Socrates the very same man is a good guardian of an army who is good at stealing a march upon the enemy in respect of their designs and proceedings generally.” “Certainly.” “Of whatsoever, then, anyone is a skilful guardian, of that he is also a skilful thief?” “It seems so.” “If then the just man is an expert in guarding money he is an expert in stealing it.” “The argument certainly points that way.” “A kind of thief then the just man it seems has turned out to be, and it is likely that you acquired this idea from Homer. For he regards with complacency Autolycus,

Socrates the maternal uncle of Odysseus, and says he was gifted beyond all men in thievery and perjury. So justice, according to you and Homer and Simonides, seems to be a kind of stealing, with the qualification that it is for the benefit of friends and the harm of enemies. Isn’t that what you meant?” “No, by Zeus,” he replied. “I no longer know what I did mean. Yet this I still believe, that justice benefits friends and harms enemies.”

Socrates “May I ask whether by friends you mean those who seem to a man to be worthy or those who really are so, even if they do not seem, and similarly of enemies?” “It is likely,” he said, “that men will love those whom they suppose to be good and dislike those whom they deem bad.” “Do not men make mistakes in this matter so that many seem good to them who are not and the reverse?” “They do.” “For those, then, who thus err the good are their enemies and the bad their friends?” “Certainly.” “But all the same is then just for them to benefit the bad

Socrates and injure the good?” “It would seem so.” “But again the good are just and incapable of injustice.” “True.” “On your reasoning then it is just to wrong those who do no injustice.” “Nay, nay, Socrates,” he said, “the reasoning can’t be right.” “Then,” said I, “it is just to harm the unjust and benefit the just.” “That seems a better conclusion than the other.” “It will work out, then, for many, Polemarchus, who have misjudged men that it is just to harm their friends,

Socrates for they have got bad ones, and to benefit their enemies, for they are good. And so we shall find ourselves saying the very opposite of what we affirmed Simonides to mean.” “Most certainly,” he said, “it does work out so. But let us change our ground; for it looks as if we were wrong in the notion we took up about the friend and the enemy.” “What notion, Polemarchus?” “That the man who seems to us good is the friend.” “And to what shall we change it now?” said I.

“That the man who both seems and is good is the friend, but that he who seems

Socrates but is not really so seems but is not really the friend. And there will be the same assumption about the enemy.” “Then on this view it appears the friend will be the good man and the bad the enemy.” “Yes.” “So you would have us qualify our former notion of the just man by an addition. We then said it was just to do good to a friend and evil to an enemy, but now we are to add that it is just to benefit the friend if he is good and harm the enemy if he is bad?”

Socrates “By all means,” he said, “that, I think, would be the right way to put it.”

“Is it then,” said I, “the part of a good man to harm anybody whatsoever?” “Certainly it is,” he replied; “a man ought to harm those who are both bad and his enemies.” “When horses are harmed does it make them better or worse?” “Worse.” “In respect of the excellence or virtue of dogs or that of horses?” “Of horses.” “And do not also dogs when harmed become worse in respect of canine and not of equine virtue?” “Necessarily.”

“And men, my dear fellow, must we not say that when they are harmed it is in respect of the distinctive excellence or virtue of man that they become worse?” “Assuredly.” “And is not justice the specific virtue of man?” “That too must be granted.” “Then it must also be admitted, my friend, that men who are harmed become more unjust.” “It seems so.” “Do musicians then make men unmusical by the art of music?” “Impossible.” “Well, do horsemen by horsemanship unfit men for dealing with horses?” “No.” “By justice then do the just make men unjust,

or in sum do the good by virtue make men bad?” “Nay, it is impossible.” “It is not, I take it, the function of heat to chill but of its opposite.” “Yes.” “Nor of dryness to moisten but of its opposite.” “Assuredly.” “Nor yet of the good to harm but of its opposite.” “So it appears.” “But the just man is good?” “Certainly.” “It is not then the function of the just man, Polemarchus, to harm either friend or anyone else, but of his opposite.” “I think you are altogether right,

Socrates.” “If, then, anyone affirms that it is just to render to each his due and he means by this, that injury and harm is what is due to his enemies from the just man and benefits to his friends, he was no truly wise man who said it. For what he meant was not true. For it has been made clear to us that in no case is it just to harm anyone.” “I concede it,” he said. “We will take up arms against him, then,” said I, “you and I together, if anyone affirms that either Simonides or Bias or Pittacus or any other of the wise and blessed said such a thing.” “I, for my part,” he said, “am ready to join in the battle with you.”

Socrates “Do you know,” said I, “to whom I think the saying belongs—this statement that it is just to benefit friends and harm enemies?” “To whom?” he said. “I think it was the saying of Periander or Perdiccas or Xerxes or Ismenias the Theban or some other rich man who had great power in his own conceit.” “That is most true,” he replied. “Very well,” said I, “since it has been made clear that this too is not justice and the just, what else is there that we might say justice to be?”

Now Thrasymachus, even while we were conversing, had been trying several times to break in and lay hold of the discussion but he was restrained by those who sat by him who wished to hear the argument out. But when we came to a pause after I had said this, he couldn’t any longer hold his peace. But gathering himself up like a wild beast he hurled himself upon us as if he would tear us to pieces. And Polemarchus and I were frightened and fluttered apart, and he bawled out into our midst,

“What balderdash is this that you have been talking, and why do you Simple Simons truckle and give way to one another? But if you really wish, Socrates, to know what the just is, don’t merely ask questions or plume yourself upon controverting any answer that anyone gives—since your acumen has perceived that it is easier to ask questions than to answer them, but do you yourself answer and tell

what you say the just is. And don’t you be telling me that it is that which ought to be, or the beneficial or the profitable or the gainful or the advantageous, but express clearly and precisely whatever you say. For I won’t take from you any such drivel as that!” And I, when I heard him, was dismayed, and looking upon him was filled with fear, and I believe that if I had not looked at him before he did at me I should have lost my voice. But as it is, at the very moment when he began to be exasperated by the course of the argument

I glanced at him first, so that I became capable of answering him and said with a light tremor: “Thrasymachus, don’t be harsh with us. If I and my friend have made mistakes in the consideration of the question, rest assured that it is unwillingly that we err. For you surely must not suppose that while if our quest were for gold we would never willingly truckle to one another and make concessions in the search and so spoil our chances of finding it, yet that when we are searching for justice, a thing more precious than much fine gold, we should then be so foolish as to give way to one another and not rather do our serious best to have it discovered.”