Azcárate
Trasímaco convino en todo esto, aunque no con tanta facilidad como yo lo refiero, pues le arranqué estas confesiones con un trabajo infinito. Sudaba en grande, con tanto más motivo cuanto que era verano, y entonces vi que por primera vez Trasímaco se ruborizaba. Pero cuando estuvimos de acuerdo en que la justicia es virtud y sabiduría, y la injusticia vicio e ignorancia, le dije:
—Demos este punto por decidido. Pero además hemos dicho que la injusticia es fuerte; ¿te acuerdas, Trasímaco?
—Me acuerdo —contestó—; pero no estoy satisfecho de lo que acabas de decir, y se me ocurre algo con que responderte. Pero sé muy bien que, sólo con que abra la boca, ya dirás que hago una arenga. Déjame, por lo tanto, la libertad de hablar, o si quieres interrogarme, hazlo; te responderé «sí», y aprobaré o desaprobaré con signos de cabeza, como se hace en los cuentos de viejas.
—Pero te conjuro —dije yo— a que no digas nada contrario a lo que piensas.
—Puesto que no quieres que hable como es de mi gusto, diré lo que sea del tuyo —contestó—, ¿quieres más?
—Nada, por Zeus, sino que, si has de hacerlo así, así lo hagas. Voy a interrogarte.
—Interroga, pues.
—Te pregunto, pues, tomando el hilo de nuestra discusión, qué es la justicia comparada con la injusticia. Me parece que has dicho que ésta era más fuerte y más poderosa que la justicia; pero si la justicia es sabiduría y virtud, me será fácil demostrar que es más fuerte que la injusticia, y no puede haber nadie que no convenga en ello, puesto que la injusticia es ignorancia. Pero sin detenerme en esta prueba tan fácil, Trasímaco, he aquí otra. ¿No hay Estados que llevan la injusticia hasta atentar contra la libertad de otros Estados y someter muchos a la esclavitud?
—Sin duda los hay —dijo—. Pero eso sucede en un Estado muy bien gobernado y que sabe ser injusto hasta el más alto grado.
—Sé que eso es lo que piensas —dije—. Lo que quería saber yo es si un Estado que se hace dueño de otro Estado puede llevar a cabo esta empresa sin emplear la justicia, o si se verá precisado a valerse de ella.
—Si la justicia es sabiduría, como decías antes —respondió—, será preciso que este Estado acuda a ella; pero si las cosas pasan como yo he dicho, empleará la injusticia.
—Te agradezco, Trasímaco, que me respondas explícitamente y no sólo por signos de cabeza —dije yo.
—Lo hago para complacerte —contestó.
—Lo agradezco, pero hazme el favor de decirme si un Estado, un ejército o una cuadrilla de bandidos y ladrones, o cualquiera otra sociedad de este género, podrían triunfar en sus empresas injustas si los miembros que la componen actuasen, los unos respecto de los otros, con injusticia.
—No podrían —dijo él.
—Y si no se hicieran injusticia, ¿no les iría mejor? —Desde luego.
—¿No sería porque la injusticia da origen a sediciones, odios y combates entre unos y otros, al paso que la justicia mantiene entre los mismos la paz y la concordia?
—Lo concedo, para no disputar contigo —dijo él.
—Haces bien, hombre excelente; pero dime: si es propio de la injusticia el engendrar odios y disensiones en todas partes donde se encuentra, ¿no producirá indudablemente el mismo efecto entre hombres, sean libres o esclavos, y no les hará impotentes para emprender cosa alguna en común?
—Desde luego.
—Y si se encuentra en dos hombres, ¿no estarán éstos siempre en discusión y en guerra? ¿No se aborrecerán mutuamente tanto cuanto aborrecen a los justos?
—Así será —dijo.
—Y ¿qué, hombre admirable? Cuando se encuentre en un solo hombre, ¿perderá la injusticia su propiedad, o bien la conservará?
—En buena hora la conserve —dijo.
—Es tal, pues, el poder de la injusticia, ya se encuentre en un Estado o familia, ya en un ejército o en cualquier otro lugar que, en primer lugar, lo hace absolutamente impotente para emprender nada a causa de las querellas y sediciones que provoca; y, en segundo lugar, lo hace enemigo de sí mismo y de todo lo que es a ello contrario, es decir, del hombre de bien. ¿No es esto verdad?
—Totalmente.
—Aun cuando no se encuentre más que en un hombre solo, producirá sus efectos naturales, le pondrá, por lo pronto, en la imposibilidad de obrar a causa de las sediciones que excitará y por la oposición continua en que lo pondrá consigo mismo; y será después su propio enemigo y el de todos los justos. ¿No es así?
—Sí.
—Pero los dioses, amigo, ¿no son también justos?
—Sea —dijo.
—Luego el injusto será enemigo de los dioses, Trasímaco, y el justo será su amigo.
—Disfruta tranquilamente —dijo— de tu argumentación; no me opondré a ella, a trueque de no tener que enredarme con los que nos escuchan.
