco, que es justo hacer todo lo contrario de lo que decías al principio? Puesto que en este caso lo que se ordena y manda al más débil es inconveniente para el más fuerte.

—Sí, por Zeus; eso es evidente, Sócrates —dijo Polemarco.

—Sin duda —repuso Clitofonte—, puesto que tú lo atestiguas.

—¡Ah!, ¿qué necesidad tiene de testigos? El propio Trasímaco conviene en que los que gobiernan mandan algunas veces cosas contrarias a sus intereses, y que es justo, hasta en este caso, que los súbditos obedezcan.

—Trasímaco ha dicho sólo que era justo que los súbditos hiciesen lo que se les ordenaba, Polemarco.

—Pero también, Clitofonte, que la justicia es lo que es conveniente para el más fuerte. Habiendo sentado estos dos principios, convino en seguida en que los más fuertes hacen algunas veces leyes contrarias a sus intereses para que las ejecuten los inferiores por ellos gobernados. Y hechas estas concesiones, se sigue que la justicia es lo mismo lo que es conveniente que lo que es inconveniente para el más fuerte.

—Pero por conveniencia del más fuerte —dijo Clitofonte—, ha entendido lo que el más fuerte cree serle conveniente, y esto es, en su opinión, lo que el inferior debe practicar, y en lo que consiste la justicia.

—Trasímaco no se ha explicado de ese modo —dijo Polemarco.

—No importa, Polemarco —repliqué yo—; si Trasímaco hace suya esta explicación, nosotros la admitiremos.

Dime, pues, Trasímaco: ¿entiendes así la definición que has dado de la justicia? ¿Quieres decir que la justicia es lo que el más fuerte estima su conveniencia tanto si le conviene como si no? ¿Diremos que ésas fueron tus palabras?

—¿Yo? Nada de eso —dijo—. ¿Crees que llame yo más fuerte⁽²²⁾ al que se engaña en tanto que se engaña?

—Yo —dije— creía que esto era lo que decías cuando confesabas que los que gobiernan no son infalibles, y que se engañan algunas veces.

—Eres un sicofanta⁽²³⁾, Sócrates, en la argumentación —contestó—. ¿Llamas médico al que se equivoca respecto a los enfermos en tanto que se equivoca, o calculador al que se equivoca en un cálculo en tanto que se equivoca? Es cierto que se dice: el médico, el calculador, el gramático se han engañado, pero ninguno de ellos se engaña nunca en tanto que él es lo que decimos que es. Y hablando rigurosamente, puesto que es preciso hacerlo contigo: ningún profesional se engaña, porque no se engaña sino en tanto que su saber lo abandona, y entonces ya no es profesional. Así sucede con el sabio y con el hombre que gobierna, aunque en el lenguaje ordinario se diga: el médico se ha engañado, el gobernante se ha engañado. Aquí tienes mi respuesta precisa. El que gobierna, considerado como tal, no puede engañarse; lo que ordena es siempre lo más ventajoso para él, y eso mismo es lo que debe ejecutar el que a él está sometido. Por lo tanto, es una verdad, como dije al principio, que la justicia consiste en lo que es conveniente para el más fuerte.

—¿Soy un sicofanta en tu opinión? —dije yo.

—Sí, lo eres —dijo.

—¿Crees que he intentado tenderte lazos en la argumentación valiéndome de preguntas capciosas?

—Lo he visto claramente —dijo—, pero no por eso adelantarás nada, porque no se me oculta tu mala fe, y por lo mismo no podrás abusar de mí en la disputa.

—Ni quiero intentarlo, bendito —repliqué yo—; mas para que en lo sucesivo no ocurra cosa semejante, dime si deben entenderse según el uso ordinario o con la más refinada precisión, según decías, estas expresiones: el que gobierna, el más fuerte, aquel cuya conveniencia es, como decías, la regla de lo justo respecto del inferior.

—Al que gobierna es preciso tomarlo en sentido riguroso —dijo—. Ahora pon en obra todos tus artificios para refutarme; no quiero que me des cuartel; pero no lo lograrás.

—¿Me crees tan insensato —dije—, que intente⁽²⁴⁾ engañar a Trasímaco?

—Has intentado hacerlo, pero te ha salido mal la cuenta —contestó.

—Dejemos esto y respóndeme —dije yo—. El médico, tomado en sentido riguroso, tal como decías hace un momento, ¿es el hombre que intenta enriquecerse o se propone curar a los enfermos?

—Curar a los enfermos —dijo.

—Y el piloto, hablo del verdadero piloto, ¿es marinero o jefe de los marineros?

—Es su jefe.

—Poco importa, creo, que esté con ellos en la misma nave; no por esto se le ha de llamar marinero, porque no lo llamamos piloto por ir embarcado, sino a causa de su arte y de la autoridad que tiene sobre los marineros.

—Es cierto —dijo.

—¿No tiene cada uno su propia conveniencia?

—Sin duda.

—Y el objeto del arte —dije yo—, ¿no es el buscar y procurarse esta conveniencia?

—Ése es su objeto —dijo.

—Pero un arte cualquiera, ¿tiene otro interés que su propia perfección?

—¿Qué quieres decir?

—Si me preguntases si bastaba al cuerpo ser cuerpo —dije—, o si le falta aún alguna cosa, te respondería que sí, y que por faltarle se ha inventado el arte de la medicina, porque el cuerpo es imperfecto y no le basta ser lo que es. Y la medicina ha sido inventada para procurar al cuerpo lo que le conviene. ¿Tengo o no razón? —pregunté.

—La tienes.

—Te pregunto, en igual forma, si la medicina o cualquier otra arte está sometido a alguna imperfección y si tiene necesidad de alguna otra facultad, como los ojos necesitan de la vista y las orejas del oído, y tienen necesidad de un arte que examine y provea a lo que les es útil. ¿Está cada arte igualmente sujeta a algún defecto, y tiene necesidad de otra arte que vigile por su interés, y la que vigila, de otra semejante y así hasta el infinito? ¿O bien, cada arte provee por sí misma a su propia conveniencia? O más bien, ¿no necesita ni de sí misma ni del auxilio de ninguna otra para examinar lo conveniente a su propia imperfección, estando por su naturaleza exenta de todo defecto y de toda imperfección, de suerte que no tiene otra mira que la conveniencia del objeto a que está consagrada, mientras que ella subsiste siempre entera, sana y perfecta durante todo el tiempo que conserva su esencia? Examina con todo el rigor convenido cuál de estas dos opiniones es la más verdadera.

—La última parece serlo —dijo.

—La medicina no piensa, pues, en su conveniencia, sino en la del cuerpo —dije.

—Así es —dijo.

—Sucede lo mismo con la equitación, que no se interesa por sí misma, sino por los caballos; y lo mismo otras artes, que no teniendo necesidad de nada para ellas mismas, se ocupan únicamente de la ventaja del objeto sobre que se ejercitan.

—Así parece —dijo.

—Pero, Trasímaco, las artes gobiernan y dominan aquello sobre lo que se ejercen.

Dificultad tuvo para concederme este punto.

—No hay, pues, disciplina que examine ni ordene lo que es conveniente para el más fuerte, sino el interés del inferior objeto sobre que se ejercita.

Al pronto quiso negarlo, pero al fin se vio obligado a admitir este punto como el anterior; y una vez admitido, dije yo:

—Por lo tanto, el médico como médico no se propone ni ordena lo que es una ventaja para él, sino lo que es ventajoso para el enfermo, porque estamos conformes en que el médico como médico gobierna el cuerpo, y no es mercenario; ¿no es cierto?

Convino en ello.

—Y que el verdadero piloto no es marinero, sino jefe de los marineros.

Lo concedió también.

—Semejante piloto, pues, no ordenará ni se propondrá como fin su propia ventaja, sino la del marinero subordinado.

Lo confesó, aunque con dificultad.

—Por consiguiente, Trasímaco —dije yo—, todo hombre que gobierna, considerado como tal, y cualquiera que sea la naturaleza de su autoridad, jamás examina ni ordena lo conveniente para él sino para el gobernado y sujeto a su arte. A este punto es al que se dirige, y para procurarle lo que le es conveniente y ventajoso dice todo lo que dice y hace todo lo que hace.

Llegados aquí, y viendo todos los presentes claramente que la definición de la justicia era diametralmente opuesta a la de Trasímaco, éste, en lugar de responder, exclamó:

—Dime, Sócrates, ¿tienes nodriza?

—¿A qué viene eso? —dije yo—. ¿No sería mejor que respondieras en vez de hacer semejantes preguntas?

—Lo digo —replicó— porque te deja mocoso y sin haberte sonado. Tienes verdaderamente necesidad de ello, cuando no sabes siquiera lo que son ovejas y lo que es un pastor.

—¿Por qué razón? —dije yo.

—Porque crees que los pastores o vaqueros piensan en el bien de sus ovejas y vacas, y que las engordan y las cuidan teniendo en cuenta otra cosa que su interés o el de sus amos. También te imaginas que los que gobiernan —entiendo siempre los que gobiernan verdaderamente— tienen respecto de sus súbditos otra idea que la que tiene cualquiera respecto a las ovejas que cuida, y que día y noche se ocupan de otra cosa que de su provecho personal. Estás tan adelantado acerca de lo justo y de lo injusto, que ignoras que la justicia es en realidad un bien ajeno, conveniencia del poderoso que manda, y daño para el súbdito, que obedece; que la injusticia es lo contrario, y ejerce su imperio sobre las personas justas, que por sencillez ceden en todo ante el interés del más fuerte, y sólo se ocupan en cuidar los intereses de éste abandonando a los suyos. He aquí, hombre inocente, cómo es preciso tomar las cosas. El hombre justo siempre lleva la peor parte cuando se encuentra con el hombre injusto. Por lo pronto, en las transacciones y negocios particulares hallarás siempre que el injusto gana en el trato y que el hombre justo pierde. En los negocios públicos, si las necesidades del Estado exigen algunas contribuciones, el justo con fortuna igual suministrará más que el injusto. Si, por el contrario, hay algo en que se gane, el provecho todo es para el hombre injusto. En la administración del Estado, el primero, porque es justo, en lugar de enriquecerse a expensas del Estado, dejará que se pierdan sus negocios domésticos a causa del abandono en que los tendrá. Y aun se dará por contento si no le sucede algo peor. Además, se hará odioso a sus amigos y parientes, porque no querrá hacer por ellos nada que no sea justo. El injusto alcanzará una suerte enteramente contraria, porque teniendo, como se ha dicho, un gran poder, se vale de él para dominar constantemente a los demás. Es preciso fijarse en un hombre de estas condiciones para comprender cuánto más ventajosa es la injusticia que la justicia. Conocerás mejor esto si consideras la injusticia en su más alto grado, cuando tiene por resultado hacer muy dichoso al que la comete y muy desgraciados a los que son sus víctimas, que no quieren volver injusticia por injusticia. Hablo de la tiranía, que se vale del fraude y de la violencia con ánimo de apoderarse, no poco a poco y como en detalle de los bienes de otro, sino echándose de un solo golpe, y sin respetar lo sagrado ni lo profano, sobre las fortunas particulares y la del Estado. Los delincuentes comunes, cuando son cogidos in fraganti, son castigados con el último suplicio y se les denuesta con las calificaciones más odiosas. Según la naturaleza de la injusticia que han cometido, se les llama sacrílegos, secuestradores, butroneros, estafadores o ladrones; pero si se trata de uno que se ha hecho dueño de los bienes y de las personas de sus conciudadanos, en lugar de darle estos epítetos detestables, se le mira como el hombre más feliz, lo mismo por lo que él ha reducido a la esclavitud, que por los que tienen conocimiento de su crimen; porque si se habla mal de la injusticia, no es porque se tema cometerla, sino porque se teme ser víctima de ella. Tan cierto es, Sócrates, que la injusticia, cuando se la lleva hasta cierto punto, es más fuerte, más libre, más poderosa que la justicia, y que, como dije al principio, la justicia es la conveniencia del más fuerte, y la injusticia es por sí misma útil y provechosa.

