I. Commentary on the Republic, 327 to 336.
The definition of justice that Polemarchus and Cephalus derive from Simonides and which Polemarchus then attempts to defend is this: “Justice is helping your friends and harming your enemies.” A first objection is something like this: “But some people are not really your friends but only appear to be. They are false friends. And some people are not really your enemies but only appear to be. They may really be friends. Thus, if you undertake to harm your enemies, you may actually be harming your friends.”
This thought raises the question not only of how you can tell friends from foes, but also of what friendship is. Is someone who crosses or opposes your will always an enemy? Is it necessarily the case that someone who helps you get what you want is a friend? I suggest that it depends on why that person acts as he does. Someone who opposes your will may appear to be an enemy but yet be a true friend. I offer this explanation: If a person acts for the sake of what is right and good, then he acts in a friendly way toward those who are affected, even though some of those affected want him to act otherwise.
Polemarchus makes an amendment (at Stephanus 335):
P: “A friend is one who not only seems good, but is good. One who seems good but isn’t is only a seeming friend. And so for an enemy.”
S: “By this definition, it seems, a good man is a friend and a bad one is an enemy.”
P: “Yes.”
Polemarchus here agrees to distinguish between appearance (what seems to be the case) and reality (what is the case.) When we undertake to define a concept (as here the idea of friendship receives a little more definition), we want the definition to coincide with reality, not just with appearance, because we want knowledge, not just opinion.
At this point in the dialogue, Polemarchus still wants to maintain that justice is helping your friends and harming your enemies, with, now, the proper qualification added about who your real friends and enemies are. That is, he now wants to say that justice is helping good people and harming bad people.
Socrates then raises the question of whether a just person, by the practice of justice, can harm someone. Socrates compares justice to musicianship. By practicing musicianship, one does not make others less musical. Polemarchus agrees, at 335c, that justice is a virtue or human excellence and that to harm someone is to impair his excellence as a human being. But then it would follow that if the practice of justice cannot make people less just, then neither can it harm them, for it cannot damage them as human beings. Making someone more just through the practice of justice is a benefit, not a harm to him. Socrates asks Polemarchus (at 335c-d):
S: Can musicians use music to make people unmusical, or trainers use horsemanship to make them poor riders?
P: Impossible.
S: But the just can use justice to make people unjust and, in a word, the good can use excellence to make people bad. Is that correct?
P: No, that’s impossible too.
This agreement between Socrates and Polemarchus implies two propositions:
(1) justice is a part of virtue (areté), and
(2) the practice of virtue is good for everyone affected.
If proposition (2) is true, then one cannot harm anyone by practicing justice, and so justice cannot include the harm of one’s enemies.[1] Polemarchus agrees implicitly with proposition (2) and so is led to the conclusion that justice cannot include harming anyone.
Thrasymachus becomes agitated at this point in the discussion, because he thinks that propositions (1) and (2) are both false.
Thrasymachus does not believe that proposition (1) is true because he does not believe in an objective conception of the good; he thinks that what is good is relative to individual preference so that what may be good for one person may always be bad for another since what one person wants may not be what another person wants. He also believes that virtue or areté—that quality in a person that commands admiration and respect—consists of the ability to get what you want, and since getting something for yourself almost always means that someone else does not get it, justice, Thrasymachus believes, is not really part of virtue. ‘Areté’ is excellence or strength; the virtue of something is what makes it what it is, so that in the fulfillment of its virtue, something becomes an excellent example of the kind of thing it is. (A virtuous knife, to use a small example, is a knife that has the properties of a very good knife and so is also a very good example of what a knife is supposed to be.) Justice, then, is not part of what Thrasymachus considers the best sort of man, the sort that he would admire. His vision of the best human being is that of a tyrant, who lives not by justice, but above it.
Thrasymachus’ sophistic idea of the good also implies a different idea of friendship, for a sophist will regard as a friend someone who assists you in getting what you want. A sophist will not accept the Socratic distinction between real and apparent friends. Thrasymachus would say, in so far as he manages really to be a sophist, that to discover who your friends are, you just find out who really helps you to get what you want. On Thrasymachus’ view, the only difference between a real and false friend is that a false friend represents himself as helping you to get what you want but really does not help. This distinction between real and false friends is very different from the Socratic distinction, for the Socratic idea of friendship is very different. And Thrasymachus will argue, in his own way, for a sophistic conception of virtue that does not imply that justice is good for everyone affected.
II. Commentary on the Republic, 338c to 347e.
At 338c, Thrasymachus offers his definition of justice:
“The just is nothing but the advantage of the stronger.”
He explains this idea using a relativistic idea of justice: what is just is nothing else than whatever is legal. The idea is relativistic because laws differ from place to place, so if justice and the law are the same, justice is then relative to time and place in this way. Now, Thrasymachus points out, the laws in any country are always to the advantage of whoever holds political power in that country, “the stronger.” As a matter of fact open to observation, those in power arrange the laws to their own advantage at the expense of those who are less powerful. If the laws may be regarded as forming a social contract, then the contract is never fair. Therefore, justice, i.e., obeying the law, is the advantage of the stronger, and it is nothing beyond this, according to Thrasymachus, since there is no justice outside of established systems of law.
