The Republic of Plato

Plato

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About the electronic version
The Republic of Plato
Plato
creation of machine-readable version: Prepared by dell@wiretap.spies.com
Conversion to TEI-conformant markup: University of Virginia Library Electronic Text Center :
1994
Note: This was scanned from the 1901 edition and mechanically checked against a commercial copy of the Republic from CDROM. Differences were corrected against the paper edition. The text itself is thus a highly accurate rendition. This text is in the PUBLIC DOMAIN, released August 1993.


About the print version
The Republic of Plato
Plato
edited and translated by: Benjamin Jowett : New York, P. F. Collier & Son (Copyright 1901 The Colonial Press) New York 1901
Note: Unclear whether this is the revised edition or not

   Spell-check and verification made against printed text: University of Virginia library copy, JC 71.P35 1901 copy 2


Revisions to the electronic version
May 1994 Kelly Tetterton
added header; added major divisions and paragraphs:

etext@virginia.edu. Commercial use prohibited; all usage governed by our Conditions of Use: http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/conditions.html

CONTENTS

    I Of Wealth, Justice, Moderation, and their Opposites
II The Individual, the State, and Education
III The Arts in Education
IV Wealth, Poverty, and Virtue
V On Matrimony and Philosophy
VI The Philosophy of Government
VII On Shadows and Realities in Education
VIII Four Forms of Government
IX On Wrong or Right Government, and the Pleasures of Each
X The Recompense of Life


Book 1

OF WEALTH, JUSTICE, MODERATION, AND THEIR OPPOSITES


Page 1

Persons of the Dialogue

    The scene is laid in the house of Cephalus at the Piraeus; and the whole dialogue is narrated by Socrates the day after it actually took place to Timaeus Hermocrates, Critias, and a nameless person, who are introduced in the Timaeus.

   I WENT down yesterday to the Piraeus with Glaucon, the son of Ariston, that I might offer up my prayers to the goddess; and also because I wanted to see in what manner they would celebrate the festival, which was a new thing. I was delighted with the procession of the inhabitants; but that of the Thracians was equally, if not more, beautiful. When we had finished our prayers and viewed the spectacle, we turned in the direction of the city; and at that instant Polemarchus, the son of Cephalus, chanced to catch sight of us from a distance as we were starting on our way home, and told his servant to run and bid us wait for him. The servant took hold of me by the cloak behind, and said, Polemarchus desires you to wait.


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   I turned round, and asked him where his master was.

   There he is, said the youth, coming after you, if you will only wait.

   Certainly we will, said Glaucon; and in a few minutes Polemarchus appeared, and with him Adeimantus, Glaucon's brother, Niceratus, the son of Nicias, and several others who had been at the procession.

   Polemarchus said to me, I perceive, Socrates, that you and your companion are already on your way to the city.

   You are not far wrong, I said.

   But do you see, he rejoined, how many we are?

   Of course.

   And are you stronger than all these? for if not, you will have to remain where you are.

   May there not be the alternative, I said, that we may persuade you to let us go?

   But can you persuade us, if we refuse to listen to you? he said.

   Certainly not, replied Glaucon.

   Then we are not going to listen; of that you may be assured.

   Adeimantus added: Has no one told you of the torch-race on horseback in honor of the goddess which will take place in the evening?

   With horses! I replied. That is a novelty. Will horsemen carry torches and pass them one to another during the race?

   Yes, said Polemarchus; and not only so, but a festival will be celebrated at night, which you certainly ought to see. Let us rise soon after supper and see this festival; there will be a gathering of young men, and we will have a good talk. Stay then, and do not be perverse.

   Glaucon said, I suppose, since you insist, that we must.

   Very good, I replied.

   Accordingly we went with Polemarchus to his house; and there we found his brothers Lysias and Euthydemus, and with them Thrasymachus the Chalcedonian, Charmantides the Paeanian, and Cleitophon, the son of Aristonymus. There too was Cephalus, the father of Polemarchus, whom I had not seen for a long time, and I thought him very much aged. He was seated on a cushioned chair, and had a garland on his head, for he had been sacrificing in the court; and there were some other chairs in the room arranged in a semicircle, upon which we sat down by him. He saluted me eagerly, and then he said:

   You don't come to see me, Socrates, as often as you ought:


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If I were still able to go and see you I would not ask you to come to me. But at my age I can hardly get to the city, and therefore you should come oftener to the Piraeus. For, let me tell you that the more the pleasures of the body fade away, the greater to me are the pleasure and charm of conversation. Do not, then, deny my request, but make our house your resort and keep company with these young men; we are old friends, and you will be quite at home with us.

   I replied: There is nothing which for my part I like better, Cephalus, than conversing with aged men; for I regard them as travellers who have gone a journey which I too may have to go, and of whom I ought to inquire whether the way is smooth and easy or rugged and difficult. And this is a question which I should like to ask of you, who have arrived at that time which the poets call the "threshold of old age": Is life harder toward the end, or what report do you give of it?

   I will tell you, Socrates, he said, what my own feeling is. Men of my age flock together; we are birds of a feather, as the old proverb says; and at our meetings the tale of my acquaintance commonly is: I cannot eat, I cannot drink; the pleasures of youth and love are fled away; there was a good time once, but now that is gone, and life is no longer life. Some complain of the slights which are put upon them by relations, and they will tell you sadly of how many evils their old age is the cause. But to me, Socrates, these complainers seem to blame that which is not really in fault. For if old age were the cause, I too, being old, and every other old man would have felt as they do. But this is not my own experience, nor that of others whom I have known. How well I remember the aged poet Sophocles, when in answer to the question, How does love suit with age, Sophocles -- are you still the man you were? Peace, he replied; most gladly have I escaped the thing of which you speak; I feel as if I had escaped from a mad and furious master. His words have often occurred to my mind since, and they seem as good to me now as at the time when he uttered them. For certainly old age has a great sense of calm and freedom; when the passions relax their hold, then, as Sophocles says, we are freed from the grasp not of one mad master only, but of many. The truth is, Socrates, that these regrets, and also the com-


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plaints about relations, are to be attributed to the same cause, which is not old age, but men's characters and tempers; for he who is of a calm and happy nature will hardly feel the pressure of age, but to him who is of an opposite disposition youth and age are equally a burden.

   I listened in admiration, and wanting to draw him out, that he might go on -- Yes, Cephalus, I said; but I rather suspect that people in general are not convinced by you when you speak thus; they think that old age sits lightly upon you, not because of your happy disposition, but because you are rich, and wealth is well known to be a great comforter.

   You are right, he replied; they are not convinced: and there is something in what they say; not, however, so much as they imagine. I might answer them as Themistocles answered the Seriphian who was abusing him and saying that he was famous, not for his own merits but because he was an Athenian: "If you had been a native of my country or I of yours, neither of us would have been famous." And to those who are not rich and are impatient of old age, the same reply may be made; for to the good poor man old age cannot be a light burden, nor can a bad rich man ever have peace with himself.

   May I ask, Cephalus, whether your fortune was for the most part inherited or acquired by you?

   Acquired! Socrates; do you want to know how much I acquired? In the art of making money I have been midway between my father and grandfather: for my grandfather, whose name I bear, doubled and trebled the value of his patrimony, that which he inherited being much what I possess now; but my father, Lysanias, reduced the property below what it is at present; and I shall be satisfied if I leave to these my sons not less, but a little more, than I received.

   That was why I asked you the question, I replied, because I see that you are indifferent about money, which is a characteristic rather of those who have inherited their fortunes than of those who have acquired them; the makers of fortunes have a second love of money as a creation of their own, resembling the affection of authors for their own poems, or of parents for their children, besides that natural love of it for the sake of use and profit which is common to them and all men. And hence


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they are very bad company, for they can talk about nothing but the praises of wealth. That is true, he said.

   Yes, that is very true, but may I ask another question? -- What do you consider to be the greatest blessing which you have reaped from your wealth?

   One, he said, of which I could not expect easily to convince others. For let me tell you, Socrates, that when a man thinks himself to be near death, fears and cares enter into his mind which he never had before; the tales of a world below and the punishment which is exacted there of deeds done here were once a laughing matter to him, but now he is tormented with the thought that they may be true: either from the weakness of age, or because he is now drawing nearer to that other place, he has a clearer view of these things; suspicions and alarms crowd thickly upon him, and he begins to reflect and consider what wrongs he has done to others. And when he finds that the sum of his transgressions is great he will many a time like a child start up in his sleep for fear, and he is filled with dark forebodings. But to him who is conscious of no sin, sweet hope, as Pindar charmingly says, is the kind nurse of his age:

   "Hope," he says, "cherishes the soul of him who lives in justice and holiness, and is the nurse of his age and the companion of his journey -- hope which is mightiest to sway the restless soul of man."

   How admirable are his words! And the great blessing of riches, I do not say to every man, but to a good man, is, that he has had no occasion to deceive or to defraud others, either intentionally or unintentionally; and when he departs to the world below he is not in any apprehension about offerings due to the gods or debts which he owes to men. Now to this peace of mind the possession of wealth greatly contributes; and therefore I say, that, setting one thing against another, of the many advantages which wealth has to give, to a man of sense this is in my opinion the greatest.

   Well said, Cephalus, I replied; but as concerning justice, what is it? -- to speak the truth and to pay your debts -- no more than this? And even to this are there not exceptions? Suppose that a friend when in his right mind has deposited arms with me and he asks for them when he is not in his right mind,


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ought I to give them back to him? No one would say that I ought or that I should be right in doing so, any more than they would say that I ought always to speak the truth to one who is in his condition.

   You are quite right, he replied.

   But then, I said, speaking the truth and paying your debts is not a correct definition of justice.

   Quite correct, Socrates, if Simonides is to be believed, said Polemarchus, interposing.

   I fear, said Cephalus, that I must go now, for I have to look after the sacrifices, and I hand over the argument to Polemarchus and the company.

   Is not Polemarchus your heir? I said.

   To be sure, he answered, and went away laughing to the sacrifices.

   Tell me then, O thou heir of the argument, what did Simonides say, and according to you, truly say, about justice?

   He said that the repayment of a debt is just, and in saying so he appears to me to be right.

   I shall be sorry to doubt the word of such a wise and inspired man, but his meaning, though probably clear to you, is the reverse of clear to me. For he certainly does not mean, as we were just now saying, that I ought to return a deposit of arms or of anything else to one who asks for it when he is not in his right senses; and yet a deposit cannot be denied to be a debt.

   True.

   Then when the person who asks me is not in his right mind I am by no means to make the return?

   Certainly not.

   When Simonides said that the repayment of a debt was justice, he did not mean to include that case?

   Certainly not; for he thinks that a friend ought always to do good to a friend, and never evil.

   You mean that the return of a deposit of gold which is to the injury of the receiver, if the two parties are friends, is not the repayment of a debt -- that is what you would imagine him to say?

   Yes.

   And are enemies also to receive what we owe to them?

   To be sure, he said, they are to receive what we owe them;


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and an enemy, as I take it, owes to an enemy that which is due or proper to him -- that is to say, evil.

   Simonides, then, after the manner of poets, would seem to have spoken darkly of the nature of justice; for he really meant to say that justice is the giving to each man what is proper to him, and this he termed a debt.

   That must have been his meaning, he said.

   By heaven! I replied; and if we asked him what due or proper thing is given by medicine, and to whom, what answer do you think that he would make to us?

   He would surely reply that medicine gives drugs and meat and drink to human bodies.

   And what due or proper thing is given by cookery, and to what?

   Seasoning to food.

   And what is that which justice gives, and to whom?

   If, Socrates, we are to be guided at all by the analogy of the preceding instances, then justice is the art which gives good to friends and evil to enemies.

   That is his meaning, then?

   I think so.

   And who is best able to do good to his friends and evil to his enemies in time of sickness?

   The physician.

   Or when they are on a voyage, amid the perils of the sea?

   The pilot.

   And in what sort of actions or with a view to what result is the just man most able to do harm to his enemy and good to his friend?

   In going to war against the one and in making alliances with the other.

   But when a man is well, my dear Polemarchus, there is no need of a physician?

   No.

   And he who is not on a voyage has no need of a pilot?

   No.

   Then in time of peace justice will be of no use?

   I am very far from thinking so.

   You think that justice may be of use in peace as well as in war?


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   Yes.

   Like husbandry for the acquisition of corn?

   Yes.

   Or like shoemaking for the acquisition of shoes -- that is what you mean?

   Yes.

   And what similar use or power of acquisition has justice in time of peace?

   In contracts, Socrates, justice is of use.

   And by contracts you mean partnerships?

   Exactly.

   But is the just man or the skilful player a more useful and better partner at a game of draughts?

   The skilful player.

   And in the laying of bricks and stones is the just man a more useful or better partner than the builder?

   Quite the reverse.

   Then in what sort of partnership is the just man a better partner than the harp-player, as in playing the harp the harp-player is certainly a better partner than the just man?

   In a money partnership.

   Yes, Polemarchus, but surely not in the use of money; for you do not want a just man to be your counsellor in the purchase or sale of a horse; a man who is knowing about horses would be better for that, would he not?

   Certainly.

   And when you want to buy a ship, the shipwright or the pilot would be better?

   True.

   Then what is that joint use of silver or gold in which the just man is to be preferred?

   When you want a deposit to be kept safely.

   You mean when money is not wanted, but allowed to lie?

   Precisely.

   That is to say, justice is useful when money is useless?

   That is the inference.

   And when you want to keep a pruning-hook safe, then justice is useful to the individual and to the State; but when you want to use it, then the art of the vine-dresser?

   Clearly.


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   And when you want to keep a shield or a lyre, and not to use them, you would say that justice is useful; but when you want to use them, then the art of the soldier or of the musician?

   Certainly.

   And so of all other things -- justice is useful when they are useless, and useless when they are useful?

   That is the inference.

   Then justice is not good for much. But let us consider this further point: Is not he who can best strike a blow in a boxing match or in any kind of fighting best able to ward off a blow?

   Certainly.

   And he who is most skilful in preventing or escaping from a disease is best able to create one?

   True.

   And he is the best guard of a camp who is best able to steal a march upon the enemy?

   Certainly.

   Then he who is a good keeper of anything is also a good thief?

   That, I suppose, is to be inferred.

   Then if the just man is good at keeping money, he is good at stealing it.

   That is implied in the argument.

   Then after all, the just man has turned out to be a thief. And this is a lesson which I suspect you must have learnt out of Homer; for he, speaking of Autolycus, the maternal grand-father of Odysseus, who is a favorite of his, affirms that

   "He was excellent above all men in theft and perjury." And so, you and Homer and Simonides are agreed that justice is an art of theft; to be practised, however, "for the good of friends and for the harm of enemies" -- that was what you were saying?

   No, certainly not that, though I do not now know what I did say; but I still stand by the latter words.

   Well, there is another question: By friends and enemies do we mean those who are so really, or only in seeming?

   Surely, he said, a man may be expected to love those whom he thinks good, and to hate those whom he thinks evil.


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   Yes, but do not persons often err about good and evil: many who are not good seem to be so, and conversely?

   That is true.

   Then to them the good will be enemies and the evil will be their friends? True.

   And in that case they will be right in doing good to the evil and evil to the good?

   Clearly.

   But the good are just and would not do an injustice?

   True.

   Then according to your argument it is just to injure those who do no wrong?

   Nay, Socrates; the doctrine is immoral.

   Then I suppose that we ought to do good to the just and harm to the unjust?

   I like that better.

   But see the consequence: Many a man who is ignorant of human nature has friends who are bad friends, and in that case he ought to do harm to them; and he has good enemies whom he ought to benefit; but, if so, we shall be saying the very opposite of that which we affirmed to be the meaning of Simonides.

   Very true, he said; and I think that we had better correct an error into which we seem to have fallen in the use of the words "friend" and "enemy."

   What was the error, Polemarchus? I asked.

   We assumed that he is a friend who seems to be or who is thought good.

   And how is the error to be corrected?

   We should rather say that he is a friend who is, as well as seems, good; and that he who seems only and is not good, only seems to be and is not a friend; and of an enemy the same may be said.

   You would argue that the good are our friends and the bad our enemies?

   Yes.

   And instead of saying simply as we did at first, that it is just to do good to our friends and harm to our enemies, we should further say: It is just to do good to our friends when they are good, and harm to our enemies when they are evil?


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   Yes, that appears to me to be the truth.

   But ought the just to injure anyone at all?

   Undoubtedly he ought to injure those who are both wicked and his enemies.

   When horses are injured, are they improved or deteriorated?

   The latter.

   Deteriorated, that is to say, in the good qualities of horses, not of dogs?

   Yes, of horses.