Trasímaco, después de habernos, a manera de un bañero, inundado los oídos con este largo y terrible discurso, se levantó con ademán de marcharse; pero los demás le contuvieron y le comprometieron a que diera razón de lo que acababa de decir. Yo también se lo suplicaba con instancia y le decía:

—Pues, ¿qué, divino Trasímaco, puedes imaginarte salir de aquí después de lanzarnos un discurso semejante? ¿No es indispensable que antes aprendamos nosotros de ti, o que tú mismo veas si las cosas pasan como tú dices? ¿Crees que es de tan poca importancia el punto que nos ocupa? ¿No se trata de decidir la regla de conducta que cada uno debe seguir para gozar durante la vida la mayor felicidad posible?

—¿Quién os ha dicho que yo piense de otra manera? —dijo Trasímaco.

—Parece —dije yo— que te merecemos poca consideración, y que te importa poco que vivamos dichosos o no; todo por ignorar lo que tú pretendes saber. Instrúyenos, por favor, y no perderás el beneficio que nos hagas, siendo tantos como somos. En cuanto a mí, declaro que no pienso como tú y que no podré persuadirme jamás de que sea más ventajosa la injusticia que la justicia, aunque tenga todo el poder del mundo para obrar impunemente. Dejemos, amigo, que el injusto tenga el poder de hacer el mal, sea por fuerza o sea por astucia: nunca creeré que su condición sea más ventajosa que la del hombre justo. No soy seguramente el único de los presentes que piensa así. Pruébanos, por lo tanto, de una manera decisiva que estamos en un error al preferir la justicia a la injusticia.

—¿Y cómo quieres que yo lo pruebe? —dijo—. Si lo que he dicho no te ha convencido, ¿qué más puedo decir en tu obsequio? ¿Es preciso que yo haga que mis razones entren por fuerza en tu espíritu?

—¡No, por Zeus! Pero por lo pronto, sostente en lo que has dicho, o si mudas algo, hazlo con franqueza y no trates de sorprendernos, porque volviendo a lo que se dijo antes, ya ves, Trasímaco, que después de haber definido el médico con la mayor precisión, tú no te has creído en el deber de definir con la misma exactitud el verdadero pastor. Nos has dicho que el pastor, como pastor, no tiene cuidado de su ganado por el ganado mismo, sino como un glotón dispuesto al banquete, para su propio regalo o para venderlo como mercader, no como pastor. Pero esto es contrario a su profesión de pastor, cuyo único fin es procurar el bien del ganado que le ha sido confiado; porque en tanto que esta profesión conserve su esencia, es perfecta en su género, y para esto tiene todo lo que necesita. Por la misma razón creía yo que no podíamos menos de convenir en que toda administración, sea pública o privada, debe ocuparse únicamente del bien de la cosa que ha tomado a su cargo. ¿Crees, en efecto, que los que gobiernan los Estados —entiendo los que merecen ese título— estén muy contentos mandando?

—Por Zeus que no lo creo, sino que estoy seguro de ello.

—¿Cómo? —contesté yo—. ¿No has observado, Trasímaco, respecto a los otros cargos públicos, que nadie quiere ejercerlos por lo que ellos son, sino que se exige un salario por entender que por su naturaleza sólo son útiles a aquellos sobre los que se ejercen? Y dime, te lo suplico, ¿no se distinguen unas de otras las artes por sus diferentes efectos? Y no contestes, bendito mío, contra tu opinión, a fin de que adelantemos algo.

—Eso es distinto —dijo.

—Cada una de ellas procura a los hombres una utilidad que le es propia, no común a otras; la medicina, la salud; el pilotaje, la seguridad en la navegación, y así todas las demás. ¿No es así?

—Sin duda.

—Y la ventaja que procura el arte del mercenario, ¿no es el salario? Éste es el efecto propio de este arte. ¿Confundes la medicina con el pilotaje? O si quieres continuar hablando en términos precisos, como hiciste al principio, ¿dirás que el pilotaje y la medicina son la misma cosa porque un piloto recobre la salud, ejerciendo su arte, a causa de lo saludable que es el navegar?

—No, por cierto —dijo.

—Tampoco dirás que el arte del mercenario y el del médico son la misma cosa porque ocurra que el mercenario goce de salud ejerciendo su arte.

—Tampoco.

—¿Y la profesión del médico será la misma que la del mercenario porque el médico exija alguna recompensa por la cura de los enfermos?

Lo negó.

—¿No hemos reconocido que cada arte tiene su utilidad particular?

—Sí —dijo.

—Si existe una utilidad común a todos los practicantes de un arte, es evidente que sólo puede proceder de algo idéntico que todos ellos añaden al arte que ejercen.

—Seguramente es así —repuso.

—Digamos, pues, que el salario que reciben los artistas lo adquieren en calidad de mercenarios.

Convino en ello a duras penas.

—Por consiguiente, no es su arte el que da origen a este salario, sino que, hablando con exactitud, es preciso decir que el objeto de la medicina es dar la salud, y el del mercenariado, rendir un salario, y el de la arquitectura, construir casas; y si el arquitecto recibe un salario, es porque además es mercenario. Lo mismo sucede en las demás artes. Cada una de ellas produce su efecto propio, siempre en ventaja del objeto a que se aplica. En efecto, ¿qué provecho sacaría un artista de su arte si lo ejerciese gratuitamente?

—Ninguno, parece —dijo.

—¿Su arte dejaría de aprovecharle si trabajara gratis?

—Creo que sí le aprovecharía.

—Así, pues, Trasímaco es evidente que ningún arte, ninguna autoridad consulta su propio interés sino, como ya hemos dicho, el interés de su objeto; es decir, del más débil y no del más fuerte. Ésta es la razón que he tenido, Trasímaco, para decir que nadie quiere gobernar ni curar los males de otro gratuitamente, sino que exige una recompensa; porque si alguno quiere ejercer su arte como es debido, no trabaja para sí mismo, sino en provecho del gobernado. Por esto, para comprometer a los hombres a que ejerzan el mando, ha sido preciso proponerles alguna recompensa, como dinero, honores o un castigo si rehúsan aceptarlo.

—¿Cómo entiendes eso, Sócrates? —dijo Glaucón—. Yo conozco bien las dos especies primeras de recompensas, pero no ese castigo, cuya exención propones como una tercera clase de recompensa.

—No conoces entonces la propia de los sabios, la que les decide a tomar parte en los negocios públicos. ¿No sabes que ser interesado o ambicioso es cosa vergonzosa y que por tal se tiene?

—Lo sé —dijo.

—Por eso —dije yo— los sabios no quieren tomar parte en los negocios con ánimo de enriquecerse ni de tener honores, porque temerían que se les mirara como mercenarios si exigían manifiestamente algún salario por el mando, o como ladrones si convertían los fondos públicos en su provecho. Tampoco tienen en cuenta los honores, porque no son ambiciosos. Es preciso, pues, que se les obligue a tomar parte en el gobierno so pena de algún castigo. Y por esta razón se mira como cosa poco delicada el encargarse voluntariamente de la administración pública sin verse comprometido a ello. Porque el mayor castigo para el hombre de bien, cuando rehúsa gobernar a los demás, es el verse gobernado por otro menos digno; y este temor es el que obliga a los sabios a encargarse del gobierno, no por su interés ni por su gusto, sino por verse precisados a ello a falta de otros, tanto o más dignos de gobernar; de suerte que, si se encontrase un Estado compuesto únicamente de hombres de bien, se solicitaría el alejamiento de los cargos públicos con el mismo calor con que hoy se solicitan éstos; se vería claramente en un Estado de este género que el verdadero magistrado no mira su propio interés, sino el de sus administrados; y cada ciudadano, convencido de esta verdad, preferiría ser feliz mediante los cuidados de otro, a trabajar por la felicidad de los demás. No concedo, pues, a Trasímaco que la justicia sea el interés del más fuerte, pero ya examinaremos este punto en otra ocasión. Lo que ha añadido, tocante a la condición del hombre malo, la cual, según él, es más dichosa que la del hombre justo, es punto de mayor importancia aún. Tú, Glaucón, ¿tienes esa misma opinión? Entre estas dos afirmaciones, ¿cuál te parece más verdadera?

—La condición del hombre justo es más ventajosa —dijo Glaucón.

—¿Has oído —pregunté yo— la enumeración que Trasímaco acaba de hacer de los bienes afectos a la condición del hombre injusto?

—Sí, pero yo no los creo —contestó.

—¿Quieres que busquemos, si podemos, algún medio de probarle que se engaña?

—¿Cómo no he de quererlo? —repuso.

—Si oponemos —dije yo— al largo discurso que acaba de pronunciar otro discurso también largo en favor de la justicia, y luego otro él y otro nosotros, será preciso contar y pesar las ventajas de una y otra parte, y además serían necesarios jueces para pronunciar el fallo; mientras que, tratando el punto amistosamente, hasta convenir en lo que nos parezca verdadero o falso, como antes hicimos, seremos a la vez jueces y abogados.

—Es cierto —dijo.

—¿Cuál de estos dos métodos te agrada más? —dije yo.

—El segundo —contestó.

—Pues bien, respóndeme de nuevo, Trasímaco —dije yo—. ¿Pretendes que la completa injusticia es más ventajosa que la justicia perfecta?

—Lo afirmo de plano —dijo Trasímaco—, y ya he dado mis razones.

—Muy bien; pero ¿qué piensas de estas dos cosas? ¿No das a la una el nombre de virtud y a la otra el de vicio?

—Sin duda.

—¿Das probablemente el nombre de virtud a la justicia y el de vicio a la injusticia?

—Eso parece, querido —exclamó—, puesto que yo pretendo que la injusticia es útil y que la justicia no lo es.

—¿Qué es lo que dices, pues?

—Todo lo contrario —replicó.

—¡Qué! ¿La justicia es un vicio?

—No; es una generosa candidez⁽²⁵⁾.

—¿Luego la injusticia es una maldad?

—No; es discreción —respondió.

—¿Luego los hombres injustos son buenos y sabios a tu parecer?

—Por lo menos —dijo— los que lo son en sumo grado, y que son bastante fuertes para someter a las ciudades y a los pueblos. Quizá crees que quiero hablar de los rateros. No es porque este oficio no tenga también sus ventajas, mientras cuente con la impunidad; pero estas ventajas no son nada cotejadas con las que acabo de mencionar

—Concibo muy bien tu pensamiento —dije—; pero lo que me sorprende es que das a la injusticia los nombres de virtud y de sabiduría, y a la justicia nombres contrarios.

—Pues eso es lo que pretendo.

—Eso es bien duro, amigo, y ya no sé qué camino tomar para refutarte —dije yo—. Si dijeses sencillamente, como otros, que la injusticia, aunque útil, es una cosa vergonzosa y mala en sí, podría responderte lo que de ordinario se responde. Pero toda vez que llegas hasta el punto de llamarla virtud y sabiduría, no dudarás en atribuirle la fuerza, la belleza y todos lo demás títulos que se atribuyen comúnmente a la justicia.

—No es posible adivinar mejor.

—Pero mientras tenga motivos para creer que hablas seriamente, no me es dado renunciar a este examen, porque se me figura, Trasímaco, que esto no es una burla tuya, sino que piensas realmente lo que dices.

—¿Qué te importa —replicó— que sea así o no? ¿No refutas mi argumento?

—Poco me importa, en efecto —dije yo—; pero permíteme hacerte aún otra pregunta. ¿El hombre justo querría tener en algo ventaja sobre el hombre injusto?

—No, verdaderamente; de otra manera —dijo— no sería ni tan encantador ni tan cándido como es.

—Pero ¿qué? ¿Ni siquiera con respecto a una acción justa?

—Ni con respecto a ella —replicó.

—¿No querría, por lo menos, sobrepujar al hombre injusto, y no creería poderlo hacer justamente?

—Lo creería y lo querría, pero sus esfuerzos serían inútiles —repuso.

—No es eso lo que quiero saber —dije—. Yo te pregunto solamente esto: si el justo tendrá la pretensión y la voluntad de tener ventaja, no sobre otro justo, sino solamente sobre el hombre injusto.

—Sí, tiene esta última pretensión —dijo.

—¿Y el injusto querría aventajar al justo y a la acción justa?

—¿Cómo no —dijo—, puesto que quiere prevalecer sobre todo el mundo?

—¿Querrá, por consiguiente, el injusto tener ventaja sobre el hombre y la acción injustos y se esforzará para tenerla sobre todos?

—Eso es.

—Por consiguiente, digamos —proseguí— que el justo no quiere tener ventaja sobre su semejante, sino sobre su contrario, mientras que el hombre injusto quiere tenerla sobre uno y sobre otro.

