Soc.

Then will you prove that the orators have intelligence, and that rhetoric is an art, not a flattery, and so refute me ? Else, if you are going to leave me unrefuted, the orators who do what they think fit in their cities, and the despots, will find they have got no good in doing that, if indeed power is, as you say, a good, but doing what one thinks fit without intelligence is—as you yourself admit, do you not?—an evil.

Pol.

Yes, I do.

Soc.

How then can the orators or the despots have great power in their cities, unless Socrates is refuted by Polus, and admits that they do what they wish?

Pol.

Hark at the man————!

Soc.

I deny that they do what they wish: there, refute me.

Pol.

Did you not admit just now that they do what they think best?

Soc.

Yes, and I admit it now.

Pol.

Then do they not do what they wish?

Soc.

I say no.

Pol.

When they do what they think fit?

Soc.

Yes.

Pol.

What shocking, nay, monstrous answers, Socrates!

Soc.

Spare your invective, peerless Polus—if I may address you in your own style:The assonance in ὦ λῷστε Πῶλε is a mocking allusion to the nicely balanced clauses and jingling phrases which Polus imitated from his master Gorgias. Something of this style appears in Polus’s speech above, 448c. but if you have a question to ask me, expose my error otherwise, make answer yourself.

Pol.

Well, I am ready to answer, in order that I may know what you mean.

Soc.

Then is it your view that people wish merely that which they do each time, or that which is the object of their doing what they do? For instance, do those who take medicine by doctor’s orders wish, in your opinion, merely what they do,—to take the medicine and suffer the pain of it,—or rather to be healthy, which is the object of their taking it?

Pol.

To be healthy, without a doubt.

Soc.

And so with seafarers and such as pursue profit generally in trade; what they wish is not what they are doing at each moment—for who wishes to go on a voyage, and incur all its danger and trouble? It is rather, I conceive, the object of their voyage—to get wealth; since it is for wealth that they go on it.

Pol.

Certainly.

Soc.

And is it not just the same in every case? If a man does something for an object, he does not wish the thing that he does, but the thing for which he does it.

Pol.

Yes.

Soc.

Now is there any existent thing that is not either good or bad or between these—neither good nor bad?

Pol.

Most assuredly nothing, Socrates.

Soc.

Well, do you call wisdom and health and wealth and everything else of that kind good, and their opposites bad?

Pol.

I do.

Soc.

And by things neither good nor bad do you mean such things as sometimes partake of the good, sometimes of the bad, and sometimes of neither—for example, sitting, walking, running, and sailing, or again, stones and sticks and anything else of that sort? These are what you mean, are they not? Or are there other things that you describe as neither good nor bad?

Pol.

No, these are what I mean.

Soc.

Then do people do these intermediate things, when they do them, for the sake of the good things, or the good things for the intermediate?

Pol.

The intermediate, I presume, for the good.

Soc.

Thus it is in pursuit of the good that we walk, when we walk, conceiving it to be better; or on the contrary, stand, when we stand, for the sake of the same thing, the good: is it not so?

Pol.

Yes.

Soc.

And so we put a man to death, if we do put him to death, or expel him or deprive him of his property, because we think it better for us to do this than not?

Pol.

Certainly.

Soc.

So it is for the sake of the good that the doers of all these things do them?

Pol.

I agree.

Soc.

And we have admitted that when we do things for an object, we do not wish those things, but the object for which we do them?

Pol.

Quite so.

Soc.

Then we do not wish to slaughter people or expel them from our cities or deprive them of their property as an act in itself, but if these things are beneficial we wish to do them, while if they are harmful, we do not wish them. For we wish what is good, as you say; but what is neither good nor bad we do not wish, nor what is bad either, do we? Is what I say true in your opinion, Polus, or not? Why do you not answer?

Pol.

It is true.

Soc.

Then, as we agree on this, if a man puts anyone to death or expels him from a city or deprives him of his property, whether he does it as a despot or an orator, because he thinks it better for himself though it is really worse, that man, I take it, does what he thinks fit, does he not?

Pol.

Yes.

Soc.

Now is it also what he wishes, supposing it to be really bad? Why do you not answer?

Pol.

No, I do not think he does what he wishes.

Soc.

Can such a man then be said to have great power in that city, if to have great power is something good, according to your admission?

Pol.

He cannot.

Soc.

Then I spoke the truth when I said that it is possible for a man to do what he thinks fit in a city and yet not to have great power nor to do what he wishes.

Pol.

As if you, Socrates, would not accept the liberty of doing what you think fit in your city rather than not, and would not envy a man whom you observed to have put some one to death as he thought fit, or deprived him of his property or sent him to prison!

Soc.

Justly, do you mean, or unjustly?

Pol.

Whichever way he does it, is it not enviable in either case?

Soc.

Hush, Polus!

Pol.

Why?

Soc.

Because we ought not to envy either the unenviable or the wretched, but pity them.

Pol.

What! Is that the state in which you consider those people, of whom I speak, to be?

Soc.

Yes, for so I must.

Pol.

Then do you consider that a man who puts another to death as he thinks fit, and justly puts him to death, is wretched and pitiable?

Soc.

Not I; but not enviable either.

Pol.

Did you not say just now that he was wretched?

Soc.

Only he who unjustly put some one to death, my friend, and I called him pitiable as well: if he acted justly, then he is unenviable.

Pol.

I suppose, at any rate, the man who is put to death unjustly is both pitiable and wretched.

Soc.

Less so than he who puts him to death, Polus, and less so than he who is put to death justly.

Pol.

In what way can that be, Socrates ?

Soc.

In this, that to do wrong is the greatest of evils.

Pol.

What, is this the greatest? Is not to suffer wrong a greater?

Soc.

By no means.

Pol.

