The Complete Works of Plato

"Well then, grant me this too, and tell me: do you think that a city, or an army, or a band of robbers or thieves, or any other group that sets out to achieve something unjustly, could accomplish anything if they acted unjustly toward one another?"

"Certainly not," I said.

"What if they did not act unjustly? Would they not succeed better?"

"Certainly."

"For injustice, Thrasymachus, surely produces faction, hatred, and strife among them, while justice produces concord and friendship. Is that not so?"

"Let it be so," he said, "so that I may not contend with you."

"But you do well, my excellent friend. Now tell me this: if this is the work of injustice, to produce hatred wherever it may be present, will it not, when it arises among free men and slaves alike, cause them to hate one another, to be at faction, and to be unable to act in common with one another?"

"Certainly."

"What if it arises between two people? Will they not differ, and hate each other, and be enemies to both each other and to just men?"

"They will," he said.

"And if, my wondrous friend, injustice arises within one person, will it lose its power, or will it retain it no less?"

"Let it retain it no less," he said.

"Therefore, it appears to have a certain power, such that wherever it is present—whether in a city, a lineage, an army, or anything else—it first makes it impossible for that thing to act in concert with itself, because of faction and discord. Furthermore, it makes it an enemy to itself, to every opponent, and to the just. Is that not so?"

"Certainly."

"And when it is present in one person, I suppose it will produce all the same effects that it is naturally disposed to produce. First, it will make him unable to act, being at faction and not in harmony with himself; then, it will make him an enemy both to himself and to the just. Is that not so?"

"Yes."

"And are the gods, my friend, also just?"

"Let them be," he said.

"Then the unjust man will be an enemy to the gods, Thrasymachus, and the just man will be their friend."

"Feast on your argument," he said, "and have no fear; for I will not oppose you, so that I may not be disagreeable to these men here."

"Come then," I said, "and fulfill the rest of the feast for me by answering as you have just now. For we have seen that just men appear to be both wiser and better, and more capable of acting; while those who are unjust are not able to accomplish anything with one another. And as for what we said—that some who are unjust ever accomplish anything in common with one another with strength—that statement was not altogether true. For if they were completely unjust, they would not have refrained from each other; but it is clear that some justice resided in them, which prevented them from acting unjustly toward one another, at least, while they were acting against those they were attacking. It was through this that they accomplished what they did, and they set out upon their unjust deeds by their injustice, being only half-wicked; for those who are wholly depraved and completely unjust are also completely incapable of acting. I understand, therefore, that things are in this state, and not as you first posited. But whether the just live better than the unjust, and are happier—which we later proposed to examine—that must be considered. They do appear to be so, even now, at least as it seems to me from what we have said. Nevertheless, it must be considered yet more carefully; for the argument is not about some random matter, but about how one ought to live."

"Consider it, then," he said.

"I am considering it," I said, "and tell me: does there seem to you to be a work of a horse?"

"To me, yes."

"And would you define the work of a horse, or of anything else, as that which one can do either only with that thing, or best with it?"

"I do not understand," he said.

"Well, consider it thus: is there anything you could see with other than your eyes?"

"Certainly not."

"And what about hearing? With anything other than your ears?"

"In no way."

"Then we would justly say that these are the works of these organs, would we not?"

"Certainly."

"And what about this: could you prune a grapevine shoot with a knife or a chisel, and many other things?"

"How could I not?"

"But I do not think you could do it as well with anything as with a pruning hook made for this purpose."

"True."

"Shall we not, then, posit this as its work?"

"We shall indeed posit it."

"Now, I think you might understand better what I was just asking: whether the work of each thing is not that which it alone, or better than all others, accomplishes."

"I understand," he said, "and it seems to me that this is the work of each thing."

"Very well," I said. "And does it not seem to you that there is also a virtue for each thing to which a work is assigned? Let us go over the same ground again: we say there is a work of the eyes?"

"There is."

"Then is there also a virtue of the eyes? Yes. And what of the ears? Is there a work?"

"Yes."

"Then also a virtue? And a virtue. And what about all other things—is it not so?"

"It is. Consider then: could the eyes ever perform their own work well if they did not possess their own proper virtue, but instead of virtue, a vice?"