—Eso está muy bien dicho —asintió.

—¿Y no es el injusto inteligente y bueno —pregunté—, y el justo ni lo uno ni lo otro?

—También es exacto —contestó.

—¿El hombre injusto se parece, por consiguiente —dije—, al hombre inteligente y bueno, y el justo no se parece a éste?

—¿Cómo no ha de parecerse el que es de tal o de cual manera a los que son lo que él es, y el que no es tal, no parecerse?

—Muy bien, ¿cada uno de ellos es, por lo tanto, tal como aquellos a quienes se parece?

—¿Cómo podría ser de otra manera? —dijo.

—Trasímaco, ¿no dices de un hombre que es músico y de otro que es no-músico?

—Sí.

—¿A cuál de los dos llamas inteligente y a cuál no?

—Al músico lo llamo inteligente; al otro no.

—¿Y al uno, como inteligente, bueno; al otro malo por la razón contraria?

—Sí.

—¿No sucede lo mismo respecto del médico?

—Sí.

—¿Crees tú, hombre excelente, que un músico que arregla su lira, querrá, al aflojar o estirar las cuerdas de su instrumento, sobrepujar a otro músico?

—No me parece.

—¿Y al no-músico?

—A ése, por fuerza.

—Y el médico, en la prescripción de la comida y de la bebida, ¿querría llevar ventaja a otro médico o al arte mismo que profesa?

—No, sin duda.

—¿Y al que no es médico?

—Sí.

—Mira, pues, con respecto a cualquier saber e ignorancia, si te parece que el entendido querrá aventajar en lo que dice y en lo que hace a otro versado en el mismo saber, o si sólo aspira a hacer lo mismo en las mismas ocasiones.

—Podrá suceder que así sea —dijo.

—¿El ignorante no quiere, por el contrario, tener ventajas sobre el entendido y sobre el ignorante?

—Probablemente.

—Pero ¿el entendido es sabio?

—Sí.

—¿Y el sabio es bueno?

—Sí.

—Por lo tanto, el que es bueno y sabio no quiere tener ventaja sobre su semejante, sino sobre su contrario.

—Así parece —dijo.

—Mientras que el que es malo e ignorante quiere tener ventajas sobre el uno y sobre el otro.

—Es cierto.

—¿No nos ha parecido, Trasímaco —dije yo—, que el injusto quiere tener ventaja sobre su semejante y sobre su desemejante? ¿No era eso lo que decías?

—Lo he dicho —reconoció.

—¿Y que el justo no quiere tener ventaja sobre su semejante, y sí sólo sobre su desemejante?

—Sí.

—Se parecen, pues, el justo al hombre sabio y bueno —dije—, y el injusto al que es malo e ignorante.

—Puede suceder.

—Pero hemos convenido en que ambos son como aquellos a quienes se parecen.

—Sí, hemos convenido en eso.

—Luego es evidente que el justo es bueno y sabio, y el injusto ignorante y malo.

(336b) Or, Thrasymaque, à plusieurs reprises, pendant que nous parlions, avait tenté de prendre part à l’entretien, mais il en avait été empêché par ses voisins qui voulaient nous entendre jusqu’au bout. A la pause que nous fîmes, comme je venais de prononcer ces paroles, il ne se contint plus; s’étant ramassé sur lui-même, tel une bête fauve, il s’élança (19) vers nous comme pour nous déchirer.

(336 c) Polémarque et moi fûmes saisis de frayeur; mais lui, élevant la voix au milieu de l’auditoire : Quel est, dit-il, ce bavardage, Socrate, et pourquoi faites-vous les sots, vous inclinant tour à tour l’un devant l’autre? Si véritablement tu veux savoir ce qu’est le juste, ne te contente point d’interroger, et ne mets pas ton honneur à réfuter celui qui répond, mais, ayant reconnu qu’il est plus facile d’interroger que de répondre, réponds toi-même et dis comment tu définis la justice. (336d) Et garde-toi de prétendre que c’est ce que l’on doit faire, l’utile, le profitable, le lucratif ou l’avantageux; exprime-toi avec clarté et précision, car je n’admettrai pas de telles balivernes.

L’écoutant, je fus frappé de stupeur, et, jetant les yeux sur lui, je me sentis gagné par la crainte ; je crois même que si je ne l’avais regardé avant qu’il ne me regardât, je fusse devenu muet (20). Mais lorsque la discussion commença à l’irriter je le regardai le premier, (336e) de sorte que je fus capable de répondre et lui dis en tremblant un peu : Thrasymaque, ne te fâche pas contre nous ; car si nous avons commis une erreur dans notre examen, moi et ce jeune homme-ci, tu sais bien que nous l’avons commise involontairement. En effet, si nous cherchions de l’or, nous ne serions point disposés à nous incliner l’un devant l’autre, et à gâter nos chances de découverte ; n’imagine donc pas que, cherchant la justice, chose plus précieuse que de grandes quantités d’or, nous nous fassions sottement des concessions mutuelles, au lieu de nous appliquer de notre mieux, à la découvrir. N’imagine point cela, mon ami. Mais la tâche, je crois, est au dessus de nos forces. Nous prendre en pitié est donc bien plus naturel pour vous, les habiles, que de nous témoigner de l’irritation. (337)A ces mots il éclata d’un rire sardonique : O Héraclès ! s’écria-t-il, la voilà bien l’ironie habituelle de Socrate ! Je le savais et je l’avais prédit à ces jeunes gens que tu ne voudrais pas répondre, que tu simulerais l’ignorance, que tu ferais tout plutôt que de répondre aux questions que l’on te poserait !

Tu es un homme subtil, Thrasymaque, répondis-je ; tu savais donc bien que si tu demandais à quelqu’un quels sont les facteurs de douze et que tu le prévinsses : (337b) « Garde-toi, ami, de me dire que douze vaut deux fois six, ou trois fois quatre, ou six fois deux, ou quatre fois trois, parce que je n’admettrai pas un tel bavardage », tu savais bien, dis-je, que personne ne répondrait à une question ainsi posée. Mais s’il te disait : « Thrasymaque, comment l’entends-tu ? que je ne réponde rien de ce que tu as énoncé d’avance ? Est-ce que, homme étonnant, si la vraie réponse est une de celles-là je ne dois pas la faire, mais dire autre chose que la vérité ? (337c) Ou bien comment l’entends-tu ? », que répondrais-tu à cela ?

Bon ! dit-il ; comme ceci est semblable à cela !

Rien ne l’empêche, repris-je; et même si ce n’était point semblable, mais que cela parût tel à la personne interrogée, penses-tu qu’elle répondrait moins ce qui lui paraît vrai, que nous le lui défendions ou non ?

Est-ce donc, demanda-t-il, que tu agiras de la sorte, toi aussi ? Feras-tu quelqu’une des réponses que j’ai interdites ?

Je ne serais pas étonné, répondis-je, si, après examen, je prenais ce parti, (337d)

Mais quoi ! dit-il, si je montre qu’il y a, sur la justice, une réponse différente de toutes celles-là et meilleure qu’elles, à quoi te condamnes-tu ?

A quoi d’autre, repris-je, que ce qui convient à l’ignorant ? Or, il lui convient d’être instruit par celui qui sait ; je me condamne donc à cela.

Tu es charmant en effet, dit-il ; mais outre la peine d’apprendre, tu verseras (21) aussi de l’argent.

Certainement, quand j’en aurai, répondis-je.

Mais nous en avons, dit Glaucon. S’il ne tient qu’à l’argent, Thasymaque, parle : nous paierons tous pour Socrate.

(337e) Je vois parfaitement, reprit-il ; pour que Socrate se livre à son occupation habituelle, ne réponde pas lui-même, et, après qu’un autre a répondu, s’empare de l’argument et le réfute !

Comment, dis-je, homme excellent, répondrait-on, d’abord quand on ne sait pas et avoue ne pas savoir, quand ensuite, si l’on a une opinion sur le sujet, on se voit interdit de dire ce qu’on pense par un personnage dont l’autorité n’est point médiocre? (338) C’est plutôt à toi de parler puisque tu prétends savoir et avoir quelque chose à dire. N’agis donc pas autrement : fais-moi le plaisir de répondre, et ne mets pas de parcimonie à instruire Glaucon et les autres.

Quand j’eus dit ces mots, Glaucon et les autres le prièrent de ne point agir autrement. Thrasymaque, on le voyait bien, avait envie de parler pour se distinguer, pensant avoir une très belle réponse à faire ; mais il se donnait l’air d’insister pour que je fusse le répondant.

A la fin il céda ; puis : Voilà, s’écria-t-il, la sagesse de (338b) Socrate : se refuser à enseigner, aller s’instruire auprès des autres, et de cela ne leur savoir gré !

Tu dis avec raison, repris-je, que je m’instruis auprès des autres, mais tu prétends à tort que je ne les paie pas de retour. Je paie, en effet, dans la mesure où je le peux. Or je ne peux que louer, car je n’ai point de richesses. Mais de quel coeur je le fais, quand on me semble bien dire, tu l’apprendras aussitôt que tu m’auras répondu ; car je pense que tu parleras bien. (338c)

Ecoute donc, dit-il. J’affirme que le juste n’est autre chose que l’avantageux au plus fort. Eh bien ! qu’attends-tu pour me louer ? Tu t’y refuseras ! Permets que je comprenne d’abord ce que tu dis ; car, pour le moment, je ne saisis pas encore. Tu prétends que l’avantageux au plus fort est le juste. Mais cela, Thrasymaque, comment l’entends-tu ? Tu ne l’entends pas, en effet, de la façon suivante : Si Polydamas (22), le lutteur au pancrace, est plus fort que nous, et que la viande de boeuf soit avantageuse à l’entretien de ses forces, tu ne dis pas que, pour nous aussi, plus faibles que lui, cette nourriture soit avantageuse et, ensemble, (338d) juste ?

Tu es un impudent, Socrate, répondit-il ; tu prends mes propos par où tu peux leur faire le plus de mal !

Nullement, homme excellent, repris-je ; mais exprime-toi plus clairement.

Eh bien ! ne sais-tu pas que, parmi les cités, les unes sont tyranniques, les autres démocratiques, les autres aristocratiques ?

Comment ne le saurais-je pas?

Or l’élément le plus fort, dans chaque cité, est le gouvernement ?

Sans doute.

Et chaque gouvernement établit les lois pour son propre avantage : la démocratie des lois démocratiques, la tyrannie des lois tyranniques et les autres de même ; ces lois établies, ils déclarent juste, pour les gouvernés, leur propre avantage, et punissent celui qui le transgresse comme violateur de la loi et coupable d’injustice. Voici donc, homme excellent, ce que j’affirme : dans toutes (339) les cités le juste est une même chose : l’avantageux au gouvernement constitué; or celui-ci est le plus fort, d’où il suit, pour tout homme qui raisonne bien, que partout le juste est une même chose : l’avantageux au plus fort.

Maintenant, repris-je, j’ai compris ce que tu dis; est-ce vrai ou non ? je tâcherai de l’étudier. Donc toi aussi, Thrasymaque, tu as répondu que l’avantageux était le juste – après m’avoir défendu de faire cette réponse (339b) ajoutant pourtant : l’avantageux « au plus fort ».

Petite addition, peut-être? dit-il.

Il n’est pas encore évident qu’elle soit grande ; mais il est évident qu’il faut examiner si tu dis vrai. Je reconnais avec toi que le juste est quelque chose d’avantageux ; mais tu ajoutes à la définition, et tu affirmes que c’est l’avantageux au plus fort ; pour moi, je l’ignore : il faut l’examiner.

Examine, dit-il.

Je le ferai, poursuivis-je. Et dis-moi : ne prétends-tu pas qu’il est juste d’obéir aux gouvernants ?

Je le prétends. (339c)

Mais les gouvernants sont-ils infaillibles, dans chaque cité, ou susceptibles de se tromper ?

Certainement, répondit-il, ils sont susceptibles de se tromper.

Donc, quand ils entreprennent d’établir des lois, ils en font de bonnes et de mauvaises?

Je le pense.

Est-ce que les bonnes sont celles qui instituent ce qui leur est avantageux, et les mauvaises ce qui leur est désavantageux ? Ou bien comment dis-tu ?

Ainsi.

Mais ce qu’ils ont institué doit être fait par les gouvernés, et en cela consiste la justice?