Then would you wish rather to suffer wrong than to do it?

Soc.

I should wish neither, for my own part; but if it were necessary either to do wrong or to suffer it, I should choose to suffer rather than do it.

Pol.

Then you would not accept a despot’s power?

Soc.

No, if you mean by a despot’s power the same as I do.

Pol.

Why, what I mean is, as I did just now, the liberty of doing anything one thinks fit in one’s city—putting people to death and expelling them and doing everything at one’s own discretion.

Soc.

My gifted friend, let me speak, and you shall take me to task in your turn. Suppose that in a crowded market I should hide a dagger under my arm and then say to you: Polus, I have just acquired, by a wonderful chance, the power of a despot; for if I should think fit that one of those people whom you see there should die this very instant, a dead man he will be, just as I think fit; or if I think fit that one of them shall have his head broken, broken it will be immediately; or to have his cloak torn in pieces, torn it will be: so great is my power in this city. Then suppose that on your disbelieving this I showed you my dagger; I expect when you saw it you would say: Socrates, at this rate every one would have great power, for any house you thought fit might be set ablaze on these methods, and the Athenian arsenals also, and the men-of-war and all the rest of the shipping, both public and private. But surely this is not what it is to have great power—merely doing what one thinks fit. Or do you think it is?

Pol.

Oh no, not in that way.

Soc.

Then can you tell me why you disapprove of this kind of power?

Pol.

I can.

Soc.

Why, then? Tell me.

Pol.

Because it is inevitable that he who acts thus will be punished.

Soc.

And is it not a bad thing to be punished?

Pol.

Certainly.

Soc.

So, my remarkable friend, you have come round again to the view that if doing what one thinks fit is attended by advantage in doing it, this is not merely a good thing but at the same time, it seems, the possession of great power; otherwise it is a bad thing and means little power. And let us consider another point besides; do we not admit that sometimes it is better to do those things that we were mentioning just now—to put people to death and banish them and deprive them of property—while sometimes it is not?

Pol.

To be sure.

Soc.

Then here is a point, it seems, that is admitted both on your side and on mine.

Pol.

Yes.

Soc.

Then when do you say it is better to do these things? Tell me where you draw the line.

Pol.

Nay, I would rather that you, Socrates, answered that.

Soc.

Well then I say, Polus, if you prefer to hear it from me, that it is better when these things are done justly, and worse when unjustly.

Pol.

So hard to refute you, Socrates! Nay, a mere child could do it, could he not, and prove your words are untrue?

Soc.

Then I shall be most grateful to the child, and equally to you, if you refute me and rid me of foolery. Come, do not grow weary in well-doing towards your friend, but refute me.

Pol.

Well, to be sure, Socrates, there is no need to refute you with ancient instances; for those happenings of but a day or two ago are enough to refute you, and prove that many a wrongdoer is happy.

Soc.

What sort of thing do you mean?

Pol.

I suppose you see that Archelaus, son of Perdiccas, is ruler of Macedonia?Archelaus usurped the throne of Macedonia in 413 B.C., and ruled till his death in 399 B.C. Euripides, Agathon, and other distinguished Athenians were guests at his court; Socrates was also invited, but declined to visit him (Aristot. Rhet. ii. 23. 8), and this is probably the point of Socrates’ next remark.

Soc.

Well, if I do not, at any rate I hear it.

Pol.

Do you consider him happy or wretched?

Soc.

I do not know, Polus; I have never met the man.

Pol.

What? Could you find out by meeting him, and cannot otherwise tell, straight off, that he is happy?

Soc.

No, indeed, upon my word.

Pol.

Then doubtless you will say, Socrates, that you do not know that even the Great King is happy.

Soc.

Yes, and I shall be speaking the truth; for I do not know how he stands in point of education and justice.

Pol.

Why, does happiness entirely consist in that?

Soc.

Yes, by my account, Polus; for a good and honorable man or woman, I say, is happy, and an unjust and wicked one is wretched.

Pol.

Then this Archelaus, on your statement, is wretched?

Soc.

Yes, my friend, supposing he is unjust.

Pol.

Well, but how can he be other than unjust? He had no claim to the throne which he now occupies, being the son of a woman who was a slave of Perdiccas’ brother Alcetas, and in mere justice he was Alcetas’ slave; and if he wished to do what is just, he would be serving Alcetas and would be happy, by your account; but, as it is, he has become a prodigy of wretchedness, since he has done the most enormous wrong. First of all he invited this very master and uncle of his to his court, as if he were going to restore to him the kingdom of which Perdiccas had deprived him; and after entertaining him and his son Alexander—his own cousin, about the same age as himself—and making them drunk, he packed them into a carriage, drove them away by night, and murdered and made away with them both. And after all these iniquities he failed to observe that he had become a most wretched person and had no repentance, but a while later he refused to make himself happy by bringing up, as he was justly bound, his brother, the legitimate son of Perdiccas, a boy about seven years old who had a just title to the throne, and restoring the kingdom to him; but he cast him into a well and drowned him, and then told his mother Cleopatra that he had fallen in and lost his life while chasing a goose. So now, you see, as the greatest wrongdoer in Macedonia, he is the most wretched of all the Macedonians, not the happiest; and I daresay some Athenians could be found who would join you in preferring to change places with any other Macedonian of them all, rather than with Archelaus!

Soc.

At the beginning of our discussion, Polus, I complimented you on having had, as I consider, a good training in rhetoric, while you seem to have neglected disputation; and now, accordingly, this is the argument, is it, with which any child could refute me? By this statement, you think, I now stand refuted at your hands, when I assert that the wrongdoer is not happy? How so, my good friend? Why, I tell you I do not admit a single point in what you say.

Pol.

No, because you do not want to; for you really agree with my statement.