—Lleva pues tu complacencia hasta el fin —dije yo— y continúa respondiéndome como hasta ahora. Acabamos de ver que los hombres de bien son mejores, más sabios y más capaces de actuar; mientras que los injustos no pueden emprender nada en unión de otros, y cuando hemos supuesto que la injusticia no les impedía ejecutar en común algún designio, esta suposición no descansaba en la verdad, porque si fueran totalmente injustos emplearían mutuamente la injusticia los unos contra los otros. Es evidente que conservan entre ellos un resto de justicia que les impide dañarse unos a otros, al mismo tiempo que causan daño a los demás, y que mediante la justicia es como llevan a cabo sus empresas. A la verdad, la injusticia es la que les hace idear empresas criminales; pero sólo son malos a medias, porque los que son injustos a toda prueba están también en una imposibilidad absoluta de obrar. Así pasan las cosas y no como dijiste tú al principio. Nos resta examinar si la condición del justo es mejor y más dichosa que la del injusto. Tengo motivos para creerlo, conforme a lo que queda dicho. Pero examinemos esta cuestión más a fondo, tanto más cuanto que no se trata de una bagatela, sino de lo que ha de ser la regla de nuestra vida.
—Examínala, pues —dijo.
—Es lo que voy a hacer —repliqué—. Respóndeme. El caballo, ¿no tiene una función que le es propia?
—Sí.
—¿No llamas función propia de un caballo o de cualquier otra cosa a aquello que no se puede hacer, o por lo menos hacer bien, sino por su medio?
—No entiendo —dijo.
—De otro modo: ¿puedes ver de alguna manera que no sea por los ojos?
—No, por cierto.
—¿Oír de otra manera que por los oídos?
—En modo alguno.
—¿Podremos decir, pues, con razón que éstas son sus funciones?
—Sí, sin duda.
—Y ¿qué? ¿Podrías cortar un sarmiento de una cepa con un cuchillo, un cincel o cualquier otro instrumento?
—¿Cómo no?
—Pero con nada será más cómodo hacerlo que con una podadera fabricada expresamente para esto, creo yo.
—Sin duda.
—¿No estableceremos, pues, que ésta es su función propia?
—Así lo estableceremos.
—Comprenderás ahora, supongo, lo que últimamente inquiría: si la función de una cosa es aquello que sólo ella puede hacer o hacerlo mejor que ninguna otra.
—Comprendo —dijo—, y me parece que ésa es efectivamente la operación propia de cada una.
—Muy bien —dije—. Todo lo que tiene una función particular, ¿no tiene igualmente una virtud que le es propia? Y volviendo a los ejemplos de que ya me he servido, ¿no dijimos que los ojos tienen su función?
—Así es.
—Luego, ¿tienen también una virtud que les es propia?
—También una virtud.
—¿No hay también una operación propia de los oídos?
—Sí.
—Y, por tanto, ¿hay también una virtud?
—También.
—¿Y no ocurrirá lo mismo con todas las demás cosas?
—Así es.
—Detente un momento. ¿Podrían los ojos desempeñar sus funciones si no tuviesen la virtud que les es propia, o si, en lugar de esta virtud, tuviesen el vicio contrario?
—¿Cómo habían de poder? —dijo—. Porque tú hablas, sin duda, del caso en que la ceguera hubiera sustituido a la facultad de ver.
—Cualquiera que sea la virtud de los ojos, poco importa —dije yo—; no es eso lo que yo quiero saber. Pregunto sólo, en general, si cada cosa desempeña bien su función a causa de la virtud que le es propia y mal a causa del vicio contrario.
—Verdad es lo que dices —asintió.
—De esa manera, ¿los oídos, privados de esa virtud propia, desempeñarán mal su función?
—Desde luego.
—¿No puede decirse otro tanto de cualquier otra cosa?
—Yo lo pienso así.
—Sigamos y pasemos a esto otro. ¿No tiene el alma su función, que ninguna otra cosa que no sea ella puede realizar, como hacerse cargo, gobernar, deliberar, y así lo demás? ¿Pueden atribuirse estas funciones a otra cosa que al alma? ¿No tenemos el derecho para decir que son propias de ella?
—De ninguna otra cosa.
—Vivir, ¿no es una de las funciones del alma?
—Ciertamente —dijo.
—El alma, ¿no tiene también su virtud particular?
—Eso diremos.
—El alma, privada de su propia virtud, ¿acaso podrá, Trasímaco, desempeñar bien sus funciones o bien le resultará imposible?
—Imposible.
—Luego es una necesidad que el alma mala se haga cargo y gobierne mal; por el contrario, que la que es buena haga bien todas esas cosas.
—Es necesario.
—Pero ¿no estamos de acuerdo en que la justicia es una virtud y la injusticia un vicio del alma?
—Sí. Nos pusimos de acuerdo en eso.
—Por consiguiente, el alma justa y el hombre justo vivirán bien, y el hombre injusto vivirá mal[26].
—Así debe suceder, conforme tú dices —asintió.
—Pero el que vive bien es dichoso; el que vive mal, lo contrario.
—¿Cómo no?
—Luego el justo es dichoso y el injusto desgraciado.
