BOOK I. The Republic opens with a truly Greek scene--a festival in honour

of the goddess Bendis which is held in the Piraeus; to this is added the

promise of an equestrian torch-race in the evening. The whole work is

supposed to be recited by Socrates on the day after the festival to a

small party, consisting of Critias, Timaeus, Hermocrates, and another;

this we learn from the first words of the Timaeus.

When the rhetorical advantage of reciting the Dialogue has been gained,

the attention is not distracted by any reference to the audience; nor is

the reader further reminded of the extraordinary length of the narrative.

Of the numerous company, three only take any serious part in the

discussion; nor are we informed whether in the evening they went to the

torch-race, or talked, as in the Symposium, through the night. The manner

in which the conversation has arisen is described *Stephanus 327* as

follows:--Socrates and his companion Glaucon are about to leave the

festival when they are detained by a message from Polemarchus, who

speedily appears accompanied by Adeimantus, the brother of Glaucon, and

with playful violence compels them to remain, promising them not only

{xvii} the torch-race, *328* but the pleasure of conversation with the

young, which to Socrates is a far greater attraction. They return to the

house of Cephalus, Polemarchus' father, now in extreme old age, who is

found sitting upon a cushioned seat crowned for a sacrifice. 'You should

come to me oftener, Socrates, for I am too old to go to you; and at my

time of life, having lost other pleasures, I care the more for

conversation.' *329* Socrates asks him what he thinks of age, to which the

old man replies, that the sorrows and discontents of age are to be

attributed to the tempers of men, and that age is a time of peace in which

the tyranny of the passions is no longer felt. Yes, replies Socrates, but

the world will say, Cephalus, that you are happy in old age because you

are rich. 'And there is something in what they say, Socrates, but not so

much as they imagine-- *330* as Themistocles replied to the Seriphian,

"Neither you, if you had been an Athenian, nor I, if I had been a

Seriphian, would ever have been famous," I might in like manner reply to

you, Neither a good poor man can be happy in age, nor yet a bad rich man.'

Socrates remarks that Cephalus appears not to care about riches, a quality

which he ascribes to his having inherited, not acquired them, and would

like to know what he considers to be the chief advantage of them. Cephalus

answers that when you are old the belief in the world below grows upon

you, and then to have done justice and never to have been compelled to do

injustice through poverty, *331* and never to have deceived anyone, are

felt to be unspeakable blessings. Socrates, who is evidently preparing for

an argument, next asks, What is the meaning of the word 'justice'? To tell

the truth and pay your debts? No more than this? Or must we admit

exceptions? Ought I, for example, to put back into the hands of my friend,

who has gone mad, the sword which I borrowed of him when he was in his

right mind? 'There must be exceptions.' 'And yet,' says Polemarchus, 'the

definition which has been given has the authority of Simonides.' Here

Cephalus retires to look after the sacrifices, and bequeaths, as Socrates

facetiously remarks, the possession of the argument to his heir,

Polemarchus....

[Sidenote: _Republic I._ Introduction.]

The description of old age is finished, and Plato, as his manner is, has

touched the key-note of the whole work in asking for the definition of

justice, first suggesting the question which Glaucon afterwards pursues

respecting external goods, and preparing for {xviii} the concluding mythus

of the world below in the slight allusion of Cephalus. The portrait of the

just man is a natural frontispiece or introduction to the long discourse

which follows, and may perhaps imply that in all our perplexity about the

nature of justice, there is no difficulty in discerning 'who is a just

man.' The first explanation has been supported by a saying of Simonides;

and now Socrates has a mind to show that the resolution of justice into

two unconnected precepts, which have no common principle, fails to satisfy

the demands of dialectic.

[Sidenote: _Republic I._ Analysis.]

... *332* He proceeds: What did Simonides mean by this saying of his? Did

he mean that I was to give back arms to a madman? 'No, not in that case,

not if the parties are friends, and evil would result. He meant that you

were to do what was proper, good to friends and harm to enemies.' Every

act does something to somebody; and following this analogy, Socrates asks,

What is this due and proper thing which justice does, and to whom? He is

answered that justice does good to friends and harm to enemies. But in

what way good or harm? 'In making alliances with the one, and going to war

with the other.' Then in time of peace what is the good of justice? *333*

The answer is that justice is of use in contracts, and contracts are money

partnerships. Yes; but how in such partnerships is the just man of more

use than any other man? 'When you want to have money safely kept and not

used.' Then justice will be useful when money is useless. And there is

another difficulty: justice, like the art of war or any other art, must be

of opposites, *334* good at attack as well as at defence, at stealing as

well as at guarding. But then justice is a thief, though a hero

notwithstanding, like Autolycus, the Homeric hero, who was 'excellent

above all men in theft and perjury'--to such a pass have you and Homer and

Simonides brought us; though I do not forget that the thieving must be for

the good of friends and the harm of enemies. And still there arises

another question: Are friends to be interpreted as real or seeming;