Socrates now agrees that justice is a kind of advantage, but he wonders about the words, “of the stronger.” (To whose advantage is justice?) There follows a crucial passage in which Socrates asks whether, if justice is simply what the positive law specifies and the laws are supposed to be to the advantage of the rulers, it is then just to follow a law that is “incorrect,” i.e., not to the advantage of the rulers. The logical effect of this question (a typically penetrating Socratic question—clear, simple, yet reaching to the very heart of the discussion) is to separate the question of justice from the question of what is to the advantage of the stronger. That is, even if we define justice as Thrasymachus suggests, as doing whatever the positive law says, there is still a logical difference between what is just and what is to the advantage of the stronger. There is an exchange between Polemarchus and Cleitophon at 340-340c in which the reasoning is recapitulated and Polemarchus concludes:
From these agreed premises [i.e., (1) that it is just to obey the orders of the stronger, and (2) that the just is what is to the advantage of the stronger], it follows that justice is as much the disadvantage as the advantage of the stronger.
Then Cleitophon makes a crucial clarification. He says:
By advantage, he [Thrasymachus] meant whatever the stronger thinks is to his advantage. This is what the weaker must do, and this is what he posited as justice.
Cleitophon’s observation marks a crucial point in the dialogue because to be consistent with his sophistic avowals, Thrasymachus must hold: (1) that what is to your advantage is whatever gets you what you want; and (2) what you want is whatever you think you want. For he has supposed that what is good is relative—relative to your deliberate preferences. And, on the sophistic view, you can never be mistaken about what you want; what you want is nothing else than what you believe you want. Thus, if he admits that you can make mistakes about what is in your interest, then he turns down the path toward the conclusion that what is good is not relative to your preferences but requires for its discovery some additional knowledge. In short, he becomes logically committed to a non-relativist view according to which the good is an object of knowledge and not just of opinion, of reality and not just appearance, and to get what is good for oneself requires practical skill.
So, what does Thrasymachus do? The straight sophistic line is so implausible when it’s brought out in the open like this that if Thrasymachus takes it, he risks losing his credibility and his audience, and this is something no real sophist can stand to do. But if he takes the other line, he makes an admission fatal to his original definition. His manner shows that he probably does not fully comprehend the implications of the choice before him; at 340d, he chooses. He says that a ruler is truly a ruler only insofar as he does not make mistakes. That is, he insists on comparing the ideal concept of rulership to its occasionally clumsy practice. This is tantamount to saying that knowledge is required to determine what is in one’s interest, and after this, Socrates directs his questions to bring out the logical implications of this idea, and by 342c, Thrasymachus has begun to see where the logic is inevitably going. At this point, Thrasymachus has agreed that the knowledge of sailing and medicine are advantageous, but the advantage a doctor seeks, as a doctor (analogous to the advantage a ruler seeks “as a ruler”—see Thrasymachus’ short speech at 340d) is the advantage of his patient, not his own advantage. The general conclusion comes home:
Then no knowledge [read: techné] considers or prescribes for the advantage of the stronger, but for that of the weaker, which it rules. (342d.) And this conclusion specifies to:
…No ruler of any kind, insofar as he is a ruler, considers and prescribes for his own advantage, but for that of the ruled, the subject of his skill. That’s all he looks to: everything he says and does is done to promote the fitting advantage of this subject. (342e.)
This passage marks a division in the discussion that started at 338c. Thrasymachus’ definition is done for, but he doesn’t see it. So from 343 to 347, we see Thrasymachus re-asserting his view and then Socrates again patiently showing him his error. Thrasymachus asserts that a sheepherder raises his sheep for the slaughter, not for the sheeps’ benefit. But Socrates demonstrates once again, at 346-347a, that no craft aims at its own benefit but at the benefit of that which it rules. He appeals to the fact that a craftsman has to be paid to practice his craft, for there is no benefit simply in the practice of the craft. He has to be induced with an added remuneration. This argument marks the end of a logical phase of the discussion that began at 338c.
It is followed by a transitional passage at 347b-347d in which Socrates observes that the only reason good men will have for entering government service is to avoid the punishment of being ruled by worse men.
In his speech at 343d-344e, Thrasymachus made an important assertion that Socrates takes up at 347e, viz., that the life of the unjust is more profitable than the life of the just. An examination of this proposition occupies the remainder of Book I.
III. Commentary on the Republic, 348 to 353.
At 348, Socrates turns his attention to the question of whether the life of injustice is more profitable than the life of justice, as Thrasymachus has candidly asserted. He begins with a brief but profound methodological observation on the advantage of elenchic inquiry. Socrates notes that if he and Thrasymachus were merely to exchange opinions by means of speeches extolling justice or injustice, some third party would be needed to judge which of them presents the stronger case. But if they engage the question through elenchus, seeking agreement from each other, then, says Socrates, “we can ourselves be both the judges and the advocates.” (348b) The elenchic method has the effect of unifying its participants in an interplay of reason that carries them both beyond their prior opinions. This escape from the tyranny of prior opinion is the greatest advantage of the elenchic method.