—Sea —dijo.
—Pero no es ventajoso ser desgraciado; lo es, por el contrario, el ser dichoso.
—¿Quién te dice que no?
—Luego jamás, bendito Trasímaco, será la injusticia más provechosa que la justicia.
—Regálate con estos discursos, Sócrates, y que éste sea tu festín de las Bendidias.
—Banquete por ti preparado, Trasímaco —observé yo—, que tanto te has suavizado y que has desechado esa cólera que tenías contra mí. Sin embargo, no he sido tan agasajado como yo hubiera querido; pero la falta no es tuya, sino mía. Me ha sucedido lo que a los glotones, que se arrojan sobre todas las viandas que se les presentan y no saborean ninguna. Antes de haber resuelto perfectamente la primera cuestión que se ha propuesto sobre la naturaleza de la justicia, he procurado indagar detenidamente si era vicio e ignorancia o sabiduría y virtud. Otra cuestión nos ha salido al encuentro, a saber: si la injusticia es más ventajosa que la justicia, y no he podido menos de abandonar la primera y pasar a la segunda. De manera que nada he aprendido de toda esta conversación; porque no sabiendo lo que es la justicia, ¿cómo podría yo saber si es una virtud o no, y si el que la posee es desgraciado o dichoso?
Chambry
Thrasymaque convint de tout cela, non pas aussi aisément (350d) que je le rapporte, mais malgré lui et avec peine. Il suait merveilleusement, d’autant plus qu’il faisait très chaud – et c’est alors que pour la première fois je vis Thrasymaque rougir ! Lors donc que nous fûmes convenus que la justice est vertu et sagesse et l’injustice vice et ignorance : Soit ! repris-je, tenons cela pour établi ; mais nous avons dit que l’injustice a aussi la force en partage. Ne t’en souviens-tu pas, Thrasymaque ?
Je m’en souviens, dit-il, mais ce que tu viens d’affirmer ne me plaît pas, et j’ai de quoi y répondre. Seulement je (350e) sais bien que si je prends la parole tu diras que je fais une harangue. Laisse-moi donc parler à ma guise, ou, si tu veux interroger, interroge ; et moi, comme on en use avec les vieilles femmes qui font des contes, je te dirai « soit ! », et de la tête je t’approuverai ou te désapprouverai.
Du moins, demandai-je, ne réponds nullement contre ton opinion.
Je ferai ce qui te plaira puisque tu ne me laisses pas parler. Que veux-tu davantage?
Rien, par Zeus, repris-je, fais comme tu l’entendras; je vais t’interroger.
Interroge.
Je te poserai donc la même question que tout à l’heure, (351) afin de reprendre la suite de la discussion : qu’est la justice par rapport à l’injustice? Il a été dit, en effet que l’injustice est plus forte et plus puissante que la justice; mais maintenant, si la justice est sagesse et vertu, il apparaîtra aisément, je pense, qu’elle est plus forte que l’injustice, puisque l’injustice est ignorance. Personne ne peut encore l’ignorer. Pourtant ce n’est pas envisager la chose, mais du point de vue suivant : n’existe-t-il pas, dis-moi, de cité injuste qui tente d’asservir ou (351b) qui ait asservi injustement d’autres cités, tenant un grand nombre d’entre elles en esclavage ?
Assurément, répondit-il. Et c’est ainsi qu’agira la meilleure cité, la plus parfaitement injuste.
Je sais que c’était là ta thèse. Mais à ce propos je considère ce point : est-ce qu’une cité qui se rend maîtresse d’une autre cité le pourra faire sans la justice, ou sera obligée d’y avoir recours ?
Si, comme tu le disais tout à l’heure, la justice est (351c) sagesse, elle y aura recours; mais s’il en est comme je le disais, elle emploiera l’injustice.
Je suis charmé, Thrasymaque, que tu ne te contentes pas d’approuver ou de désapprouver d’un signe de tête, et que tu répondes si bien.
C’est, dit-il, pour te faire plaisir.
Très gentil de ta part. Mais fais-moi la grâce de répondre encore à ceci : crois-tu qu’une cité, une armée, une bande de brigands ou de voleurs, ou toute autre société qui poursuit en commun un but injuste, pourrait mener à bien quelque entreprise si ses membres violaient entre eux les règles de la justice ?
Certes non, avoua-t-il.
(351d) Mais s’ils les observaient ? Cela n’irait-il pas mieux ?
Certainement.
En effet, Thrasymaque, l’injustice fait naître entre les hommes des dissensions, des haines et des luttes, tandis que la justice entretient la concorde et l’amitié (33). N’est-ce pas?
Que cela soit ! dit-il, afin que je n’aie point de différend avec toi.
Tu te conduis fort bien, excellent homme. Mais réponds à cette question : si c’est le propre de l’injustice d’engendrer la haine partout où elle se trouve, apparaissant chez des hommes libres ou des esclaves, ne fera-t-elle pas qu’ils se haïssent, se querellent entre eux, et soient impuissants à rien entreprendre en commun? (351e)
Sans doute.
