Arrival, and Polus Praises without Defining

Callicles

They say this is the way to join a war or a battle, Socrates.

Socrates

But have we really come, as the saying goes, after the feast, and are we too late?

Callicles

And a very elegant feast indeed; Gorgias just now gave us a display of many fine things.

Socrates

Well, Callicles, Chaerephon here is to blame for that — he made us waste time in the marketplace.

Chaerephon

No trouble, Socrates; I'll set it right myself. Gorgias is a friend of mine, so he'll perform for us — now, if he likes, or later, if you'd rather.

Callicles

What is it, Chaerephon? Does Socrates want to hear Gorgias?

Chaerephon

That's exactly what we're here for.

Callicles

Well then, come to my house whenever you like — Gorgias is staying with me and will give you all a display.

Socrates

Good, Callicles. But would he be willing to talk with us? I want to find out from him what the power of the man's craft is, and what it is that he professes and teaches; the rest of his display he can give some other time, as you say.

Callicles

There's nothing like asking him yourself, Socrates. In fact this was itself part of his display — he was just now urging anyone inside to ask whatever they wanted, and said he would answer everything.

Socrates

Well said. Chaerephon, ask him.

Chaerephon

Ask him what?

Socrates

Who he is.

Chaerephon

What do you mean?

Socrates

Say he happened to be a maker of sandals — he'd surely answer you that he's a cobbler; or don't you follow what I mean?

Chaerephon

I understand, and I'll ask. Tell me, Gorgias, is Callicles here telling the truth, that you profess to answer whatever anyone asks you?

Gorgias

It's true, Chaerephon — I was just now professing this very thing, and I say that no one has asked me anything new in many years.

Chaerephon

Then you must find it easy to answer, Gorgias.

Gorgias

You're welcome to put that to the test, Chaerephon.

Polus

By Zeus — or if you'd rather, Chaerephon, test me. Gorgias seems to me worn out, in fact — he's just been through a great deal.

Chaerephon

What is it, Polus? Do you think you'd answer better than Gorgias?

Polus

What does that matter, if it's enough for you?

Chaerephon

Nothing — but since you want to, go ahead and answer.

Polus

Ask.

Chaerephon

All right, I'm asking. If Gorgias happened to know the same craft as his brother Herodicus, what would we rightly call him? Wouldn't it be what we call him?

Polus

Certainly.

Chaerephon

Then we'd be right to call him a doctor.

Polus

Yes.

Chaerephon

And if he had the skill of Aristophon son of Aglaophon, or of his brother, what would we rightly call him?

Polus

Clearly a painter.

Chaerephon

But as it is, since he's knowledgeable in some craft, what would we call him, to name him rightly?

Polus

Chaerephon, there are many crafts among men, worked out from experience, in an experienced way — for knack makes our lifetime proceed by craft, while lack of experience makes it proceed by chance. Different people share in each of these in different ways, and the best people share in the best of them; and Gorgias here is one of these, and has a share in the finest of the crafts.

Socrates

Polus certainly seems well prepared for speeches, Gorgias — but he isn't doing what he promised Chaerephon.

Gorgias

What do you mean exactly, Socrates?

Socrates

He doesn't seem to me to be answering the question he's been asked at all.

Gorgias

Well, ask him yourself, if you like.

Socrates

No — not if you're willing to answer yourself; I'd much rather it were you. Because it's clear to me from what Polus has said that he's practiced what's called rhetoric more than he's practiced conversation.

Polus

Why do you say that, Socrates?

Socrates

Because, Polus, when Chaerephon asked what craft Gorgias has knowledge of, you praised his craft as though someone were finding fault with it, but you didn't answer what it actually is.

Polus

Didn't I answer that it's the finest one?

Socrates

You certainly did. But no one is asking what kind of craft Gorgias's craft is, but what it is, and what we ought to call Gorgias — just as Chaerephon put it to you before, and you answered him well and briefly, so now tell me the same way: what is the craft, and what must we call Gorgias? Or rather, Gorgias, tell us yourself what we should call you, as someone with knowledge of what craft.

Gorgias

Of rhetoric, Socrates.

Socrates

Then we should call you an orator?

Gorgias

A good one, Socrates, if you want to call me what I pray to be, as Homer put it.

Socrates

Well, I do want to.

Gorgias

Then call me that.

Rhetoric Defined, and Tested Against the Other Crafts

Socrates

And should we say you're able to make others so too?

Gorgias

Yes, that's exactly what I profess — not only here, but elsewhere too.

Socrates

Would you be willing, Gorgias, to keep going the way we're talking now, one of us asking and the other answering, and set aside for another time that lengthy kind of speech Polus started with? But don't break your promise — be willing to answer briefly, whatever you're asked.

Gorgias

Some answers, Socrates, do need to be given at length; all the same, I'll try to be as brief as I can. In fact this is itself one of the things I claim — that no one could say the same things in fewer words than I can.

Socrates

That's exactly what's needed, Gorgias — give me a display of this very thing, brevity of speech, and save length for another time.

Gorgias

I will — and you'll say you've never heard anyone briefer.

Socrates

Come, then — you say you have knowledge of the craft of rhetoric and could make another person an orator too; what thing among the things there are does rhetoric turn out to be concerned with? The way weaving is concerned with the working of cloth — isn't that right?

Gorgias

Yes.

Socrates

And music is concerned with the composing of tunes?

Gorgias

Yes.

Socrates

By Hera, Gorgias, I do admire your answers — you answer as briefly as anyone could.

Gorgias

Yes, I think I do that reasonably well, Socrates.

Socrates

Good. Now answer me the same way about rhetoric: what among the things there are is it knowledge of?

Gorgias

Of speeches.

Socrates

What sort of speeches, Gorgias? The ones that show the sick how they might get well by following a regimen?