Certes.

Donc, non seulement il est juste, selon toi de faire (339d) ce qui est à l’avantage du plus fort, mais encore le contraire, ce qui est à son désavantage.

Que dis-tu là ? s’écria-t-il.

Ce que tu dis toi-même, il me semble ; mais examinons-le mieux. N’avons-nous pas reconnu que, parfois, les gouvernants se trompaient sur leur plus grand bien, en prescrivant certaines choses aux gouvernés? et que, d’autre part, il était juste que les gouvernés fissent ce que leur prescrivaient les gouvernants ? Ne l’avons-nous pas reconnu ?

Je le crois, avoua-t-il.

Crois donc aussi, repris-je, que tu as reconnu juste (339e) de faire ce qui est désavantageux aux gouvernants et aux plus forts, lorsque les gouvernants donnent involontairement des ordres qui leur sont préjudiciables ; car tu prétends qu’il est juste que les gouvernés fassent te qu’ordonnent les gouvernants. Alors, très sage Thrasymaque, ne s’ensuit-il pas nécessairement qu’il est juste de faire le contraire de ce que tu dis ? On ordonne, en effet, au plus faible de faire ce qui est désavantageux au plus fort.

Oui, par Zeus, Socrate, c’est très clair, dit Polémarque. (340)

Si du moins tu témoignes pour lui, intervint Clitophon.

Et qu’a-t-on besoin de témoin ? reprit-il. Thrasymaque, en effet, reconnaît lui-même que parfois les gouvernants donnent des ordres qui leur sont préjudiciables, et qu’il est juste que les gouvernés les exécutent.

En fait, Polémarque, exécuter les ordres donnés par les gouvernants est ce que Thrasymaque a posé comme juste.

En fait, Clitophon, il a posé comme juste l’avantageux au plus fort. Ayant posé ces deux principes, il a, d’autre (340b) part, reconnu que parfois les plus forts donnaient aux plus faibles et aux gouvernés des ordres qui leur étaient préjudiciables à eux-mêmes. De ces aveux il résulte que le juste n’est pas plus l’avantage du plus fort que son désavantage.

Mais, reprit Clitophon, il a défini avantageux au plus fort ce que le plus fort croit être à son avantage ; cela il faut que le plus faible le fasse, et c’est cela que Thrasymaque a posé comme juste.

Il ne s’est pas, s’écria Polémarque, exprimé de la sorte !(340c)

Il n’importe, Polémarque, dis-je ; mais si maintenant Thrasymaque s’exprime ainsi, admettons que c’est ainsi qu’il l’entend. Et dis-moi, Thrasymaque : entendais-tu par juste ce qui semble avantageux au plus fort, que cela lui donne avantage ou non ? Dirons-nous que tu t’ex­primes ainsi ?

Point du tout, répondit-il ; penses-tu que j’appelle celui qui se trompe le plus fort, au moment où il se trompe ?

Je le pensais, dis-je, quand tu reconnaissais que les (340d) gouvernants ne sont pas infaillibles, mais qu’ils peuvent se tromper.

Tu es un sycophante, Socrate, dans la discussion, reprit-il ; appelles-tu médecin celui qui se trompe à l’égard des malades, au moment même et en tant qu’il se trompe ? ou calculateur celui qui commet une erreur dans un calcul, au moment même où il commet cette erreur ? Non ; c’est par façon de parler, je pense, que nous disons : le médecin s’est trompé, le calculateur, le scribe se sont trompés. Mais je crois qu’aucun d’eux, dans la mesure où il est ce que nous l’appelons, ne se trompe jamais ; de sorte que, pour parler avec précision, puisque tu veux être précis, nul artisan ne se trompe. Celui qui se (340e) trompe, le fait quand sa science l’abandonne, dans le moment où il n’est plus artisan ; ainsi, artisan, sage ou gouvernant, personne ne se trompe dans l’exercice même de ces fonctions, quoique tout le monde dise que le médecin s’est trompé, que le gouvernant s’est trompé. Admets donc que je t’aie répondu tout à l’heure en ce sens ; mais, à le dire de la façon la plus précise, le gouvernant, en tant que gouvernant, (341) ne se trompe pas, ne commet pas d’erreur en érigeant en loi son plus grand bien, qui doit être réalisé par le gouverné. Ainsi donc, comme au début, j’affirme que la justice consiste à faire ce qui est à l’avantage du plus fort.

Soit, dis-je, Thrasymaque ; te semblé-je un sycophante?

Parfaitement, répondit-il.

Penses-tu que, de dessein prémédité, pour te nuire dans la discussion, je t’aie interrogé comme je l’ai fait ?

J’en suis sûr, dit-il. Mais tu n’y gagneras rien, car tu ne pourras te cacher pour me nuire, ni, ouvertement, m’avoir (341b) par la violence dans la dispute.

Je n’essaierai pas non plus, repris-je, homme bien-heureux ! Mais afin que rien de tel ne se reproduise, marque nettement si tu entends au sens vulgaire ou au sens précis, dont tu viens de parler, les mots de gouvernant, de plus fort, pour l’avantage de qui il sera juste que le plus faible agisse.

J’entends le gouvernant au sens précis du mot, répondit-il. Pour cela, essaie de me nuire ou de me calomnier, si tu peux – je ne demande pas de quartier. Mais tu n’en es pas capable ! (341c)

Imagines-tu que je sois fou au point d’essayer de tondre un lion ou de calomnier Thrasymaque ?

Tu viens pourtant de le tenter, bien que nul en cela aussi !

Assez de tels propos ! m’écriai-je. Mais dis-moi : le médecin au sens précis du terme, dont tu parlais tout à l’heure, a-t-il pour objet de gagner de l’argent ou de soigner les malades? Et parle-moi du vrai médecin.

Il a pour objet, répondit-il, de soigner les malades.

Et le pilote ? le vrai pilote, est-il chef des matelots ou matelot ?

Chef des matelots. (341d)

Je ne pense pas qu’on doive tenir compte du fait qu’il navigue sur une nef pour l’appeler matelot ; car ce n’est point parce qu’il navigue qu’on l’appelle pilote, mais à cause de son art et du commandement qu’il exerce sur les matelots.

C’est vrai, avoua-t-il.

Donc, pour le malade et le matelot il existe quelque chose d’avantageux ?

Sans doute.

Et l’art, poursuivis-je, n’a-t-il pas pour but de chercher et de procurer à chacun ce qui lui est avantageux ?

C’est cela, dit-il.

Mais pour chaque art est-il un autre avantage que d’être aussi parfait que possible (23).?

(341e) Quel est le sens de ta question ?

Celui-ci dis-je. Si tu me demandais s’il suffit au corps d’être corps, ou s’il a besoin d’autre chose, je te répondrais : « Certainement il a besoin d’autre chose. C’est pourquoi l’art médical a été inventé parce que le corps est défectueux et qu’il ne lui suffit pas d’être ce qu’il est. Aussi, pour lui procurer l’avantageux, l’art s’est organisé. » Te semblé-je, dis-je, en ces paroles, avoir raison ou non ? (342)

Tu as raison, répondit-il.

Mais quoi , la médecine même est-elle défectueuse ? en général un art réclame-t-il une certaine vertu – comme les yeux la vue, ou les oreilles l’ouïe, à cause de quoi ces organes ont besoin d’un art qui examine et leur procure l’avantageux pour voir et pour entendre? Et dans cet art même y a-t-il quelque défaut ? Chaque art réclame-t-il un autre art qui examine ce qui lui est avantageux, celui-ci à son tour un autre semblable, et ainsi à l’infini ? Ou bien examine-t-il lui-même ce (342b) qui lui est avantageux ? Ou bien n’a-t-il besoin ni de lui-même ni d’un autre pour remédier à son imperfection (24) ? Car aucun art n’a trace de défaut ni d’imperfecfection, et ne doit chercher d’autre avantage que celui du sujet auquel il s’applique lui-même, lorsque véritable, étant exempt de mal et pur, aussi longtemps qu’il reste rigoureusement et entièrement conforme à sa nature. Examine en prenant les mots dans ce sens précis dont tu parlais. Est-ce ainsi ou autrement ?

Ce me semble ainsi, dit-il.

(342c) Donc, repris-je, la médecine n’a pas en vue son propre avantage, mais celui du corps.

Oui, reconnut-il.

Ni l’art hippique son propre avantage, mais celui des chevaux ; ni, en général, tout art son propre avantage – car il n’a besoin de rien – mais celui du sujet auquel il s’applique.

Ce me semble ainsi, dit-il.

Mais, Thrasymaque, les arts gouvernent et dominent le sujet sur lequel ils s’exercent.

Il eut bien de la peine à m’accorder ce point.

Donc, aucune science n’a en vue ni ne prescrit l’avantage du plus fort, mais celui du plus faible, du sujet (342d) gouverné par elle.

Il m’accorda aussi ce point à la fin, mais après avoir tenté de le contester ; quand il eut cédé : Ainsi, dis-je, le médecin, dans la mesure où il est médecin, n’a en vue ni n’ordonne son propre avantage, mais celui du malade ? Nous avons en effet reconnu que le médecin, au sens précis du mot, gouverne les corps et n’est point homme d’affaires (25). Ne l’avons-nous pas reconnu ?

Il en convint.

Et le pilote, au sens précis, gouverne les matelots, mais n’est pas matelot ? (342e) Nous l’avons reconnu.

Par conséquent, un tel pilote, un tel chef, n’aura point en vue et ne prescrira point son propre avantage, mais celui du matelot, du sujet qu’il gouverne.

Il en convint avec peine.

Ainsi donc, Thrasymaque, poursuivis-je, aucun chef, quelle que soit la nature de son autorité, dans la mesure où il est chef, ne se propose et n’ordonne son propre avantage, mais celui du sujet qu’il gouverne et pour qui il exerce son art; c’est en vue de ce qui est avantageux et convenable à ce sujet qu’il dit tout ce qu’il dit et fait tout ce qu’il fait.

Nous en étions à ce point de la discussion, et il était 343 clair pour tous que la définition de la justice avait été retournée, lorsque Thrasymaque, au lieu de répondre :

Dis-moi, Socrate, s’écria-t-il, as-tu une nourrice ?

Quoi? répliquai-je, ne vaudrait-il pas mieux répondre que de poser de telles questions ?

C’est que, reprit-il, elle te néglige et ne te mouche pas quand tu en as besoin, puisque tu n’as pas appris d’elle à distinguer moutons et berger.

Pourquoi dis-tu cela? demandai-je.

(343b) Parce que tu t’imagines que les bergers et les bouviers se proposent le bien de leurs moutons et de leurs boeufs, et les engraissent et les soignent en vue d’autre chose que le bien de leurs maîtres et le leur propre. Et, de même, tu crois que les chefs des cités, ceux qui sont vraiment chefs, regardent leurs sujets autrement qu’on regarde ses moutons, et qu’ils se proposent un autre but, jour et nuit, que de tirer d’eux un profit personnel. Tu es allé (343c) si loin dans la connaissance du juste et de la justice, de l’injuste et de l’injustice, que tu ignores que le juste, en réalité, est un bien étranger (26), l’avantage du plus fort et de celui qui gouverne, et le préjudice propre de celui qui obéit et qui sert ; que l’injustice est le contraire et qu’elle commande aux simples d’esprit et aux justes ; que les sujets travaillent à l’avantage du plus fort et (343d) font son bonheur en le servant, mais le leur de nulle manière. Voici, ô très simple Socrate, comment il faut l’envisager : l’homme juste est partout inférieur à l’injuste. D’abord dans le commerce, quand ils s’associent l’un à l’autre, tu ne trouveras jamais, à la dissolution de la société, que le juste ait gagné, mais qu’il a perdu ; ensuite, dans les affaires publiques, quand il faut payer des contributions, le juste verse plus que ses égaux, l’injuste moins; quand, au contraire, il s’agit de recevoir, l’un ne (343e) touche rien, l’autre beaucoup. Et lorsque l’un et l’autre occupent quelque charge, il advient au juste, si même il n’a pas d’autre dommage, de laisser par négligence péricliter ses affaires domestiques, et de ne tirer de la chose publique aucun profit, à cause de sa justice. En outre, il encourt la haine de ses parents et de ses connaissances, en refusant de les servir au détriment de la justice; pour l’injuste, c’est tout le contraire. Car j’entends par (344) là celui dont je parlais tout à l’heure, celui qui est capable de l’emporter hautement sur les autres; examine-le donc si tu veux discerner combien, dans le particulier, l’injustice est plus avantageuse que la justice. Mais tu le comprendras de la manière la plus facile si tu vas jusqu’à la plus parfaite injustice, celle qui porte au comble du bonheur l’homme qui la commet, et ceux qui la subissent et ne veulent point la commettre, au comble du malheur. Cette injustice est la tyrannie qui, par fraude et par violence, s’empare du bien d’autrui : sacré, profane, particulier, public, et non pas en détail, mais tout d’une fois. Pour chacun de ces délits, l’homme qui se laisse (344b) prendre est puni et couvert des pires flétrissures – on traite, en effet, ces gens qui opèrent en détail, de sacrilèges, trafiquants d’esclaves, perceurs de murailles, spoliateurs, voleurs, suivant l’injustice commise. Mais lorsqu’un homme, en plus de la fortune des citoyens, s’empare de leur personne et les asservit, au lieu de recevoir ces noms honteux il est appelé heureux et fortuné, non seulement par les citoyens, mais encore par tous ceux (344c) qui apprennent qu’il a commis l’injustice dans toute son étendue ; car ils ne craignent pas de commettre l’injustice ceux qui la blâment : ils craignent de la souffrir. Ainsi, Socrate, l’injustice poussée à un degré suffisant est plus forte, plus libre, plus digne d’un maître que la justice, et, comme je le disais au début, le juste consiste dans l’avantage du plus fort, et l’injuste est à soi-même avantage et profit (27).