Mais si elle apparaît en deux hommes ? Ne seront-ils pas divisés, haineux, ennemis l’un de l’autre et des justes?
Ils le seront, dit-il.
Et si, merveilleux ami, l’injustice apparaît chez un seul homme, perdra-t-elle son pouvoir ou le gardera-t-elle intact ?
Qu’elle le garde intact ! concéda-t-il.
Donc, ne semble-t-elle pas posséder le pouvoir, en quelque sujet qu’elle apparaisse, cité, tribu, armée ou (352) société quelconque, de rendre d’abord ce sujet incapable d’agir en accord avec lui-même, à cause des dissensions et des différends qu’elle excite, ensuite de le faire l’ennemi de lui-même, de son contraire et du juste ?
Sans doute.
Et chez un seul homme, j’imagine qu’elle produira ces mêmes effets, qu’il est dans sa nature de produire; d’abord elle le rendra incapable d’agir, excitant en lui la sédition et la discorde; ensuite elle en fera l’ennemi de lui-même et celui des justes. N’est-ce pas?
Oui.
Mais, mon cher, les dieux ne sont-ils pas justes?
(352b) Soit ! dit-il.
Donc, des dieux aussi l’injuste sera l’ennemi, Thrasymaque, et le juste l’ami.
Régale-toi sans crainte de tes discours : je ne te contredirai pas, afin de ne pas m’attirer le ressentiment de la compagnie.
Eh bien, allons ! repris-je, rassasie-moi de la suite du festin en continuant à répondre. Nous venons de voir que les hommes justes sont plus sages, meilleurs et plus puissants dans l’action que les hommes injustes, et que ceux-ci sont incapables d’agir de concert – et quand (352c) nous disons qu’ils ont parfois mené vigoureusement une affaire en commun, ce n’est, d’aucune manière, la vérité, car ils ne se seraient pas épargnés les uns les autres s’ils eussent été tout à fait injustes; aussi bien est-il évident qu’il y avait en eux une certaine justice qui les a empêchés de se nuire mutuellement, dans le temps qu’ils nuisaient à leurs victimes, et qui leur a permis de faire ce qu’ils ont fait ; se lançant dans leurs injustes entreprises, ils n’étaient qu’à demi pervertis par l’injustice, puisque les méchants achevés et les parfaits injustes sont aussi parfaitement incapables de rien faire. Voilà comment (352d) je le comprends, et non comme tu le posais au début. Maintenant il nous faut examiner si la vie du juste est meilleure et plus heureuse que celle de l’injuste : question que nous avions remise à un examen ultérieur. Or cela est, ce me semble, évident d’après ce que nous avons dit. Cependant nous devons mieux examiner la chose, car la discussion ne porte pas ici sur une bagatelle, mais sur la manière dont il faut régler notre vie.
Examine donc, dit-il.
Je vais le faire, répondis-je. Et dis-moi : le cheval te paraît-il avoir une fonction ?
Oui.
(352e) Or, poserais-tu comme fonction du cheval, ou de n’importe quel autre sujet, ce qu’on ne peut faire que par lui, ou ce qu’on fait le mieux avec lui ?
Je ne comprends pas, dit-il.
Expliquons-nous : vois-tu par autre chose que par les yeux ?
Certes non.
Et entends-tu par autre chose que par les oreilles ?
Nullement.
Nous pouvons par conséquent dire justement que ce sont là les fonctions de ces organes.
Sans doute.
Mais quoi ! ne pourrais-tu pas tailler un sarment de (353) vigne avec un couteau, un tranchet, et beaucoup d’autres instruments?
Pourquoi pas?
Mais avec aucun, je pense, aussi bien qu’avec une serpette qui est faite pour cela.
C’est vrai.
Donc, ne poserons-nous pas que c’est là sa fonction?
Nous le poserons certainement.
Maintenant, je pense, tu comprends mieux ce que je disais tout à l’heure quand je te demandais si la fonction d’une chose n’est pas ce qu’elle seule peut faire, ou ce qu’elle fait mieux que les autres.
Je comprends, dit-il, et il me semble que c’est bien (353b) là la fonction de chaque chose.
Bon, repris-je. Mais n’y a-t-il pas aussi une vertu en chaque chose à qui une fonction est assignée ? Revenons à nos exemples précédents : les yeux, disons-nous, ont une fonction ?
Ils en ont une.
Ils ont donc aussi une vertu ?
Ils ont aussi une vertu.
Mais quoi ! les oreilles, avons-nous dit, ont une fonction ?
Oui.
Et donc une vertu aussi ?
Une vertu aussi.
Mais à propos de toute chose n’en est-il pas de même ?
Il en est de même.
Eh bien ! les yeux pourraient-ils jamais bien remplir (353c) leur fonction s’ils n’avaient pas la vertu qui leur est propre, ou si, au lieu de cette vertu, ils avaient le vice contraire ?
Comment le pourraient-ils ? Tu veux dire probablement la cécité à la place de la vue?
Quelle est leur vertu, peu importe ; je ne te le demande pas encore, mais seulement si chaque chose s’acquitte bien de sa fonction par sa vertu propre, et mal par le vice contraire.