Gorgias

No.

Socrates

Then rhetoric isn't concerned with all speeches.

Gorgias

No, certainly not.

Socrates

But it does make people capable of speaking.

Gorgias

Yes.

Socrates

And also capable of understanding the very things they speak about?

Gorgias

Of course.

Socrates

Now does the craft we just mentioned — medicine — make people able to understand and speak about the sick?

Gorgias

It must.

Socrates

So medicine too, it seems, is concerned with speeches.

Gorgias

Yes.

Socrates

The ones about diseases?

Gorgias

Exactly.

Socrates

And physical training too is concerned with speeches about the good and bad condition of bodies?

Gorgias

Certainly.

Socrates

And indeed the other crafts too, Gorgias, are like this — each of them is concerned with the speeches that happen to be about the very subject matter of that craft.

Gorgias

So it appears.

Socrates

Then why in the world don't you call the other crafts forms of rhetoric too, since they're concerned with speeches, if you call this one rhetoric just because it's concerned with speeches?

Gorgias

Because, Socrates, the knowledge involved in the other crafts is, so to speak, entirely about manual work and actions of that kind, but rhetoric has no such manual work at all — its whole action and effect comes through speech. That's why I hold that the craft of rhetoric is concerned with speeches — and I'm speaking correctly, or so I claim.

Socrates

So do I understand what you want to call it? I'll soon know more clearly. But answer me: we have crafts. Isn't that so?

Gorgias

Yes.

Socrates

Of all the crafts, I think, some are mostly manual work and need little speech, while some need none at all — the work of the craft could be carried out even in silence, like painting and sculpture and many others. It's crafts like these you seem to me to mean, the ones you say rhetoric isn't concerned with — or not?

Gorgias

You've understood me very well indeed, Socrates.

Socrates

But there are other crafts that accomplish everything through speech, and need, so to speak, either no work at all or very little — arithmetic, calculation, geometry, and board games too, and many other crafts — some of which have speeches roughly equal to their actions, most have more, and in general their whole action and effect comes through speech. It's one of these that you seem to me to mean by rhetoric.

Gorgias

That's true.

Socrates

But I do not think you actually want to call any of these rhetoric — not that you did not say, in those very words, that whatever has its effect through speech is rhetoric, so that someone could object, wanting to be difficult in argument, then you call arithmetic rhetoric too, Gorgias? No, I don't think you mean to call either arithmetic or geometry rhetoric.

Gorgias

You're right to think so, Socrates, and fair to take it that way.

Socrates

Now you too, go ahead and complete the answer I asked for. Since rhetoric happens to be one of these crafts that rely mostly on speech, and other crafts happen to be like this too, try to say what rhetoric is, the one whose effect in speech is concerned with what. Just as if someone asked me, about any of the crafts I just mentioned: Socrates, what is the craft of arithmetic? I would tell him, as you just did, that it is one of those whose effect comes through speech. And if he asked me further: concerned with what? I would say it is concerned with the odd and the even — [a knowledge of] however many each of them turns out to be. And if he asked again: and what craft do you call calculation? I would say that this one too is among those whose whole effect is settled by speech, and if he asked further: concerned with what? I would say, like the men who draft decrees in the assembly, that calculation is like arithmetic in other respects, since it is concerned with the same thing, the odd and the even, but differs this much: it also examines how much the odd and the even amount to, both in themselves and against each other. And if someone asked about astronomy, when I said that it too has everything settled by speech, and he then said: and what are the speeches of astronomy about, Socrates? I would say they are about the motion of the stars and the sun and the moon, and how their speeds compare to one another.

Gorgias

You're right, Socrates.

Socrates

Now it's your turn, Gorgias. Rhetoric, as it happens, is one of the crafts that accomplish and settle everything through speech — isn't that so?

Gorgias

That's so.

Socrates

Tell me, then: concerned with what? ⟨What⟩ is this thing, among the things there are, that these speeches rhetoric uses are about?

Gorgias

The greatest and best of human affairs, Socrates.

Socrates

But, Gorgias, that's still disputable, and not at all clear yet. I think you've heard, at drinking parties, men singing that drinking song in which they list, as they sing, that being healthy is best, being fine second, and third, as the poet of the song says, being rich without deceit.

Gorgias

I have heard it — but why do you say this?

Socrates

Suppose the craftsmen of what that drinking song praised stood right there before you — a doctor, a trainer, and a moneymaker — and the doctor spoke first: Socrates, Gorgias is deceiving you, since his craft is not concerned with the greatest good for human beings, but mine is — and suppose I then asked him: and who are you, to say this? He would probably say a doctor. So what are you saying? Is the product of your craft the greatest good? Of course, he'd probably say, Socrates — health. And what greater good is there for people than health? And if after him the trainer said: I would myself be surprised, Socrates, if Gorgias could show you a greater good from his own craft than I can from mine — I would say to him in turn: and who exactly are you, my friend, and what is your product? A trainer, he would say, and my product is making people's bodies fine and strong. After the trainer the moneymaker would speak up, looking down on absolutely everyone, I imagine: just consider, Socrates, whether any good greater than wealth turns up for you, from Gorgias or from anyone else at all. So we would say to him: well, what of it? Are you the craftsman of this? He would say so. Being who? A moneymaker. Well then? Do you judge wealth to be the greatest good for human beings? We shall ask him. Of course it is. He'll say so. And yet Gorgias here claims that his own craft is responsible for a greater good than yours, we would say. Clearly the next thing he would ask is: and what is this good? Let Gorgias answer. So, Gorgias, taking it that you're being asked both by them and by me, answer: what is this thing you say is the greatest good for human beings, of which you are the craftsman?