Ayant ainsi parlé, Thrasymaque pensait à s’en aller, d après avoir, comme un baigneur, inondé nos oreilles de son impétueux et abondant discours. Mais les assistants ne lui le permirent pas et le forcèrent de rester pour rendre compte de ses paroles. Moi-même l’en priai avec instance et lui dis : O divin Thrasymaque, après nous avoir lancé un pareil discours tu songes à t’en aller, avant d’avoir montré suffisamment ou appris si la chose est telle ou différente? Penses-tu que ce soit une petite entreprise de définir la règle de vie que chacun de nous (344e) doit suivre pour vivre de la façon la plus profitable ?

Pensé-je, dit Thrasymaque, qu’il en soit autrement ?

Tu en as l’air, repris-je – ou bien tu ne te soucies point de nous et tu n’as cure que nous menions une vie pire ou meilleure, dans l’ignorance de ce-que tu prétends savoir. Mais, mon bon, prends la peine de nous instruire (345) aussi : tu ne feras pas un mauvais placement en nous obligeant, nombreux comme nous sommes. Car, pour te dire ma pensée, je ne suis pas convaincu, et je ne crois pas que l’injustice soit plus profitable que la justice, même si l’on a liberté de la commettre et si l’on n’est pas empêché de faire ce que l’on veut. Qu’un homme, mon bon, soit injuste et qu’il ait pouvoir de pratiquer l’injustice par fraude ou à force ouverte : je ne suis point pour cela persuadé qu’il en tire plus de profit que de la justice. (345b) Peut-être est-ce aussi le sentiment de quelque autre d’entre nous, et non pas seulement le mien ; persuade-nous donc, homme divin, de manière satisfaisante, que nous avons tort de préférer la justice à l’injustice.

Et comment te persuaderai-je si je ne l’ai fait par ce que je viens de dire ? Que ferai-je encore ? Faut-il que je prenne mes arguments et te les enfonce dans la tête ?

Par Zeus ! m’écriai-je, halte-là ! Mais d’abord, tiens-toi dans les positions prises, ou, si tu en changes, fais-le clairement et ne nous trompe pas. Maintenant, tu vois, (345c) Thrasymaque – pour revenir à ce que nous avons dit – qu’après avoir donné la définition du vrai médecin tu n’as pas cru devoir garder rigoureusement celle du vrai berger. Tu penses qu’en tant que berger il engraisse ses moutons non pas en vue de leur plus grand bien, mais, comme un gourmand qui veut donner un festin, en vue de la bonne chère, ou comme un commerçant, (345d) en vue de la vente, et non comme un berger. Mais l’art du berger ne se propose que de pourvoir au plus grand bien du sujet auquel il s’applique – puisqu’il est lui-même suffisamment pourvu des qualités qui assurent son excellence, tant qu’il reste conforme à sa nature d’art pastoral. Par la même raison je croyais tout à l’heure que nous étions forcés de convenir que tout gouvernement, en tant que gouvernement, se propose uniquement le plus grand bien du sujet qu’il gouverne et dont il a charge, qu’il s’agisse d’une cité ou d’un particulier. Mais (345e) toi, penses-tu que les chefs des cités, ceux qui gouvernent vraiment, le fassent de bon gré ?

Si je le pense ? Par Zeus, j’en suis sûr !

Mais quoi ! Thrasymaque, repris-je, les autres charges, n’as-tu pas remarqué que personne ne consent à les exercer pour elles-mêmes, que l’on demande au contraire une rétribution, parce que ce n’est pas à vous que profite leur exercice, mais aux gouvernés? Puis, réponds à ceci : (346) ne dit-on pas toujours qu’un art se distingue d’un autre en ce qu’il a un pouvoir différent ? Et, bienheureux homme, ne réponds pas contre ton opinion, afin que nous avancions un peu !

Mais c’est en cela, dit-il, qu’il se distingue.

Et chacun ne nous procure-t-il pas un certain bénéfice particulier et non commun à tous, comme la médecine la santé, le pilotage la sécurité dans la navigation, et ainsi des autres ?

Sans doute.

Et l’art du mercenaire le salaire ? car c’est là son pouvoir propre. Confonds-tu ensemble la médecine et (346b) le pilotage ? Ou, à définir les mots avec rigueur, comme tu l’as proposé, si quelqu’un acquiert la santé en gouvernant un vaisseau, parce qu’il lui est avantageux de naviguer sur mer, appelleras-tu pour cela son art médecine ?

Certes non, répondit-il.

Ni, je pense, l’art du mercenaire, si quelqu’un acquiert la santé en l’exerçant.

Certes non.

Mais quoi ! appelleras-tu la médecine art du mercenaire parce que le médecin, en guérissant, gagne salaire?

Non, dit-il. (346c)

N’avons-nous pas reconnu que chaque art procure un bénéfice particulier ?

Soit, concéda-t-il.

Si donc tous les artisans bénéficient en commun d’un certain profit, il est évident qu’ils ajoutent à leur art un élément commun dont ils tirent profit ?

I1 le semble, dit-il.

Et nous disons que les artisans gagnent salaire parce qu’ils ajoutent à leur art celui du mercenaire. Il en convint avec peine.

(346d) Ce n’est donc pas de l’art qu’il exerce que chacun retire ce profit qui consiste à recevoir un salaire ; mais, à l’examiner avec rigueur, la médecine crée la santé, et l’art du mercenaire donne le salaire, l’architecture édifie la maison, et l’art du mercenaire, qui l’accompagne, donne le salaire, et ainsi de tous les autres arts : chacun travaille à l’oeuvre qui lui est propre et profite au sujet auquel il s’applique. Mais, si le salaire ne s’y ajoutait pas, est-ce que l’artisan profiterait de son art ?

Il ne le semble pas, dit-il.

(346e) Et cesse-t-il d’être utile quand il travaille gratuitement ?

Non, à mon avis.

Dès lors, Thrasymaque, il est évident qu’aucun art ni aucun commandement ne pourvoit à son propre bénéfice, mais, comme nous le disions il y a un moment, assure et prescrit celui du gouverné, ayant en vue l’avantage du plus faible et non celui du plus fort. C’est pourquoi, mon cher Thrasymaque, je disais tout à l’heure que personne ne consent de bon gré à gouverner et à guérir les maux d’autrui, mais qu’on demande salaire, (347) parce que celui qui veut convenablement exercer son art ne fait et ne prescrit, dans la mesure où il prescrit selon cet art, que le bien du gouverné ; pour ces raisons, il faut donner un salaire à ceux qui consentent à gouverner, soit argent, soit honneur, soit châtiment s’ils refusent (28).

Comment dis-tu cela, Socrate ? demanda Glaucon ; je connais en effet les deux salaires, mais j’ignore ce que tu entends par châtiment donné en guise de salaire.

Tu ne connais donc point le salaire des meilleurs, ce (347b) pour quoi les plus vertueux gouvernent, quand ils se résignent à le faire. Ne sais-tu pas que l’amour de l’honneur et de l’argent passe pour chose honteuse et l’est en effet ?

Je le sais, dit-il.

A cause de cela, repris-je, les gens de bien ne veulent gouverner ni pour les richesses ni pour l’honneur ; car ils ne veulent point être traités de mercenaires en exigeant ouvertement le salaire de leur fonction, ni de voleurs en tirant de cette fonction des profits secrets ; ils n’agissent pas non plus pour l’honneur : car ils ne sont point ambitieux. Il faut donc qu’il y ait contrainte et châtiment (347c) pour qu’ils consentent à gouverner – c’est pourquoi prendre le pouvoir de son plein gré, sans que la nécessité vous y contraigne, risque d’être taxé de honte – et le plus grand châtiment consiste à être gouverné par un plus méchant que soi, quand on ne veut pas gouverner soi-même ; dans cette crainte me semblent agir, lorsqu’ils gouvernent, les honnêtes gens, et alors ils vont au pouvoir non comme vers un bien, pour jouir de lui, mais comme vers une tâche nécessaire, qu’ils ne peuvent confier à de (347d) meilleurs qu’eux, ni à des égaux. Si une cité d’hommes bons venait à l’existence (29), il semble qu’on y lutterait pour échapper au pouvoir comme maintenant on lutte pour l’obtenir, et là il deviendrait clair que le véritable gouvernant n’est point fait, en réalité, pour chercher son propre avantage, mais celui du gouverné ; de sorte que tout homme sensé choisirait plutôt d’être obligé par un autre que de se donner peine à obliger autrui (30). Je n’accorde donc nullement à Thrasymaque que la (347e) justice soit l’intérêt du plus fort. Mais nous reviendrons sur ce point une autre fois; j’attache une bien plus grande importance à ce que dit maintenant Thrasymaque, que la vie de l’homme injuste est supérieure à celle du juste. Quel parti prends-tu, Glaucon ? demandai-je. Laquelle de ces assertions te semble la plus vraie ?

La vie du juste, répondit-il, me semble plus profitable.

As-tu entendu l’énumération que Thrasymaque vient (348) de faire, des biens attachés à la vie de l’injuste ?

J’ai entendu, mais je ne suis pas persuadé.

Alors veux-tu que nous le persuadions, si nous pouvons en trouver le moyen, qu’il n’est pas dans le vrai?

Comment ne le voudrais-je pas? dit-il.

Si donc, repris-je, tendant nos forces contre lui et opposant discours à discours, nous énumérons les biens que procure la justice, qu’il réplique à son tour, et nous de nouveau, il faudra compter et mesurer les avantages (348b) cités de part et d’autre en chaque discours (31), et nous aurons besoin de juges pour décider ; si, au contraire, comme tout à l’heure, nous débattons la question jusqu’à mutuel accord, nous serons nous-mêmes ensemble juges et avocats.

C’est vrai, dit-il.

Laquelle de ces deux méthodes préfères-tu ?

La seconde.

Or çà, donc, Thrasymaque, reprenons au début et réponds-moi. Tu prétends que la parfaite injustice est plus profitable que la parfaite justice ?

(348c) Certainement, répondit-il, et j’ai dit pour quelles raisons.

Fort bien, mais à leur sujet comment entends-tu ceci : appelles-tu l’une vertu et l’autre vice ?

Sans doute.

Et c’est la justice que tu nommes vertu et l’injustice vice ?

Il y a apparence, très charmant homme, quand je dis que l’injustice est profitable et que la justice ne l’est pas !

Quoi donc alors ?

Le contraire, dit-il (32).

La justice est un vice ?

(348d) Non, mais une très noble simplicité de caractère.

Alors l’injustice est méchanceté de caractère?

Non pas, elle est prudence.

Est-ce, Thrasymaque, que les injustes te semblent sages et bons ?