   And dogs are deteriorated in the good qualities of dogs, and not of horses?

   Of course.

   And will not men who are injured be deteriorated in that which is the proper virtue of man?

   Certainly.

   And that human virtue is justice?

   To be sure.

   Then men who are injured are of necessity made unjust?

   That is the result.

   But can the musician by his art make men unmusical?

   Certainly not.

   Or the horseman by his art make them bad horsemen?

   Impossible.

   And can the just by justice make men unjust, or speaking generally, can the good by virtue make them bad?

   Assuredly not.

   Any more than heat can produce cold?

   It cannot.

   Or drought moisture?

   Clearly not.

   Nor can the good harm anyone?

   Impossible.

   And the just is the good?

   Certainly.

   Then to injure a friend or anyone else is not the act of a just man, but of the opposite, who is the unjust?

   I think that what you say is quite true, Socrates.

   Then if a man says that justice consists in the repayment of debts, and that good is the debt which a just man owes to his friends, and evil the debt which he owes to his enemies -- to say


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this is not wise; for it is not true, if, as has been clearly shown, the injuring of another can be in no case just.

   I agree with you, said Polemarchus.

   Then you and I are prepared to take up arms against anyone who attributes such a saying to Simonides or Bias or Pittacus, or any other wise man or seer?

   I am quite ready to do battle at your side, he said.

   Shall I tell you whose I believe the saying to be?

   Whose?

   I believe that Periander or Perdiccas or Xerxes or Ismenias the Theban, or some other rich and mighty man, who had a great opinion of his own power, was the first to say that justice is "doing good to your friends and harm to your enemies."

   Most true, he said.

   Yes, I said; but if this definition of justice also breaks down, what other can be offered?

   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.


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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.


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   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.


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   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 principle 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.


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   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.


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   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,


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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


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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.


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   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


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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?


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   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.


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   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


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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


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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.


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   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 cut-purses.

   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


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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.


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   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?


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   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 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.


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   Then I will repeat the question which I asked before, in order 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 anyone. 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.

   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?

   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?


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   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 is, 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 friends?

   Feast away in triumph, and take your fill of the argument; I will not oppose you, lest I should displease the company. Well, then, proceed with your answers, and let me have the remainder of my repast. For we have already shown that the just are clearly wiser and better and abler than the unjust, and that the unjust are incapable of common action; nay, more, that to speak as we did of men who are evil acting at any time vigorously together, is not strictly true, for, if they had been perfectly evil, they would have laid hands upon one another; but it is evident that there must have been some remnant of justice in them, which enabled them to combine; if there had not been they would have injured one another as well as their victims; they were but half-villains in their enterprises; for had they


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been whole villains, and utterly unjust, they would have been utterly incapable of action. That, as I believe, is the truth of the matter, and not what you said at first. But whether the just have a better and happier life than the unjust is a further question which we also proposed to consider. I think that they have, and for the reasons which I have given; but still I should like to examine further, for no light matter is at stake, nothing less than the rule of human life.

   Proceed.

   I will proceed by asking a question: Would you not say that a horse has some end?

   I should.

   And the end or use of a horse or of anything would be that which could not be accomplished, or not so well accomplished, by any other thing?

   I do not understand, he said.

   Let me explain: Can you see, except with the eye?

   Certainly not.

   Or hear, except with the ear?

   No. These, then, may be truly said to be the ends of these organs?

   They may.

   But you can cut off a vine-branch with a dagger or with a chisel, and in many other ways?

   Of course.

   And yet not so well as with a pruning-hook made for the purpose?

   True.

   May we not say that this is the end of a pruning-hook?

   We may.

   Then now I think you will have no difficulty in understanding my meaning when I asked the question whether the end of anything would be that which could not be accomplished, or not so well accomplished, by any other thing?

   I understand your meaning, he said, and assent.

   And that to which an end is appointed has also an excellence? Need I ask again whether the eye has an end?

   It has.

   And has not the eye an excellence?

   Yes.


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   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 inquire whether the things which fulfil their ends fulfil them by their own proper excellence, and fail of fulfilling them by their own defect?

   Certainly, he replied.

   I might say the same of the ears; when deprived of their own proper excellence they cannot fulfil their end?

   True.

   And the same observation will apply to all other things?

   I agree.

   Well; and has not the soul an end which nothing else can fulfil? for example, to superintend and command and deliberate and the like. Are not these functions proper to the soul, and can they rightly be assigned to any other?

   To no other.

   And is not life to be reckoned among the ends of the soul?

   Assuredly, he said.

   And has not the soul an excellence also?

   Yes.

   And can she or can she not fulfil her own ends when deprived of that excellence?

   She cannot.

   Then an evil soul must necessarily be an evil ruler and super-intendent, and the good soul a good ruler?

   Yes, necessarily.

   And we have admitted that justice is the excellence of the soul, and injustice the defect of the soul?

   That has been admitted.

   Then the just soul and the just man will live well, and the unjust man will live ill?


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   That is what your argument proves.

   And he who lives well is blessed and happy, and he who lives ill the reverse of happy?

   Certainly.

   Then the just is happy, and the unjust miserable?

   So be it.

   But happiness, and not misery, is profitable?

   Of course.

   Then, my blessed Thrasymachus, injustice can never be more profitable than justice.

   Let this, Socrates, he said, be your entertainment at the Bendidea.

   For which I am indebted to you, I said, now that you have grown gentle toward 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 inquiry 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.


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Book 2

THE INDIVIDUAL, THE STATE, AND EDUCATION (SOCRATES, GLAUCON.)

   WITH these words I was thinking that I had made an end of the discussion; but the end, in truth, proved to be only a beginning. For Glaucon, who is always the most pugnacious of men, was dissatisfied at Thrasymachus's retirement; he wanted to have the battle out. So he said to me: Socrates, do you wish really to persuade us, or only to seem to have persuaded us, that to be just is always better than to be unjust?

   I should wish really to persuade you, I replied, if I could.

   Then you certainly have not succeeded. Let me ask you now: How would you arrange goods -- are there not some which we welcome for their own sakes, and independently of their consequences, as, for example, harmless pleasures and enjoyments, which delight us at the time, although nothing follows from them?

   I agree in thinking that there is such a class, I replied.

   Is there not also a second class of goods, such as knowledge, sight, health, which are desirable not only in themselves, but also for their results?

   Certainly, I said.

   And would you not recognize a third class, such as gymnastic, and the care of the sick, and the physician's art; also the various ways of money-making -- these do us good but we regard them as disagreeable; and no one would choose them for their own sakes, but only for the sake of some reward or result which flows from them?

   There is, I said, this third class also. But why do you ask?

   Because I want to know in which of the three classes you would place justice?


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   In the highest class, I replied -- among those goods which he who would be happy desires both for their own sake and for the sake of their results.

   Then the many are of another mind; they think that justice is to be reckoned in the troublesome class, among goods which are to be pursued for the sake of rewards and of reputation, but in themselves are disagreeable and rather to be avoided.

   I know, I said, that this is their manner of thinking, and that this was the thesis which Thrasymachus was maintaining just now, when he censured justice and praised injustice. But I am too stupid to be convinced by him.

   I wish, he said, that you would hear me as well as him, and then I shall see whether you and I agree. For Thrasymachus seems to me, like a snake, to have been charmed by your voice sooner than he ought to have been; but to my mind the nature of justice and injustice has not yet been made clear. Setting aside their rewards and results, I want to know what they are in themselves, and how they inwardly work in the soul. If you please, then, I will revive the argument of Thrasymachus. And first I will speak of the nature and origin of justice according to the common view of them. Secondly, I will show that all men who practise justice do so against their will, of necessity, but not as a good. And thirdly, I will argue that there is reason in this view, for the life of the unjust is after all better far than the life of the just -- if what they say is true, Socrates, since I myself am not of their opinion. But still I acknowledge that I am perplexed when I hear the voices of Thrasymachus and myriads of others dinning in my ears; and, on the other hand, I have never yet heard the superiority of justice to injustice maintained by anyone in a satisfactory way. I want to hear justice praised in respect of itself; then I shall be satisfied, and you are the person from whom I think that I am most likely to hear this; and therefore I will praise the unjust life to the utmost of my power, and my manner of speaking will indicate the manner in which I desire to hear you too praising justice and censuring injustice. Will you say whether you approve of my proposal?

   Indeed I do; nor can I imagine any theme about which a man of sense would oftener wish to converse.

   I am delighted, he replied, to hear you say so, and shall begin by speaking, as I proposed, of the nature and origin of justice.


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   They say that to do injustice is, by nature, good; to suffer injustice, evil; but that the evil is greater than the good. And so when men have both done and suffered injustice and have had experience of both, not being able to avoid the one and obtain the other, they think that they had better agree among themselves to have neither; hence there arise laws and mutual covenants; and that which is ordained by law is termed by them lawful and just. This they affirm to be the origin and nature of justice; it is a mean or compromise, between the best of all, which is to do injustice and not be punished, and the worst of all, which is to suffer injustice without the power of retaliation; and justice, being at a middle point between the two, is tolerated not as a good, but as the lesser evil, and honored by reason of the inability of men to do injustice. For no man who is worthy to be called a man would ever submit to such an agreement if he were able to resist; he would be mad if he did. Such is the received account, Socrates, of the nature and origin of justice.

   Now that those who practise justice do so involuntarily and because they have not the power to be unjust will best appear if we imagine something of this kind: having given both to the just and the unjust power to do what they will, let us watch and see whither desire will lead them; then we shall discover in the very act the just and unjust man to be proceeding along the same road, following their interest, which all natures deem to be their good, and are only diverted into the path of justice by the force of law. The liberty which we are supposing may be most completely given to them in the form of such a power as is said to have been possessed by Gyges, the ancestor of Croesus the Lydian. According to the tradition, Gyges was a shepherd in the service of the King of Lydia; there was a great storm, and an earthquake made an opening in the earth at the place where he was feeding his flock. Amazed at the sight, he descended into the opening, where, among other marvels, he beheld a hollow brazen horse, having doors, at which he, stooping and looking in, saw a dead body of stature, as appeared to him, more than human and having nothing on but a gold ring; this he took from the finger of the dead and reascended. Now the shepherds met together, according to custom, that they


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might send their monthly report about the flocks to the King; into their assembly he came having the ring on his finger, and as he was sitting among them he chanced to turn the collet of the ring inside his hand, when instantly he became invisible to the rest of the company and they began to speak of him as if he were no longer present. He was astonished at this, and again touching the ring he turned the collet outward and reappeared; he made several trials of the ring, and always with the same result -- when he turned the collet inward he became invisible, when outward he reappeared. Whereupon he contrived to be chosen one of the messengers who were sent to the court; where as soon as he arrived he seduced the Queen, and with her help conspired against the King and slew him and took the kingdom. Suppose now that there were two such magic rings, and the just put on one of them and the unjust the other; no man can be imagined to be of such an iron nature that he would stand fast in justice. No man would keep his hands off what was not his own when he could safely take what he liked out of the market, or go into houses and lie with anyone at his pleasure, or kill or release from prison whom he would, and in all respects be like a god among men. Then the actions of the just would be as the actions of the unjust; they would both come at last to the same point. And this we may truly affirm to be a great proof that a man is just, not willingly or because he thinks that justice is any good to him individually, but of necessity, for wherever anyone thinks that he can safely be unjust, there he is unjust. For all men believe in their hearts that injustice is far more profitable to the individual than justice, and he who argues as I have been supposing, will say that they are right. If you could imagine anyone obtaining this power of becoming invisible, and never doing any wrong or touching what was another's, he would be thought by the lookers-on to be a most wretched idiot, although they would praise him to one another's faces, and keep up appearances with one another from a fear that they too might suffer injustice. Enough of this.

   Now, if we are to form a real judgment of the life of the just and unjust, we must isolate them; there is no other way; and how is the isolation to be effected? I answer: Let the unjust man be entirely unjust, and the just man entirely just;


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nothing is to be taken away from either of them, and both are to be perfectly furnished for the work of their respective lives. First, let the unjust be like other distinguished masters of craft; like the skilful pilot or physician, who knows intuitively his own powers and keeps within their limits, and who, if he fails at any point, is able to recover himself. So let the unjust make his unjust attempts in the right way, and lie hidden if he means to be great in his injustice (he who is found out is nobody): for the highest reach of injustice is, to be deemed just when you are not. Therefore I say that in the perfectly unjust man we must assume the most perfect injustice; there is to be no deduction, but we must allow him, while doing the most unjust acts, to have acquired the greatest reputation for justice. If he have taken a false step he must be able to recover himself; he must be one who can speak with effect, if any of his deeds come to light, and who can force his way where force is required by his courage and strength, and command of money and friends. And at his side let us place the just man in his nobleness and simplicity, wishing, as AEschylus says, to be and not to seem good. There must be no seeming, for if he seem to be just he will be honored and rewarded, and then we shall not know whether he is just for the sake of justice or for the sake of honor and rewards; therefore, let him be clothed in justice only, and have no other covering; and he must be imagined in a state of life the opposite of the former. Let him be the best of men, and let him be thought the worst; then he will have been put to the proof; and we shall see whether he will be affected by the fear of infamy and its consequences. And let him continue thus to the hour of death; being just and seeming to be unjust. When both have reached the uttermost extreme, the one of justice and the other of injustice, let judgment be given which of them is the happier of the two.

   Heavens! my dear Glaucon, I said, how energetically you polish them up for the decision, first one and then the other, as if they were two statues.

   I do my best, he said. And now that we know what they are like there is no difficulty in tracing out the sort of life which awaits either of them. This I will proceed to describe; but as you may think the description a little too coarse, I ask you to suppose, Socrates, that the words which follow are not mine.


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Let me put them into the mouths of the eulogists of injustice: They will tell you that the just man who is thought unjust will be scourged, racked, bound -- will have his eyes burnt out; and, at last, after suffering every kind of evil, he will be impaled. Then he will understand that he ought to seem only, and not to be, just; the words of AEschylus may be more truly spoken of the unjust than of the just. For the unjust is pursuing a reality; he does not live with a view to appearances -- he wants to be really unjust and not to seem only --

   "His mind has a soil deep and fertile,

    Out of which spring his prudent counsels." In the first place, he is thought just, and therefore bears rule in the city; he can marry whom he will, and give in marriage to whom he will; also he can trade and deal where he likes, and always to his own advantage, because he has no misgivings about injustice; and at every contest, whether in public or private, he gets the better of his antagonists, and gains at their expense, and is rich, and out of his gains he can benefit his friends, and harm his enemies; moreover, he can offer sacrifices, and dedicate gifts to the gods abundantly and magnificently, and can honor the gods or any man whom he wants to honor in a far better style than the just, and therefore he is likely to be dearer than they are to the gods. And thus, Socrates, gods and men are said to unite in making the life of the unjust better than the life of the just.

   I was going to say something in answer to Glaucon, when Adeimantus, his brother, interposed: Socrates, he said, you do not suppose that there is nothing more to be urged?

   Why, what else is there? I answered.

   The strongest point of all has not been even mentioned, he replied.

   Well, then, according to the proverb, "Let brother help brother" -- if he fails in any part, do you assist him; although I must confess that Glaucon has already said quite enough to lay me in the dust, and take from me the power of helping justice.

   Nonsense, he replied. But let me add something more: There is another side to Glaucon's argument about the praise


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and censure of justice and injustice, which is equally required in order to bring out what I believe to be his meaning. Parents and tutors are always telling their sons and their wards that they are to be just; but why? not for the sake of justice, but for the sake of character and reputation; in the hope of obtaining for him who is reputed just some of those offices, marriages, and the like which Glaucon has enumerated among the advantages accruing to the unjust from the reputation of justice. More, however, is made of appearances by this class of persons than by the others; for they throw in the good opinion of the gods, and will tell you of a shower of benefits which the heavens, as they say, rain upon the pious; and this accords with the testimony of the noble Hesiod and Homer, the first of whom says that the gods make the oaks of the just --

   "To bear acorns at their summit, and bees in the middle;

    And the sheep are bowed down with the weight of their fleeces," and many other blessings of a like kind are provided for them. And Homer has a very similar strain; for he speaks of one whose fame is

   "As the fame of some blameless king who, like a god,

    Maintains justice; to whom the black earth brings forth

    Wheat and barley, whose trees are bowed with fruit,
    And his sheep never fail to bear, and the sea gives him fish."