C’est comme tu dis, avoua-t-il.
Ainsi donc, les oreilles, privées de leur vertu propre, rempliront mal leur fonction ?
Sans doute.
(353d) Ce principe s’applique-t-il à toutes les autres choses?
Il me le semble.
Or çà, donc, examine maintenant ceci : l’âme n’a-t-elle pas une fonction que rien d’autre qu’elle ne pourrait remplir, comme de surveiller, commander, délibérer et le reste (34) ? Peut-on attribuer ces fonctions à autre chose qu’à l’âme, et n’avons-nous pas le droit de dire qu’elles lui sont propres ?
On ne peut les attribuer à aucune autre chose.
Et la vie ? ne dirons-nous pas qu’elle est une fonction de l’âme ?
Assurément, répondit-il.
Donc, nous affirmerons que l’âme aussi a sa vertu propre (35)?
Nous l’affirmerons.
Or, Thrasymaque, est-ce que l’âme s’acquittera jamais (353e) bien de ces fonctions si elle est privée de sa vertu propre? ou bien est-ce impossible ?
C’est impossible.
Par conséquent, il y a nécessité qu’une âme mauvaise commande et surveille mal, et que l’âme bonne fasse bien tout cela.
Il y a nécessité.
Or, ne sommes-nous pas tombés d’accord que la justice est une vertu, et l’injustice un vice de l’âme ?
Nous en sommes tombés d’accord, en effet.
Donc l’âme juste et l’homme juste vivront bien, et l’injuste mal ?
Il le semble, dit-il, d’après ton raisonnement.
Mais certes, celui qui vit bien est heureux et fortuné, (354) et celui qui vit mal le contraire.
Qui en doute?
Ainsi le juste est heureux, et l’injuste malheureux.
Soit ! concéda-t-il.
Et cela ne profite pas d’être malheureux, mais d’être heureux.
Sans doute.
Jamais, par suite, divin Thrasymaque, l’injustice n’est plus profitable que la justice.
Que cela, Socrate, dit-il, soit ton festin des Bendidées ! Je l’ai eu grâce à toi, Thrasymaque, puisque tu t’es adouci et que tu as cessé de te montrer rude à mon égard. (354b) Cependant je ne me suis pas bien régalé : par ma faute et non par la tienne. Il me semble que j’ai fait comme les gourmands, qui se jettent avidement sur le plat qu’on leur présente, avant d’avoir suffisamment goûté du précédent; de même, avant d’avoir trouvé ce que nous cherchions au début, la nature de la justice, je me suis lancé dans une digression pour examiner si elle est vice et ignorance ou sagesse et vertu; un autre propos étant survenu ensuite, à savoir si l’injustice est plus avantageuse que la justice, je n’ai pu m’empêcher d’aller de l’une à l’autre, en sorte que le résultat de notre conversation est que je ne sais rien ; car, ne sachant pas ce qu’est la justice, encore moins saurai-je si elle est vertu ou non, et si celui qui la possède est heureux ou malheureux (36).
Jowett
Thrasymachus made all these admissions, not fluently, as I repeat them, but with extreme reluctance; it was a hot summer’s day, and the perspiration poured from him in torrents; and then I saw what I had never seen before, Thrasymachus blushing. As we were now agreed that justice was virtue and wisdom, and injustice vice and ignorance, I proceeded to another point:
Well, I said, Thrasymachus, that matter is now settled; but were we not also saying that injustice had strength; do you remember?
Yes, I remember, he said, but do not suppose that I approve of what you are saying or have no answer; if however I were to answer, you would be quite certain to accuse me of haranguing; therefore either permit me to have my say out, or if you would rather ask, do so, and I will answer ‘Very good,’ as they say to story-telling old women, and will nod ‘Yes’ and ‘No.’
Certainly not, I said, if contrary to your real opinion.
Yes, he said, I will, to please you, since you will not let me speak. What else would you have?
Nothing in the world, I said; and if you are so disposed I will ask and you shall answer.
Proceed.
Then I will repeat the question which I asked before, in Jowett1892: 351order that our examination of the relative nature of justice and injustice may be carried on regularly. A statement was made that injustice is stronger and more powerful than justice, but now justice, having been identified with wisdom and virtue, is easily shown to be stronger than injustice, if injustice is ignorance; this can no longer be questioned by any one. But I want to view the matter, Thrasymachus, in a different way: You would not deny that a state may be unjust and may be unjustly attempting to enslave other states, or may have already enslaved them, and may be holding many of them in subjection?
True, he replied; and I will add that the best and most perfectly unjust state will be most likely to do so.
I know, I said, that such was your position; but what I would further consider is, whether this power which is possessed by the superior state can exist or be exercised without justice or only with justice.
At this point the temper of Thrasymachus begins to improve. Cp. 5. 450 A, 6. 498 C.
If you are right in your view, and justice is wisdom, then only with justice; but if I am right, then without justice.
I am delighted, Thrasymachus, to see you not only nodding assent and dissent, but making answers which are quite excellent.