Gorgias

Exactly what is, in truth, the greatest good, Socrates, and the cause at once of freedom for people themselves, and of each of them ruling over others in his own city.

Socrates

Then what exactly do you mean by that?

Persuasion Is Belief, Not Knowledge

Gorgias

I mean the ability to persuade with speeches — jurors in a courtroom, councillors in a council-chamber, assemblymen in an assembly, and every other gathering there is, whatever kind of political gathering it turns out to be. And yet with that power you will have the doctor as your slave, and the trainer as your slave too; and as for that businessman, he will turn out to be making his money for someone else, not for himself — for you, the one able to speak and persuade the masses.

Socrates

Now, Gorgias, I think you've made fairly clear what kind of craft you take rhetoric to be — if I understand you, you're saying rhetoric is a producer of persuasion, and that its whole business and its sum total comes down to that; or can you say that rhetoric is able to do anything more than produce persuasion for the soul of the listener?

Gorgias

Not at all, Socrates — I think you've defined it well enough, since that is indeed its sum total.

Socrates

Listen, then, Gorgias. Be assured that, as I persuade myself, if anyone ever converses with anyone wanting truly to know the very thing the discussion is about, I am one of those people — and I expect the same of you.

Gorgias

What is it, then, Socrates?

Socrates

I'll tell you now. The persuasion that comes from rhetoric — whatever it is that you mean, and whatever sort of things it's persuasion about — I certainly don't know for sure, though I do have a guess as to what you mean and what it concerns; but I'll ask you all the same what you mean by the persuasion that comes from rhetoric, and what it's about. Now why am I asking you, when I have my own guess, instead of just saying it myself? Not for your sake, but for the sake of the argument, so that it proceeds in whatever way will make the subject clearest to us. Consider whether you think I'm right to press you this way — suppose I happened to be asking you who Zeuxis is among painters, and you told me he's the one who paints animals, wouldn't I be right to ask further which animals, and where?

Gorgias

Quite so.

Socrates

Is that because there are other painters too, painting many other animals?

Gorgias

Yes.

Socrates

But if no one painted except Zeuxis, would your answer have been a good one?

Gorgias

How could it not?

Socrates

Come now, tell me about rhetoric too: do you think persuasion is produced by rhetoric alone, or by other crafts as well? What I mean is this: whoever teaches any subject at all — does what he teaches persuade, or not?

Gorgias

Certainly it does, Socrates — more than anything.

Socrates

Let's go back, then, to the same crafts we just mentioned — doesn't arithmetic teach us how many things there are, in number, and the arithmetician too?

Gorgias

Certainly.

Socrates

And doesn't it also persuade?

Gorgias

Yes.

Socrates

So arithmetic too is a producer of persuasion?

Gorgias

So it appears.

Socrates

So if someone asks us what kind of persuasion, and about what, we'll answer him, I suppose, that it's the teaching kind, about how much odd and even there is; and we'll be able to show that all the other crafts we just mentioned are producers of persuasion too, and of what kind, and about what — isn't that so?

Gorgias

Yes.

Socrates

So rhetoric isn't the only producer of persuasion.

Gorgias

True.

Socrates

Since, then, it isn't the only thing that produces this effect, but other crafts do too, we would rightly ask the same further question we asked about the painter: rhetoric is a craft producing what kind of persuasion, and about what? Or don't you think it's right to ask that further?

Gorgias

I do.

Socrates

Answer, then, Gorgias, since that's how it seems to you too.

Gorgias

I mean that persuasion, Socrates — the kind used in courtrooms and other crowds, as I said just now — and it concerns what is just and unjust.

Socrates

I did suspect you meant that persuasion, Gorgias, and about those things; but so that you won't be surprised if I ask you something similar again shortly, something that seems obvious enough but which I nonetheless ask again — as I say, I ask it for the sake of carrying the argument through in order, not for your sake, but so that we don't get into the habit of guessing ahead and snatching the words out of each other's mouths; rather, you can carry through your own position however you like.

Gorgias

And I think you're right to do that, Socrates.

Socrates

Come, then, let's look at this too. Do you speak of having learned something?

Gorgias

I do.

Socrates

And what about this? Believing something?

Gorgias

I do.

Socrates

Do you think having learned and believing are the same thing, then, and learning and belief, or something different?

Gorgias

I think they're different myself, Socrates.

Socrates

You're right to think so; you'll see from this. If someone were to ask you: Gorgias, is there such a thing as a false belief and a true one? You'd say yes, I imagine.

Gorgias

Yes.

Socrates

And what about this? Is there a knowledge that's false and one that's true?

Gorgias

Not at all.

Socrates

So it's clear again that they're not the same thing.

Gorgias

True.

Socrates

But surely those who have learned have been convinced, and so have those who have merely come to believe.

Gorgias

That's so.

Socrates

Do you want us, then, to set down two kinds of persuasion — one that supplies belief without knowing, and one that supplies knowledge?

Gorgias

Certainly.

Socrates

So which kind of persuasion does rhetoric produce in courtrooms and other crowds, about what is just and unjust? The kind that gives rise to believing without knowing, or the kind that gives knowledge?

Gorgias

Clearly, Socrates, the kind that gives believing.

Socrates

So rhetoric, it seems, is a producer of persuasion that makes people believe, not one that teaches them, about the just and the unjust.

Gorgias

Yes.

Socrates

So the orator isn't a teacher of juries and the other crowds about what's just and unjust, only a producer of belief — since surely he couldn't teach a crowd that large such important matters in so short a time.

Gorgias

Not at all.