Still grander are the gifts of heaven which Musaeus and his son vouchsafe to the just; they take them down into the world below, where they have the saints lying on couches at a feast, everlastingly drunk, crowned with garlands; their idea seems to be that an immortality of drunkenness is the highest meed of virtue. Some extend their rewards yet further; the posterity, as they say, of the faithful and just shall survive to the third and fourth generation. This is the style in which they praise justice. But about the wicked there is another strain; they bury them in a slough in Hades, and make them carry water in a sieve; also while they are yet living they bring them to infamy, and inflict upon them the punishments which Glaucon described as the portion of the just who are reputed to be


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unjust; nothing else does their invention supply. Such is their manner of praising the one and censuring the other.

   Once more, Socrates, I will ask you to consider another way of speaking about justice and injustice, which is not confined to the poets, but is found in prose writers. The universal voice of mankind is always declaring that justice and virtue are honorable, but grievous and toilsome; and that the pleasures of vice and injustice are easy of attainment, and are only censured by law and opinion. They say also that honesty is for the most part less profitable than dishonesty; and they are quite ready to call wicked men happy, and to honor them both in public and private when they are rich or in any other way influential, while they despise and overlook those who may be weak and poor, even though acknowledging them to be better than the others. But most extraordinary of all is their mode of speaking about virtue and the gods: they say that the gods apportion calamity and misery to many good men, and good and happiness to the wicked. And mendicant prophets go to rich men's doors and persuade them that they have a power committed to them by the gods of making an atonement for a man's own or his ancestor's sins by sacrifices or charms, with rejoicings and feasts; and they promise to harm an enemy, whether just or unjust, at a small cost; with magic arts and incantations binding heaven, as they say, to execute their will. And the poets are the authorities to whom they appeal, now smoothing the path of vice with the words of Hesiod:

   "Vice may be had in abundance without trouble; the way is smooth

    and her dwelling-place is near. But before virtue the gods have set toil," and a tedious and uphill road: then citing Homer as a witness that the gods may be influenced by men; for he also says:

   "The gods, too, may be turned from their purpose; and men pray to
      them and avert their wrath by sacrifices and soothing entreaties, and by
      libations and the odor of fat, when they have sinned and trangressed."

And they produce a host of books written by Musaeus and Orpheus, who were children of the Moon and the muses -- that is what they say -- according to which they perform their ritual,


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and persuade not only individuals, but whole cities, that expiations and atonements for sin may be made by sacrifices and amusements which fill a vacant hour, and are equally at the service of the living and the dead; the latter sort they call mysteries, and they redeem us from the pains of hell, but if we neglect them no one knows what awaits us.

   He proceeded: And now when the young hear all this said about virtue and vice, and the way in which gods and men regard them, how are their minds likely to be affected, my dear Socrates -- those of them, I mean, who are quick-witted, and, like bees on the wing, light on every flower, and from all that they hear are prone to draw conclusions as to what manner of persons they should be and in what way they should walk if they would make the best of life? Probably the youth will say to himself in the words of Pindar:

   "Can I by justice or by crooked ways of deceit ascend a loftier tower
    which may be a fortress to me all my days?"

For what men say is that, if I am really just and am not also thought just, profit there is none, but the pain and loss on the other hand are unmistakable. But if, though unjust, I acquire the reputation of justice, a heavenly life is promised to me. Since then, as philosophers prove, appearance tyrannizes over truth and is lord of happiness, to appearance I must devote myself. I will describe around me a picture and shadow of virtue to be the vestibule and exterior of my house; behind I will trail the subtle and crafty fox, as Archilochus, greatest of sages, recommends. But I hear someone exclaiming that the concealment of wickedness is often difficult; to which I answer, Nothing great is easy. Nevertheless, the argument indicates this, if we would be happy, to be the path along which we should proceed. With a view to concealment we will establish secret brotherhoods and political clubs. And there are professors of rhetoric who teach the art of persuading courts and assemblies; and so, partly by persuasion and partly by force, I shall make unlawful gains and not be punished. Still I hear a voice saying that the gods cannot be deceived, neither can they be compelled. But what if there are no gods? or, suppose them to have no care of human things -- why in either case should we mind about concealment? And even if there are


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gods, and they do care about us, yet we know of them only from tradition and the genealogies of the poets; and these are the very persons who say that they may be influenced and turned by "sacrifices and soothing entreaties and by offerings." Let us be consistent, then, and believe both or neither. If the poets speak truly, why, then, we had better be unjust, and offer of the fruits of injustice; for if we are just, although we may escape the vengeance of heaven, we shall lose the gains of injustice; but, if we are unjust, we shall keep the gains, and by our sinning and praying, and praying and sinning, the gods will be propitiated, and we shall not be punished. "But there is a world below in which either we or our posterity will suffer for our unjust deeds." Yes, my friend, will be the reflection, but there are mysteries and atoning deities, and these have great power. That is what mighty cities declare; and the children of the gods, who were their poets and prophets, bear a like testimony.

   On what principle, then, shall we any longer choose justice rather than the worst injustice? when, if we only unite the latter with a deceitful regard to appearances, we shall fare to our mind both with gods and men, in life and after death, as the most numerous and the highest authorities tell us. Knowing all this, Socrates, how can a man who has any superiority of mind or person or rank or wealth, be willing to honor justice; or indeed to refrain from laughing when he hears justice praised? And even if there should be someone who is able to disprove the truth of my words, and who is satisfied that justice is best, still he is not angry with the unjust, but is very ready to forgive them, because he also knows that men are not just of their own free will; unless, peradventure, there be someone whom the divinity within him may have inspired with a hatred of injustice, or who has attained knowledge of the truth -- but no other man. He only blames injustice, who, owing to cowardice or age or some weakness, has not the power of being unjust. And this is proved by the fact that when he obtains the power, he immediately becomes unjust as far as he can be.

   The cause of all this, Socrates, was indicated by us at the beginning of the argument, when my brother and I told you how astonished we were to find that of all the professing panegyrists of justice -- beginning with the ancient heroes of whom


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any memorial has been preserved to us, and ending with the men of our own time -- no one has ever blamed injustice or praised justice except with a view to the glories, honors, and benefits which flow from them. No one has ever adequately described either in verse or prose the true essential nature of either of them abiding in the soul, and invisible to any human or divine eye; or shown that of all the things of a man's soul which he has within him, justice is the greatest good, and injustice the greatest evil. Had this been the universal strain, had you sought to persuade us of this from our youth upward, we should not have been on the watch to keep one another from doing wrong, but everyone would have been his own watchman, because afraid, if he did wrong, of harboring in himself the greatest of evils. I dare say that Thrasymachus and others would seriously hold the language which I have been merely repeating, and words even stronger than these about justice and injustice, grossly, as I conceive, perverting their true nature. But I speak in this vehement manner, as I must frankly confess to you, because I want to hear from you the opposite side; and I would ask you to show not only the superiority which justice has over injustice, but what effect they have on the possessor of them which makes the one to be a good and the other an evil to him. And please, as Glaucon requested of you, to exclude reputations; for unless you take away from each of them his true reputation and add on the false, we shall say that you do not praise justice, but the appearance of it; we shall think that you are only exhorting us to keep injustice dark, and that you really agree with Thrasymachus in thinking that justice is another's good and the interest of the stronger, and that injustice is a man's own profit and interest, though injurious to the weaker. Now as you have admitted that justice is one of that highest class of goods which are desired, indeed, for their results, but in a far greater degree for their own sakes -- like sight or hearing or knowledge or health, or any other real and natural and not merely conventional good -- I would ask you in your praise of justice to regard one point only: I mean the essential good and evil which justice and injustice work in the possessors of them. Let others praise justice and censure injustice, magnifying the rewards and honors of the one and abusing the other; that is a manner of arguing which, coming from them, I am ready to tolerate, but


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from you who have spent your whole life in the consideration of this question, unless I hear the contrary from your own lips, I expect something better. And therefore, I say, not only prove to us that justice is better than injustice, but show what they either of them do to the possessor of them, which makes the one to be a good and the other an evil, whether seen or unseen by gods and men.

   I had always admired the genius of Glaucon and Adeimantus, but on hearing these words I was quite delighted, and said: Sons of an illustrious father, that was not a bad beginning of the elegiac verses which the admirer of Glaucon made in honor of you after you had distinguished yourselves at the battle of Megara:

   "Sons of Ariston," he sang, "divine offspring of an illustrious hero."

    The epithet is very appropriate, for there is something truly divine in being able to argue as you have done for the superiority of injustice, and remaining unconvinced by your own arguments. And I do believe that you are not convinced -- this I infer from your general character, for had I judged only from your speeches I should have mistrusted you. But now, the greater my confidence in you, the greater is my difficulty in knowing what to say. For I am in a strait between two; on the one hand I feel that I am unequal to the task; and my inability is brought home to me by the fact that you were not satisfied with the answer which I made to Thrasymachus, proving, as I thought, the superiority which justice has over injustice. And yet I cannot refuse to help, while breath and speech remain to me; I am afraid that there would be an impiety in being present when justice is evil spoken of and not lifting up a hand in her defence. And therefore I had best give such help as I can.

   Glaucon and the rest entreated me by all means not to let the question drop, but to proceed in the investigation. They wanted to arrive at the truth, first, about the nature of justice and injustice, and secondly, about their relative advantages. I told them, what I really thought, that the inquiry would be of a serious nature, and would require very good eyes. Seeing then, I said, that we are no great wits, I think that we had better adopt a method which I may illustrate thus; suppose that


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a short-sighted person had been asked by someone to read small letters from a distance; and it occurred to someone else that they might be found in another place which was larger and in which the letters were larger -- if they were the same and he could read the larger letters first, and then proceed to the lesser -- this would have been thought a rare piece of good-fortune.

   Very true, said Adeimantus; but how does the illustration apply to our inquiry?

   I will tell you, I replied; justice, which is the subject of our inquiry, is, as you know, sometimes spoken of as the virtue of an individual, and sometimes as the virtue of a State.

   True, he replied.

   And is not a State larger than an individual?

   It is.

   Then in the larger the quantity of justice is likely to be larger and more easily discernible. I propose therefore that we inquire into the nature of justice and injustice, first as they appear in the State, and secondly in the individual, proceeding from the greater to the lesser and comparing them.

   That, he said, is an excellent proposal.

   And if we imagine the State in process of creation, we shall see the justice and injustice of the State in process of creation also.

   I dare say.

   When the State is completed there may be a hope that the object of our search will be more easily discovered.

   Yes, far more easily.

   But ought we to attempt to construct one? I said; for to do so, as I am inclined to think, will be a very serious task. Reflect therefore.

   I have reflected, said Adeimantus, and am anxious that you should proceed.

   A State, I said, arises, as I conceive, out of the needs of mankind; no one is self-sufficing, but all of us have many wants. Can any other origin of a State be imagined?

   There can be no other.

   Then, as we have many wants, and many persons are needed to supply them, one takes a helper for one purpose and another for another; and when these partners and helpers are gathered together in one habitation the body of inhabitants is termed a State.


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   True, he said.

   And they exchange with one another, and one gives, and another receives, under the idea that the exchange will be for their good.

   Very true.

   Then, I said, let us begin and create in idea a State; and yet the true creator is necessity, who is the mother of our invention.

   Of course, he replied.

   Now the first and greatest of necessities is food, which is the condition of life and existence.

   Certainly.

   The second is a dwelling, and the third clothing and the like.

   True.

   And now let us see how our city will be able to supply this great demand: We may suppose that one man is a husbandman, another a builder, someone else a weaver -- shall we add to them a shoemaker, or perhaps some other purveyor to our bodily wants?

   Quite right.

   The barest notion of a State must include four or five men.

   Clearly.

   And how will they proceed? Will each bring the result of his labors into a common stock? -- the individual husbandman, for example, producing for four, and laboring four times as long and as much as he need in the provision of food with which he supplies others as well as himself; or will he have nothing to do with others and not be at the trouble of producing for them, but provide for himself alone a fourth of the food in a fourth of the time, and in the remaining three-fourths of his time be employed in making a house or a coat or a pair of shoes, having no partnership with others, but supplying himself all his own wants?

   Adeimantus thought that he should aim at producing food only and not at producing everything.

   Probably, I replied, that would be the better way; and when I hear you say this, I am myself reminded that we are not all alike; there are diversities of natures among us which are adapted to different occupations.

   Very true.

   And will you have a work better done when the workman has many occupations, or when he has only one?


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   When he has only one.

   Further, there can be no doubt that a work is spoilt when not done at the right time?

   No doubt.

   For business is not disposed to wait until the doer of the business is at leisure; but the doer must follow up what he is doing, and make the business his first object.

   He must.

   And if so, we must infer that all things are produced more plentifully and easily and of a better quality when one man does one thing which is natural to him and does it at the right time, and leaves other things. Undoubtedly.

   Then more than four citizens will be required; for the husbandman will not make his own plough or mattock, or other implements of agriculture, if they are to be good for anything. Neither will the builder make his tools -- and he, too, needs many; and in like manner the weaver and shoemaker.

   True.

   Then carpenters and smiths and many other artisans will be sharers in our little State, which is already beginning to grow?

   True.

   Yet even if we add neatherds, shepherds, and other herdsmen, in order that our husbandmen may have oxen to plough with, and builders as well as husbandmen may have draught cattle, and curriers and weavers fleeces and hides -- still our State will not be very large.

   That is true; yet neither will it be a very small State which contains all these.

   Then, again, there is the situation of the city -- to find a place where nothing need be imported is well-nigh impossible.

   Impossible.

   Then there must be another class of citizens who will bring the required supply from another city?

   There must.

   But if the trader goes empty-handed, having nothing which they require who would supply his need, he will come back empty-handed.

   That is certain.

   And therefore what they produce at home must be not only


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enough for themselves, but such both in quantity and quality as to accommodate those from whom their wants are supplied.

   Very true.

   Then more husbandmen and more artisans will be required?

   They will.

   Not to mention the importers and exporters, who are called merchants?

   Yes.

   Then we shall want merchants?

   We shall.

   And if merchandise is to be carried over the sea, skilful sailors will also be needed, and in considerable numbers?

   Yes, in considerable numbers.

   Then, again, within the city, how will they exchange their productions? To secure such an exchange was, as you will remember, one of our principal objects when we formed them into a society and constituted a State.

   Clearly they will buy and sell.

   Then they will need a market-place, and a money-token for purposes of exchange.

   Certainly.

   Suppose now that a husbandman or an artisan brings some production to market, and he comes at a time when there is no one to exchange with him -- is he to leave his calling and sit idle in the market-place?

   Not at all; he will find people there who, seeing the want, undertake the office of salesmen. In well-ordered States they are commonly those who are the weakest in bodily strength, and therefore of little use for any other purpose; their duty is to be in the market, and to give money in exchange for goods to those who desire to sell, and to take money from those who desire to buy.

   This want, then, creates a class of retail-traders in our State. Is not "retailer" the term which is applied to those who sit in the market-place engaged in buying and selling, while those who wander from one city to another are called merchants?

   Yes, he said.

   And there is another class of servants, who are intellectually hardly on the level of companionship; still they have plenty of bodily strength for labor, which accordingly they sell, and are


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called, if I do not mistake, hirelings, "hire" being the name which is given to the price of their labor.

   True.

   Then hirelings will help to make up our population?

   Yes.

   And now, Adeimantus, is our State matured and perfected?

   I think so.

   Where, then, is justice, and where is injustice, and in what part of the State did they spring up?

   Probably in the dealings of these citizens with one another. I cannot imagine that they are more likely to be found anywhere else.

   I dare say that you are right in your suggestion, I said; we had better think the matter out, and not shrink from the inquiry.

   Let us then consider, first of all, what will be their way of life, now that we have thus established them. Will they not produce corn and wine and clothes and shoes, and build houses for themselves? And when they are housed, they will work, in summer, commonly, stripped and barefoot, but in winter substantially clothed and shod. They will feed on barley-meal and flour of wheat, baking and kneading them, making noble cakes and loaves; these they will serve up on a mat of reeds or on clean leaves, themselves reclining the while upon beds strewn with yew or myrtle. And they and their children will feast, drinking of the wine which they have made, wearing garlands on their heads, and hymning the praises of the gods, in happy converse with one another. And they will take care that their families do not exceed their means; having an eye to poverty or war.

   But, said Glaucon, interposing, you have not given them a relish to their meal.

   True, I replied, I had forgotten; of course they must have a relish -- salt and olives and cheese -- and they will boil roots and herbs such as country people prepare; for a dessert we shall give them figs and peas and beans; and they will roast myrtle-berries and acorns at the fire, drinking in moderation. And with such a diet they may be expected to live in peace and health to a good old age, and bequeath a similar life to their children after them.


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   Yes, Socrates, he said, and if you were providing for a city of pigs, how else would you feed the beasts?

   But what would you have, Glaucon? I replied.

   Why, he said, you should give them the ordinary conveniences of life. People who are to be comfortable are accustomed to lie on sofas, and dine off tables, and they should have sauces and sweets in the modern style.