That is out of civility to you, he replied.
You are very kind, I said; and would you have the goodness also to inform me, whether you think that a state, or an army, or a band of robbers and thieves, or any other gang of evil-doers could act at all if they injured one another?
No indeed, he said, they could not.
But if they abstained from injuring one another, then they might act together better?
Yes.
And this is because injustice creates divisions and hatreds and fighting, and justice imparts harmony and friendship; is not that true, Thrasymachus?
Perfect injustice, whether in state or individuals, is destructive to them.
I agree, he said, because I do not wish to quarrel with you.
How good of you, I said; but I should like to know also whether injustice, having this tendency to arouse hatred, wherever existing, among slaves or among freemen, will not make them hate one another and set them at variance and render them incapable of common action?
Certainly.
And even if injustice be found in two only, will they not quarrel and fight, and become enemies to one another and to the just?
They will.
And suppose injustice abiding in a single person, would your wisdom say that she loses or that she retains her natural power?
Let us assume that she retains her power.
Yet is not the power which injustice exercises of such a nature that wherever she takes up her abode, whether in a city, in an army, in a family, or in any other body, that body Jowett1892: 352is, to begin with, rendered incapable of united action by reason of sedition and distraction; and does it not become its own enemy and at variance with all that opposes it, and with the just? Is not this the case?
Yes, certainly.
And is not injustice equally fatal when existing in a single person; in the first place rendering him incapable of action because he is not at unity with himself, and in the second place making him an enemy to himself and the just? Is not that true, Thrasymachus?
Yes.
And O my friend, I said, surely the gods are just?
Granted that they are.
But if so, the unjust will be the enemy of the gods, and the just will be their friend?
Feast away in triumph, and take your fill of the argument; I will not oppose you, lest I should displease the company.
Recapitulation.
Well then, proceed with your answers, and let me have the remainder of my repast. For we have already shown that the just are clearly wiser and better and abler than the unjust, and that the unjust are incapable of common action; nay more, that to speak as we did of men who are evil acting at any time vigorously together, is not strictly true, for if they had been perfectly evil, they would have laid hands upon one another; but it is evident that there must have been some remnant of justice in them, which enabled them to combine; if there had not been they would have injured one another as well as their victims; they were but half-villains in their enterprises; for had they been whole villains, and utterly unjust, they would have been utterly incapable of action. That, as I believe, is the truth of the matter, and not what you said at first. But whether the just have a better and happier life than the unjust is a further question which we also proposed to consider. I think that they have, and for the reasons which I have given; but still I should like to examine further, for no light matter is at stake, nothing less than the rule of human life.
Proceed.
Illustrations of ends and excellences preparatory to the enquiry into the end and excellence of the soul.
I will proceed by asking a question: Would you not say that a horse has some end?
I should.
And the end or use of a horse or of anything would be that which could not be accomplished, or not so well accomplished, by any other thing?
I do not understand, he said.
Let me explain: Can you see, except with the eye?
Certainly not.
Or hear, except with the ear?
No.
These then may be truly said to be the ends of these organs?
They may.
Jowett1892: 353But you can cut off a vine-branch with a dagger or with a chisel, and in many other ways?
Of course.
And yet not so well as with a pruning-hook made for the purpose?
True.
May we not say that this is the end of a pruning-hook?
We may.
Then now I think you will have no difficulty in understanding my meaning when I asked the question whether the end of anything would be that which could not be accomplished, or not so well accomplished, by any other thing?
I understand your meaning, he said, and assent.
All things which have ends have also virtues and excellences by which they fulfil those ends.
And that to which an end is appointed has also an excellence? Need I ask again whether the eye has an end?
It has.
And has not the eye an excellence?
Yes.
And the ear has an end and an excellence also?
True.
And the same is true of all other things; they have each of them an end and a special excellence?
That is so.
Well, and can the eyes fulfil their end if they are wanting in their own proper excellence and have a defect instead?
How can they, he said, if they are blind and cannot see?
You mean to say, if they have lost their proper excellence, which is sight; but I have not arrived at that point yet. I would rather ask the question more generally, and only enquire whether the things which fulfil their ends fulfil them by their own proper excellence, and fail of fulfilling them by their own defect?
Certainly, he replied.
I might say the same of the ears; when deprived of their own proper excellence they cannot fulfil their end?
True.
And the same observation will apply to all other things?
I agree.
And the soul has a virtue and an end — the virtue justice, the end happiness.
Well; and has not the soul an end which nothing else can fulfil? for example, to superintend and command and deliberate and the like. Are not these functions proper to the soul, and can they rightly be assigned to any other?
To no other.
And is not life to be reckoned among the ends of the soul?
Assuredly, he said.
And has not the soul an excellence also?
Yes.
And can she or can she not fulfil her own ends when deprived of that excellence?
She cannot.
Then an evil soul must necessarily be an evil ruler and superintendent, and the good soul a good ruler?
Yes, necessarily.
Hence justice and happiness are necessarily connected.
And we have admitted that justice is the excellence of the soul, and injustice the defect of the soul?