enemies as real or seeming? *335* And are our friends to be only the good,

and our enemies to be the evil? The answer is, that we must do good to our

seeming and real good friends, and evil to our seeming and real evil

enemies--good to the good, evil to the evil. But ought we to render evil

for evil at all, when to do so will only make men more evil? Can justice

produce injustice any more than the art of horsemanship {xix} can make bad

horsemen, or heat produce cold? The final conclusion is, that no sage or

poet ever said that the just return evil for evil; this was a maxim of

some rich and mighty man, Periander, *336* Perdiccas, or Ismenias the

Theban (about B.C. 398-381)....

* * * * *

[Sidenote: _Republic I._ Introduction.]

Thus the first stage of aphoristic or unconscious morality is shown to be

inadequate to the wants of the age; the authority of the poets is set

aside, and through the winding mazes of dialectic we make an approach to

the Christian precept of forgiveness of injuries. Similar words are

applied by the Persian mystic poet to the Divine being when the

questioning spirit is stirred within him:--'If because I do evil, Thou

punishest me by evil, what is the difference between Thee and me?' In this

both Plato and Khèyam rise above the level of many Christian (?)

theologians. The first definition of justice easily passes into the

second; for the simple words 'to speak the truth and pay your debts' is

substituted the more abstract 'to do good to your friends and harm to your

enemies.' Either of these explanations gives a sufficient rule of life for

plain men, but they both fall short of the precision of philosophy. We may

note in passing the antiquity of casuistry, which not only arises out of

the conflict of established principles in particular cases, but also out

of the effort to attain them, and is prior as well as posterior to our

fundamental notions of morality. The 'interrogation' of moral ideas; the

appeal to the authority of Homer; the conclusion that the maxim, 'Do good

to your friends and harm to your enemies,' being erroneous, could not have

been the word of any great man (cp. ii. 380 A, B), are all of them very

characteristic of the Platonic Socrates.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: _Republic I._ Analysis.]

... Here Thrasymachus, who has made several attempts to interrupt, but has

hitherto been kept in order by the company, takes advantage of a pause and

rushes into the arena, beginning, like a savage animal, with a roar.

'Socrates,' he says, 'what folly is this?--Why do you agree to be

vanquished by one another in a pretended argument?' He then prohibits all

the ordinary definitions of justice; *337* to which Socrates replies that

he cannot tell how many twelve is, if he is forbidden to say 2 x 6, or

3 x 4, or 6 x 2, or 4 x 3. At first Thrasymachus is reluctant to argue; but

at length, *338* with a promise of payment on the part of {xx} the company

and of praise from Socrates, he is induced to open the game. 'Listen,' he

says, 'my answer is that might is right, justice the interest of the

stronger: now praise me.' Let me understand you first. Do you mean that

because Polydamas the wrestler, who is stronger than we are, finds the

eating of beef for his interest, the eating of beef is also for our

interest, who are not so strong? Thrasymachus is indignant at the

illustration, and in pompous words, apparently intended to restore dignity

to the argument, he explains his meaning to be that the rulers make laws

for their own interests. *339* But suppose, says Socrates, that the ruler

or stronger makes a mistake--then the interest of the stronger is not his

interest. Thrasymachus is saved from this speedy downfall by his disciple

Cleitophon, who introduces the word 'thinks;' *340* --not the actual

interest of the ruler, but what he thinks or what seems to be his

interest, is justice. The contradiction is escaped by the unmeaning

evasion: for though his real and apparent interests may differ, what the

ruler thinks to be his interest will always remain what he thinks to be

his interest.

Of course this was not the original assertion, nor is the new

interpretation accepted by Thrasymachus himself. But Socrates is not

disposed to quarrel about words, if, as he significantly insinuates, his

adversary has changed his mind. In what follows Thrasymachus does in fact

withdraw his admission that the ruler may make a mistake, for he affirms

that the ruler as a ruler is infallible. *341* Socrates is quite ready to

accept the new position, which he equally turns against Thrasymachus by

the help of the analogy of the arts. *342* Every art or science has an

interest, but this interest is to be distinguished from the accidental

interest of the artist, and is only concerned with the good of the things

or persons which come under the art. And justice has an interest which is

the interest not of the ruler or judge, but of those who come under his

sway.

