[336b-340c] Thrasymachus explodes in irritation at the course the discussion has taken. He demands that Socrates not just ask but answer the question, ‘what is justice?’ Also, he will not accept certain answers – ‘justice is the right’, etc. – as satisfactory. Socrates: but what if one of the forbidden answers is the right one? Thrasymachus proposes that he has a better answer, but wants to be paid for teaching it. When finally prevailed upon to speak, he declares: ‘justice is the advantage of the stronger.’ But what does this mean? Thrasymachus explains in political terms. Governments – which are stronger than those governed - establish laws for their own advantage. These laws are called ‘justice’. Therefore, ‘justice is the advantage of the stronger’. Socrates: is it ‘just’ to obey the law? Yes. And are the rulers infallible? No. So sometimes laws are not made to the advantage of rulers? Yes. So sometimes justice is both obedience and disobedience to the stronger.

Many times in the course of this discussion Thrasymachus had tried to jump in and interrupt the argument, but had been prevented by the rest of those present, who wanted to hear things out. Now, when I had just said this and Polemarchus and I had paused, he could contain himself no longer. Gathering himself up, he burst out like a wild beast bent on tearing and devouring us. We were quite panic-stricken at the sight of him.

He roared out to the whole lot of us: what nonsense have you prize idiots been spouting, Socrates? And why do the both of you give way, ridiculously, to what the other says? I say that if you really want to know what justice is, you should not only ask the question. You like to compete; you want to win; and you know it’s easier to win when you ask than when you answer. Now you answer the question yourself, and say what you think justice is. And I won’t have any of this ‘justice is what ought to be’ or ‘the beneficial’, or ‘the profitable’, or ‘the advantageous’. None of this nonsense will do for me, since what I want instead is a bit of clarity and precision.

I was near panic at hearing this outburst, and I could hardly meet his gaze. In fact, I think that if I had not just then looked Thrasymachus right in the eye, I would have been silenced: but when I saw his irritation showing through, I looked right at him; that allowed me to reply.

Thrasymachus, I said, with just a slight hitch in my voice, don't be so critical of us. Polemarchus and I may be guilty of making mistakes in our argument, but you know perfectly well we weren’t doing it on purpose. If we were looking for a piece of gold, you wouldn’t say that we were ‘giving way to each other,’ and thereby destroying our chances of finding it. Why, then, when we are seeking justice – a thing more precious than much gold – do you assert that we are stupidly giving in to each other and not doing our utmost to get at the truth? You know it isn’t so, my good friend; it’s just that we aren’t capable. And since that is the way of it, people like you – who are so terribly clever – should pity us instead of being angry.

How like you, Socrates! he replied, with a bitter laugh. Hercules knows there’s no mistaking your usual irony! I knew it – didn’t I just say it? – that whatever he was asked he would refuse to answer. He falls back on irony, shuffling his feet rather than answering the straight question put to him.

You are a philosopher, Thrasymachus, I replied, so I think you can appreciate how, if someone asks a man to say what numbers make up twelve, and while he asks adds, ‘Don’t, my good man, say that twelve is twice six, or three times four, or six times two, or four times three, for I won’t accept any nonsense like that from you’ – I think it must be clear to you that no one could answer the question when put that way. But what if he said to you, ‘Thrasymachus, what do you mean? Am I not supposed to give any of those answers you forbid? What if one of them is the right answer, you uncanny man; am I supposed to lie and say it is some other number? Is this what you want?’ – How would you answer?

The way you talk, you would think the two cases had something in common.

Why shouldn’t they? I replied; and even if they don’t, but it appears to the one being questioned that they do, shouldn’t he speak his mind whether we forbid him or not?

I expect then, he said, that you are going to make one of the forbidden answers?

I wouldn’t be too astonished if I did – if upon reflection I think any of them is any good.

But what if I give you an answer about justice, he said – one different from and better than any of these? What penalty should you have to pay then?

What else, I said, than the penalty ignorant people always pay to the wise? The proper penalty is learning the answer from one who knows it, and this is what I think I deserve to suffer.

You are so naïve, he said. In addition to the penalty of learning, you’ll have to pay money.

I will pay when I have some money, I replied.

It’s all right, Socrates, said Glaucon. If it is money you are worried about, Thrasymachus, we will all chip in to pay for Socrates’ schooling.

Yes, he replied, and then Socrates will do as he always does – refuse to answer, while shredding someone else’s answer.

But, my good friend, I said, how can anyone answer a question who doesn’t know the answer, and says he doesn’t know the answer; who, even if he knew a little something by way of answer, has in any case been all but forbidden to say what he thinks by a rather formidible man? No, you should talk instead, as you say you know the answer, and have something to say. So don’t think of doing anything else, but be gracious enough to answer me, and don’t selfishly keep silent, but speak up for the edification of Glaucon here, and everyone else.