   Yes, I said, now I understand: the question which you would have me consider is, not only how a State, but how a luxurious State is created; and possibly there is no harm in this, for in such a State we shall be more likely to see how justice and injustice originate. In my opinion the true and healthy constitution of the State is the one which I have described. But if you wish also to see a State at fever-heat, I have no objection. For I suspect that many will not be satisfied with the simpler way of life. They will be for adding sofas and tables and other furniture; also dainties and perfumes and incense and courtesans and cakes, all these not of one sort only, but in every variety. We must go beyond the necessaries of which I was at first speaking, such as houses and clothes and shoes; the arts of the painter and the embroiderer will have to be set in motion, and gold and ivory and all sorts of materials must be procured.

   True, he said.

   Then we must enlarge our borders; for the original healthy State is no longer sufficient. Now will the city have to fill and swell with a multitude of callings which are not required by any natural want; such as the whole tribe of hunters and actors, of whom one large class have to do with forms and colors; another will be the votaries of music -- poets and their attendant train of rhapsodists, players, dancers, contractors; also makers of divers kinds of articles, including women's dresses. And we shall want more servants. Will not tutors be also in request, and nurses wet and dry, tirewomen and barbers, as well as confectioners and cooks; and swineherds, too, who were not needed and therefore had no place in the former edition of our State, but are needed now? They must not be forgotten: and there will be animals of many other kinds, if people eat them.

   Certainly.

   And living in this way we shall have much greater need of physicians than before?

   Much greater.

   And the country which was enough to support the original inhabitants will be too small now, and not enough?

   Quite true.

   Then a slice of our neighbors' land will be wanted by us for pasture and tillage, and they will want a slice of ours, if, like ourselves, they exceed the limit of necessity, and give themselves up to the unlimited accumulation of wealth?

   That, Socrates, will be inevitable.

   And so we shall go to war, Glaucon. Shall we not?

   Most certainly, he replied. Then, without determining as yet whether war does good or harm, thus much we may affirm, that now we have discovered war to be derived from causes which are also the causes of almost all the evils in States, private as well as public.

   Undoubtedly.

   And our State must once more enlarge; and this time the enlargement will be nothing short of a whole army, which will have to go out and fight with the invaders for all that we have, as well as for the things and persons whom we were describing above.

   Why? he said; are they not capable of defending themselves?

   No, I said; not if we were right in the principle which was acknowledged by all of us when we were framing the State. The principle, as you will remember, was that one man cannot practise many arts with success.

   Very true, he said.

   But is not war an art?

   Certainly.

   And an art requiring as much attention as shoemaking?

   Quite true.

   And the shoemaker was not allowed by us to be a husbandman, or a weaver, or a builder -- in order that we might have our shoes well made; but to him and to every other worker was assigned one work for which he was by nature fitted, and at that he was to continue working all his life long and at no other; he was not to let opportunities slip, and then he would become a good workman. Now nothing can be more important than that the work of a soldier should be well done. But is war an art so easily acquired that a man may be a warrior


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who is also a husbandman, or shoemaker, or other artisan; although no one in the world would be a good dice or draught player who merely took up the game as a recreation, and had not from his earliest years devoted himself to this and nothing else?

   No tools will make a man a skilled workman or master of defence, nor be of any use to him who has not learned how to handle them, and has never bestowed any attention upon them. How, then, will he who takes up a shield or other implement of war become a good fighter all in a day, whether with heavy-armed or any other kind of troops?

   Yes, he said, the tools which would teach men their own use would be beyond price.

   And the higher the duties of the guardian, I said, the more time and skill and art and application will be needed by him?

   No doubt, he replied.

   Will he not also require natural aptitude for his calling?

   Certainly.

   Then it will be our duty to select, if we can, natures which are fitted for the task of guarding the city?

   It will.

   And the selection will be no easy matter, I said; but we must be brave and do our best.

   We must.

   Is not the noble youth very like a well-bred dog in respect of guarding and watching?

   What do you mean?

   I mean that both of them ought to be quick to see, and swift to overtake the enemy when they see him; and strong too if, when they have caught him, they have to fight with him.

   All these qualities, he replied, will certainly be required by them.

   Well, and your guardian must be brave if he is to fight well?

   Certainly.

   And is he likely to be brave who has no spirit, whether horse or dog or any other animal? Have you never observed how invincible and unconquerable is spirit and how the presence of it makes the soul of any creature to be absolutely fearless and indomitable?

   I have.

   Then now we have a clear notion of the bodily qualities which are required in the guardian.


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   True.

   And also of the mental ones; his soul is to be full of spirit?

   Yes.

   But are not these spirited natures apt to be savage with one another, and with everybody else?

   A difficulty by no means easy to overcome, he replied.

   Whereas, I said, they ought to be dangerous to their enemies, and gentle to their friends; if not, they will destroy themselves without waiting for their enemies to destroy them.

   True, he said.

   What is to be done, then? I said; how shall we find a gentle nature which has also a great spirit, for the one is the contradiction of the other?

   True.

   He will not be a good guardian who is wanting in either of these two qualities; and yet the combination of them appears to be impossible; and hence we must infer that to be a good guardian is impossible.

   I am afraid that what you say is true, he replied.

   Here feeling perplexed I began to think over what had preceded. My friend, I said, no wonder that we are in a perplexity; for we have lost sight of the image which we had before us.

   What do you mean? he said.

   I mean to say that there do exist natures gifted with those opposite qualities.

   And where do you find them?

   Many animals, I replied, furnish examples of them; our friend the dog is a very good one: you know that well-bred dogs are perfectly gentle to their familiars and acquaintances, and the reverse to strangers.

   Yes, I know.

   Then there is nothing impossible or out of the order of nature in our finding a guardian who has a similar combination of qualities?

   Certainly not.

   Would not he who is fitted to be a guardian, besides the spirited nature, need to have the qualities of a philosopher?

   I do not apprehend your meaning.

   The trait of which I am speaking, I replied, may be also seen in the dog, and is remarkable in the animal.


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   What trait?

   Why, a dog, whenever he sees a stranger, is angry; when an acquaintance, he welcomes him, although the one has never done him any harm, nor the other any good. Did this never strike you as curious?

   The matter never struck me before; but I quite recognize the truth of your remark.

   And surely this instinct of the dog is very charming; your dog is a true philosopher.

   Why?

   Why, because he distinguishes the face of a friend and of an enemy only by the criterion of knowing and not knowing. And must not an animal be a lover of learning who determines what he likes and dislikes by the test of knowledge and ignorance?

   Most assuredly.

   And is not the love of learning the love of wisdom, which is philosophy?

   They are the same, he replied.

   And may we not say confidently of man also, that he who is likely to be gentle to his friends and acquaintances, must by nature be a lover of wisdom and knowledge?

   That we may safely affirm.

   Then he who is to be a really good and noble guardian of the State will require to unite in himself philosophy and spirit and swiftness and strength?

   Undoubtedly.

   Then we have found the desired natures; and now that we have found them, how are they to be reared and educated? Is not this an inquiry which may be expected to throw light on the greater inquiry which is our final end -- How do justice and injustice grow up in States? for we do not want either to omit what is to the point or to draw out the argument to an inconvenient length.

   Adeimantus thought that the inquiry would be of great service to us.

   Then, I said, my dear friend, the task must not be given up, even if somewhat long.

   Certainly not.

   Come then, and let us pass a leisure hour in story-telling, and our story shall be the education of our heroes.


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   By all means.

   And what shall be their education? Can we find a better than the traditional sort? -- and this has two divisions, gymnastics for the body, and music for the soul.

   True.

   Shall we begin education with music, and go on to gymnastics afterward?

   By all means.

   And when you speak of music, do you include literature or not?

   I do.

   And literature may be either true or false?

   Yes.

   And the young should be trained in both kinds, and we begin with the false?

   I do not understand your meaning, he said.

   You know, I said, that we begin by telling children stories which, though not wholly destitute of truth, are in the main fictitious; and these stories are told them when they are not of an age to learn gymnastics.

   Very true.

   That was my meaning when I said that we must teach music before gymnastics.

   Quite right, he said.

   You know also that the beginning is the most important part of any work, especially in the case of a young and tender thing; for that is the time at which the character is being formed and the desired impression is more readily taken.

   Quite true.

   And shall we just carelessly allow children to hear any casual tales which may be devised by casual persons, and to receive into their minds ideas for the most part the very opposite of those which we should wish them to have when they are grown up?

   We cannot.

   Then the first thing will be to establish a censorship of the writers of fiction, and let the censors receive any tale of fiction which is good, and reject the bad; and we will desire mothers and nurses to tell their children the authorized ones only. Let them fashion the mind with such tales, even more fondly than


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they mould the body with their hands; but most of those which are now in use must be discarded.

   Of what tales are you speaking? he said.

   You may find a model of the lesser in the greater, I said; for they are necessarily of the same type, and there is the same spirit in both of them.

   Very likely, he replied; but I do not as yet know what you would term the greater.

   Those, I said, which are narrated by Homer and Hesiod, and the rest of the poets, who have ever been the great story-tellers of mankind.

   But which stories do you mean, he said; and what fault do you find with them?

   A fault which is most serious, I said; the fault of telling a lie, and, what is more, a bad lie.

   But when is this fault committed?

   Whenever an erroneous representation is made of the nature of gods and heroes -- as when a painter paints a portrait not having the shadow of a likeness to the original.

   Yes, he said, that sort of thing is certainly very blamable; but what are the stories which you mean?

   First of all, I said, there was that greatest of all lies in high places, which the poet told about Uranus, and which was a bad lie too -- I mean what Hesiod says that Uranus did, and how Cronus retaliated on him. The doings of Cronus, and the sufferings which in turn his son inflicted upon him, even if they were true, ought certainly not to be lightly told to young and thoughtless persons; if possible, they had better be buried in silence. But if there is an absolute necessity for their mention, a chosen few might hear them in a mystery, and they should sacrifice not a common [Eleusinian] pig, but some huge and unprocurable victim; and then the number of the hearers will be very few indeed.

   Why, yes, said he, those stories are extremely objectionable.

   Yes, Adeimantus, they are stories not to be repeated in our State; the young man should not be told that in committing the worst of crimes he is far from doing anything outrageous; and that even if he chastises his father when he does wrong, in whatever manner, he will only be following the example of the first and greatest among the gods.


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   I entirely agree with you, he said; in my opinion those stories are quite unfit to be repeated.

   Neither, if we mean our future guardians to regard the habit of quarrelling among themselves as of all things the basest, should any word be said to them of the wars in heaven, and of the plots and fightings of the gods against one another, for they are not true. No, we shall never mention the battles of the giants, or let them be embroidered on garments; and we shall be silent about the innumerable other quarrels of gods and heroes with their friends and relatives. If they would only believe us we would tell them that quarrelling is unholy, and that never up to this time has there been any quarrel between citizens; this is what old men and old women should begin by telling children; and when they grow up, the poets also should be told to compose them in a similar spirit. But the narrative of Hephaestus binding Here his mother, or how on another occasion Zeus sent him flying for taking her part when she was being beaten, and all the battles of the gods in Homer -- these tales must not be admitted into our State, whether they are supposed to have an allegorical meaning or not. For a young person cannot judge what is allegorical and what is literal; anything that he receives into his mind at that age is likely to become indelible and unalterable; and therefore it is most important that the tales which the young first hear should be models of virtuous thoughts.

   There you are right, he replied; but if anyone asks where are such models to be found and of what tales are you speaking -- how shall we answer him?

   I said to him, You and I, Adeimantus, at this moment are not poets, but founders of a State: now the founders of a State ought to know the general forms in which poets should cast their tales, and the limits which must be observed by them, but to make the tales is not their business.

   Very true, he said; but what are these forms of theology which you mean?

   Something of this kind, I replied: God is always to be represented as he truly is, whatever be the sort of poetry, epic, lyric, or tragic, in which the representation is given.

   Right.


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   And is he not truly good? and must he not be represented as such?

   Certainly.

   And no good thing is hurtful?

   No, indeed.

   And that which is not hurtful hurts not?

   Certainly not.

   And that which hurts not does no evil?

   No.

   And can that which does no evil be a cause of evil?

   Impossible.

   And the good is advantageous?

   Yes.

   And therefore the cause of well-being?

   Yes.

   It follows, therefore, that the good is not the cause of all things, but of the good only?

   Assuredly.

   Then God, if he be good, is not the author of all things, as the many assert, but he is the cause of a few things only, and not of most things that occur to men. For few are the goods of human life, and many are the evils, and the good is to be attributed to God alone; of the evils the causes are to be sought elsewhere, and not in him.

   That appears to me to be most true, he said.

   Then we must not listen to Homer or to any other poet who is guilty of the folly of saying that two casks

   "Lie at the threshold of Zeus, full of lots, one of good, the other of

    evil lots," and that he to whom Zeus gives a mixture of the two

   "Sometimes meets with evil fortune, at other times with good;" but that he to whom is given the cup of unmingled ill,

   "Him wild hunger drives o'er the beauteous earth." And again --

   "Zeus, who is the dispenser of good and evil to us."


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And if anyone asserts that the violation of oaths and treaties, which was really the work of Pandarus, was brought about by Athene and Zeus, or that the strife and contention of the gods were instigated by Themis and Zeus, he shall not have our approval; neither will we allow our young men to hear the words of AEschylus, that

   "God plants guilt among men when he desires utterly to destroy a house." And if a poet writes of the sufferings of Niobe -- the subject of the tragedy in which these iambic verses occur -- or of the house of Pelops, or of the Trojan War or on any similar theme, either we must not permit him to say that these are the works of God, or if they are of God, he must devise some explanation of them such as we are seeking: he must say that God did what was just and right, and they were the better for being punished; but that those who are punished are miserable, and that God is the author of their misery -- the poet is not to be permitted to say; though he may say that the wicked are miserable because they require to be punished, and are benefited by receiving punishment from God; but that God being good is the author of evil to anyone is to be strenuously denied, and not to be said or sung or heard in verse or prose by anyone whether old or young in any well-ordered commonwealth. Such a fiction is suicidal, ruinous, impious.

   I agree with you, he replied, and am ready to give my assent to the law.

   Let this then be one of our rules and principles concerning the gods, to which our poets and reciters will be expected to conform -- that God is not the author of all things, but of good only.

   That will do, he said.

   And what do you think of a second principle? Shall I ask you whether God is a magician, and of a nature to appear insidiously now in one shape, and now in another -- sometimes himself changing and passing into many forms, sometimes deceiving us with the semblance of such transformations; or is he one and the same immutably fixed in his own proper image?

   I cannot answer you, he said, without more thought.

   Well, I said; but if we suppose a change in anything, that


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change must be effected either by the thing itself or by some other thing?

   Most certainly.

   And things which are at their best are also least liable to be altered or discomposed; for example, when healthiest and strongest, the human frame is least liable to be affected by meats and drinks, and the plant which is in the fullest vigor also suffers least from winds or the heat of the sun or any similar causes.

   Of course.

   And will not the bravest and wisest soul be least confused or deranged by any external influence?

   True.

   And the same principle, as I should suppose, applies to all composite things -- furniture, houses, garments: when good and well made, they are least altered by time and circumstances.

   Very true.

   Then everything which is good, whether made by art or nature, or both, is least liable to suffer change from without?

   True.

   But surely God and the things of God are in every way perfect?

   Of course they are.

   Then he can hardly be compelled by external influence to take many shapes?

   He cannot.

   But may he not change and transform himself?

   Clearly, he said, that must be the case if he is changed at all.

   And will he then change himself for the better and fairer, or for the worse and more unsightly?

   If he change at all he can only change for the worse, for we cannot suppose him to be deficient either in virtue or beauty.

   Very true, Adeimantus; but then, would anyone, whether God or man, desire to make himself worse?

   Impossible.

   Then it is impossible that God should ever be willing to change; being, as is supposed, the fairest and best that is conceivable, every God remains absolutely and forever in his own form.

   That necessarily follows, he said, in my judgment.


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   Then, I said, my dear friend, let none of the poets tell us that

   "The gods, taking the disguise of strangers from other lands, walk up

    and down cities in all sorts of forms;" and let no one slander Proteus and Thetis, neither let anyone, either in tragedy or in any other kind of poetry, introduce Here disguised in the likeness of a priestess asking an alms

   "For the life-giving daughters of Inachus the river of Argos;" -- let us have no more lies of that sort. Neither must we have mothers under the influence of the poets scaring their children with a bad version of these myths -- telling how certain gods, as they say, "Go about by night in the likeness of so many strangers and in divers forms;" but let them take heed lest they make cowards of their children, and at the same time speak blasphemy against the gods.