Thrasymachus is on the brink of the inevitable conclusion, when he makes a

bold diversion. *343* 'Tell me, Socrates,' he says, 'have you a nurse?'

What a question! Why do you ask? 'Because, if you have, she neglects you

and lets you go about drivelling, and has not even taught you to know the

shepherd from the sheep. For you fancy that shepherds and rulers never

think of their own interest, but only of their sheep or subjects, {xxi}

whereas the truth is that they fatten them for their use, sheep and

subjects alike. And experience proves that in every relation of life the

just man is the loser and the unjust the gainer, *344* especially where

injustice is on the grand scale, which is quite another thing from the

petty rogueries of swindlers and burglars and robbers of temples. The

language of men proves this--our 'gracious' and 'blessed' tyrant and the

like--all which tends to show (1) that justice is the interest of the

stronger; and (2) that injustice is more profitable and also stronger than

justice.'

Thrasymachus, who is better at a speech than at a close argument, having

deluged the company with words, has a mind to escape. *345* But the others

will not let him go, and Socrates adds a humble but earnest request that

he will not desert them at such a crisis of their fate. 'And what can I do

more for you?' he says; 'would you have me put the words bodily into your

souls?' God forbid! replies Socrates; but we want you to be consistent in

the use of terms, and not to employ 'physician' in an exact sense, and

then again 'shepherd' or 'ruler' in an inexact,--if the words are strictly

taken, the ruler and the shepherd look only to the good of their people or

flocks and not to their own: whereas you insist that rulers are solely

actuated by love of office. 'No doubt about it,' replies Thrasymachus.

*346* Then why are they paid? Is not the reason, that their interest is

not comprehended in their art, and is therefore the concern of another

art, the art of pay, which is common to the arts in general, and therefore

not identical with any one of them? *347* Nor would any man be a ruler

unless he were induced by the hope of reward or the fear of

punishment;--the reward is money or honour, the punishment is the

necessity of being ruled by a man worse than himself. And if a State (or

Church) were composed entirely of good men, they would be affected by the

last motive only; and there would be as much 'nolo episcopari' as there is

at present of the opposite....

[Sidenote: _Republic I._ Introduction.]

The satire on existing governments is heightened by the simple and

apparently incidental manner in which the last remark is introduced. There

is a similar irony in the argument that the governors of mankind do not

like being in office, and that therefore they demand pay.

[Sidenote: _Republic I._ Analysis.]

... Enough of this: the other assertion of Thrasymachus is far {xxii} more

important--that the unjust life is more gainful than the just. *348* Now,

as you and I, Glaucon, are not convinced by him, we must reply to him; but

if we try to compare their respective gains we shall want a judge to

decide for us; we had better therefore proceed by making mutual admissions

of the truth to one another.

Thrasymachus had asserted that perfect injustice was more gainful than

perfect justice, and after a little hesitation he is induced by Socrates

*349* to admit the still greater paradox that injustice is virtue and

justice vice. Socrates praises his frankness, and assumes the attitude of

one whose only wish is to understand the meaning of his opponents. At the

same time he is weaving a net in which Thrasymachus is finally enclosed.

The admission is elicited from him that the just man seeks to gain an

advantage over the unjust only, but not over the just, while the unjust

would gain an advantage over either. Socrates, in order to test this

statement, employs once more the favourite analogy of the arts. *350* The

musician, doctor, skilled artist of any sort, does not seek to gain more

than the skilled, but only more than the unskilled (that is to say, he

works up to a rule, standard, law, and does not exceed it), whereas the

unskilled makes random efforts at excess. Thus the skilled falls on the

side of the good, and the unskilled on the side of the evil, and the just

is the skilled, and the unjust is the unskilled.

There was great difficulty in bringing Thrasymachus to the point; the day

was hot and he was streaming with perspiration, and for the first time in

his life he was seen to blush. But his other thesis that injustice was

stronger than justice has not yet been refuted, and Socrates now proceeds

to the consideration of this, which, with the assistance of Thrasymachus,

he hopes to clear up; the latter is at first churlish, but in the

judicious hands of Socrates is soon restored to good humour: *351* Is

there not honour among thieves? Is not the strength of injustice only a

remnant of justice? Is not absolute injustice absolute weakness also?

*352* A house that is divided against itself cannot stand; two men who

quarrel detract from one another's strength, and he who is at war with

himself is the enemy of himself and the gods. Not wickedness therefore,

but semi-wickedness flourishes in states,--a remnant of good is needed in

order to make union in action possible,--there is no kingdom of evil in

this world.