Oui, répondit-il, ceux qui sont capables de commettre l’injustice avec perfection et de se soumettre villes et peuples. Tu crois peut-être que je parle des coupeurs de bourse ? De telles pratiques sont sans doute profitables, tant qu’elles ne sont pas découvertes ; mais elles ne méritent point mention à côté de celles que je viens d’indiquer.

Je conçois bien ta pensée, mais ce qui m’étonne c’est (348e) que tu classes l’injustice avec la vertu et la sagesse, et la justice avec leurs contraires.

Néanmoins, c’est bien ainsi que je les classe.

Cela s’aggrave, camarade, repris-je, et il n’est pas facile de savoir ce qu’on peut dire. Si, en effet, tu posais que l’injustice profite, tout en convenant, comme certains autres, qu’elle est vice et chose honteuse, nous pourrions te répondre en invoquant les notions courantes sur le sujet; mais évidemment tu diras qu’elle est belle et forte, et tu lui donneras tous les attributs que nous (349) donnions à la justice, puisque tu as osé la classer avec la vertu et la sagesse.

Tu devines très bien, dit-il.

Je ne dois pourtant pas me refuser à poursuivre cet examen tant que j’aurai lieu de croire que tu parles sérieusement. Car il me semble réellement, Thrasymaque, que ce n’est point raillerie de ta part, et que tu exprimes ta véritable opinion.

Que t’importe, répliqua-t-il, que ce soit mon opinion ou non? Réfute-moi seulement.

Il ne m’importe en effet, avouai-je. Mais tâche de (349b) répondre encore à ceci : l’homme juste te paraît-il vouloir l’emporter en quelque chose sur l’homme juste ?

Nullement, dit-il, car il ne serait pas poli et simple comme il est.

Quoi! pas même dans une action juste ?

Pas même en cela.

Mais prétendrait-il l’emporter sur l’homme injuste, et penserait-il ou non le faire justement ?

Il le penserait, répondit-il, et le prétendrait, mais ne le pourrait point.

Ce n’est pas là ma question : je te demande si le juste n’aurait ni la prétention ni la volonté de l’emporter (349c) sur le juste, mais seulement sur l’injuste.

C’est ainsi, dit-il.

Et l’injuste prétendrait l’emporter sur le juste et sur l’action juste ?

Comment ne le voudrait-il pas, lui qui prétend l’emporter sur tous ?

Ainsi donc il l’emportera sur l’homme et sur l’action injustes, et luttera pour l’emporter sur tous ?

C’est cela.

Disons-le donc ainsi, repris-je : le juste ne l’emporte pas sur son semblable, mais sur son contraire ; l’injuste (349d) l’emporte sur son semblable et sur son contraire.

Excellemment exprimé, dit-il.

Mais, poursuivis-je, l’injuste est sage et bon, tandis que le juste n’est ni l’un ni l’autre?

Excellent aussi, dit-il.

Par conséquent l’injuste ressemble au sage et au bon, et le juste ne leur ressemble pas ?

Comment en serait-il autrement ? Étant ce qu’il est il ressemble à ses pareils, et l’autre ne leur ressemble pas.

Très bien. Chacun est donc tel que ceux auxquels il ressemble ?

Qui peut en douter ? demanda-t-il.

Soit, Thrasymaque ; maintenant ne dis-tu pas d’un (349e) homme qu’il est musicien, d’un autre qu’il ne l’est pas ?

Si.

Lequel des deux est sage, et lequel ne l’est pas ?

Le musicien assurément est sage et l’autre ne l’est pas.

Et l’un n’est-il pas bon dans les choses où il est sage, l’autre mauvais dans les choses où il ne l’est pas ?

Si.

Mais à l’égard du médecin n’est-ce pas ainsi ?

C’est ainsi.

Maintenant, crois-tu, excellent homme, qu’un musicien qui accorde sa lyre veuille, en tendant ou détendant les cordes, l’emporter sur un musicien, ou prétende avoir avantage sur lui ?

Non, je ne le crois pas.

Mais sur un homme ignorant la musique voudra-t-il l’emporter ?

Oui, nécessairement.

Et le médecin? en prescrivant nourriture et boisson (350) voudra-t-il l’emporter sur un médecin ou sur la pratique médicale ?

Certes non.

Et sur un homme ignorant en médecine ?

Oui.

Mais vois, au sujet de la science et de l’ignorance en général, si un savant, quel qu’il soit, te semble vouloir l’emporter, en ses actes ou en ses paroles, sur un autre savant, et ne pas agir comme son semblable dans le même cas.

Peut-être est-ce nécessaire, avoua-t-il, qu’il en soit ainsi.

Mais l’ignorant, ne voudra-t-il pas l’emporter semblablement sur le savant et sur l’ignorant ?

(350b) Peut-être.

Or le savant est sage ?

Oui.

Et le sage est bon ?

Oui.

Donc l’homme sage et bon ne voudra pas l’emporter sur son semblable, mais sur celui qui ne lui ressemble pas, sur son contraire.

Apparemment, dit-il.

Tandis que l’homme méchant et ignorant voudra l’emporter sur son semblable et sur son contraire.

On peut le croire.

Mais, Thrasymaque, poursuivis-je, notre homme injuste ne l’emporte-t-il pas sur son contraire et son semblable ? Ne l’as-tu pas dit ?

Si, répondit-il.

Et n’est-il pas vrai que le juste ne l’emportera pas sur (350c) son semblable, mais sur son contraire?

Si.

Le juste, dis-je, ressemble donc à l’homme sage et bon, et l’injuste à l’homme méchant et ignorant.

Il y a chance.

Mais nous avons reconnu que chacun d’eux est tel que celui à qui il ressemble.

Nous l’avons reconnu en effet.

Le juste se révèle donc à nous bon et sage, et l’injuste ignorant et méchant.

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.

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 honor 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, if 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.

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 someone else.

Why, my good friend, I said, how can anyone 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 someone 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 anyone 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 affected 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 anyone 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 praise 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 prinprinciple 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 inquire 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 for 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.

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 sometime 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.

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 time 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 a 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 do 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 selfsufficing 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 everyone 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 or 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 most 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 inquiry ?

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 insured 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 a 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 honor, 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 honor 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 honor. 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 dishonorable. 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 anyone 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 everyone 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 inquiry 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 honorable 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 just 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 frequently, during our reasoning, rushed in the midst, to lay hold of the discourse; but was hindered by those who sat near him, and who wanted to hear the conversation to an end. But, when we paused, and I had said these things, he was no longer quiet; but, collecting himself as a wild beast, he came upon us as if he would have torn us in pieces. Both Polemarchus and I, being frightened, were thrown into the utmost consternation: but he, roaring out in the midst: (336c) “What trifling,” said he, “Socrates, is this which long ago possesses you; and why do you thus play the fool together, yielding mutually to one another? But, if you truly want to know what is just:, ask not questions only, nor value yourself in confuting, when any one answers you any thing; (knowing this, that it is easier to ask than to answer;) but answer yourself, and tell (336d) what it is you call just. And you are not to tell me that it is what is fit; nor what is due, nor what is profitable, nor what is gainful, nor what is advantageous; but, what you mean tell plainly and accurately; for I will not allow it, if you speak such trifles as these.” When I heard this, I was astonished, and, looking at him, was frightened; and I should have become speechless, I imagine, if I had not perceived him before he perceived me. But I had observed him first, when he began to grow fierce at our reasoning; (336e) so that I was now able to answer him, and said, trembling: “Thrasymachus! be not hard on us; for, if we mistake in our inquiries, Polemarchus and I, be well assured that we mistake unwittingly: for think not that in searching for gold, we would never willingly yield to one another in the search, and mar the finding it; but that, searching for justice, an affair far more valuable than a great deal of gold, we should yet foolishly yield to each other, and not labour, friend, with the utmost ardour, that we may discover what it really is. But I am afraid we are not able to discover it. It is more reasonable, then, that we be pitied, than be used hardly (337a) by you who are men of ability.” Having heard this, he laughed aloud in a very coarse manner, and said “By Hercules! this is Socrates’s wonted irony. This I both knew and foretold to these, here, that you never incline to answer if any one ask you any thing.” “You are a wise man, therefore, Thrasymachus,” said I. “For you knew well, that if you asked any one, ‘How many is twelve?’ (337b) and, when you ask, should previously tell him, ‘You are not, friend, to tell me that twelve is twice six; nor that it is three times four; nor that it is four times three; for I will not admit it, if you trifle in such a manner’;—I fancy it is plain to you that no man would answer one asking in such a way. But if he should say to you, ‘Wonderful Thrasymachus! how do you mean? May I answer in none of those ways you have told me; not even though the real and true answer happen to be one of them, but I am to say something else than the truth? (337c) Or, how is it you mean?’ What would you say to him in answer to these things?” “If they were alike, I should give an answer; but how are they alike?” “Nothing hinders it,” said I; “but, though they were not alike, but should appear so to him who was asked, would he the less readily answer what appeared to him; whether we forbade him or not?” “And will you do so now?” said he. “Will you say in answer some of these things which I forbid you to say?” “I should not wonder I did,” said I, “if it should appear so to me on inquiry.” “What then,” (337d) said he, “if I shall show you another and a better answer, besides all these about justice; what will you deserve to suffer?” “What else,” said I, “but what is proper for the ignorant to suffer? And it is proper for them to learn somewhere from a wise man. I shall therefore deserve to suffer this.” “You are pleasant now,” said he, “but together with the learning, do you pay money likewise.” “Shall it not be after I have got it?” said I. “But it is here,” said Glauco; “so as to money, Thrasymachus, say on; for all of us will advance for Socrates.” “I truly (337e) imagine so,” said he, “that Socrates may go on in his wonted manner; not answer himself, but, when another answers, he may take up the discourse, and confute.” “How,” said I, “most excellent Thrasymachus, can a man answer? In the first place, when he neither knows, nor says he knows; and, then, if he have any opinion about these matters, he is forbid by no mean man to advance (338a) any of his opinions. But it is more reasonable that you speak, as you say you know, and can tell us: Do not decline then, but oblige me in answering, and do not grudge to instruct Glauco here, and the rest of the company.”

When I had said this, both Glauco and the rest of the company entreated him not to decline it. And Thrasymachus appeared plainly desirous to speak, in order to gain applause; reckoning he had a very fine answer to make; yet pretended to be earnest that I should be the answerer, but at last he agreed.

And then, (338b) “This,” said he, “is the wisdom of Socrates: Unwilling himself to teach, he goes about learning from others, and gives no thanks for it.” “That, indeed, I learn from others,” said I, “Thrasymachus, is true; but in saying that I do not give thanks for it, you are mistaken. I pay as much as I am able; and I am only able to commend them; for money I have not: and how readily I do this, when any one appears to me to speak well, you shall perfectly know this moment, when you make an answer; (338c) for I imagine you are to speak well.” “Hear then,” said he; “for I say, that what is just, is nothing else but the advantage of the more powerful. But why do not you commend? You are unwilling.” “Let me learn first,” said I, “what you say; for as yet I do not understand it. The advantage of the more powerful, you say, is what is just. What is this which you now say, Thrasymachus? For you certainly do not mean such a thing as this: If Polydamus, the wrestler, be more powerful than we; and if beef be beneficial (338d) for his body, that this food is likewise both just and advantageous for us, who are weaker than he.” “You are most impudent, Socrates, and lay hold of my speech on that side where you may do it the greatest hurt.” “By no means, most excellent Thrasymachus,” said I, “but tell more plainly what is your meaning.” “Do not you then know,” said he, “that, with reference to states, some are tyrannical; others democratical; and others aristocratical?” “Why are they not?” “And is not the governing pact in each state the more powerful?” “Certainly.” (338e) “And every government makes laws for its own advantage; a democracy, democratic laws; a tyranny, tyrannic; and others the same way. And when they have made them, they show that to be just for the governed, which is advantageous for themselves and they punish the transgressor of this as one acting contrary both to law and justice. This, then, most excellent Socrates, is what I say, that, in all states, what is just, (339a) and what is advantageous for the established government, are the same; it hath the power. So that it appears to him who reasons rightly, that, in all cases, what is the advantage of the more powerful, the same is just.”

“Now I have learned,” said I, “what you say. But whether it be true, or not, I shall endeavour to learn. What is advantageous, then, Thrasymachus, you yourself have affirmed to be likewise just; though you forbid me to give this answer; (339b) but, indeed, you have added to it that of the more powerful.” “Probably,” said he, “but a small addition.” “It is not yet manifest, whether it is small or great; but it is manifest that this is to be considered, whether you speak the truth; since I too acknowledge that what is just is somewhat that is advantageous: but you add to it and say that it is that of the more powerful. This I do not know, but it is to be considered.” “Consider then,” said he.