As I was saying this, Glaucon and the rest of the company joined in my request and Thrasymachus, as anyone could see, was really eager to speak, because he thought he had an excellent answer, and would soon be standing tall in our eyes. For a while longer he held out, pretending to insist on my answering; but in the end he agreed to begin. Behold, he said, the wisdom of Socrates; he refuses to teach, and goes about learning from others, to whom he never pays so much as a ‘thank you very much.’

That I learn from others, I replied, is quite true; but that I am ungrateful, I deny. I have no money, and therefore pay in praise, which is all I have to give. You will soon find out how ready I am to praise a good speaker; for I expect you will answer well.

Listen, then, he said; I declare that justice is nothing but the advantage of the stronger. And now why don’t you all praise me? Oh, but wait. Of course you won't.

Let me first make sure I understand, I replied, for now I don’t at all. Justice, you say, is the advantage of the stronger. But what, Thrasymachus, is this supposed to mean? You cannot mean to say that because Polydamas the wrestler is stronger than we are; and because eating beef makes him stronger still; and because eating beef is therefore to his advantage; that therefore justice for all of us is for him to eat more beef?

Your answer is disgusting, Socrates; you take hold of the argument at just the point where you know how to do it most harm.

Not at all, my good sir, I said; but try to express yourself more clearly.

Well, he said, perhaps you have heard about how forms of government differ from place to place; there are tyrannies, and democracies, and aristocracies?

Yes, I know.

And the government is the ruling power in each state?

Certainly.

339

And each government establishes laws with an eye to its own advantage – the democracy making democratic laws and the tyranny tyrannical ones, and so forth. And these laws, which are made by them for their advantage, are the justice which they hand down to their subjects. And whoever breaks these laws is punished as an unjust lawbreaker. And that is what I mean when I say that in all states there is the same principle of justice: namely, the advantage of the established government. And as the government must be supposed to have power, the only reasonable conclusion to be drawn is that everywhere you go there is but one principle of justice: namely, the advantage of the stronger.

Now I understand you, I said; whether you are right or not I will try to discover. But first let me say that in defining justice you yourself used the word ‘advantage’ which you forbade me to use. It is true, however, that in your definition the words ‘of the stronger’ were added.

A little something added, maybe, he said.

Large or small, never mind about that: we must first look into the question of whether what you have said is true or not. Now we both agree that justice is advantage of some sort, but you go on to say "of the stronger"; I’m not sure about this, and must therefore consider further.

Proceed, he said.

I will, I said. First tell me, do you admit that it is just for subjects to obey their rulers?

I do.

But are the rulers of each of these states absolutely infallible, or do they sometimes make mistakes?

Obviously, he replied, they sometimes make mistakes.

Then in making their laws they may sometimes make them the right way, sometimes the wrong way?

I agree.

When they make them rightly, they make them to their own advantage; when they make a mistake, the laws are not made to their advantage; do you agree?

Yes.

Anyway, the laws which are made must be obeyed by the subjects – and that is what you call justice?

No doubt about it.

Then justice, by your argument, is not only obedience to the advantage of the stronger, but also the reverse, what is not to his advantage?

What are you talking about? he asked.

I am only repeating what you said, I think. Here, let’s consider: haven’t we admitted that the rulers can mistakenly betray their own advantage by making the commands they do, and also that for those who are ruled to obey these commands is justice? Didn’t you say as much?

Yes.

Then you have agreed that it is just to do what is to the disadvantage of those who rule and are stronger, whenever the rulers unintentionally command things which are bad for them. For if, as you say, it is just to perform those very things which the rulers command, in that case – O, wisest of men – is there any escape from the conclusion that it is just to do the opposite of what you say? For the weaker are commanded to do what is to the disadvantage of the stronger?

By Zeus, this is clear as day, Socrates, said Polemarchus.

Yes, said Cleitophon, breaking in, if anyone asked you to be a witness.

Who needs witnesses? said Polemarchus. Thrasymachus plainly admitted rulers may sometimes make commands not to their advantage, and that for subjects to obey these commands is justice.

But, Polemarchus, Thrasymachus said that for subjects to do what was commanded of them by their rulers is just.

Yes, Cleitophon, but he also said justice is the interest of the stronger; and, while holding both these positions, he admitted as well that the stronger may command the weaker, who are his subjects, to do things that are not to his advantage; it follows that justice is just as much the injury as the interest of the stronger

But, said Cleitophon, when he said ‘the advantage of the stronger’, he meant what the stronger thought to be his advantage – this was what the weaker had to do; this is what he said justice is.

That isn’t what he said, retorted Polemarchus.

Never mind that, Polemarchus, I replied. If he now says this is how it is, let us accept his statement.

back to Republic mainpage

back to Plato mainpage