{xxiii} Another question has not been answered: Is the just or the unjust

the happier? To this we reply, that every art has an end and an excellence

or virtue by which the end is accomplished. And is not the end of the soul

happiness, and justice the excellence of the soul by which happiness is

attained? *354* Justice and happiness being thus shown to be inseparable,

the question whether the just or the unjust is the happier has

disappeared.

Thrasymachus replies: 'Let this be your entertainment, Socrates, at the

festival of Bendis.' Yes; and a very good entertainment with which your

kindness has supplied me, now that you have left off scolding. And yet not

a good entertainment--but that was my own fault, for I tasted of too many

things. First of all the nature of justice was the subject of our enquiry,

and then whether justice is virtue and wisdom, or evil and folly; and then

the comparative advantages of just and unjust: and the sum of all is that

I know not what justice is; how then shall I know whether the just is

happy or not?...

[Sidenote: _Republic I._ Introduction.]

Thus the sophistical fabric has been demolished, chiefly by appealing to

the analogy of the arts. 'Justice is like the arts (1) in having no

external interest, and (2) in not aiming at excess, and (3) justice is to

happiness what the implement of the workman is to his work.' At this the

modern reader is apt to stumble, because he forgets that Plato is writing

in an age when the arts and the virtues, like the moral and intellectual

faculties, were still undistinguished. Among early enquirers into the

nature of human action the arts helped to fill up the void of speculation;

and at first the comparison of the arts and the virtues was not perceived

by them to be fallacious. They only saw the points of agreement in them

and not the points of difference. Virtue, like art, must take means to an

end; good manners are both an art and a virtue; character is naturally

described under the image of a statue (ii. 361 D; vii. 540 C); and there

are many other figures of speech which are readily transferred from art to

morals. The next generation cleared up these perplexities; or at least

supplied after ages with a further analysis of them. The contemporaries of

Plato were in a state of transition, and had not yet fully realized the

common-sense distinction of Aristotle, that 'virtue is concerned with

action, art with production' (Nic. Eth. vi. 4), or that 'virtue implies

intention and constancy of purpose,' {xxiv} whereas 'art requires

knowledge only' (Nic. Eth. vi. 3). And yet in the absurdities which follow

from some uses of the analogy (cp. i. 333 E, 334 B), there seems to be an

intimation conveyed that virtue is more than art. This is implied in the

_reductio ad absurdum_ that 'justice is a thief,' and in the

dissatisfaction which Socrates expresses at the final result.

The expression 'an art of pay' (i. 346 B) which is described as 'common to

all the arts' is not in accordance with the ordinary use of language. Nor

is it employed elsewhere either by Plato or by any other Greek writer. It

is suggested by the argument, and seems to extend the conception of art to

doing as well as making. Another flaw or inaccuracy of language may be

noted in the words (i. 335 C) 'men who are injured are made more unjust.'

For those who are injured are not necessarily made worse, but only harmed

or ill-treated.

The second of the three arguments, 'that the just does not aim at excess,'

has a real meaning, though wrapped up in an enigmatical form. That the

good is of the nature of the finite is a peculiarly Hellenic sentiment,

which may be compared with the language of those modern writers who speak

of virtue as fitness, and of freedom as obedience to law. The mathematical

or logical notion of limit easily passes into an ethical one, and even

finds a mythological expression in the conception of envy ([Greek:

phtho/nos]). Ideas of measure, equality, order, unity, proportion, still

linger in the writings of moralists; and the true spirit of the fine arts

is better conveyed by such terms than by superlatives.

'When workmen strive to do better than well,

They do confound their skill in covetousness.'

(King John, Act iv. Sc. 2.)

The harmony of the soul and body (iii. 402 D), and of the parts of the

soul with one another (iv. 442 C), a harmony 'fairer than that of musical

notes,' is the true Hellenic mode of conceiving the perfection of human

nature.

In what may be called the epilogue of the discussion with Thrasymachus,

Plato argues that evil is not a principle of strength, but of discord and

dissolution, just touching the question which has been often treated in

modern times by theologians and philosophers, of the negative nature of

evil (cp. on the other hand x. 610). In the last argument we trace the

germ of the {xxv} Aristotelian doctrine of an end and a virtue directed

towards the end, which again is suggested by the arts. The final

reconcilement of justice and happiness and the identity of the individual

and the State are also intimated. Socrates reassumes the character of a

'know-nothing;' at the same time he appears to be not wholly satisfied

with the manner in which the argument has been conducted. Nothing is

concluded; but the tendency of the dialectical process, here as always, is

to enlarge our conception of ideas, and to widen their application to

human life.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: _Republic II._ Analysis.]