“That,” said I, “shall be done. And tell me do not you say that it is just to obey governors?” (339c) “I say so.” “Whether are the governors in the several states infallible? or are they capable of erring?” “Certainly,” said he, “they are liable to err.” “Do they not, then, when they attempt to make laws, make some of them right, and some of them not right?” “I imagine so.” “To make them right, is it not to make them advantageous for themselves; and to make them not right, disadvantageous? Or what is it you mean?” “Entirely so.” “And what they enact is to be observed by the governed, and this is what is just?” “Why not?” (339d) “It is, then, according to your reasoning, not only just to do what is advantageous for the more powerful; but also to do the contrary, what is not advantageous.” “What do you say?” replied he. “The same, I imagine, that you say yourself. But let us consider better: have we not acknowledged that governors, in enjoining the governed to do certain things, may sometimes mistake what is best for themselves; and that what the governors enjoin is just for the governed to do? Have not these things been acknowledged?” “I think so,” said he. (339e) “Think, also, then,” said I, “that you have acknowledged that it is just to do what is disadvantageous to governors, and the more powerful; since governors unwillingly enjoin what is ill for themselves; and you say that it is just for the others to do what these enjoin. Must it not then, most wise Thrasymachus, necessarily happen, that, by this means, it may be just to do the contrary of what you say? For that which is the disadvantage of the more powerful, is sometimes enjoined the inferiors (340a) to do?” “Yes, indeed, Socrates,” said Polemarchus, “these things are most manifest.” “Yes, if you bear him witness,” said Clitipho. “What need,” said I, “of a witness? For Thrasymachus himself acknowledges that governors do indeed sometimes enjoin what is ill for themselves; but that it is just for the governed to do these things. For it has, Polemarchus, been established by Thrasymachus, to be just to do what is enjoined by the governors; and he has likewise, Clitipho, established that to be just, which is the advantage of the more powerful; (340b) and, having established both these things, he has acknowledged likewise, that the more powerful sometimes enjoin the inferiors and governed to do what is disadvantageous for themselves; and, from these concessions, the advantage of the more powerful can no more be just than the disadvantage.” “But,” said Clitipho, “he said the advantage of the more powerful; that is, what the more powerful judged to be advantageous to himself; that this was to be done by the inferior, and this he established as just.” “But,” said Polemarchus, “it was not said so.” (340c) “There is no difference, Polemarchus,” said I. “But, if Thrasymachus says so now, we shall allow him to do it. And tell me, Thrasymachus, was this what you meant to say was just? The advantage of the more powerful, such as appeared so to the more powerful, whether it is advantageous, or is not. Shall we say that you spoke thus?”

“By no means,” said he. “For, do you imagine I call him the more powerful who misjudges, at the time he misjudges?” “I thought,” said I, “you said this, when you acknowledged that governors were not infallible; (340d) but that in some things they even erred.” “You are a sycophant,” said he, “in reasoning, Socrates. For, do you now call him who mistakes about the management of the sick, a physician; as to that very thing in which he mistakes? or, him, who mistakes in reasoning, a reasoner, when he errs, and with reference to that very error? But, I imagine, we say, in common language, that the physician erred; that the reasoner erred, and the grammarian: Thus, however, I imagine, that each of these, (340e) as far as he is what we call him, errs not at any time: So that, according to accurate discourse (since you discourse accurately), none of the artists errs: for he who errs, errs by departing from science; and, in this, he is an artist. So that no artist, or wise man, or governor errs; in so far as he is a governor. Yet any one may say the physician erred; the governor erred: Imagine then, it was in this way I now answered you. But the most accurate answer is this: That the governor, (341a) in as far as he is governor, errs not; and, as he does not err, he enacts that which is best for himself; and this is to be observed by the governed: So that what I said from the beginning, I maintain, is just. To do what is the advantage of the more powerful.”

“Be it so,” said I, “Thrasymachus! Do I appear to you to as the sycophant?” “Certainly, indeed,” said he. “For you imagine that I spoke as I did, insidiously, and to abuse you.” “I know it well,” said he, “but you shall gain nothing by it; for, whether you abuse me in a concealed manner, (341b) or otherwise, you shall not be able to over come me by your reasoning.” “I shall not attempt it,” said I, “happy Thrasymachus! But, that nothing of this kind may happen to us again, define, whether you speak of a governor, and the more powerful, according to common, or according to accurate discourse, as you now said, whose advantage, as he is the more powerful, it shall be just for the inferior to observe.” “I speak of him,” said he, “who, in the most accurate discourse, is governor. For this, now, abuse me, and all the sycophant, if you are able. (341c) I do not shun you; but you cannot do it.” “Do you imagine me,” said I, “to be so mad as to attempt to shave a lion, and act the sycophant with Thrasymachus?” “You have now,” said he, “attempted it, but with no effect.” “Enough,” said I, “of this. But tell me, with reference to him, who, accurately speaking, is a physician, whom you now mentioned, whether is he a gainer of money, or one who takes care of the sick? and speak of him who is really a physician.” “He is one who takes care,” said he, “of the sick.” “But what of the pilot, who is a pilot, truly? Whether is he the governor of the sailors, or a sailor?” (341d) “The governor of the sailors.” “That, I think, is not to be considered, that he sails in the ship; nor that he is called a sailor; for it is not for his sailing that he is called pilot, but for his art, and his governing the sailors.” “True,” said he. “Is there not then something advantageous to each of these?” “Certainly.” “And does not art,” said I, “naturally tend to this, to seek out and afford to every thing its advantage?” “It tends to this,” said he. “Is there, now, any thing else advantageous to each of the arts but to be the most perfect possible?” (341e)

“How ask you this?” “As, if you asked me,” said I, “whether it sufficed the body to be body, or if it stood in need of any thing,—I would say, that it stood in need of something else. For this reason is the medicinal art invented, because the body is infirm, and is not sufficient for itself in such a state; in order therefore to afford it things for its advantage, for this purpose, art has been provided. Do I seem to you,” said I, “to say right, or not, in speaking in this manner?” (342a) “Right,” said he. “But what now? This medicinal art itself, or any other, is it imperfect, so long as it is wanting in a certain virtue? As the eyes, when they want seeing; and the ears, hearing; and, for these reasons have they need of a certain art, to perceive, and afford them what is advantageous for these purposes? And is there, still, in art itself, some imperfection; and does every art stand in need of another art, to perceive what is advantageous to it, and this stand in need of another, in like manner, and so on, to infinity? Or shall each art perceive what is advantageous to itself; (342b) and stand in need neither of itself, nor of another, to perceive what is for its advantage, with reference to its own imperfection? For there is no imperfection, nor error, in any art. Nor does it belong to it to seek what is advantageous to any thing, but to that of which it is the art. But it is, itself, infallible, and pure, being in the right. So long as each art is an accurate whole, whatever it is. And consider now, according to that accurate discourse, whether it be thus, or otherwise.” “Thus,” said he, “it appears.” “The medicinal art, then,” said I, (342c) “does not consider what is advantageous to the medicinal art, but to the body.” “Yes,” said he. “Nor the art of managing horses, what is advantageous for that art; but what is advantageous for horses. Nor does any other art consider what is advantageous for itself, (for it hath no need,) but what is advantageous for that of which it is the art!” “So,” replied he, it appears.” “But, Thrasymachus, the arts rule and govern that of which they are the arts.” He yielded this, but with great difficulty. “No science, then, considers the advantage of the more powerful, nor enjoins it; but that of the inferior, (342d) and of what is governed.” He consented to these things at last, though he attempted to contend about them, but afterwards he consented.

“Why, then, said I, no physician, so far as he is a physician, considers what is advantageous for the physician, nor enjoins it; but what it advantageous for the sick; for it has been agreed, that the accurate physician is one who takes care of sick bodies, and not an amasser of wealth. Has it not been agreed?” He assented. “And likewise that the accurate pilot is the governor of the sailors, (342e) and not a sailor?” “It has been agreed.” “Such a pilot, then, and governor will not consider and enjoin what is the advantage of the pilot, but what is advantageous to the sailor, and the governed.” He consented, with difficulty. “Nor, yet, Thrasymachus,” said I, “does any other, in any government, as far as he is a governor, consider or enjoin his own advantage, but that of the governed, and of those to whom he ministers; and, with an eye to this, and to what is advantageous and suitable to this, he both says what he says, and does what he does.” (343a)

When we were at this part of the discourse, and it was evident to all that the definition of what was just, stood now on the contrary side, Thrasymachus, instead of replying, “Tell me,” said he, “Socrates, have you a nurse?” “What,” said I, “ought you not rather to answer, than ask such things?” “Because,” said he, “she neglects you when your nose is stuffed, and does not wipe it when it needs it, you who understand neither what is meant by sheep, nor by shepherd.” “For what now is all this?” said I. “Because you think that shepherds, (343b) and neatherds, ought to consider the good of the sheep, or oxen, to fatten them, and to minister to them, having in their eye, something besides their master’s good and their own. And you fancy that those who govern in cities, those who govern truly, are somehow otherwise affected towards the governed than one is towards sheep; and that they are attentive, day and night, to somewhat else than tis, (343c) how they shall be gainers themselves; and so far are you from the notion of the just and of justice, and of the unjust and injustice, that you do not know that both justice and the just are, in reality, a foreign good, the advantage of the more powerful, and of the governor; but properly, the hurt of the subject, and the inferior; a injustice is the contrary. And justice governs such as are truly simple and just; and the governed do what is for the governor’s advantage, he being more powerful, and ministering to him, promote his happiness, (343d) but by no means their own. You must thus consider it, most simple Socrates! that, on all occasions, the just man gets less than the unjust. First, in co-partnerships with one another, where the one joins in company with the other, you never can find, on the dissolving of the company, that the just man gets more than the unjust, but less. Then, in civil affairs, where there are taxes to be paid from equal substance; the just man pays more, the other less. But when there is any thing to be gained, (343e) the one gains nothing, but the gain of the other is great. For, when each of them governs in any public magistracy, this, if no other loss, befalls the just man, that his domestic affairs, at least, are in a worse situation through his neglect; and that he gains nothing from the public, because he is just. Add to this, that he comes to be hated by his domestics and acquaintance, when at no time he will serve them beyond what is just. But all these things are quite otherwise with the unjust; such an one, I mean, as I now mentioned; (344a) one who has it greatly in his power to become rich. Consider him, then, if you would judge how much more it is for his private advantage to be unjust than just, and you will most easily understand it if you come to the most finished in justice; such as renders the unjust man most happy, but the injured, and those who are unwilling to do injustice, most wretched; and that is tyranny, which takes away the goods of others, both by secret fraud, and by open violence; both things sacred and holy, both private and public, and these not by degrees, but all at once. (344b) In all particular cases of such crimes, when one, committing injustice, is not concealed, he is punished, and suffers the greatest ignominy. For according to the several kinds of the wickedness they commit, they are called sacrilegious, robbers, house-breakers, pilferers, thieves. But when any one, besides these thefts of the substance of his citizens, shall steal and enslave the citizens themselves; instead of those disgraceful names, he is called happy and blessed; not by his citizens alone, (344c) but likewise by others, as many as are informed that he has committed the most consummate wickedness. For such as revile wickedness, revile it not because they are afraid of doing, but because they are afraid of suffering, unjust things. And thus, Socrates, injustice, when in sufficient measure, is both more powerful, more free, and hath more absolute command than justice: and, (as I said at the beginning,) the advantage of the more powerful, is justice; but injustice is the profit and advantage of oneself.” (344d)

Thrasymachus having said these things, inclined to go away; like a bath-keeper after he had poured into our ears this rapid and long discourse. These, however, who were present, would not suffer him, but forced him to stay, and give an account of what he had said. I too myself earnestly entreated him, and said, “divine Thrasymachus! after throwing in upon us so strange a discourse, do you intend to go away before you teach us sufficiently, or learn yourself, whether the case be as you say, or otherwise? Do you imagine you attempt to determine a small matter, (344e) and not the guide of life, by which, each of us being conducted, may lead the most happy life.” “But I imagine,” said Thrasymachus, “that this is otherwise.” “You seem truly,” said I, “to care nothing for us; nor to be any way concerned, whether we shall live well or ill, whilst we are ignorant of what you say you know: But, good Thrasymachus, be readily disposed to show it also to us, (345a) nor will the favour be ill placed, whatever you shall bestow on so many of us as are now present. And I, for my own part, tell you, that I am not persuaded, nor do I think that injustice is more profitable than justice; not although it should be permitted to exert itself, and be no way hindered from doing whatever it should incline. But, good Thrasymachus, let him be unjust, let him be able to do unjustly, either in secret, or by force, yet will you not persuade me at least that injustice is more profitable than justice, (345b) and probably some other of us here is of the same mind, and I am not single. Convince us then, blessed Thrasymachus! that we imagine wrong, when we value justice more than injustice.”