   Heaven forbid, he said.

   But although the gods are themselves unchangeable, still by witchcraft and deception they may make us think that they appear in various forms?

   Perhaps, he replied.

   Well, but can you imagine that God will be willing to lie, whether in word or deed, or to put forth a phantom of himself?

   I cannot say, he replied.

   Do you not know, I said, that the true lie, if such an expression may be allowed, is hated of gods and men?

   What do you mean? he said.

   I mean that no one is willingly deceived in that which is the truest and highest part of himself, or about the truest and highest matters; there, above all, he is most afraid of a lie having possession of him.

   Still, he said, I do not comprehend you.

   The reason is, I replied, that you attribute some profound meaning to my words; but I am only saying that deception, or being deceived or uninformed about the highest realities in the highest part of themselves, which is the soul, and in that part of them to have and to hold the lie, is what mankind least like; -- that, I say, is what they utterly detest.


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   There is nothing more hateful to them.

   And, as I was just now remarking, this ignorance in the soul of him who is deceived may be called the true lie; for the lie in words is only a kind of imitation and shadowy image of a previous affection of the soul, not pure unadulterated falsehood. Am I not right?

   Perfectly right.

   The true lie is hated not only by the gods, but also by men?

   Yes.

   Whereas the lie in words is in certain cases useful and not hateful; in dealing with enemies -- that would be an instance; or again, when those whom we call our friends in a fit of madness or illusion are going to do some harm, then it is useful and is a sort of medicine or preventive; also in the tales of mythology, of which we were just now speaking -- because we do not know the truth about ancient times, we make falsehood as much like truth as we can, and so turn it to account.

   Very true, he said.

   But can any of these reasons apply to God? Can we suppose that he is ignorant of antiquity, and therefore has recourse to invention?

   That would be ridiculous, he said.

   Then the lying poet has no place in our idea of God?

   I should say not.

   Or perhaps he may tell a lie because he is afraid of enemies?

   That is inconceivable.

   But he may have friends who are senseless or mad?

   But no mad or senseless person can be a friend of God.

   Then no motive can be imagined why God should lie?

   None whatever.

   Then the superhuman, and divine, is absolutely incapable of falsehood?

   Yes.

   Then is God perfectly simple and true both in word and deed; he changes not; he deceives not, either by sign or word, by dream or waking vision.

   Your thoughts, he said, are the reflection of my own.

   You agree with me then, I said, that this is the second type or form in which we should write and speak about divine


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things. The gods are not magicians who transform themselves, neither do they deceive mankind in any way.

   I grant that.

   Then, although we are admirers of Homer, we do not admire the lying dream which Zeus sends to Agamemnon; neither will we praise the verses of AEschylus in which Thetis says that Apollo at her nuptials

   "was celebrating in song her fair progeny whose days were to be long,

    and to know no sickness. And when he had spoken of my lot as in all

    things blessed of heaven, he raised a note of triumph and cheered my soul.

    And I thought that the word of Phoebus, being divine and full of prophecy,

    would not fail. And now he himself who uttered the strain, he who was

    present at the banquet, and who said this -- he it is who has slain my

    son."

   These are the kind of sentiments about the gods which will arouse our anger; and he who utters them shall be refused a chorus; neither shall we allow teachers to make use of them in the instruction of the young, meaning, as we do, that our guardians, as far as men can be, should be true worshippers of the gods and like them.

   I entirely agree, he said, in these principles, and promise to make them my laws…


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Book 4

WEALTH, POVERTY, AND VIRTUE (ADEIMANTUS, SOCRATES.)

   HERE Adeimantus interposed a question: How would you answer, Socrates, said he, if a person were to say that you are making these people miserable, and that they are the cause of their own unhappiness; the city in fact belongs to them, but they are none the better for it; whereas other men acquire lands, and build large and handsome houses, and have everything handsome about them, offering sacrifices to the gods on their own account, and practising hospitality; moreover, as you were saying just now, they have gold and silver, and all that is usual among the favorites of fortune; but our poor citizens are no better than mercenaries who are quartered in the city and are always mounting guard?

   Yes, I said; and you may add that they are only fed, and not paid in addition to their food, like other men; and therefore they cannot, if they would, take a journey of pleasure; they have no money to spend on a mistress or any other luxurious fancy, which, as the world goes, is thought to be happiness; and many other accusations of the same nature might be added.

   But, said he, let us suppose all this to be included in the charge.

   You mean to ask, I said, what will be our answer?

   Yes.

   If we proceed along the old path, my belief, I said, is that we shall find the answer. And our answer will be that, even as they are, our guardians may very likely be the happiest


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of men; but that our aim in founding the State was not the disproportionate happiness of any one class, but the greatest happiness of the whole; we thought that in a State which is ordered with a view to the good of the whole we should be most likely to find justice, and in the ill-ordered State injustice: and, having found them, we might then decide which of the two is the happier. At present, I take it, we are fashioning the happy State, not piecemeal, or with a view of making a few happy citizens, but as a whole; and by and by we will proceed to view the opposite kind of State. Suppose that we were painting a statue, and someone came up to us and said: Why do you not put the most beautiful colors on the most beautiful parts of the body -- the eyes ought to be purple, but you have made them black -- to him we might fairly answer: Sir, you would not surely have us beautify the eyes to such a degree that they are no longer eyes; consider rather whether, by giving this and the other features their due proportion, we make the whole beautiful. And so I say to you, do not compel us to assign to the guardians a sort of happiness which will make them anything but guardians; for we too can clothe our husbandmen in royal apparel, and set crowns of gold on their heads, and bid them till the ground as much as they like, and no more. Our potters also might be allowed to repose on couches, and feast by the fireside, passing round the wine-cup, while their wheel is conveniently at hand, and working at pottery only as much as they like; in this way we might make every class happy -- and then, as you imagine, the whole State would be happy. But do not put this idea into our heads; for, if we listen to you, the husbandman will be no longer a husbandman, the potter will cease to be a potter, and no one will have the character of any distinct class in the State. Now this is not of much consequence where the corruption of society, and pretension to be what you are not, are confined to cobblers; but when the guardians of the laws and of the government are only seeming and not real guardians, then see how they turn the State upside down; and on the other hand they alone have the power of giving order and happiness to the State. We mean our guardians to be true saviours and not the destroyers of the State, whereas our opponent is thinking of peasants at a festival,


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who are enjoying a life of revelry, not of citizens who are doing their duty to the State. But, if so, we mean different things, and he is speaking of something which is not a State. And therefore we must consider whether in appointing our guardians we would look to their greatest happiness individually, or whether this principle of happiness does not rather reside in the State as a whole. But if the latter be the truth, then the guardians and auxiliaries, and all others equally with them, must be compelled or induced to do their own work in the best way. And thus the whole State will grow up in a noble order, and the several classes will receive the proportion of happiness which nature assigns to them.

   I think that you are quite right.

   I wonder whether you will agree with another remark which occurs to me.

   What may that be?

   There seem to be two causes of the deterioration of the arts.

   What are they?

   Wealth, I said, and poverty.

   How do they act?

   The process is as follows: When a potter becomes rich, will he, think you, any longer take the same pains with his art?

   Certainly not.

   He will grow more and more indolent and careless?

   Very true.

   And the result will be that he becomes a worse potter?

   Yes; he greatly deteriorates.

   But, on the other hand, if he has no money, and cannot provide himself with tools or instruments, he will not work equally well himself, nor will he teach his sons or apprentices to work equally well.

   Certainly not.

   Then, under the influence either of poverty or of wealth, workmen and their work are equally liable to degenerate?

   That is evident.

   Here, then, is a discovery of new evils, I said, against which the guardians will have to watch, or they will creep into the city unobserved.

   What evils?

   Wealth, I said, and poverty; the one is the parent of luxury


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and indolence, and the other of meanness and viciousness, and both of discontent.

   That is very true, he replied; but still I should like to know, Socrates, how our city will be able to go to war, especially against an enemy who is rich and powerful, if deprived of the sinews of war.

   There would certainly be a difficulty, I replied, in going to war with one such enemy; but there is no difficulty where there are two of them.

   How so? he asked.

   In the first place, I said, if we have to fight, our side will be trained warriors fighting against an army of rich men.

   That is true, he said.

   And do you not suppose, Adeimantus, that a single boxer who was perfect in his art would easily be a match for two stout and well-to-do gentlemen who were not boxers?

   Hardly, if they came upon him at once.

   What, not, I said, if he were able to run away and then turn and strike at the one who first came up? And supposing he were to do this several times under the heat of a scorching sun, might he not, being an expert, overturn more than one stout personage?

   Certainly, he said, there would be nothing wonderful in that.

   And yet rich men probably have a greater superiority in the science and practise of boxing than they have in military qualities.

   Likely enough.

   Then we may assume that our athletes will be able to fight with two or three times their own number?

   I agree with you, for I think you right.

   And suppose that, before engaging, our citizens send an embassy to one of the two cities, telling them what is the truth: Silver and gold we neither have nor are permitted to have, but you may; do you therefore come and help us in war, and take the spoils of the other city: Who, on hearing these words, would choose to fight against lean wiry dogs, rather than, with the dogs on their side, against fat and tender sheep?

   That is not likely; and yet there might be a danger to the poor State if the wealth of many States were to be gathered into one.


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   But how simple of you to use the term State at all of any but our own!

   Why so?

   You ought to speak of other States in the plural number; not one of them is a city, but many cities, as they say in the game. For indeed any city, however small, is in fact divided into two, one the city of the poor, the other of the rich; these are at war with one another; and in either there are many smaller divisions, and you would be altogether beside the mark if you treated them all as a single State. But if you deal with them as many, and give the wealth or power or persons of the one to the others, you will always have a great many friends and not many enemies. And your State, while the wise order which has now been prescribed continues to prevail in her, will be the greatest of States, I do not mean to say in reputation or appearance, but in deed and truth, though she number not more than 1,000 defenders. A single State which is her equal you will hardly find, either among Hellenes or barbarians, though many that appear to be as great and many times greater.

   That is most true, he said.

   And what, I said, will be the best limit for our rulers to fix when they are considering the size of the State and the amount of territory which they are to include, and beyond which they will not go?

   What limit would you propose?

   I would allow the State to increase so far as is consistent with unity; that, I think, is the proper limit.

   Very good, he said.

   Here then, I said, is another order which will have to be conveyed to our guardians: Let our city be accounted neither large nor small, but one and self-sufficing.

   And surely, said he, this is not a very severe order which we impose upon them.

   And the other, said I, of which we were speaking before is lighter still -- I mean the duty of degrading the offspring of the guardians when inferior, and of elevating into the rank of guardians the offspring of the lower classes, when naturally superior. The intention was, that, in the case of the citizens generally, each individual should be put to the use for which nature intended him, one to one work, and then every man


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would do his own business, and be one and not many; and so the whole city would be one and not many.

   Yes, he said; that is not so difficult.

   The regulations which we are prescribing, my good Adeimantus, are not, as might be supposed, a number of great principles, but trifles all, if care be taken, as the saying is, of the one great thing -- a thing, however, which I would rather call, not, great, but sufficient for our purpose.

   What may that be? he asked.

   Education, I said, and nurture: If our citizens are well educated, and grow into sensible men, they will easily see their way through all these, as well as other matters which I omit; such, for example, as marriage, the possession of women and the procreation of children, which will all follow the general principle that friends have all things in common, as the proverb says.

   That will be the best way of settling them.

   Also, I said, the State, if once started well, moves with accumulating force like a wheel. For good nurture and education implant good constitutions, and these good constitutions taking root in a good education improve more and more, and this improvement affects the breed in man as in other animals.

   Very possibly, he said.

   Then to sum up: This is the point to which, above all, the attention of our rulers should be directed -- that music and gymnastics be preserved in their original form, and no innovation made. They must do their utmost to maintain them intact. And when anyone says that mankind most regard

   "The newest song which the singers have," they will be afraid that he may be praising, not new songs, but a new kind of song; and this ought not to be praised, or conceived to be the meaning of the poet; for any musical innovation is full of danger to the whole State, and ought to be prohibited. So Damon tells me, and I can quite believe him; he says that when modes of music change, the fundamental laws of the State always change with them.

   Yes, said Adeimantus; and you may add my suffrage to Damon's and your own.


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   Then, I said, our guardians must lay the foundations of their fortress in music?

   Yes, he said; the lawlessness of which you speak too easily steals in.

   Yes, I replied, in the form of amusement; and at first sight it appears harmless.

   Why, yes, he said, and there is no harm; were it not that little by little this spirit of license, finding a home, imperceptibly penetrates into manners and customs; whence, issuing with greater force, it invades contracts between man and man, and from contracts goes on to laws and constitutions, in utter recklessness, ending at last, Socrates, by an overthrow of all rights, private as well as public.

   Is that true? I said.

   That is my belief, he replied.

   Then, as I was saying, our youth should be trained from the first in a stricter system, for if amusements become lawless, and the youths themselves become lawless, they can never grow up into well-conducted and virtuous citizens.

   Very true, he said.

   And when they have made a good beginning in play, and by the help of music have gained the habit of good order, then this habit of order, in a manner how unlike the lawless play of the others! will accompany them in all their actions and be a principle of growth to them, and if there be any fallen places [a] [principle] in the State will raise them up again.

   Very true, he said.

   Thus educated, they will invent for themselves any lesser rules which their predecessors have altogether neglected.

   What do you mean?

   I mean such things as these: -- when the young are to be silent before their elders; how they are to show respect to them by standing and making them sit; what honor is due to parents; what garments or shoes are to be worn; the mode of dressing the hair; deportment and manners in general. You would agree with me?

   Yes.

   But there is, I think, small wisdom in legislating about such matters -- I doubt if it is ever done; nor are any precise written enactments about them likely to be lasting.


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   Impossible.

   It would seem, Adeimantus, that the direction in which education starts a man, will determine his future life. Does not like always attract like?

   To be sure.

   Until some one rare and grand result is reached which may be good, and may be the reverse of good?

   That is not to be denied.

   And for this reason, I said, I shall not attempt to legislate further about them.

   Naturally enough, he replied.

   Well, and about the business of the agora, and the ordinary dealings between man and man, or again about agreements with artisans; about insult and injury, or the commencement of actions, and the appointment of juries, what would you say? there may also arise questions about any impositions and exactions of market and harbor dues which may be required, and in general about the regulations of markets, police, harbors, and the like.. But, O heavens! shall we condescend to legislate on any of these particulars?

   I think, he said, that there is no need to impose laws about them on good men; what regulations are necessary they will find out soon enough for themselves.

   Yes, I said, my friend, if God will only preserve to them the laws which we have given them.

   And without divine help, said Adeimantus, they will go on forever making and mending the laws and their lives in the hope of attaining perfection.

   You would compare them, I said, to those invalids who, having no self-restraint, will not leave off their habits of intemperance?

   Exactly.

   Yes, I said; and what a delightful life they lead! they are always doctoring and increasing and complicating their disorders, and always fancying that they will be cured by any nostrum which anybody advises them to try.

   Such cases are very common, he said, with invalids of this sort.

   Yes, I replied; and the charming thing is that they deem him their worst enemy who tells them the truth, which is


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simply that, unless they give up eating and drinking and wenching and idling, nether drug nor cautery nor spell nor amulet nor any other remedy will avail.

   Charming! he replied. I see nothing in going into a passion with a man who tells you what is right.

   These gentlemen, I said, do not seem to be in your good graces.

   Assuredly not.

   Nor would you praise the behavior of States which act like the men whom I was just now describing. For are there not ill-ordered States in which the citizens are forbidden under pain of death to alter the constitution; and yet he who most sweetly courts those who live under this regime and indulges them and fawns upon them and is skilful in anticipating and gratifying their humors is held to be a great and good states-man -- do not these States resemble the persons whom I was describing?

   Yes, he said; the States are as bad as the men; and I am very far from praising them.

   But do you not admire, I said, the coolness and dexterity of these ready ministers of political corruption?

   Yes, he said, I do; but not of all of them, for there are some whom the applause of the multitude has deluded into the belief that they are really statesmen, and these are not much to be admired.

   What do you mean? I said; you should have more feeling for them. When a man cannot measure, and a great many others who cannot measure declare that he is four cubits high, can he help believing what they say?

   Nay, he said, certainly not in that case.

   Well, then, do not be angry with them; for are they not as good as a play, trying their hand at paltry reforms such as I was describing; they are always fancying that by legislation they will make an end of frauds in contracts, and the other rascalities which I was mentioning, not knowing that they are in reality cutting off the heads of a hydra?

   Yes, he said; that is just what they are doing.