That has been admitted.
Then the just soul and the just man will live well, and the unjust man will live ill?
That is what your argument proves.
Jowett1892: 354And he who lives well is blessed and happy, and he who lives ill the reverse of happy?
Certainly.
Then the just is happy, and the unjust miserable?
So be it.
But happiness and not misery is profitable.
Of course.
Then, my blessed Thrasymachus, injustice can never be more profitable than justice.
Let this, Socrates, he said, be your entertainment at the Bendidea.
Socrates is displeased with himself and with the argument.
For which I am indebted to you, I said, now that you have grown gentle towards me and have left off scolding. Nevertheless, I have not been well entertained; but that was my own fault and not yours. As an epicure snatches a taste of every dish which is successively brought to table, he not having allowed himself time to enjoy the one before, so have I gone from one subject to another without having discovered what I sought at first, the nature of justice. I left that enquiry and turned away to consider whether justice is virtue and wisdom or evil and folly; and when there arose a further question about the comparative advantages of justice and injustice, I could not refrain from passing on to that. And the result of the whole discussion has been that I know nothing at all. For I know not what justice is, and therefore I am not likely to know whether it is or is not a virtue, nor can I say whether the just man is happy or unhappy.
Thomas Taylor
Thrasymachus now confessed all these things [350d] not easily, as I now narrate them, but dragged and with difficulty and prodigious sweat, it being now the summer season. And I then saw, but never before, Thrasymachus blush. After we had acknowledged that justice was virtue and wisdom, and injustice was vice and ignorance, “well,” said I, “let this remain so. But we said likewise that injustice was powerful. Do not you remember, Thrasymachus?” “I remember,” said he. “But what you now say does not please me; and I have somewhat to say concerning it [350e] which I well know you would call declaiming if I should advance it; either, then, suffer me to say what I incline, or if you incline to ask, do it; and I shall answer you “be it so,” as to old women telling stories; and small ascent and dissent.” “By no means,” said I, “contrary to your own opinion.” “Just to please you,” said he; “since you will not allow me to speak. But do you want anything further?” “Nothing, truly,” said I: “but if you are to do thus, do; I shall ask.” “Ask then.” “This, then, I ask, which I did just now; (that we may in an orderly way see through our discourse,) [351a] of what kind is justice, compared with injustice; for it was surely said that injustice was more powerful and stronger than justice.” “It was so said just now,” replied he. “But, if justice be both virtue and wisdom, it will easily, I imagine, appear to be likewise more powerful than injustice; since injustice is ignorance; of this now none can be ignorant. But I am willing, for my own part, Thrasymachus, to consider it not simply in this manner, but some how thus. Might you not say that a state was unjust, and [351b] attempted to enslave other states unjustly, and did enslave them; and had many states in slavery under itself?” “Why not,” said he: “and the best state will chiefly do this, and such as is most completely unjust.” “I understand,” said I, “that this was your speech; but I consider this in it; Whether this state, which becomes more powerful than the other state, shall hold this power without justice, or must it of necessity be with justice?” [351c] “With justice,” said he, “if indeed, as you now said, justice be wisdom; but, if as I said, with injustice.” “I am much delighted,” said I, “Thrasymachus, that you do not merely assent and dissent, but that you answer so handsomely.” “I do,” it said he, “to gratify you.”
“That is obliging in you. But gratify me in this likewise, and tell me; do you imagine that a city, or camp, or robbers, or thieves, or any other community, such as jointly undertakes to do any thing unjustly, is able to effectuate any thing if they injure one another?” [351d] “No indeed,” said he. “But what, if they do not injure one another; will they not do better?” “Certainly.” “For injustice, some how, Thrasymachus, brings seditions, and hatreds, and fightings among them; but justice affords harmony and friendship. Does it not?” “Be it so,” said he, “that I may not differ from you.” “You are very obliging, most excellent Thrasymachus! But tell me this. If this be the work of injustice, wherever it is, to create hatred, will it not then, when happening among free men and slaves, make them hate one another, and grow seditious, and become impotent [351e] to do any thing together in company?” “Certainly.” “But what, in the case of injustice between any two men, will they not differ, and hate, and become enemies to one another, and to just men?” “They will become so,” said he. “If now, wonderful Thrasymachus, injustice be in one, whether does it lose its power, or will it no less retain it?” “Let it,” said he, “no less retain it.” “Does it not then appear to have such a power as this—That wherever it is, whether in a city, or tribe, or camp, or wherever else, [352a] in the first place, it renders it unable for action in itself, through seditions and differences; and, besides, makes it an enemy to itself, and to every opponent, and to the just? Is it not thus?” “Certainly.” “And, when injustice is in one man, it will have, I imagine, all these effects, which it is natural for it to produce. In the first place, it will render him unable for action whilst he is in sedition and disagreement with himself; and next as he is an enemy both to himself, and to the just. Is it not so?” “Yes.” “But [352b] the Gods, friend, are likewise just.” “Let them be so,” said he. “The unjust man then, Thrasymachus, shall be an enemy also to the Gods; and the just man, a friend.” “Feast yourself,” said he, “with the reasoning boldly; for I will not oppose you, that I may not render myself odious to these Gods.” “Come then,” said I, “and complete to me this feast; answering as you were doing just now: for the just already appear to be wiser, and better, and more powerful to all; but the unjust are not able to act any thing with one another: [352c] and what we said with reference to those who are unjust,—that they are ever at any time able strenuously to act jointly together; this we spoke not altogether true, for they would not spare one another; being thoroughly unjust; but it is plain that there was in them justice, which made them refrain from injuring one another, and those of their party; and by this justice they performed what they did. And they rushed on unjust actions, through injustice; being half wicked; since those who are completely wicked, and perfectly unjust, [352d] are likewise perfectly unable to act. This then I understand is the case with reference to these matters, and not as you were establishing at first. But whether the just live better than the unjust, and are more happy (which we proposed to consider afterwards), is now to be considered; and they appear to do so even at present, as I imagine, at least, from what has been said. Let us, however, consider it further. For the discourse is not about an accidental thing, but about this, in what manner we ought to live.”
