Republic

”On account of these things indeed, my friend Thrasymachus, I was saying just now too that no one is willing to rule voluntarily and to take in hand to correct other people’s evils, but they demand pay, because he who is going to perform well in his art never performs what is best for himself nor commands it when commanding according to his art, but for the ruled. On account of these things indeed, as it seems, there must be pay for those who are going to be willing to rule, either money or honor, or a penalty if one does not rule.” “How do you mean this, Socrates?” Glaucon said. “For I recognize the two kinds of pay, but the penalty you speak of, and how you have spoken of it as in the place of pay, I did not understand.” “Then the pay of the best men,” I said, “you do not understand, because of which the most decent men rule, when they are willing to rule. Or do you not know that to be a lover of honor and a lover of money is said to be and is a disgrace?” “I do indeed,” he said. “On account of these things, therefore,” I said, “the good are not willing to rule either for the sake of money or of honor. For they do not wish to be called hirelings by openly demanding pay for the sake of their office, nor thieves by themselves taking secretly from the office. Nor, again, for the sake of honor, for they are not lovers of honor. Therefore, there must be necessity and a penalty attached to them if they are going to be willing to rule—whence it is likely that going to rule voluntarily, and not waiting for necessity, is considered shameful—and of the penalty, the greatest is to be ruled by a worse person, if one is not himself willing to rule. Fearing this, the decent men seem to me to rule when they do rule, and then they come to rule not as if going to something good nor as if they are going to fare well in it, but as to something necessary, and because they do not have better people than themselves to whom to entrust it, nor even equals. Since it is likely that if there were a city of good men, not ruling would be as fought over as ruling is now, and there it would become completely clear that in truth a true ruler is not naturally born to consider what is advantageous to himself but to the ruled. So that anyone with understanding would choose rather to be benefited by another than to have trouble benefiting another. This, then, I in no way concede to Thrasymachus, that justice is the advantage of the stronger. But this indeed we shall examine again hereafter; but what Thrasymachus is saying now seems to me to be much greater, when he claims that the life of the unjust man is better than that of the just man. Which way, then,” I said, “Glaucon, do you choose? And which seems to you to be spoken more truly?” “I, for my part, say that the life of the just man is more profitable.”

”Did you hear,” I said, “how many good things Thrasymachus just now went through for the life of the unjust man?” “I heard,” he said, “but I am not persuaded.” “Do you wish, then, that we persuade him, if we can find a way in some way, that he is not speaking the truth?” “Of course I wish it,” he said. “If, then,” I said, “stretching ourselves against him, we speak argument against argument, showing how many good things being just has in turn, and he in turn speaks, and we another, we shall have to count the goods and measure how many each of us says in each, and we shall already need some judges to decide. But if, as just now, we examine while agreeing with each other, we ourselves shall be at once both judges and advocates.” “Certainly,” he said. “Which way, then,” I said, “pleases you?” “This way,” he said. “Come then,” I said, “Thrasymachus, answer us from the beginning. Do you say that complete injustice is more profitable than complete justice?” ”Certainly I say so,” he said, “and I have already told you why.” “Come now, how do you speak of this kind of thing concerning them? Surely you call one of them a virtue and the other a vice?” “Of course.” “Then you call justice a virtue, and injustice a vice?” “That is likely, my sweet Socrates, since I even say that injustice is profitable and justice is not.” “But what then?” “The opposite,” he said. “Do you call justice a vice?” “No, but a very noble simplicity.” ”Do you call injustice, then, a bad character?” “No, but good counsel,” he said. “And do the unjust, Thrasymachus, seem to you to be both prudent and good?” “Those indeed who are completely able to do injustice,” he said, “being able to bring cities and nations of men under themselves. But you perhaps think I am talking about those who cut purses. Indeed,” he said, “such things too are profitable, if they go undetected; but they are not worthy of account, but rather what I was just now saying.” ”This indeed,” I said, “I am not ignorant of, what you wish to say, but this I wondered at, if you place injustice in the portion of virtue and wisdom, and justice in the opposites.” “But I certainly do place them so.” “This,” I said, “is already more solid, my companion, and it is no longer easy to find what one might say.”