   I conceive, I said, that the true legislator will not trouble himself with this class of enactments whether concerning laws or the constitution either in an ill-ordered or in a well-


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ordered State; for in the former they are quite useless, and in the latter there will be no difficulty in devising them; and many of them will naturally flow out of our previous regulations.

   What, then, he said, is still remaining to us of the work of legislation?

   Nothing to us, I replied; but to Apollo, the god of Delphi, there remains the ordering of the greatest and noblest and chiefest things of all.

   Which are they? he said.

   The institution of temples and sacrifices, and the entire service of gods, demigods, and heroes; also the ordering of the repositories of the dead, and the rites which have to be observed by him who would propitiate the inhabitants of the world below. These are matters of which we are ignorant ourselves, and as founders of a city we should be unwise in trusting them to any interpreter but our ancestral deity. He is the god who sits in the centre, on the navel of the earth, and he is the interpreter of religion to all mankind.

   You are right, and we will do as you propose.

   But where, amid all this, is justice? Son of Ariston, tell me where. Now that our city has been made habitable, light a candle and search, and get your brother and Polemarchus and the rest of our friends to help, and let us see where in it we can discover justice and where injustice, and in what they differ from one another, and which of them the man who would be happy should have for his portion, whether seen or unseen by gods and men.

   Nonsense, said Glaucon: did you not promise to search yourself, saying that for you not to help justice in her need would be an impiety?

   I do not deny that I said so; and as you remind me, I will be as good as my word; but you must join.

   We will, he replied.

   Well, then, I hope to make the discovery in this way: I mean to begin with the assumption that our State, if rightly ordered, is perfect.

   That is most certain.

   And being perfect, is therefore wise and valiant and temperate and just.


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   That is likewise clear.

   And whichever of these qualities we find in the State, the one which is not found will be the residue?

   Very good.

   If there were four things, and we were searching for one of them, wherever it might be, the one sought for might be known to us from the first, and there would be no further trouble; or we might know the other three first, and then the fourth would clearly be the one left.

   Very true, he said.

   And is not a similar method to be pursued about the virtues, which are also four in number?

   Clearly.

   First among the virtues found in the State, wisdom comes into view, and in this I detect a certain peculiarity.

   What is that?

   The State which we have been describing is said to be wise as being good in counsel?

   Very true.

   And good counsel is clearly a kind of knowledge, for not by ignorance, but by knowledge, do men counsel well?

   Clearly.

   And the kinds of knowledge in a State are many and diverse?

   Of course.

   There is the knowledge of the carpenter; but is that the sort of knowledge which gives a city the title of wise and good in counsel?

   Certainly not; that would only give a city the reputation of skill in carpentering.

   Then a city is not to be called wise because possessing a knowledge which counsels for the best about wooden implements?

   Certainly not.

   Nor by reason of a knowledge which advises about brazen pots, he said, nor as possessing any other similar knowledge?

   Not by reason of any of them, he said.

   Nor yet by reason of a knowledge which cultivates the earth; that would give the city the name of agricultural?

   Yes.


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   Well, I said, and is there any knowledge in our recently founded State among any of the citizens which advises, not about any particular thing in the State, but about the whole, and considers how a State can best deal with itself and with other States?

   There certainly is.

   And what is this knowledge, and among whom is it found? I asked.

   It is the knowledge of the guardians, he replied, and is found among those whom we were just now describing as perfect guardians.

   And what is the name which the city derives from the possession of this sort of knowledge?

   The name of good in counsel and truly wise.

   And will there be in our city more of these true guardians or more smiths?

   The smiths, he replied, will be far more numerous.

   Will not the guardians be the smallest of all the classes who receive a name from the profession of some kind of knowledge?

   Much the smallest.

   And so by reason of the smallest part or class, and of the knowledge which resides in this presiding and ruling part of itself, the whole State, being thus constituted according to nature, will be wise; and this, which has the only knowledge worthy to be called wisdom, has been ordained by nature to be of all classes the least.

   Most true.

   Thus, then, I said, the nature and place in the State of one of the four virtues have somehow or other been discovered.

   And, in my humble opinion, very satisfactorily discovered, he replied.

   Again, I said, there is no difficulty in seeing the nature of courage, and in what part that quality resides which gives the name of courageous to the State.

   How do you mean?

   Why, I said, everyone who calls any State courageous or cowardly, will be thinking of the part which fights and goes out to war on the State's behalf.

   No one, he replied, would ever think of any other.


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   The rest of the citizens may be courageous or may be cowardly, but their courage or cowardice will not, as I conceive, have the effect of making the city either the one or the other.

   Certainly not.

   The city will be courageous in virtue of a portion of herself which preserves under all circumstances that opinion about the nature of things to be feared and not to be feared in which our legislator educated them; and this is what you term courage.

   I should like to hear what you are saying once more, for I do not think that I perfectly understand you.

   I mean that courage is a kind of salvation.

   Salvation of what?

   Of the opinion respecting things to be feared, what they are and of what nature, which the law implants through education; and I mean by the words "under all circumstances" to intimate that in pleasure or in pain, or under the influence of desire or fear, a man preserves, and does not lose this opinion. Shall I give you an illustration?

   If you please.

   You know, I said, that dyers, when they want to dye wool for making the true sea-purple, begin by selecting their white color first; this they prepare and dress with much care and pains, in order that the white ground may take the purple hue in full perfection. The dyeing then proceeds; and whatever is dyed in this manner becomes a fast color, and no washing either with lyes or without them can take away the bloom. But, when the ground has not been duly prepared, you will have noticed how poor is the look either of purple or of any other color.

   Yes, he said; I know that they have a washed-out and ridiculous appearance.

   Then now, I said, you will understand what our object was in selecting our soldiers, and educating them in music and gymnastics; we were contriving influences which would prepare them to take the dye of the laws in perfection, and the color of their opinion about dangers and of every other opinion was to be indelibly fixed by their nurture and training, not to be washed away by such potent lyes as pleasure --


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mightier agent far in washing the soul than any soda or lye; or by sorrow, fear, and desire, the mightiest of all other solvents. And this sort of universal saving power of true opinion in conformity with law about real and false dangers I call and maintain to be courage, unless you disagree.

   But I agree, he replied; for I suppose that you mean to exclude mere uninstructed courage, such as that of a wild beast or of a slave -- this, in your opinion, is not the courage which the law ordains, and ought to have another name.

   Most certainly.

   Then I may infer courage to be such as you describe?

   Why, yes, said I, you may, and if you add the words "of a citizen," you will not be far wrong -- hereafter, if you like, we will carry the examination further, but at present we are seeking, not for courage, but justice; and for the purpose of our inquiry we have said enough.

   You are right, he replied.

   Two virtues remain to be discovered in the State -- first, temperance, and then justice, which is the end of our search.

   Very true.

   Now, can we find justice without troubling ourselves about temperance?

   I do not know how that can be accomplished, he said, nor do I desire that justice should be brought to light and temperance lost sight of; and therefore I wish that you would do me the favor of considering temperance first.

   Certainly, I replied, I should not be justified in refusing your request.

   Then consider, he said.

   Yes, I replied; I will; and as far as I can at present see, the virtue of temperance has more of the nature of harmony and symphony than the preceding.

   How so? he asked.

   Temperance, I replied, is the ordering or controlling of certain pleasures and desires; this is curiously enough implied in the saying of "a man being his own master;" and other traces of the same notion may be found in language.

   No doubt, he said.

   There is something ridiculous in the expression "master of himself;" for the master is also the servant and the servant


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the master; and in all these modes of speaking the same person is denoted.

   Certainly.

   The meaning is, I believe, that in the human soul there is a better and also a worse principle; and when the better has the worse under control, then a man is said to be master of himself; and this is a term of praise: but when, owing to evil education or association, the better principle, which is also the smaller, is overwhelmed by the greater mass of the worse -- in this case he is blamed and is called the slave of self and unprincipled.

   Yes, there is reason in that.

   And now, I said, look at our newly created State, and there you will find one of these two conditions realized; for the State, as you will acknowledge, may be justly called master of itself, if the words "temperance" and "self-mastery" truly express the rule of the better part over the worse.

   Yes, he said, I see that what you say is true.

   Let me further note that the manifold and complex pleasures and desires and pains are generally found in children and women and servants, and in the freemen so called who are of the lowest and more numerous class.

   Certainly, he said.

   Whereas the simple and moderate desires which follow reason, and are under the guidance of mind and true opinion, are to be found only in a few, and those the best born and best educated.

   Very true. These two, as you may perceive, have a place in our State; and the meaner desires of the many are held down by the virtuous desires and wisdom of the few.

   That I perceive, he said.

   Then if there be any city which may be described as master of its own pleasures and desires, and master of itself, ours may claim such a designation?

   Certainly, he replied.

   It may also be called temperate, and for the same reasons?

   Yes.

   And if there be any State in which rulers and subjects will be agreed as to the question who are to rule, that again will be our State?


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   Undoubtedly.

   And the citizens being thus agreed among themselves, in which class will temperance be found -- in the rulers or in the subjects?

   In both, as I should imagine, he replied.

   Do you observe that we were not far wrong in our guess that temperance was a sort of harmony?

   Why so?

   Why, because temperance is unlike courage and wisdom, each of which resides in a part only, the one making the State wise and the other valiant; not so temperance, which extends to the whole, and runs through all the notes of the scale, and produces a harmony of the weaker and the stronger and the middle class, whether you suppose them to be stronger or weaker in wisdom, or power, or numbers, or wealth, or anything else. Most truly then may we deem temperance to be the agreement of the naturally superior and inferior, as to the right to rule of either, both in States and individuals.

   I entirely agree with you.

   And so, I said, we may consider three out of the four virtues to have been discovered in our State. The last of those qualities which make a State virtuous must be justice, if we only knew what that was.

   The inference is obvious.

   The time then has arrived, Glaucon, when, like huntsmen, we should surround the cover, and look sharp that justice does not steal away, and pass out of sight and escape us; for beyond a doubt she is somewhere in this country: watch therefore and strive to catch a sight of her, and if you see her first, let me know.

   Would that I could! but you should regard me rather as a follower who has just eyes enough to see what you show him -- that is about as much as I am good for.

   Offer up a prayer with me and follow.

   I will, but you must show me the way.

   Here is no path, I said, and the wood is dark and perplexing; still we must push on.

   Let us push on.

   Here I saw something: Halloo! I said, I begin to perceive a track, and I believe that the quarry will not escape.


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   Good news, he said.

   Truly, I said, we are stupid fellows.

   Why so?

   Why, my good sir, at the beginning of our inquiry, ages ago, there was Justice tumbling out at our feet, and we never saw her; nothing could be more ridiculous. Like people who go about looking for what they have in their hands -- that was the way with us -- we looked not at what we were seeking, but at what was far off in the distance; and therefore, I suppose, we missed her.

   What do you mean?

   I mean to say that in reality for a long time past we have been talking of Justice, and have failed to recognize her.

   I grow impatient at the length of your exordium. Well, then, tell me, I said, whether I am right or not: You remember the original principle which we were always laying down at the foundation of the State, that one man should practise one thing only, the thing to which his nature was best adapted; now justice is this principle or a part of it.

   Yes, we often said that one man should do one thing only.

   Further, we affirmed that Justice was doing one's own business, and not being a busybody; we said so again and again, and many others have said the same to us.

   Yes, we said so.

   Then to do one's own business in a certain way may be assumed to be justice. Can you tell me whence I derive this inference?

   I cannot, but I should like to be told.

   Because I think that this is the only virtue which remains in the State when the other virtues of temperance and courage and wisdom are abstracted; and, that this is the ultimate cause and condition of the existence of all of them, and while remaining in them is also their preservative; and we were saying that if the three were discovered by us, justice would be the fourth, or remaining one.

   That follows of necessity.

   If we are asked to determine which of these four qualities by its presence contributes most to the excellence of the State, whether the agreement of rulers and subjects, or the preservation in the soldiers of the opinion which the law ordains


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about the true nature of dangers, or wisdom and watchfulness in the rulers, or whether this other which I am mentioning, and which is found in children and women, slave and freeman, artisan, ruler, subject -- the quality, I mean, of everyone doing his own work, and not being a busybody, would claim the palm -- the question is not so easily answered.

   Certainly, he replied, there would be a difficulty in saying which.

   Then the power of each individual in the State to do his own work appears to compete with the other political virtues, wisdom, temperance, courage.

   Yes, he said.

   And the virtue which enters into this competition is justice?

   Exactly.

   Let us look at the question from another point of view: Are not the rulers in a State those to whom you would intrust the office of determining suits-at-law?

   Certainly.

   And are suits decided on any other ground but that a man may neither take what is another's, nor be deprived of what is his own?

   Yes; that is their principle.

   Which is a just principle?

   Yes.

   Then on this view also justice will be admitted to be the having and doing what is a man's own, and belongs to him?

   Very true.

   Think, now, and say whether you agree with me or not. Suppose a carpenter to be doing the business of a cobbler, or a cobbler of a carpenter; and suppose them to exchange their implements or their duties, or the same person to be doing the work of both, or whatever be the change; do you think that any great harm would result to the State?

   Not much.

   But when the cobbler or any other man whom nature designed to be a trader, having his heart lifted up by wealth or strength or the number of his followers, or any like advantage, attempts to force his way into the class of warriors, or a warrior into that of legislators and guardians, for which he is unfitted, and either to take the implements or the duties of


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the other; or when one man is trader, legislator, and warrior all in one, then I think you will agree with me in saying that this interchange and this meddling of one with another is the ruin of the State.

   Most true. Seeing, then, I said, that there are three distinct classes, any meddling of one with another, or the change of one into another, is the greatest harm to the State, and may be most justly termed evil-doing?

   Precisely.

   And the greatest degree of evil-doing to one's own city would be termed by you injustice?

   Certainly. This, then, is injustice; and on the other hand when the trader, the auxiliary, and the guardian each do their own business, that is justice, and will make the city just.

   I agree with you.

   We will not, I said, be over-positive as yet; but if, on trial, this conception of justice be verified in the individual as well as in the State, there will be no longer any room for doubt; if it be not verified, we must have a fresh inquiry. First let us complete the old investigation, which we began, as you remember, under the impression that, if we could previously examine justice on the larger scale, there would be less difficulty in discerning her in the individual. That larger example appeared to be the State, and accordingly we constructed as good a one as we could, knowing well that in the good State justice would be found. Let the discovery which we made be now applied to the individual -- if they agree, we shall be satisfied; or, if there be a difference in the individual, we will come back to the State and have another trial of the theory. The friction of the two when rubbed together may possibly strike a light in which justice will shine forth, and the vision which is then revealed we will fix in our souls.

   That will be in regular course; let us do as you say.

   I proceeded to ask: When two things, a greater and less, are called by the same name, are they like or unlike in so far as they are called the same?

   Like, he replied.

   The just man then, if we regard the idea of justice only, will be like the just State?


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   He will.

   And a State was thought by us to be just when the three classes in the State severally did their own business; and also thought to be temperate and valiant and wise by reason of certain other affections and qualities of these same classes?

   True, he said.

   And so of the individual; we may assume that he has the same three principles in his own soul which are found in the State; and he may be rightly described in the same terms, because he is affected in the same manner?

   Certainly, he said.

   Once more, then, O my friend, we have alighted upon an easy question -- whether the soul has these three principles or not?

   An easy question! Nay, rather, Socrates, the proverb holds that hard is the good.

   Very true, I said; and I do not think that the method which we are employing is at all adequate to the accurate solution of this question; the true method is another and a longer one. Still we may arrive at a solution not below the level of the previous inquiry.

   May we not be satisfied with that? he said; under the circumstances, I am quite content. I, too, I replied, shall be extremely well satisfied.

   Then faint not in pursuing the speculation, he said.

   Must we not acknowledge, I said, that in each of us there are the same principles and habits which there are in the State; and that from the individual they pass into the State? -- how else can they come there? Take the quality of passion or spirit; it would be ridiculous to imagine that this quality, when found in States, is not derived from the individuals who are supposed to possess it, e.g., the Thracians, Scythians, and in general the Northern nations; and the same may be said of the love of knowledge, which is the special characteristic of our part of the world, or of the love of money, which may, with equal truth, be attributed to the Phoenicians and Egyptians.

   Exactly so, he said.

   There is no difficulty in understanding this.

   None whatever.

   But the question is not quite so easy when we proceed to


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ask whether these principles are three or one; whether, that is to say, we learn with one part of our nature, are angry with another, and with a third part desire the satisfaction of our natural appetites; or whether the whole soul comes into play in each sort of action -- to determine that is the difficulty.

   Yes, he said; there lies the difficulty.

   Then let us now try and determine whether they are the same or different.

   How can we? he asked.