Socrates

Come, then, let's look at what we're actually saying about rhetoric — I myself still can't quite work out what I mean by it. When the city holds an assembly to choose doctors, or shipbuilders, or some other body of craftsmen, surely the orator won't be the one giving advice then? For clearly, in each such choice, it's the most skilled person who ought to be chosen. Nor when it's a matter of building walls, or constructing harbours or dockyards — there it's the engineers; nor again when the advice concerns choosing generals, or how to deploy against an enemy, or seizing ground — there it's the generals who will give the advice, and not the orators; or how do you account for such cases, Gorgias? Since you say yourself that you're an orator and that you make other men into orators, it's only right to find out the facts of your craft from you. And believe that right now I'm working for your interest as well as my own; because it may well be that one of the people here wants to become your student — I sense quite a few of them do, in fact — and they might well be too embarrassed to question you themselves. So when I question you, take it that they're questioning you too — Gorgias, what will we get out of it, if we study with you? On what matters will we be able to advise the city? Only about the just and the unjust, or about the other things Socrates just mentioned too? Try, then, to answer for their sake.

Gorgias

Well, I'll try to reveal the whole power of rhetoric to you clearly, Socrates — you yourself have led the way to it nicely. You surely know that these dockyards and the walls of Athens, and the construction of the harbours, came about through the advice of Themistocles, and some through that of Pericles — not through the craftsmen.

Socrates

That's what's said about Themistocles, Gorgias; and as for Pericles, I myself heard him when he advised us about the middle wall.

Gorgias Boasts of Rhetoric's Power, and Contradicts Himself

Gorgias

And whenever there's a choice to be made of the kind you were just talking about, Socrates, you'll see that it's the orators who give the advice, and who carry the vote on these matters.

Socrates

It's exactly because I find that astonishing, Gorgias, that I've been asking all along what the power of rhetoric actually is. Looking at it this way, its scale strikes me as something almost superhuman.

Gorgias

If you knew everything about it, Socrates, you'd see that it gathers up under itself, one might say, every other power there is. And I'll give you a striking proof of it: many times now I've gone in with my brother, or with other doctors, to see some patient who wouldn't drink his medicine, or let the doctor cut or cauterize him, and when the doctor couldn't persuade him, I did — by no other craft than rhetoric. And I say that if an orator and a doctor went to any city you like, and had to compete in speech before the assembly or some other gathering over which of them should be chosen as doctor, the doctor would be nowhere in the running, and the one able to speak would be chosen instead, if he wanted it. And if he competed against any other craftsman whatever, the orator would persuade them to choose him over anyone else; there's no subject on which the orator couldn't speak more persuasively than any other craftsman, before a crowd. So great and so remarkable, then, is the power of this craft; one must, however, Socrates, use rhetoric as one would any other competitive skill. For with any other competitive skill, too, one shouldn't use it against everyone just because one has learned boxing, or wrestling, or fighting in armour, so as to be stronger than both friends and enemies — that's no reason to strike one's friends, or stab and kill them. And by god, if someone goes to the wrestling school, gets his body into good shape, becomes a boxer, and then strikes his father and mother, or some other relative or friend, that's no reason to hate the trainers and the men who teach fighting in arms, and drive them out of their cities. Those men taught their skill so that it would be used justly, against enemies and wrongdoers, in self-defence, not as the aggressor; but the others turn it round and use their strength and their craft wrongly. So the teachers aren't wicked, and the craft is neither to blame nor wicked on that account — the ones not using it rightly are, I think. The same argument holds for rhetoric too. The orator is capable of speaking against everyone and about everything, so as to be more persuasive before a crowd, on virtually any subject he likes; but that's no more reason to strip the doctors of their reputation — just because he could do this — or the other craftsmen either; one ought to use rhetoric justly too, just like any competitive skill. And if, I suppose, someone becomes an orator and then uses this power and this craft to do wrong, that's no reason to hate his teacher and drive him out of the cities. For the teacher handed it over for just use, and the other man uses it the opposite way. So it's the one who misuses it who ought rightly to be hated, and driven out, and put to death — not the one who taught him.

Socrates

I think you too, Gorgias, are experienced in many discussions, and have noticed something about them: that the parties rarely manage to define their terms with each other, learn from each other, and teach each other, and so bring their meetings to a close that way; instead, if they disagree about something and one says the other isn't speaking correctly or clearly, they get annoyed, and think the other is speaking out of spite against them, competing to win rather than searching out the matter under discussion; and some of them end up parting in the most shameful way, having abused each other and said and heard such things about themselves that even the bystanders are distressed on their behalf, for having thought such people worth listening to. Why, then, am I saying this? Because right now you seem to me to be saying things that don't quite follow or agree with what you said at first about rhetoric; so I'm reluctant to press the argument against you, in case you take me to be speaking out of a wish to win against you personally, rather than to get the matter clear. Now, if you're the kind of man I am, I'd be glad to go on questioning you; if not, I'd let it drop. And what kind am I? The kind who would be glad to be refuted if I say something untrue, and glad to refute someone else if he says something untrue — no less glad, in fact, to be refuted than to refute; since I count being refuted the greater good, by as much as it's a greater good to be rid of the worst evil oneself than to rid someone else of it. For I don't think there's any evil for a man as great as a false opinion about the very things our discussion now happens to concern. So if you say you're that kind of man too, let's go on talking; but if you think we should drop it, let's say goodbye to it now and break off the discussion.

Gorgias

Well, I say that I myself am just the kind of man you describe, Socrates — though perhaps we ought to consider those present too. Even before you two arrived, I'd already given a long display to those here, and now we'll probably run on a good while, if we keep talking. So we ought to consider them as well, in case we're keeping some of them from something else they'd rather be doing.

Chaerephon

You can hear the commotion for yourselves, Gorgias and Socrates — these men want to hear whatever you say; and as for me, I hope I never get so busy that I'd give up a discussion like this, conducted this well, for something else that mattered more to do.