At 348c, Thrasymachus asserts a paradoxical view, that injustice is a virtue, since it is profitable and comes of good judgment. He doesn’t call justice a vice, but he does call it a sort of “high-minded foolishness.” A person of sound judgment will, in Thrasymachus’ view, pursue his self-advantage as ruthlessly as he can manage, taking care to appear to be just when it is to his benefit.
At 349b, Socrates begins the examination of this proposition that injustice is a virtue and comes of knowledge. By 349d, Thrasymachus has agreed that a just person tries to “get the better of” an unjust person, through not of another just person, while the unjust person tries to “get the better of” all others, whether just or unjust.
From this point in the dialogue to 350c, Socrates utilizes examples to get Thrasymachus to agree that a professional in any craft does not try to get the better of other professionals, but tries rather to achieve the same results. (Someone who knows how to do something correctly does not wish to do it as others who do not know, but as others who do know.)
Consider now Thrasymachus’ contention that injustice is knowledge. This proposition turns out to be inconsistent with what he has now agreed to, namely:
(1) Injustice tries to get the better of injustice; and
(2) knowledge does not try to get the better of knowledge.
For, from these two propositions it logically follows:
(3) injustice is not knowledge.
What is remarkable about this interchange is that Thrasymachus’ original contention that injustice is knowledge was refuted not on the basis of Socrates’ opinions, but on the basis of Thrasymachus’ own opinions. What has been demonstrated is that Thrasymachus doesn’t really believe what he thought he believed. After being shown this, Thrasymachus, for the first time in the dialogue, feels the morally appropriate emotion of shame. What has been enacted here under Socrates’ questioning is a tragedy in miniature, for it has the same pattern of a classical tragedy.
Thrasymachus, under the blinding influence of his conceit, makes an assertion. He then falls after the Socratic examination (analogous to the more gradual examination that reality administers to us all), and suffers a morally straightening shame when he realizes that he is the author of his own refutation.
Socrates says at 350d: “And then I saw something I had never seen before: Thrasymachus blushing.” Thrasymachus has now become a humbler and better man. He is also a happier man, for he is a little less blind—has a little more self-knowledge—and so has been inoculated to some degree against the larger tragedies that might have overcome him.
At 350d, Thrasymachus is feeling a little numb. He says that he will go on with the discussion but will only answer yes or no without real opinion or belief, “as one does to old wives’ tales.”
It’s understandable that Thrasymachus feels shaken and confused about what his own opinions really are at this point, but Socrates admonishes, “Don’t ever do that [answer questions] against your own opinion.” His reason for saying this is that elenchus can have no good effect unless its participants speak as they believe (or at least as they believe they believe).
The passage that extends from 351 to the end of Book I consists of two arguments designed to show that justice is a good for the just person. The first argument (from 351-352a) begins with the question of whether justice is stronger than injustice. Socrates first asks whether a city will be stronger with or without justice. Thrasymachus admits that a city will be stronger and therefore better if its citizens are just with one another. Justice appears to be a kind of harmony and injustice strife. At 352, Socrates draws the inference that not only a city, but an individual person will be weaker if unjust, for injustice in the individual will be a kind of divisive strife within him, just as injustice in the city is a divisive strife within it. And such strife results in weakness, not strength. Socrates concludes: “…An absolute scoundrel, perfectly unjust, would also be perfectly incapable of achievement.”
The second argument, extending from 352d to the end of the book, begins with a reflection on virtue as an “excellence” or “proper function.” Thrasymachus agrees with Socrates, for instance, that the virtue or excellence of the eye is to see. It displays its virtue, the fulfillment of its proper function, in seeing well. And so on for various instruments. A virtuous knife is an excellent knife; it fulfills its proper function by cutting well.
Socrates asks, at 353d, what the function of the human soul is. Thrasymachus agrees that there is an excellence of the soul that is shown in activities such as deliberating, deciding, taking care of one’s affairs, etc.—the typical activities of a self-conscious being. It is noteworthy that these activities constitute self-rule. A good soul does these things well, a bad soul does them badly, so a good soul rules itself well and a bad soul rules itself badly.
From previous arguments (i.e., the one that ended at 350d), Thrasymachus has already agreed that justice is a virtue, i.e., an excellence of the soul. It follows that a just person will live well and the unjust person will live badly. But living well is happiness and living badly is unhappiness. Justice is therefore good for the person who has it, and it follows as well that injustice is not more profitable than justice, but rather the reverse.
[1] This implies both: (1) that a person of virtue is an enemy to no-one, for he does not undertake to harm anyone; and (2) that if the only way to be harmed is to become worse, then a person can be harmed by an enemy only if he co-operates and becomes unjust or vicious in some other way. Note also that if punishment is ever just, then such punishment is not harmful. In particular, someone who is justly punished is not harmed but benefited if the punishment is successful.