   I replied as follows: The same thing clearly cannot act or be acted upon in the same part or in relation to the same thing at the same time, in contrary ways; and therefore whenever this contradiction occurs in things apparently the same, we know that they are really not the same, but different.

   Good.

   For example, I said, can the same thing be at rest and in motion at the same time in the same part?

   Impossible.

   Still, I said, let us have a more precise statement of terms, lest we should hereafter fall out by the way. Imagine the case of a man who is standing and also moving his hands and his head, and suppose a person to say that one and the same person is in motion and at rest at the same moment -- to such a mode of speech we should object, and should rather say that one part of him is in motion while another is at rest.

   Very true.

   And suppose the objector to refine still further, and to draw the nice distinction that not only parts of tops, but whole tops, when they spin round with their pegs fixed on the spot, are at rest and in motion at the same time (and he may say the same of anything which revolves in the same spot), his objection would not be admitted by us, because in such cases things are not at rest and in motion in the same parts of themselves; we should rather say that they have both an axis and a circumference; and that the axis stands still, for there is no deviation from the perpendicular; and that the circumference goes round. But if, while revolving, the axis inclines either to the right or left, forward or backward, then in no point of view can they be at rest.

   That is the correct mode of describing them, he replied.


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   Then none of these objections will confuse us, or incline us to believe that the same thing at the same time, in the same part or in relation to the same thing, can act or be acted upon in contrary ways.

   Certainly not, according to my way of thinking.

   Yet, I said, that we may not be compelled to examine all such objections, and prove at length that they are untrue, let us assume their absurdity, and go forward on the understanding that hereafter, if this assumption turn out to be untrue, all the consequences which follow shall be withdrawn.

   Yes, he said, that will be the best way.

   Well, I said, would you not allow that assent and dissent, desire and aversion, attraction and repulsion, are all of them opposites, whether they are regarded as active or passive (for that makes no difference in the fact of their opposition)?

   Yes, he said, they are opposites.

   Well, I said, and hunger and thirst, and the desires in general, and again willing and wishing -- all these you would refer to the classes already mentioned. You would say -- would you not? -- that the soul of him who desires is seeking after the object of his desire; or that he is drawing to himself the thing which he wishes to possess: or again, when a person wants anything to be given him, his mind, longing for the realization of his desire, intimates his wish to have it by a nod of assent, as if he had been asked a question?

   Very true.

   And what would you say of unwillingness and dislike and the absence of desire; should not these be referred to the opposite class of repulsion and rejection?

   Certainly.

   Admitting this to be true of desire generally, let us suppose a particular class of desires, and out of these we will select hunger and thirst, as they are termed, which are the most obvious of them?

   Let us take that class, he said.

   The object of one is food, and of the other drink?

   Yes.

   And here comes the point: is not thirst the desire which the soul has of drink, and of drink only; not of drink qualified by anything else; for example, warm or cold, or much or


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little, or, in a word, drink of any particular sort: but if the thirst be accompanied by heat, then the desire is of cold drink; or, if accompanied by cold, then of warm drink; or, if the thirst be excessive, then the drink which is desired will be excessive; or, if not great, the quantity of drink will also be small: but thirst pure and simple will desire drink pure and simple, which is the natural satisfaction of thirst, as food is of hunger?

   Yes, he said; the simple desire is, as you say, in every case of the simple object, and the qualified desire of the qualified object.

   But here a confusion may arise; and I should wish to guard against an opponent starting up and saying that no man desires drink only, but good drink, or food only, but good food; for good is the universal object of desire, and thirst being a desire, will necessarily be thirst after good drink; and the same is true of every other desire.

   Yes, he replied, the opponent might have something to say.

   Nevertheless I should still maintain, that of relatives some have a quality attached to either term of the relation; others are simple and have their correlatives simple.

   I do not know what you mean.

   Well, you know of course that the greater is relative to the less?

   Certainly.

   And the much greater to the much less?

   Yes.

   And the sometime greater to the sometime less, and the greater that is to be to the less that is to be?

   Certainly, he said.

   And so of more or less, and of other correlative terms, such as the double and the half, or, again, the heavier and the lighter, the swifter and the slower; and of hot and cold, and of any other relatives; is not this true of all of them?

   Yes.

   And does not the same principle hold in the sciences? The object of science is knowledge (assuming that to be the true definition), but the object of a particular science is a particular kind of knowledge; I mean, for example, that the science of house-building is a kind of knowledge which is defined and


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distinguished from other kinds and is therefore termed architecture.

   Certainly.

   Because it has a particular quality which no other has?

   Yes.

   And it has this particular quality because it has an object of a particular kind; and this is true of the other arts and sciences?

   Yes.

   Now, then, if I have made myself clear, you will understand my original meaning in what I said about relatives. My meaning was, that if one term of a relation is taken alone, the other is taken alone; if one term is qualified, the other is also qualified. I do not mean to say that relatives may not be disparate, or that the science of health is healthy, or of disease necessarily diseased, or that the sciences of good and evil are therefore good and evil; but only that, when the term "science" is no longer used absolutely, but has a qualified object which in this case is the nature of health and disease, it becomes defined, and is hence called not merely science, but the science of medicine.

   I quite understand, and, I think, as you do.

   Would you not say that thirst is one of these essentially relative terms, having clearly a relation --

   Yes, thirst is relative to drink.

   And a certain kind of thirst is relative to a certain kind of drink; but thirst taken alone is neither of much nor little, nor of good nor bad, nor of any particular kind of drink, but of drink only?

   Certainly.

   Then the soul of the thirsty one, in so far as he is thirsty, desires only drink; for this he yearns and tries to obtain it?

   That is plain.

   And if you suppose something which pulls a thirsty soul away from drink, that must be different from the thirsty principle which draws him like a beast to drink; for, as we were saying, the same thing cannot at the same time with the same part of itself act in contrary ways about the same.

   Impossible.

   No more than you can say that the hands of the archer


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push and pull the bow at the same time, but what you say is that one hand pushes and the other pulls.

   Exactly so, he replied.

   And might a man be thirsty, and yet unwilling to drink?

   Yes, he said, it constantly happens.

   And in such a case what is one to say? Would you not say that there was something in the soul bidding a man to drink, and something else forbidding him, which is other and stronger than the principle which bids him?

   I should say so.

   And the forbidding principle is derived from reason, and that which bids and attracts proceeds from passion and disease?

   Clearly.

   Then we may fairly assume that they are two, and that they differ from one another; the one with which a man reasons, we may call the rational principle of the soul; the other, with which he loves, and hungers, and thirsts, and feels the flutterings of any other desire, may be termed the irrational or appetitive, the ally of sundry pleasures and satisfactions?

   Yes, he said, we may fairly assume them to be different.

   Then let us finally determine that there are two principles existing in the soul. And what of passion, or spirit? Is it a third, or akin to one of the preceding?

   I should be inclined to say -- akin to desire.

   Well, I said, there is a story which I remember to have heard, and in which I put faith. The story is, that Leontius, the son of Aglaion, coming up one day from the Piraeus, under the north wall on the outside, observed some dead bodies lying on the ground at the place of execution. He felt a desire to see them, and also a dread and abhorrence of them; for a time he struggled and covered his eyes, but at length the desire got the better of him; and forcing them open, he ran up to the dead bodies, saying, Look, ye wretches, take your fill of the fair sight.

   I have heard the story myself, he said.

   The moral of the tale is, that anger at times goes to war with desire, as though they were two distinct things.

   Yes; that is the meaning, he said.

   And are there not many other cases in which we observe


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that when a man's desires violently prevail over his reason, he reviles himself, and is angry at the violence within him, and that in this struggle, which is like the struggle of factions in a State, his spirit is on the side of his reason; but for the passionate or spirited element to take part with the desires when reason decides that she should not be opposed, is a sort of thing which I believe that you never observed occurring in yourself, nor, as I should imagine, in anyone else?

   Certainly not.

   Suppose that a man thinks he has done a wrong to another, the nobler he is, the less able is he to feel indignant at any suffering, such as hunger, or cold, or any other pain which the injured person may inflict upon him -- these he deems to be just, and, as I say, his anger refuses to be excited by them.

   True, he said.

   But when he thinks that he is the sufferer of the wrong, then he boils and chafes, and is on the side of what he believes to be justice; and because he suffers hunger or cold or other pain he is only the more determined to persevere and conquer. His noble spirit will not be quelled until he either slays or is slain; or until he hears the voice of the shepherd, that is, reason, bidding his dog bark no more.

   The illustration is perfect, he replied; and in our State, as we were saying, the auxiliaries were to be dogs, and to hear the voice of the rulers, who are their shepherds.

   I perceive, I said, that you quite understand me; there is, however, a further point which I wish you to consider.

   What point?

   You remember that passion or spirit appeared at first sight to be a kind of desire, but now we should say quite the contrary; for in the conflict of the soul spirit is arrayed on the side of the rational principle.

   Most assuredly.

   But a further question arises: Is passion different from reason also, or only a kind of reason; in which latter case, instead of three principles in the soul, there will only be two, the rational and the concupiscent; or rather, as the State was composed of three classes, traders, auxiliaries, counsellors, so may there not be in the individual soul a third element which


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is passion or spirit, and when not corrupted by bad education is the natural auxiliary of reason?

   Yes, he said, there must be a third.

   Yes, I replied, if passion, which has already been shown to be different from desire, turn out also to be different from reason.

   But that is easily proved: We may observe even in young children that they are full of spirit almost as soon as they are born, whereas some of them never seem to attain to the use of reason, and most of them late enough.

   Excellent, I said, and you may see passion equally in brute animals, which is a further proof of the truth of what you are saying. And we may once more appeal to the words of Homer, which have been already quoted by us, "He smote his breast, and thus rebuked his soul;" for in this verse Homer has clearly supposed the power which reasons about the better and worse to be different from the unreasoning anger which is rebuked by it.

   Very true, he said.

   And so, after much tossing, we have reached land, and are fairly agreed that the same principles which exist in the State exist also in the individual, and that they are three in number.

   Exactly.

   Must we not then infer that the individual is wise in the same way, and in virtue of the same quality which makes the State wise?

   Certainly.

   Also that the same quality which constitutes courage in the State constitutes courage in the individual, and that both the State and the individual bear the same relation to all the other virtues?

   Assuredly.

   And the individual will be acknowledged by us to be just in the same way in which the State is just?

   That follows of course.

   We cannot but remember that the justice of the State consisted in each of the three classes doing the work of its own class?

   We are not very likely to have forgotten, he said.


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   We must recollect that the individual in whom the several qualities of his nature do their own work will be just, and will do his own work?

   Yes, he said, we must remember that too.

   And ought not the rational principle, which is wise, and has the care of the whole soul, to rule, and the passionate or spirited principle to be the subject and ally?

   Certainly.

   And, as we were saying, the united influence of music and gymnastics will bring them into accord, nerving and sustaining the reason with noble words and lessons, and moderating and soothing and civilizing the wildness of passion by harmony and rhythm?

   Quite true, he said.

   And these two, thus nurtured and educated, and having learned truly to know their own functions, will rule over the concupiscent, which in each of us is the largest part of the soul and by nature most insatiable of gain; over this they will keep guard, lest, waxing great and strong with the fulness of bodily pleasures, as they are termed, the concupiscent soul, no longer confined to her own sphere, should attempt to enslave and rule those who are not her natural-born subjects, and overturn the whole life of man?

   Very true, he said.

   Both together will they not be the best defenders of the whole soul and the whole body against attacks from without; the one counselling, and the other fighting under his leader, and courageously executing his commands and counsels?

   True.

   And he is to be deemed courageous whose spirit retains in pleasure and in pain the commands of reason about what he ought or ought not to fear?

   Right, he replied.

   And him we call wise who has in him that little part which rules, and which proclaims these commands; that part too being supposed to have a knowledge of what is for the interest of each of the three parts and of the whole?


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   Assuredly.

   And would you not say that he is temperate who has these same elements in friendly harmony, in whom the one ruling principle of reason, and the two subject ones of spirit and desire, are equally agreed that reason ought to rule, and do not rebel?

   Certainly, he said, that is the true account of temperance whether in the State or individual.

   And surely, I said, we have explained again and again how and by virtue of what quality a man will be just.

   That is very certain.

   And is justice dimmer in the individual, and is her form different, or is she the same which we found her to be in the State?

   There is no difference, in my opinion, he said.

   Because, if any doubt is still lingering in our minds, a few commonplace instances will satisfy us of the truth of what I am saying.

   What sort of instances do you mean?

   If the case is put to us, must we not admit that the just State, or the man who is trained in the principles of such a State, will be less likely than the unjust to make away with a deposit of gold or silver? Would anyone deny this?

   No one, he replied.

   Will the just man or citizen ever be guilty of sacrilege or theft, or treachery either to his friends or to his country?

   Never.

   Neither will he ever break faith where there have been oaths or agreements.

   Impossible.

   No one will be less likely to commit adultery, or to dishonor his father and mother, or to fail in his religious duties?

   No one.

   And the reason is that each part of him is doing its own business, whether in ruling or being ruled?

   Exactly so.

   Are you satisfied, then, that the quality which makes such men and such States is justice, or do you hope to discover some other?

   Not I, indeed.


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   Then our dream has been realized; and the suspicion which we entertained at the beginning of our work of construction, that some divine power must have conducted us to a primary form of justice, has now been verified?

   Yes, certainly.

   And the division of labor which required the carpenter and the shoemaker and the rest of the citizens to be doing each his own business, and not another's, was a shadow of justice, and for that reason it was of use?

   Clearly.

   But in reality justice was such as we were describing, being concerned, however, not with the outward man, but with the inward, which is the true self and concernment of man: for the just man does not permit the several elements within him to interfere with one another, or any of them to do the work of others -- he sets in order his own inner life, and is his own master and his own law, and at peace with himself; and when he has bound together the three principles within him, which may be compared to the higher, lower, and middle notes of the scale, and the intermediate intervals -- when he has bound all these together, and is no longer many, but has become one entirely temperate and perfectly adjusted nature, then he proceeds to act, if he has to act, whether in a matter of property, or in the treatment of the body, or in some affair of politics or private business; always thinking and calling that which preserves and co-operates with this harmonious condition just and good action, and the knowledge which presides over it wisdom, and that which at any time impairs this condition he will call unjust action, and the opinion which presides over it ignorance.

   You have said the exact truth, Socrates.

   Very good; and if we were to affirm that we had discovered the just man and the just State, and the nature of justice in each of them, we should not be telling a falsehood?

   Most certainly not.

   May we say so, then?

   Let us say so.

   And now, I said, injustice has to be considered.

   Clearly.

   Must not injustice be a strife which arises among the three principles -- a meddlesomeness, and interference, and rising up


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of a part of the soul against the whole, an assertion of unlawful authority, which is made by a rebellious subject against a true prince, of whom he is the natural vassal -- what is all this confusion and delusion but injustice, and intemperance, and cowardice, and ignorance, and every form of vice?

   Exactly so.

   And if the nature of justice and injustice be known, then the meaning of acting unjustly and being unjust, or, again, of acting justly, will also be perfectly clear?

   What do you mean? he said.

   Why, I said, they are like disease and health; being in the soul just what disease and health are in the body.

   How so? he said.

   Why, I said, that which is healthy causes health, and that which is unhealthy causes disease.

   Yes.

   And just actions cause justice, and unjust actions cause injustice?

   That is certain.

   And the creation of health is the institution of a natural order and government of one by another in the parts of the body; and the creation of disease is the production of a state of things at variance with this natural order?

   True.

   And is not the creation of justice the institution of a natural order and government of one by another in the parts of the soul, and the creation of injustice the production of a state of things at variance with the natural order?

   Exactly so, he said.

   Then virtue is the health, and beauty, and well-being of the soul, and vice the disease, and weakness, and deformity, of the same?

   True.

   And do not good practices lead to virtue, and evil practices to vice?

   Assuredly.

   Still our old question of the comparative advantage of justice and injustice has not been answered: Which is the more profitable, to be just and act justly and practise virtue, whether seen or unseen of gods and men, or to be unjust and act unjustly, if only unpunished and unreformed?


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   In my judgment, Socrates, the question has now become ridiculous. We know that, when the bodily constitution is gone, life is no longer endurable, though pampered with all kinds of meats and drinks, and having all wealth and all power; and shall we be told that when the very essence of the vital principle is undermined and corrupted, life is still worth having to a man, if only he be allowed to do whatever he likes with the single exception that he is not to acquire justice and virtue, or to escape from injustice and vice; assuming them both to be such as we have described?

   Yes, I said, the question is, as you say, ridiculous. Still, as we are near the spot at which we may see the truth in the clearest manner with our own eyes, let us not faint by the way.