Callicles

By the gods, Chaerephon, I've been present at a great many discussions myself, and I don't know that I've ever enjoyed one as much as this; so as far as I'm concerned, you'll be doing me a favour even if you want to talk the whole day through.

Socrates

Well then, Callicles, nothing stands in my way, as far as I'm concerned, provided Gorgias is willing.

Gorgias

It would be shameful indeed, Socrates, for me now to refuse, after announcing myself that anyone could ask whatever he wanted. So if it suits these gentlemen, go ahead and talk, and ask whatever you want.

Socrates

Listen, then, Gorgias, to what puzzles me in what you've been saying; it may well be that you're speaking correctly and I'm the one misunderstanding. You say you're able to make someone into an orator, if he wants to learn from you?

Gorgias

Yes.

Socrates

So as to be persuasive before a crowd on every subject — not by teaching them, but by persuading them?

Gorgias

Exactly so.

Socrates

You were saying just now that the orator will even be more persuasive than the doctor on matters of health.

Gorgias

Yes, I did say that — before a crowd, that is.

Socrates

And doesn't that mean before people who don't know? Since surely he won't be more persuasive than the doctor among those who do know.

Gorgias

True.

Socrates

So if he's going to be more persuasive than the doctor, he becomes more persuasive than the one who knows?

Gorgias

Quite so.

Socrates

Without being a doctor himself — isn't that right?

Gorgias

Yes.

Socrates

And the one who isn't a doctor is presumably without the knowledge the doctor has.

Gorgias

Clearly.

Socrates

So the one who doesn't know will be more persuasive than the one who does, among people who don't know, whenever the orator is more persuasive than the doctor. Does that follow, or something else?

Gorgias

That's what follows, in this case.

Socrates

So the orator and rhetoric stand the same way toward all the other crafts too: rhetoric itself has no need to know how things actually stand, only to have discovered some device of persuasion so as to appear, to those who don't know, to know more than those who do.

Gorgias

So isn't it a great convenience, Socrates, not having to learn all the other crafts, only this one, and yet coming off no worse than the actual craftsmen?

Socrates

Whether the orator comes off worse than the others, or not, because of standing this way, we'll examine in a moment, if it's relevant to us; but first let's look at this: whether the orator is in fact related to the just and the unjust, the shameful and the fine, the good and the bad, the same way he's related to health and the other subjects of the other crafts — not knowing himself what's good or bad, or fine or shameful, or just or unjust, but having contrived some persuasion about them, so as to seem, among people who don't know, to know more than the one who actually knows? Or is it necessary to know, and must someone who's going to learn rhetoric from you already know these things beforehand? And if not, will you, the teacher of rhetoric, teach the one who comes to you none of this — since it isn't your business — but make him seem, before the crowd, to know these things when he doesn't, and seem to be good when he isn't? Or will you be altogether unable to teach him rhetoric at all, unless he already knows the truth about these matters beforehand? How do things stand here, Gorgias? And for god's sake, as you promised a moment ago, uncover it and tell me what the power of rhetoric actually is.

Gorgias

Well, Socrates, I suppose that if he happens not to know these things, he'll learn them from me too.

Socrates

Hold on there — that's well said. If you're going to make someone into an orator, then, he must know the just and the unjust — either beforehand, or having learned it from you afterward.

Gorgias

Quite so.

Socrates

Well, then? Is the one who's learned carpentry a carpenter, or not?

Gorgias

Yes.

Socrates

And the one who's learned music, musical?

Gorgias

Yes.

Socrates

And the one who's learned medicine, medical? And so with everything else, by the same reasoning — whoever has learned each thing becomes the sort of person that knowledge of it makes him?

Gorgias

Quite so.

Socrates

So by that same reasoning, isn't the one who's learned justice, just?

Gorgias

Absolutely, surely.

Socrates

And the just man does just things, presumably.

Gorgias

Yes.

Socrates

So must not the orator be just, and the just man want to do just things?

Gorgias

So it appears.

Socrates

So the just man will never want to do wrong.

Gorgias

He must not.

Socrates

And by our argument, the orator must be just.

Gorgias

Yes.

Socrates

So the orator will never want to do wrong.

Gorgias

So it appears not.

Socrates

Do you remember, then, saying a little earlier that we shouldn't blame the trainers, or drive them out of their cities, if a boxer uses his boxing unjustly and does wrong with it — and that, in just the same way, if an orator uses rhetoric unjustly, we shouldn't blame his teacher or expel him from the city, but rather the wrongdoer, the one misusing rhetoric? Was that said, or not?

Gorgias

It was said.

Socrates

But now this same man, the orator, turns out never to do wrong at all. Or not?

Gorgias

So it appears.

Socrates

And right at the start, Gorgias, it was said that rhetoric dealt not with arguments about odd and even, but with arguments about the just and the unjust — wasn't that so?

Gorgias

Yes.

Socrates

So when you said that at the time, I took it that rhetoric could never be an unjust thing, since it always deals in arguments about justice; but then, a little later, when you said that the orator could use rhetoric unjustly too, I was so struck by this, and thought what you were saying didn't hang together, that I said what I said — that if you counted being refuted a gain, as I do, it would be worth continuing the discussion, and if not, we should let it go. And now that we've examined it further, you see for yourself that it's agreed all over again that the orator is unable to use rhetoric unjustly, or to be willing to do wrong. So how all this actually stands, by the dog, Gorgias, is not a small matter to work out properly — it will take more than one sitting.

The Conversation with Polus

Rhetoric as Flattery, Not a Craft

Polus

What's this, Socrates? Do you actually believe about rhetoric what you're saying just now? Or do you think — because Gorgias was ashamed not to agree with you that the orator also knows what is just and fine and good, and that if someone came to him without knowing these things he would teach him himself, and then perhaps some contradiction turned up in the discussion out of that admission — this very thing ⟨which⟩ you're so pleased with, having led him into such questions yourself, since who do you think would deny knowing justice himself and being able to teach it to others? But it's real boorishness to drag arguments into that kind of place.

