Soc.

And so, if fair, good? For that is either pleasant or beneficial.As was agreed above, Plat. Gorg. 474d, Plat. Gorg. 474e.

Pol.

It must be so.

Soc.

So he who pays the penalty suffers what is good?

Pol.

It seems so.

Soc.

Then he is benefited?

Pol.

Yes.

Soc.

Is it the benefit I imagine—that he becomes better in soul if he is justly punished?

Pol.

Quite likely.

Soc.

Then is he who pays the penalty relieved from badness of soul?

Pol.

Yes.

Soc.

And so relieved from the greatest evil? Look at it this way; in a man’s pecuniary resources do you perceive any other badness than poverty?

Pol.

No, only poverty.

Soc.

And what in his bodily resources? You would say that badness there is weakness or disease or ugliness or the like?

Pol.

I would.

Soc.

And in soul too you believe there is a certain wickedness?

Pol.

Of course.

Soc.

And do you not call this injustice, ignorance, cowardice, and so forth?

Pol.

Certainly I do.

Soc.

So now in property, body, and soul, these three, you have mentioned three vices—poverty, disease, and injustice?

Pol.

Yes.

Soc.

Then which of these vices is the foulest? Is it not injustice—in short, the vice of the soul?

Pol.

Far the foulest.

Soc.

And if foulest, then also most evil?

Pol.

How do you mean, Socrates?

Soc.

Just this: the foulest is foulest in each case because it produces the greatest pain or harm or both; this follows from our previous admissions.

Pol.

Quite so.

Soc.

And foulest of all, we have just agreed, is injustice and, in general, vice of soul?

Pol.

Yes, we have.

Soc.

So then either it is most painful, that is, foulest of these vices by an excess of painfulness, or else of harmfulness, or in both ways?

Pol.

Necessarily.

Soc.

Then do you think that being unjust, licentious, cowardly, and ignorant is more painful than being poor and sick?

Pol.

No, I do not, Socrates, from what we have said.

Soc.

Portentous then must be the extent of harm, and astonishing the evil, by which the soul’s vice exceeds all the others so as to be foulest of all, since it is not by pain, on your view of the matter.

Pol.

Apparently.

Soc.

But further, I suppose, whatever has an excess of harm in the greatest measure, must be the greatest evil in the world.

Pol.

Yes.

Soc.

So injustice, licentiousness, and in general, vice of soul, are the greatest evils in the world?

Pol.

Apparently.

Soc.

Now what is the art that relieves from poverty? Is it not money-making?

Pol.

Yes.

Soc.

And what from disease? Is it not medicine?

Pol.

It must be.

Soc.

And what from wickedness and injustice? If you are not ready for that offhand, consider it thus: whither and to whom do we take those who are in bodily sickness?

Pol.

To the doctor, Socrates.

Soc.

And whither the wrongdoers and libertines?

Pol.

To the law-court, do you mean?

Soc.

Yes, and to pay the penalty?

Pol.

I agree.

Soc.

Then is it not by employing a kind of justice that those punish who punish aright?

Pol.

Clearly so.

Soc.

Then money-making relieves us from poverty, medicine from disease, and justice from licentiousness and injustice.

Pol.

Apparently.

Soc.

Which then is the fairest of these things?

Pol.

Of what things, pray?

Soc.

Moneymaking, medicine, justice.

Pol.

Justice, Socrates, is far above the others.

Soc.

Now again, if it is fairest, it causes either most pleasure or benefit or both.

Pol.

Yes.

Soc.

Well then, is it pleasant to be medically treated, and do those who undergo such treatment enjoy it?

Pol.

I do not think so.

Soc.

But it is beneficial, is it not?

Pol.

Yes.

Soc.

Because one is relieved of a great evil, and hence it is worth while to endure the pain and be well.

Pol.

Of course.

Soc.

Is this then the happiest state of body for a man to be in—that of being medically treated—or that of never being ill at all?

Pol.

Clearly, never being ill.

Soc.

Yes, for what we regarded as happiness, it seems, was not this relief from evil, but its non-acquisition at any time.

Pol.

That is so.

Soc.

Well now, which is the more wretched of two persons who have something evil either in body or in soul, he who is medically treated and is relieved of the evil, or he who is not treated and keeps it?

Pol.

To my thinking, he who is not treated.

Soc.

And we found that paying the penalty is a relief from the greatest evil, wickedness?

Pol.

We did.

Soc.

Because, I suppose, the justice of the court reforms us and makes us juster, and acts as a medicine for wickedness.

Pol.

Yes.

Soc.

Happiest therefore is he who has no vice in his soul, since we found this to be the greatest of evils.

Pol.

Clearly so.

Soc.

Next after him, I take it, is he who is relieved of it.

Pol.

So it seems.

Soc.

And that was the man who is reproved, reprimanded, and made to pay the penalty.

Pol.

Yes.

Soc.

Hence the worst life is led by him who has the vice and is not relieved of it.

Pol.

Apparently.

Soc.

And this is the man who in committing the greatest wrongs and practicing the greatest injustice has contrived to escape reproof and chastisement and penalty alike, as you say Archelaus has succeeded in doing, and the rest of the despots and orators and overlords?

Pol.

So it seems.

Soc.

Because, I conceive, my excellent friend, what these persons have contrived for themselves is very much as though a man who was the victim of the worst diseases should contrive not to submit to the doctor’s penalty for his bodily transgressions and take the prescribed treatment, from a childish fear of cautery or incision, as being so painful. Or do you not agree to this view of it?

Pol.

I do.

Soc.