   Certainly not, he replied.

   Come up hither, I said, and behold the various forms of vice, those of them, I mean, which are worth looking at.

   I am following you, he replied: proceed.

   I said: The argument seems to have reached a height from which, as from some tower of speculation, a man may look down and see that virtue is one, but that the forms of vice are innumerable; there being four special ones which are deserving of note.

   What do you mean? he said.

   I mean, I replied, that there appear to be as many forms of the soul as there are distinct forms of the State.

   How many?

   There are five of the State, and five of the soul, I said.

   What are they?

   The first, I said, is that which we have been describing, and which may be said to have two names, monarchy and aristocracy, according as rule is exercised by one distinguished man or by many.

   True, he replied.

   But I regard the two names as describing one form only; for whether the government is in the hands of one or many, if the governors have been trained in the manner which we have supposed, the fundamental laws of the State will be maintained.

   That is true, he replied…


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Book 6

THE PHILOSOPHY OF GOVERNMENT (SOCRATES, GLAUCON.)

   … but do you suppose that we shall refrain from asking you what is this highest knowledge?

   Nay, I said, ask if you will; but I am certain that you have heard the answer many times, and now you either do not understand me or, as I rather think, you are disposed to be troublesome; for you have often been told that the idea of good is the highest knowledge, and that all other things become useful and advantageous only by their use of this. You can hardly be ignorant that of this I was about to speak, concerning which, as you have often heard me say, we know so little; and, without which, any other knowledge or possession of any kind will profit us nothing. Do you think that the possession of all other things is of any value if we do not possess the good? or the knowledge of all other things if we have no knowledge of beauty and goodness?

   Assuredly not.

   You are further aware that most people affirm pleasure to be the good, but the finer sort of wits say it is knowledge?

   Yes.

   And you are aware too that the latter cannot explain what they mean by knowledge, but are obliged after all to say knowledge of the good?

   How ridiculous!

   Yes, I said, that they should begin by reproaching us with our ignorance of the good, and then presume our knowledge of it -- for the good they define to be knowledge of the good, just as if we understood them when they use the term "good" -- this is of course ridiculous.

   Most true, he said.

   And those who make pleasure their good are in equal perplexity; for they are compelled to admit that there are bad pleasures as well as good.

   Certainly.

   And therefore to acknowledge that bad and good are the same?


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   True.

   There can be no doubt about the numerous difficulties in which this question is involved.

   There can be none.

   Further, do we not see that many are willing to do or to have or to seem to be what is just and honorable without the reality; but no one is satisfied with the appearance of good -- the reality is what they seek; in the case of the good, appearance is despised by everyone.

   Very true, he said.

   Of this then, which every soul of man pursues and makes the end of all his actions, having a presentiment that there is such an end, and yet hesitating because neither knowing the nature nor having the same assurance of this as of other things, and therefore losing whatever good there is in other things -- of a principle such and so great as this ought the best men in our State, to whom everything is intrusted, to be in the darkness of ignorance?

   Certainly not, he said.

   I am sure, I said, that he who does not know how the beautiful and the just are likewise good will be but a sorry guardian of them; and I suspect that no one who is ignorant of the good will have a true knowledge of them.

   That, he said, is a shrewd suspicion of yours.

   And if we only have a guardian who has this knowledge, our State will be perfectly ordered?

   Of course, he replied; but I wish that you would tell me whether you conceive this supreme principle of the good to be knowledge or pleasure, or different from either?

   Aye, I said, I knew all along that a fastidious gentleman like you would not be contented with the thoughts of other people about these matters.

   True, Socrates; but I must say that one who like you has passed a lifetime in the study of philosophy should not be always repeating the opinions of others, and never telling his own.

   Well, but has anyone a right to say positively what he does not know?


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   Not, he said, with the assurance of positive certainty; he has no right to do that: but he may say what he thinks, as a matter of opinion.

   And do you not know, I said, that all mere opinions are bad, and the best of them blind? You would not deny that those who have any true notion without intelligence are only like blind men who feel their way along the road?

   Very true.

   And do you wish to behold what is blind and crooked and base, when others will tell you of brightness and beauty?

   Still, I must implore you, Socrates, said Glaucon, not to turn away just as you are reaching the goal; if you will only give such an explanation of the good as you have already given of justice and temperance and the other virtues, we shall be satisfied.

   Yes, my friend, and I shall be at least equally satisfied, but I cannot help fearing that I shall fail, and that my indiscreet zeal will bring ridicule upon me. No, sweet sirs, let us not at present ask what is the actual nature of the good, for to reach what is now in my thoughts would be an effort too great for me. But of the child of the good who is likest him, I would fain speak, if I could be sure that you wished to hear -- otherwise, not.

   By all means, he said, tell us about the child, and you shall remain in our debt for the account of the parent.

   I do indeed wish, I replied, that I could pay, and you receive, the account of the parent, and not, as now, of the offspring only; take, however, this latter by way of interest, and at the same time have a care that I do not render a false account, although I have no intention of deceiving you.

   Yes, we will take all the care that we can: proceed.

   Yes, I said, but I must first come to an understanding with you, and remind you of what I have mentioned in the course of this discussion, and at many other times.

   What?

   The old story, that there is many a beautiful and many a good, and so of other things which we describe and define; to all of them the term "many" is implied.

   True, he said.


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   And there is an absolute beauty and an absolute good, and of other things to which the term "many" is applied there is an absolute; for they may be brought under a single idea, which is called the essence of each.

   Very true.

   The many, as we say, are seen but not known, and the ideas are known but not seen.

   Exactly.

   And what is the organ with which we see the visible things?

   The sight, he said.

   And with the hearing, I said, we hear, and with the other senses perceive the other objects of sense?

   True.

   But have you remarked that sight is by far the most costly and complex piece of workmanship which the artificer of the senses ever contrived?

   No, I never have, he said.

   Then reflect: has the ear or voice need of any third or additional nature in order that the one may be able to hear and the other to be heard?

   Nothing of the sort.

   No, indeed, I replied; and the same is true of most, if not all, the other senses -- you would not say that any of them requires such an addition?

   Certainly not.

   But you see that without the addition of some other nature there is no seeing or being seen?

   How do you mean?

   Sight being, as I conceive, in the eyes, and he who has eyes wanting to see; color being also present in them, still unless there be a third nature specially adapted to the purpose, the owner of the eyes will see nothing and the colors will be invisible.

   Of what nature are you speaking?

   Of that which you term light, I replied.

   True, he said.

   Noble, then, is the bond which links together sight and visibility, and great beyond other bonds by no small difference of nature; for light is their bond, and light is no ignoble thing?

   Nay, he said, the reverse of ignoble.


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   And which, I said, of the gods in heaven would you say was the lord of this element? Whose is that light which makes the eye to see perfectly and the visible to appear?

   You mean the sun, as you and all mankind say.

   May not the relation of sight to this deity be described as follows?

   How?

   Neither sight nor the eye in which sight resides is the sun?

   No.

   Yet of all the organs of sense the eye is the most like the sun?

   By far the most like.

   And the power which the eye possesses is a sort of effluence which is dispensed from the sun?

   Exactly.

   Then the sun is not sight, but the author of sight who is recognized by sight?

   True, he said.

   And this is he whom I call the child of the good, whom the good begat in his own likeness, to be in the visible world, in relation to sight and the things of sight, what the good is in the intellectual world in relation to mind and the things of mind:

   Will you be a little more explicit? he said.

   Why, you know, I said, that the eyes, when a person directs them toward objects on which the light of day is no longer shining, but the moon and stars only, see dimly, and are nearly blind; they seem to have no clearness of vision in them?

   Very true.

   But when they are directed toward objects on which the sun shines, they see clearly and there is sight in them?

   Certainly.

   And the soul is like the eye: when resting upon that on which truth and being shine, the soul perceives and understands, and is radiant with intelligence; but when turned toward the twilight of becoming and perishing, then she has opinion only, and goes blinking about, and is first of one opinion and then of another, and seems to have no intelligence?

   Just so.

   Now, that which imparts truth to the known and the power of knowing to the knower is what I would have you term the


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idea of good, and this you will deem to be the cause of science, and of truth in so far as the latter becomes the subject of knowledge; beautiful too, as are both truth and knowledge, you will be right in esteeming this other nature as more beautiful than either; and, as in the previous instance, light and sight may be truly said to be like the sun, and yet not to be the sun, so in this other sphere, science and truth may be deemed to be like the good, but not the good; the good has a place of honor yet higher.

   What a wonder of beauty that must be, he said, which is the author of science and truth, and yet surpasses them in beauty; for you surely cannot mean to say that pleasure is the good?

   God forbid, I replied; but may I ask you to consider the image in another point of view?

   In what point of view?

   You would say, would you not? that the sun is not only the author of visibility in all visible things, but of generation and nourishment and growth, though he himself is not generation?

   Certainly.

   In like manner the good may be said to be not only the author of knowledge to all things known, but of their being and essence, and yet the good is not essence, but far exceeds essence in dignity and power.

   Glaucon said, with a ludicrous earnestness: By the light of heaven, how amazing!

   Yes, I said, and the exaggeration may be set down to you; for you made me utter my fancies.

   And pray continue to utter them; at any rate let us hear if there is anything more to be said about the similitude of the sun…

[The Divided Line]


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Book 7

ON SHADOWS AND REALITIES IN EDUCATION 
(SOCRATES, GLAUCON.)

   AND now, I said, let me show in a figure how far our nature is enlightened or unenlightened: Behold! human beings living in an underground den, which has a mouth open toward the light and reaching all along the den; here they have been from their childhood, and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only see before them, being prevented by the chains from turning round their heads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and you will see, if you look, a low wall built along the way, like the screen which marionette-players have in front of them, over which they show the puppets.

   I see.

   And do you see, I said, men passing along the wall carrying all sorts of vessels, and statues and figures of animals made of wood and stone and various materials, which appear over the wall? Some of them are talking, others silent.

   You have shown me a strange image, and they are strange prisoners.

   Like ourselves, I replied; and they see only their own shadows, or the shadows of one another, which the fire throws on the opposite wall of the cave?

   True, he said; how could they see anything but the shadows if they were never allowed to move their heads?

   And of the objects which are being carried in like manner they would only see the shadows?

   Yes, he said.

   And if they were able to converse with one another, would


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they not suppose that they were naming what was actually before them?

   Very true.

   And suppose further that the prison had an echo which came from the other side, would they not be sure to fancy when one of the passers-by spoke that the voice which they heard came from the passing shadow?

   No question, he replied.

   To them, I said, the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images.

   That is certain.

   And now look again, and see what will naturally follow if the prisoners are released and disabused of their error. At first, when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look toward the light, he will suffer sharp pains; the glare will distress him, and he will be unable to see the realities of which in his former state he had seen the shadows; and then conceive someone saying to him, that what he saw before was an illusion, but that now, when he is approaching nearer to being and his eye is turned toward more real existence, he has a clearer vision -- what will be his reply? And you may further imagine that his instructor is pointing to the objects as they pass and requiring him to name them -- will he not be perplexed? Will he not fancy that the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him?

   Far truer.

   And if he is compelled to look straight at the light, will he not have a pain in his eyes which will make him turn away to take refuge in the objects of vision which he can see, and which he will conceive to be in reality clearer than the things which are now being shown to him?

   True, he said.

   And suppose once more, that he is reluctantly dragged up a steep and rugged ascent, and held fast until he is forced into the presence of the sun himself, is he not likely to be pained and irritated? When he approaches the light his eyes will be dazzled, and he will not be able to see anything at all of what are now called realities.


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   Not all in a moment, he said.

   He will require to grow accustomed to the sight of the upper world. And first he will see the shadows best, next the reflections of men and other objects in the water, and then the objects themselves; then he will gaze upon the light of the moon and the stars and the spangled heaven; and he will see the sky and the stars by night better than the sun or the light of the sun by day?

   Certainly.

   Last of all he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflections of him in the water, but he will see him in his own proper place, and not in another; and he will contemplate him as he is.

   Certainly.

   He will then proceed to argue that this is he who gives the season and the years, and is the guardian of all that is in the visible world, and in a certain way the cause of all things which he and his fellows have been accustomed to behold?

   Clearly, he said, he would first see the sun and then reason about him.

   And when he remembered his old habitation, and the wisdom of the den and his fellow-prisoners, do you not suppose that he would felicitate himself on the change, and pity him?

   Certainly, he would.

   And if they were in the habit of conferring honors among themselves on those who were quickest to observe the passing shadows and to remark which of them went before, and which followed after, and which were together; and who were therefore best able to draw conclusions as to the future, do you think that he would care for such honors and glories, or envy the possessors of them? Would he not say with Homer,

   "Better to be the poor servant of a poor master," and to endure anything, rather than think as they do and live after their manner?

   Yes, he said, I think that he would rather suffer anything than entertain these false notions and live in this miserable manner.

   Imagine once more, I said, such a one coming suddenly out of the sun to be replaced in his old situation; would he not be certain to have his eyes full of darkness?


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   To be sure, he said.

   And if there were a contest, and he had to compete in measuring the shadows with the prisoners who had never moved out of the den, while his sight was still weak, and before his eyes had become steady (and the time which would be needed to acquire this new habit of sight might be very considerable), would he not be ridiculous? Men would say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes; and that it was better not even to think of ascending; and if anyone tried to loose another and lead him up to the light, let them only catch the offender, and they would put him to death.

   No question, he said.

   This entire allegory, I said, you may now append, dear Glaucon, to the previous argument; the prison-house is the world of sight, the light of the fire is the sun, and you will not misapprehend me if you interpret the journey upward to be the ascent of the soul into the intellectual world according to my poor belief, which, at your desire, I have expressed -- whether rightly or wrongly, God knows. But, whether true or false, my opinion is that in the world of knowledge the idea of good appears last of all, and is seen only with an effort; and, when seen, is also inferred to be the universal author of all things beautiful and right, parent of light and of the lord of light in this visible world, and the immediate source of reason and truth in the intellectual; and that this is the power upon which he who would act rationally either in public or private life must have his eye fixed.

   I agree, he said, as far as I am able to understand you.

   Moreover, I said, you must not wonder that those who attain to this beatific vision are unwilling to descend to human affairs; for their souls are ever hastening into the upper world where they desire to dwell; which desire of theirs is very natural, if our allegory may be trusted.

   Yes, very natural.

   And is there anything surprising in one who passes from divine contemplations to the evil state of man, misbehaving himself in a ridiculous manner; if, while his eyes are blinking and before he has become accustomed to the surrounding darkness, he is compelled to fight in courts of law, or in other places, about the images or the shadows of images of justice, and is


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endeavoring to meet the conceptions of those who have never yet seen absolute justice?

   Anything but surprising, he replied. Anyone who has common-sense will remember that the bewilderments of the eyes are of two kinds, and arise from two causes, either from coming out of the light or from going into the light, which is true of the mind's eye, quite as much as of the bodily eye; and he who remembers this when he sees anyone whose vision is perplexed and weak, will not be too ready to laugh; he will first ask whether that soul of man has come out of the brighter life, and is unable to see because unaccustomed to the dark, or having turned from darkness to the day is dazzled by excess of light. And he will count the one happy in his condition and state of being, and he will pity the other; or, if he have a mind to laugh at the soul which comes from below into the light, there will be more reason in this than in the laugh which greets him who returns from above out of the light into the den.

   That, he said, is a very just distinction.

   But then, if I am right, certain professors of education must be wrong when they say that they can put a knowledge into the soul which was not there before, like sight into blind eyes.

   They undoubtedly say this, he replied.

   Whereas, our argument shows that the power and capacity of learning exists in the soul already; and that just as the eye was unable to turn from darkness to light without the whole body, so too the instrument of knowledge can only by the movement of the whole soul be turned from the world of becoming into that of being, and learn by degrees to endure the sight of being, and of the brightest and best of being, or, in other words, of the good.

   Very true.

   And must there not be some art which will effect conversion in the easiest and quickest manner; not implanting the faculty of sight, for that exists already, but has been turned in the wrong direction, and is looking away from the truth?

   Yes, he said, such an art may be presumed.

   And whereas the other so-called virtues of the soul seem to be akin to bodily qualities, for even when they are not originally innate they can be implanted later by habit and exercise, the


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virtue of wisdom more than anything else contains a divine element which always remains, and by this conversion is rendered useful and profitable; or, on the other hand, hurtful and useless. Did you never observe the narrow intelligence flashing from the keen eye of a clever rogue -- how eager he is, how clearly his paltry soul sees the way to his end; he is the reverse of blind, but his keen eyesight is forced into the service of evil, and he is mischievous in proportion to his cleverness?


   Very true, he said…