Socrates

My dear Polus, this is exactly why we acquire companions and sons — so that when we older men trip up, you younger ones will be there to set our lives straight, both in what we do and what we say. And now, if Gorgias and I are tripping up anywhere in this discussion , you're here — correct us, since you're a fair man — and I'm willing to take back anything from what's been agreed, if it seems to you not to have been agreed well, whatever you like, provided you guard just one thing for me.

Polus

What's that?

Socrates

Your long-windedness, Polus — rein it in, the kind you tried to use at first.

Polus

What? Won't I be allowed to say as much as I like?

Socrates

You'd be in real trouble, my excellent fellow, if you came all the way to Athens — where there's more freedom to speak than anywhere else in Greece — and then turned out to be the one man here denied it. But turn it around — if you go on talking at length and refuse to answer what you're asked, wouldn't I be the one in trouble, if I'm not allowed to get up and stop listening to you? But if you actually care about the argument we've been having and want to set it right, as I was just saying, take back whatever you like, and question and be questioned in turn, the way Gorgias and I did — test me, and let yourself be tested. You do say, I take it, that you know the same things Gorgias knows — or don't you?

Polus

I do.

Socrates

Then you're inviting people to ask you anything they want, whenever they want, on the assumption that you'll know how to answer?

Polus

Certainly.

Socrates

Well then, do whichever one you like right now — ask, or answer.

Polus

All right, I'll do that. Answer me this, Socrates: since Gorgias seems to you to be at a loss about rhetoric, what do you say it is?

Socrates

Are you asking what craft I say it is?

Polus

I am.

Socrates

None at all, Polus — to tell you the truth.

Polus

Then what do you think rhetoric is?

Socrates

A thing that you claim, in the treatise I read recently, to have turned into a craft.

Polus

What do you mean by that?

Socrates

A kind of knack, I'd say.

Polus

So rhetoric seems to you to be a knack?

Socrates

Yes, unless you have something else to say.

Polus

A knack for what?

Socrates

For producing a kind of gratification and pleasure.

Polus

Then don't you think rhetoric is a fine thing — being able to gratify people?

Socrates

What's this, Polus? Have you already heard from me what I say it is , that you're now asking on top of that whether I think it's fine?

Polus

Didn't I hear you say it's a kind of knack?

Socrates

Since you value gratifying people so much, would you like to do me a small favor?

Polus

I would.

Socrates

Ask me now what craft I think cookery is.

Polus

All right, I'm asking: what craft is cookery?

Socrates

None, Polus.

Polus

Then what is it? Say.

Socrates

I say a kind of knack.

Polus

What kind? Say.

Socrates

I say a knack for producing gratification and pleasure, Polus .

Polus

So cookery and rhetoric are the same thing?

Socrates

Not at all — but they're parts of the same pursuit.

Polus

What pursuit do you mean?

Socrates

I'm afraid saying the truth might come off as rather crude — I hesitate to say it for Gorgias's sake, in case he thinks I'm making fun of what he does for a living. As for whether this is the rhetoric Gorgias practices , I don't know — nothing in our conversation just now made clear what he actually thinks it is — but what I call rhetoric is a part of something that isn't fine at all.

Gorgias

A part of what, Socrates? Speak — don't feel embarrassed on my account.

Socrates

Well, it seems to me, Gorgias, that there's a certain practice that isn't a craft at all, but belongs to a soul that's good at guessing, bold, and naturally clever at dealing with people — and I call the general name for it flattery. This pursuit, it seems to me, has many other parts, and cookery is one of them — it looks like a craft, but by my account it isn't a craft at all, just a knack and a routine. I call rhetoric a part of this same thing, and cosmetics too, and sophistry — four parts over four things. So if Polus wants to ask about it, let him ask — because he hasn't yet learned what part of flattery I say rhetoric is ; it's escaped him that I haven't answered that yet, and instead he's asking me on top of it whether I think it's fine. I won't answer him whether I think rhetoric is fine or shameful until I first answer what it is. That wouldn't be fair, Polus — but if you really want to find out, ask what part of flattery I say rhetoric is.

Polus

All right, I'm asking — tell me what part.

Socrates

Would you actually understand it if I answered ? By my account, rhetoric is the image of a part of politics.

Polus

Well then? Do you say it's fine or shameful?

Socrates

Shameful, I'd say — I call bad things shameful — since I have to answer you as though you already know what I mean.

Gorgias

By Zeus, Socrates, I myself don't even understand what you mean.

Socrates

Naturally, Gorgias — I haven't said anything clear yet, and Polus here is young and sharp.

Gorgias

Well, never mind him — tell me how you mean that rhetoric is the image of a part of politics.

Socrates

I'll try to explain what rhetoric seems to me to be — and if it turns out not to be this, Polus here will refute me. You do speak of a body, and of a soul, don't you?

Gorgias

Of course.

Socrates

And you think each of these has a certain good condition?

Gorgias

I do.

Socrates

What about this? A good condition that only seems good, but isn't? Here's what I mean: many people appear to have bodies in good condition, and no one could easily tell they're not, except a doctor or someone skilled in physical training.

Gorgias

That's true.

Socrates

I'm saying the same thing exists in both body and soul — something that makes the body and the soul seem to be in good shape, without actually being any better off.

Gorgias

That's so.

