Republic

”But do you know,” I said, “to whom I think that saying belongs—the saying that it is just to benefit friends and harm enemies?” “Whose?” he said. “I think it belongs to Periander or Perdiccas or Xerxes or Ismenias the Theban, or some other rich man who thought he had great power.” “You speak the absolute truth,” he said. “Very well,” I said; “since then this too has appeared not to be justice or the just, what else would anyone say it is?” And Thrasymachus had often started to interrupt the discussion while we were talking, but was prevented by those sitting near him who wanted to hear the argument out. But when we paused and I said these things, he could no longer keep quiet, but, gathering himself up like a wild beast, he came at us as if to tear us to pieces. And both Polemarchus and I were terrified and fluttered; and he, speaking out into the midst, said, “What nonsense has possessed you two for so long, Socrates? And why do you act like simpletons, giving way to one another? But if you truly want to know what the just is, do not merely ask questions, nor seek honor by refuting whenever someone answers, knowing this, that it is easier to ask than to answer; but answer yourself as well and say what you claim the just to be. And mind you don’t tell me that it is the due, or the beneficial, or the profitable, or the gainful, or the advantageous, but tell me clearly and precisely whatever you mean; for I won’t accept it if you talk such rubbish.” And when I heard this, I was astonished, and looking at him, I was frightened; and I think that if I had not looked at him before he looked at me, I would have become speechless. But as it was, at the moment when he began to be exasperated by the argument, I looked at him first, so that I was able to answer him, and I said, trembling slightly: “Thrasymachus, do not be hard on us. For if we are making any mistake in the examination of the arguments, both I and this man here, be assured that we err unwillingly. For do not suppose that, if we were searching for gold, we would ever willingly give way to one another in the search and ruin our chance of finding it, and yet, when searching for justice, a thing more precious than much gold, we would then so foolishly yield to one another and not exert ourselves to the utmost to bring it to light.

​Do believe that, my friend. But I think we are not able to do so; it is therefore far more reasonable that we should be pitied by you clever people than that you should be angry with us.” And when he heard this, he laughed very sardonically and said, “Heracles!” he said, “This is that customary irony of Socrates! And I both knew this and told these people beforehand that you would refuse to answer, that you would play the ironist and do anything rather than answer if anyone asked you anything.” “For you are wise, Thrasymachus,” I said. “So you knew very well that if you asked someone how many twelve is, and as you asked you warned him beforehand— ‘Mind, fellow, you don’t tell me that twelve is twice six, or three times four, or six times two, or four times three; for I won’t accept it if you talk such nonsense’— —it was clear to you, I suppose, that no one would answer a man who inquired in that way. But if he had said to you: ‘Thrasymachus, what do you mean? Am I not to answer any of those things you listed beforehand? Even if, my wonderful sir, one of them happens to be the truth, am I still not to say it, but say something other than the truth? Or what do you mean?’ What would you have said to him in reply to this?” “Well,” he said, “as if this case were like that one!” “Nothing prevents it,” I said. “And even if it is not like it, but appears so to the person questioned, do you think he is any less likely to answer what appears to him, whether we forbid it or not?” “Is that, then, what you are going to do?” he said. “Will you answer one of the things I forbade?” “I shouldn’t be surprised,” I said, “if it should seem so to me upon consideration.” ”What then,” he said, “if I should show you another answer about justice, different from all these and better than them? What penalty do you think you deserve to suffer?” “What else,” I said, “than what is proper for one who does not know to suffer? And it is proper, I suppose, to learn from the one who knows. So I think I deserve to suffer that.” “How sweet you are!” he said. “But in addition to learning, you must also pay a fine in money.” “Well, as soon as I have some,” I said. “But you have it,” said Glaucon. “If it’s a matter of money, Thrasymachus, speak; for we will all contribute for Socrates.” ”I dare say,” he said, “so that Socrates may play his usual game: he won’t answer himself, but when someone else answers, he will take up the argument and refute it.”