Since he was ignorant, it would seem, of the virtue of bodily health and fitness. For it is very probable, from what we have just agreed, that something like this is done also by those who evade their due penalty, Polus; they perceive its painfulness, but are blind to its benefits, and are unaware how much more wretched than lack of health in the body it is to dwell with a soul that is not healthy, but corrupt, unjust, and unholy; and hence it is that they do all they can to avoid paying the penalty and being relieved of the greatest of evils, by providing themselves with money and friends and the ability to excel in persuasive speech. But if what we have agreed is true, Polus, do you observe the consequences of our argument? Or, if you like, shall we reckon them up together?

Pol.

Yes, if you do not mind.

Soc.

Then does it result that injustice and wrongdoing is the greatest evil?

Pol.

Yes, apparently.

Soc.

And further, it appeared that paying the penalty is a relief from this evil?

Pol.

It looks like it.

Soc.

Whereas not paying it is a retention of the evil in us?

Pol.

Yes.

Soc.

Thus wrongdoing is second of evils in greatness; but to do wrong and not pay the penalty is the greatest and takes the first place among all evils.

Pol.

It seems so.

Soc.

Well now, my friend, was this the point at issue between us, that you counted Archelaus, who did the greatest wrong, happy because he paid no penalty, whilst I on the contrary thought that anyone—whether Archelaus or any other person you please—who pays no penalty for the wrong he has done, is peculiarly and pre-eminently wretched among men, and that it is always the wrongdoer who is more wretched than the wronged, and the unpunished than the punished? Is not this what I stated?

Pol.

Yes.

Soc.

Then has it not been proved that this was a true statement?

Pol.

Apparently.

Soc.

Very well: so if this is true, Polus, what is the great use of rhetoric? For you see by what we have just agreed that a man must keep a close watch over himself so as to avoid wrongdoing, since it would bring a great deal of evil upon him; must he not?

Pol.

Certainly.

Soc.

But if he is guilty of wrongdoing, either himself or anyone else he may care for, he must go of his own freewill where he may soonest pay the penalty, to the judge as if to his doctor, with the earnest intent that the disease of his injustice shall not become chronic and cause a deep incurable ulcer in his soul. Or what are we to say, Polus, if our former conclusions stand? Must not our later ones accord with them in this way, and in this only?

Pol.

Yes, what else, indeed, are we to say, Socrates?

Soc.

Then for pleading in defence of injustice, whether it is oneself or one’s parents or friends or children or country that has done the wrong, rhetoric is of no use to us at all, Polus; except one were to suppose, perchance, to the contrary, that a man ought to accuse himself first of all, and in the second place his relations or anyone else of his friends who may from time to time be guilty of wrong; and, instead of concealing the iniquity, to bring it to light in order that he may pay the penalty and be made healthy; and, moreover, to compel both himself and his neighbors not to cower away but to submit with closed eyes and good courage, as it were, to the cutting and burning of the surgeon, in pursuit of what is good and fair, and without reckoning in the smart: if his crimes have deserved a flogging, he must submit to the rod; if fetters, to their grip; if a fine, to its payment; if banishment, to be banished; or if death, to die; himself to be the first accuser either of himself or of his relations, and to employ his rhetoric for the purpose of so exposing their iniquities that they may be relieved of that greatest evil, injustice. Shall this be our statement or not, Polus?

Pol.

An extraordinary one, Socrates, it seems to me, though perhaps you do find it agrees with what went before.

Soc.

Well, either that must be upset, or this necessarily follows.

Pol.

Yes, that certainly is so.

Soc.

And so again conversely, supposing it is our duty to injure somebody, whether an enemy or anyone else—provided only that it is not against oneself that wrong has been done by such enemy, for this we must take care to avoidThe parenthesis humorously anticipates an objection that might be made, in a particular case, to this theory of what a really thorough enmity would be: if our enemy has robbed us of gold, of course we cannot, as is presently urged, take care that he shall not refund it.—but supposing our enemy has wronged some one else, we must make every exertion of act and word to prevent him from being punished or coming to trial, or if he does, we must contrive that our enemy shall escape and not be punished; nay, if he has carried off a great lot of gold, that he shall not refund it but keep and spend it on himself and his, unjustly and godlessly, or if he has committed crimes that deserve death, that he shall not die; if possible, never die, but be deathless in his villainy, or failing that, live as long a time as may be in that condition. Such are the purposes, as it seems to me, Polus, for which rhetoric is useful, since to him who has no intention of doing wrong it is, I consider, of no great use, if indeed there is any use in it at all; for in our previous argument it was nowhere to be found.

Call.

Tell me, Chaerephon, is Socrates in earnest over this, or only joking?

Chaer.

To my thinking, Callicles, prodigiously in earnest: still, there is nothing like asking him.

Call.

Upon my word, just what I want to do. Tell me, Socrates, are we to take you as serious just now, or joking? For if you are serious and what you say is really true, must not the life of us human beings have been turned upside down, and must we not be doing quite the opposite, it seems, of what we ought to do?

Soc.

Callicles, if men had not certain feelings, each common to one sort of people, but each of us had a feeling peculiar to himself and apart from the rest, it would not be easy for him to indicate his own impression to his neighbor. I say this because I notice that you and I are at this moment in much the same condition, since the two of us are enamored each of two things—I of Alcibiades, son of Cleinias, and philosophy, and you of two, the Athenian Demus, and the son of Pyrilampes.Pyrilampes’ son was named Demus, and was famous for his beauty; cf. Aristoph. Wasps 97. Demus was the ordinary word for the people of a city. Now I always observe that, for all your cleverness, you are unable to contradict your favorite, however much he may say or whatever may be his account of anything, but are ever changing over from side to side. In the Assembly, if the Athenian Demus disagrees with some statement you are making, you change over and say what it desires and just the same thing happens to you in presence of that fair youth, the son of Pyrilampes;