Socrates

Come, let me try to show you more clearly what I mean, if I can. Since there are two things, I speak of two crafts: the one concerned with the soul I call politics; the one concerned with the body I can't give you a single name for that way, but since caring for the body is one thing, I name two parts of it, physical training and medicine; and within politics, corresponding to physical training, I put legislation, and corresponding to medicine, justice. These two pairs share something with each other , since they're concerned with the same subject — medicine with physical training, and justice with legislation — but all the same they differ somewhat from one another. Now, there being these four, all of them always tending toward what's best — some for the body, some for the soul — flattery notices this — not by knowing, I mean, but by guessing — and splits itself into four parts, and slips in under each of these, and pretends to be the very thing it has slipped under, caring nothing for what's best, and hunting after folly with whatever's most pleasant at the moment, and tricking it, so that it seems to be worth the most. So cookery has slipped in under medicine, and pretends to know the best foods for the body, so that if a cook and a doctor had to compete in front of children, or in front of grown men just as foolish as children, over which of the two understands good foods and bad, the doctor would die of hunger. This whole thing I call flattery, and I say it's shameful , Polus — this is what I'm saying to you — because it aims at what's pleasant without regard for what's best; and I say it isn't a craft but a knack, because it has no account to give of the nature of what it applies and why it applies it, so that it can't state the cause of anything. And I don't call a thing a craft when it's a reasonless business; if you dispute any of this, I'm willing to give my reasons.

So medicine, as I say, has cookery-flattery lying beneath it; and in the same way physical training has cosmetics beneath it — a mischievous, deceptive, low, and unfree thing, deceiving through shapes and colors and smooth finish and clothing, so that it makes people chase a borrowed beauty and neglect the true beauty that comes through physical training. So as not to go on too long, I want to put it to you the way geometers do — you'll probably follow now — that what cosmetics is to physical training, sophistry is to legislation, and what cookery is to medicine, rhetoric is to justice. This is what I mean: they're distinct by nature in this way, but because they're so close, sophists and orators get mixed up together over the same territory, and neither they themselves nor other people can tell what use to make of them. In fact, if the soul didn't govern the body, but the body governed itself, and cookery and medicine weren't observed and distinguished by the soul but the body itself judged them, weighing them by the gratification it got — dear Polus, you know Anaxagoras's saying well — everything would get mixed up together in one heap, with no way to tell apart what belongs to medicine, to health, and to cookery. So you've now heard what I say rhetoric is: the counterpart , in the soul, of cookery in the body. Maybe it's strange of me, forbidding you to make long speeches and then stringing out such a long one myself. But I deserve to be forgiven for it — when I spoke briefly you didn't follow, and you couldn't make any use of the answer I gave you, but needed a full explanation. So if I in turn can't make use of your answers when you answer , string out a speech yourself as well; but if I can make use of them, let me — that's only fair. And now, if there's anything in this answer you can use, use it.

Polus

Well then, what do you say? Does rhetoric seem to you to be flattery?

Socrates

I said a part of flattery. Don't you remember, at your age, Polus? What will you do later on?

Polus

So do you think good orators are looked down on in their cities as flatterers?

Tyrants and Orators Have the Least Power

Socrates

Is this a question you're asking, or are you stating the opening of some argument?

Polus

I'm asking, yes.

Socrates

It doesn't even seem to me that they're regarded as such.

Polus

What? Don't they have the greatest power in their cities?

Socrates

No — not if by "having power" you mean something good for the one who has it.

Polus

Well, that is what I mean.

Socrates

Then it seems to me that orators have the least power of anyone in the city.

Polus

What? Don't they, like tyrants, put to death anyone they want, and confiscate property and banish from their cities anyone they see fit?

Socrates

By the dog, Polus, I honestly can't tell, with each of these claims of yours, whether you're stating your own opinion, or asking me a question.

Polus

Well, I'm asking you.

Socrates

Very well, my friend — but then are you asking me two things at once?

Polus

How, two things?

Socrates

Didn't you just say something like this — that orators put to death anyone they want, just like tyrants, and confiscate property and drive out of their cities anyone they see fit?

Polus

I did.

Socrates

Well, I tell you these are two questions, and I'll answer you on both. Because I say, Polus, that both orators and tyrants have the least power of anyone in their cities, just as I was saying a moment ago — since they don't do, so to speak, anything they want, but only what seems best to them.

Polus

Well then, isn't that having great power?

Socrates

No — not according to Polus.

Polus

I don't say that? I certainly do.

Socrates

By the— no, not you, since you said having great power was a good thing for the one who has it.

Polus

Yes, I did say so.

Socrates

So you think it's a good thing, if someone does what seems best to him without having any sense? And you call that having great power?

Polus

No, I don't.

Socrates

Then will you prove that orators have sense, and that rhetoric is a craft and not flattery, by refuting me? But if you leave me unrefuted, the orators who do what seems best to them in their cities, and the tyrants too, will have gained nothing good by it — while power, as you say, is a good thing, and doing what seems best without sense you yourself agree is a bad thing — or don't you?

Polus

I do.

Socrates

So how could orators or tyrants have great power in their cities, unless Polus refutes Socrates and shows that they do what they want?

Polus

This man—

Socrates

I say they don't do what they want — so refute me.

Polus

Didn't you just agree, [earlier than this], that they do what seems best to them?

Socrates

Yes, and I still agree now.

Polus

Then don't they do what they want?

Socrates

I say they don't.

Polus

While doing what seems best to them?

Socrates

I do say that.

Polus

That's outrageous and absurd, Socrates.

Socrates

Don't speak ill of me, my excellent Polus — to greet you in your own style — but if you're in a position to question me, show that I'm lying; if not, answer the questions yourself.

Polus

Well, I'm willing to answer, so I can find out what you mean.

Socrates

Do you think people want the very thing they're doing at any given moment, or that other thing for the sake of which they do what they do? For instance, those who drink medicine prescribed by doctors — do you think they want the very thing they're doing, drinking the medicine and being in pain, or that other thing, being healthy, for the sake of which they drink it?