“But how,” said he, “shall I convince you? For, if I have not convinced you by what I have said already, what shall I further do for you? Shall I enter into your soul, and put my reasoning within you?” “God forbid,” said I, “you shall not do that. But, first of all, whatever you have said, abide by it: or, if you do change, change openly; and do not deceive us. (345c) For now you see, Thrasymachus, (for let us still consider what is said above,) that when you first defined the true physician, you did not afterwards think it needful that the true shepherd should, strictly, upon the like principles, keep his flock; but you fancy that, as a shepherd, he may feed his flock, not regarding what is best for the sheep, but as some glutton, who is going to feast on them at some entertainment; or yet to dispose of them (345d) as a merchant; and not a shepherd. But the shepherd-art hath certainly no other care, but of that for which it is ordained, to afford it what is best: for its own affairs are already sufficiently provided for; so as to be in the very best state while it needs nothing of the shepherd-art. In the same manner, I at least imagined, there was a necessity for agreeing with us in this, that every government, in as far as it is government, considers what is best for nothing else but for the governed, and those under its charge; (345e) both in political and private government. But do you imagine that governors in cities, such as are truly governors, govern willingly?” “Truly,” said he, “as for that, I not only imagine it, but am quite certain.”

“Why now,” said I, “Thrasymachus, do you not perceive, as to all other governments, that no one undertakes them willingly, but they ask a reward; as the profit arising from governing is not to be to themselves, but to the governed? (346a) Or, tell me this now? do not we say that every particular art is in this distinct, in having a distinct power? And now, blessed Thrasymachus, answer not differently from your sentiments, that we may make some progress.” “In this,” said he, “it is distinct.” “And does not each of them afford us a certain distinct advantage, and not a common one? As the medicinal affords health, the pilot art, preservation in sailing; and the others in like manner.” “Certainly.” “And does not the mercenary art afford a reward, for this is its power? (346b) Or, do you call both the medicinal art, and the pilot art, one and the same? Or, rather, if you will define them accurately, as you proposed; though one in piloting recover his health, because sailing agrees with him, you will not the more on this account call it the medicinal art?” “No, indeed,” said he. “Nor will you, I imagine, call the mercenary art the medicinal, though one in gaining a reward, recover his health.” “No, indeed.” (346c) “What now? Will you call the medicinal, the mercenary art, if one in performing a cure gain a reward?” “No,” said he. “Have we not acknowledged, then, that there is a distinct advantage of every art?” “Be it so,” said he. “What is that advantage, then, with which all artists in common are advantaged? It is plain it must be in using something common to all that they are advantaged by it.” “It seems so,” said he. “Yet we say that artists are profited in receiving a reward arising to them from the increase of a lucrative art.” He agreed with difficulty. “Has not, then, every one this advantage in his art, (346d) the receiving a reward. Yet, if we are to consider accurately, the medicinal art produces health, and the mercenary art a reward; masonry, a house, and, the mercenary art accompanying it, a reward. And all the others, in like manner, every one produces its own work, and benefits that for which it was ordained; but, if it meet not with a reward, what is the artist advantaged by his art?” “It does not appear,” said he. “But does he then no service (346e) when he works without reward?” “I think he does.” “Is not this, then, now evident, Thrasymachus, that no art, nor government, provides what is advantageous for itself; but, as I said long ago, provides and enjoins what is advantageous for the governed; having in view the profit of the inferior, and not that of the more powerful. And, for these reasons, friend Thrasymachus, I likewise said now, that no one is willing to govern, and to undertake to rectify the ills of others, but asks a reward for it; (347a) because, whoever will perform the art handsomely, never asks what is best for himself, in ruling according to art, but what is best for the governed; and on this account, it seems, a reward must be given to those who shall be willing to govern; either money, or honour; or punishment, if they will not govern.”

“How say you, Socrates,” said Glauco; “two of the rewards I understand; but this punishment you speak of, and here you mention it in place of a reward, I know not.” “You know not, then,” said I, “the reward of the best of men, (347b) on account of which the most worthy govern, when they consent to govern. Or, do you not know, that to be ambitious and covetous, is both deemed a reproach, and really is so?” “I know,” said he. “For those reasons, then,” said I, “good men are not willing to govern, neither for money, nor for honour; for they are neither willing to be called mercenary, in openly receiving a reward for governing, nor to be called thieves, in taking clandestinely from those under their government; as little are they willing to govern for honour, (347c) for they are not ambitious.—Of necessity then, there must be laid on them a fine, that they may consent to govern. And hence, it seems, it hath been accounted dishonourable to enter on government willingly, and not by constraint. And the greatest part of the punishment is to be governed by a base person, if one himself is not willing to govern: and the good seem to me to govern from a fear of this, when they do govern: and then, they enter on the government, not as on any thing good, or as what they are to reap advantage by, but as on a necessary task, and finding none better than themselves, (347d) nor like them to entrust with the government: since it would appear that, if there was a city of good men, the contest would be, not to be in the government, as at present it is, to govern: And hence it would be manifest, that he who is indeed the true governor, does not aim at his own advantage, but at that of the governed; so that every understanding man would rather choose to be served, than to have trouble in serving another. This, therefore, I, (347e) for my part, will never yield to Thrasymachus; that justice is the advantage of the more powerful; but this we shall consider afterwards. What Thrasymachus says now, seems to me of much more importance, when he says that the life of the unjust man is better than that of the just. You, then, Glauco,” said I, “which side do you choose; and which seems to you moat agreeable to truth?”

“The life of the just,” said he, “I, for my part, deem to be the more profitable.” (348a) “Have you heard,” said I, “how many good things Thrasymachus just now enumerated in the life of the unjust?” “I heard,” said he, “but am not persuaded.” “Are you willing, then, that we should persuade him, (if we be able any how to find arguments), that there is no truth in what he says?” “Why not,” said he. “If then,” said I, “pulling on the other side, we advance argument for argument, how many good things there are in being just, and then again, he on the other side, we shall need a third person to compute and estimate what each shall have said on either side; (348b) and we shall likewise need some judges to determine the matter. But, if, as now, assenting to one another, we consider these things; we shall be both judges and pleaders ourselves.” “Certainly,” said he. “Which way, then,” said I, “do you choose?” “This way,” said he.

“Come then,” said I, Thrasymachus, answer us from the beginning. Do you say that complete injustice is more profitable than complete justice?” (348c) “Yes, indeed, I say so,” replied he, “and the reasons for it I have enumerated.” “Come now, do you ever affirm any thing of this kind concerning them? Do you call one of them, virtue; and the other, vice?” “Why not?” “Is not then, justice, virtue; and injustice, vice?” “Very likely,” said he, “most pleasant Socrates! after I say that injustice is profitable; but justice is not.” “What then?” “The contrary,” said he. “Is it justice you call vice?” “No, but I call it, altogether genuine simplicity.” “Do you, then, call injustice, cunning?” (348d) “No,” said he, “but I call it sagacity.” Do the unjust seem to you, Thrasymachus, to be both prudent and good?” “Such, at least,” said he, “as are able to do injustice in perfection; such as are able to subject to themselves states and nations; but you probably imagine I speak of those who cut purses: Even such things as these,” he said, “are profitable if concealed; (348e) but such only as I now mentioned are of any worth.” “I understand,” said I, “what you want to say: But this I have wondered at, that you should deem injustice to be a part of virtue and of wisdom and justice among their contraries.” “But I do deem it altogether so.” “Your meaning,” said I, “is now more determined, friend, and it is no longer easy for one to find what to say against it: for, if when you had set forth injustice as profitable, you had still allowed it to be vice or ugly, as some others do, we should have had something to say, speaking according to the received opinions: But now, it is plain, you will call it beautiful and powerful; and all those other things you will attribute to it (349a) which we attribute to the just man, since you have dared to class it with virtue and wisdom.” “You conjecture,” said he, “most true.” “But, however, I must not grudge,” said I, “to pursue our inquiry so long as I conceive you speak as you think; for to me you plainly seem now, Thrasymachus, not to lie in irony, but to speak what you think concerning the truth.” “What is the difference to you,” said he, “whether I think so or not, if you do not confute my reasoning;” (349b) “None at all,” said I. “But endeavour, further, to answer me this likewise—Does a just man seem to you desirous to have more than another just man?” “By no means,” said he; “for otherwise he would not be courteous and simple, as we now supposed him.” “But what, will he not desire it in a just action?” “Not even in a just action,” said he. “But, whether would he deem it proper to exceed the unjust man and count it just? or would be not?” “He would, said he, both count it just and deem it proper but would not be able to effect it.” “That,” said I, “I do not ask. (349c) But, whether a just man would neither deem it proper, nor incline to exceed a just man, but would deem it proper to exceed the unjust?” “This last,” said he, “is what he would incline to do.” “But what would the unjust man do? Would he deem it proper to exceed the just man even in a just action?” “Why not,” said he, “he who deems it proper to exceed all others.” “Will not then the unjust man desire to exceed the unjust man likewise, and in an unjust action; and contend that he himself receive more than all others?” “Certainly.” “Thus, we say, then,” said I, “the just man does not desire to exceed one like himself, but one unlike. But the unjust man desires to exceed (349d) both one like, and one unlike himself.” “You have spoken,” said he, “perfectly well.” “But,” said I, “the unjust man is both wise and good; but the just man is neither.” “This, too,” said he, “is well said.” “Is not, then,” said I, “the unjust man like the wise and the good, and the just man unlike?” “Must he not,” said he, “be like them, being such an one as we have supposed; and he who is otherwise, be unlike them?” “Excellently. Each of them is indeed such as those he resembles.” “What else?” said he.

“Be it so, Thrasymachus, (349e) “Call you one man musical and another unmusical?” “I do.” “Which of the two call you wise and which unwise?” “I call the musical, wise, and the unmusical, unwise.” “Is he not good in as much as he is wise, and ill in as much as he is unwise?” “Yes.” “And what as to the physician? Is not the case the same?” “The same.” “Do you imagine, then, most excellent Thrasymachus, that any musician, in tuning a harp, wants to exceed, or deems it proper to have more skill than a man who is a musician, with reference to the intention or remission of the strings?” “I am not of that opinion.” “But what say you of exceeding a man who is no musician?” “Of necessity,” said he, “he will deem it proper to exceed him.” “And what as to the physician? (350a) In presenting a regimen of meats or drink does he want to exceed another physician in medical cases?” “No indeed.” But to exceed one who is no physician?” “Yes.” “And as to all science and ignorance does any one appear to you intelligent who wants to grasp at or do or say more than another intelligent in the art; and not to do the same things, in the same affair, which one equally intelligent with himself doth?” “Probably there is a necessity,” said he, “it be so.” “But what, as to him who is ignorant; will not he want to exceed (350b) the intelligent and the ignorant both alike?” “Probably.” “But the intelligent is wise?” “I say so.” “And the wise is good?” “I say so.” “But the good and the wise will not want to exceed one like himself; but the unlike and contrary?” “It seems so,” said he. “But the evil and the ignorant wants to exceed both one like himself and his opposite?” “It appears so.” “Why, then, Thrasymachus,” said I, “the unjust desires to exceed both one unlike and one like himself. Do not you say so?” “I do,” said he. (350c) “But the just man will not desire to exceed one like himself, but one unlike?” “Yes.” “The just man, then,” said I, “resembles the wise and the good; and the unjust resembles the evil and the ignorant.” “It appears so.” “But we acknowledged that each of them was such as that which they resembled.” “We acknowledged so, indeed.” “The just man, then, has appeared to us to be good and wise; and the unjust to be ignorant and depraved.”