“Consider then,” said he. “I am considering,” said I, “and tell me; [352e] does there any thing seem to you to be the work of a horse?” “Yes.” “Would you not call that the work of a horse, or of any one else, which one does with him only, or in the best manner?” “I do not understand,” said he. “Thus then: Do you see with any thing else but the eyes?” “No indeed.” “What now, could you hear with any thing but the ears?” “By no means.” “Do we not justly then call these things the works of these?” “Certainly.” “But what, [353a] could not you with a sword, a knife, and many other things, cut off a branch of a vine?” “Why not?” “But with nothing, at least I imagine, so handsomely, as with a pruning hook, which is made for that purpose: shall we not then settle this to be its work?” “We shall then settle it.” “I imagine, then, you may now understand better what I was asking when I inquired whether the work of each thing were not that which it alone performs, or performs in the best manner.” “I understand you,” said he; and this does seem [353b] to me to be the work of each thing.” “Be it so,” said I. “And is there not likewise a virtue belonging to every thing to which there is a certain work assigned? But let us go over again the same things: We say there is a work belonging to the eyes?” “There is.” “And is there not a virtue also belonging to the eyes?” “A virtue also.” “Well then, was there any work of the ears?” “Yes.” “Is there not then a virtue also?” “A virtue also.” “And what as to all other things? Is it not thus?” “It is.” “But come, could the eyes ever handsomely perform their work, [353c] not having their own proper virtue; but, instead of virtue, having vice?” “How could they,” said he, “for you probably mean their having blindness instead of sight.” “Whatever,” said I, “be their virtue, for I do not ask this; but, whether it be with their own proper virtue that they handsomely perform their own proper work, whatever things are performed, and by their vice, unhandsomely?” “In this at least,” said he, “you say true.” “And will not the ears likewise, when deprived of their virtue, perform their work ill?” “Certainly.” “And do we settle [353d] all other things according to the same reasoning?” “So I imagine.” “Come, then, after these things, consider this. Is there belonging to the soul a certain work, which, with no one other being whatever, you can perform; such as this, to care for, to govern, to consult, and all such things; is there any other than the soul, to whom we may justly ascribe them, and say they properly belong to it?” “No other.” “But what of this? To live; shall we say it is the work of the soul?” “Most especially,” said he. “Do not we say, then, that there is some virtue of the soul, likewise?” [353e] “We say so.” “And shall, then, the soul, ever at all, Thrasymachus, perform her works handsomely, whilst deprived of her proper virtue? or, is this impossible?” “It is impossible.” “Of necessity, then, a depraved soul must in a bad manner govern, and take care of things; and a good soul perform all these things well.” “Of necessity.” “But did not we agree that justice was the virtue of the soul; and injustice its vice?” “We did agree.” “Why, then, the just soul, and the just man, shall live well; and the unjust, ill.” “It appears so,” said he, “according to your reasoning.” [354a] “But, surely, he who lives well is both blessed and happy, and he who does not is the opposite.” “Why not?” “The just, then, is happy; and the unjust, miserable.” “Let them be so,” said he. “But it is not advantageous to be miserable, but to be happy.” “Certainly.” “At no time, then, blessed Thrasymachus, is injustice more advantageous than justice.” “Thus, now, Socrates,” said he, “have you been feasted in Diana’s festival.” “By you, truly, I have, Thrasymachus,” said I; “since you are grown meek; and have ceased to be troublesome: I have not feasted handsomely, [354b] owing to myself, and not to you: But as voracious guests, snatching still what is bringing before them, taste of it before they have sufficiently enjoyed what went before; so I, as I imagine, before I have found what we first inquired into,—what justice is,—have left this, hurrying to inquire concerning it, whether it be vice and ignorance, or wisdom and virtue. And, a discourse afterwards falling in, that injustice was more profitable than justice, I could not refrain from coming to this from the other: So that, [354c] from the dialogue, I have now come to know nothing; for whilst I do not know what justice is, I shall hardly know whether it be some virtue or not, and whether he who possesses it be unhappy or happy.”