Polus

Clearly, being healthy.

Socrates

In the same way, people who sail the sea and carry on any other kind of business don't want the very thing they're doing at each moment — after all, who wants to sail, run risks, and have troubles — but rather, I think, the thing for the sake of which they sail: growing rich, since it's for wealth's sake that they sail.

Polus

Certainly.

Socrates

So isn't it the same way with everything? If someone does something for the sake of something else, doesn't he want not the thing he's doing, but that other thing for the sake of which he's doing it?

Polus

Yes.

Socrates

Now, is there anything among existing things that isn't either good, or bad, or in between the two — neither good nor bad?

Polus

That must be so, Socrates.

Socrates

And you'd say that wisdom, health, wealth, and other such things are good, and their opposites are bad?

Polus

I would.

Socrates

And by things that are neither good nor bad, do you mean things that sometimes share in the good, sometimes in the bad, and sometimes in neither — for instance, sitting, walking, running, and sailing, and again, stones and sticks and other such things? Isn't that what you mean? Or do you call something else neither good nor bad?

Polus

No, those are what I mean.

Socrates

Now, when people do these in-between things, do they do them for the sake of the good things, or the good things for the sake of the in-between ones?

Polus

The in-between things, surely, for the sake of the good ones.

Socrates

So it's in pursuit of the good that we walk, when we walk, thinking it's better to do so, and in pursuit of the same thing, the good, that we stand still, when we stand — or isn't that so?

Polus

Yes.

Socrates

And so too, if we put someone to death, or banish someone, or confiscate property, we do it thinking it's better for us to do these things than not?

Polus

Certainly.

Socrates

So it's for the sake of the good that people do all these things, when they do them.

Polus

I agree.

Socrates

And didn't we agree that whatever we do for the sake of something else, we don't want the things themselves, but that other thing for the sake of which we do them?

Polus

Absolutely.

Socrates

So we don't want to slaughter people, or banish them from their cities, or confiscate property, simply as such — rather, if these things are beneficial, we want to do them, but if they're harmful, we don't want to. For we want the good things, as you say, and we don't want the things that are neither good nor bad, nor the bad things either. Isn't that so? Do you think I'm telling the truth, Polus, or not? Why don't you answer?

Polus

The truth.

Socrates

Then if we agree on this, whenever someone puts a person to death, or banishes him from the city, or confiscates his property, whether he's a tyrant or an orator, thinking it's better for himself, though it actually turns out worse, that man, surely, is doing what seems best to him — isn't that so?

Polus

Yes.

Socrates

Then is he also doing what he wants, if these things really turn out to be bad? Why don't you answer?

Polus

Well, I don't think he's doing what he wants.

Socrates

Then is there any way such a man has great power in that city, if having great power is something good, by your own admission?

Polus

There isn't.

Socrates

So what I was saying is true — that it's possible for a man doing what seems best to him in a city neither to have great power nor to do what he wants.

Polus

As if you, Socrates, wouldn't accept being free to do whatever seems good to you in the city rather than not, and as if you don't envy someone when you see him put to death whoever he pleased, or confiscate property, or throw someone in prison.

Socrates

Justly, or unjustly?

Polus

Whichever way he does it, isn't it enviable either way?

Socrates

Mind your words, Polus.

Polus

Why?

Socrates

Because you shouldn't envy people who aren't enviable, or the wretched — you should pity them.

Polus

What? Is that how you think it is with the men I'm talking about?

Socrates

Of course it is.

Polus

So a man who puts to death whomever he pleases, justly putting him to death, seems to you wretched and pitiable?

Socrates

Not to me — but not enviable either.

Polus

Didn't you just say he was wretched?

Socrates

The one who kills unjustly, my friend, is wretched, and pitiable besides — the one who kills justly, merely not enviable.

Polus

Surely the man who dies unjustly is pitiable and wretched.

Socrates

Less so than the one who kills him, Polus, and less so than the one who dies justly.

Polus

How can that be, Socrates?

Socrates

Like this — doing wrong happens to be the greatest of evils.

Polus

Is that really the greatest? Isn't suffering wrong greater?

Socrates

Not in the least.

Polus

So you would rather suffer wrong than do it.

Better to Suffer Than to Do Wrong: The Paradox and Archelaus

Socrates

For my part, I'd want neither — but if it were necessary to do wrong or to suffer wrong, I'd choose to suffer wrong rather than do it.

Polus

Then you wouldn't accept being a tyrant?

Socrates

No — not if by being a tyrant you mean what I mean.

Polus

Well, I mean exactly what I meant a moment ago — being free in the city to do whatever seems good to you, killing and banishing and doing everything according to your own judgment.

Socrates

My blessed friend, catch me up on the argument as I make it. For if I, in the crowded marketplace, taking a dagger under my arm, were to say to you, Polus — I've just now acquired a certain wonderful power, even a tyranny — since if it seems to me that one of these men you see here needs to die right away, this man will be dead, whoever I decide on; and if it seems to me that one of them needs his head broken, his head will be broken right away; and if I decide his cloak should be torn, it will be torn — that's how much power I have in this city — well, if I showed you the dagger when you doubted me, you'd probably say, on seeing it, Socrates, in that way everyone would have great power, since a house could be burned down that way, whichever one you liked, and the Athenians' dockyards too, and their triremes, and all their ships, public and private alike — but that isn't what having great power means, doing whatever seems good to you — or do you think it is?

Polus

No, certainly not that way.

Socrates

Can you say, then, why you criticize that kind of power?

Polus

I can.

Socrates

Why is that? Tell me.

Polus

Because a man who acts that way is bound to be punished.

Socrates

And being punished isn't a bad thing?

Polus

Certainly it is.

Socrates

So it turns out, my amazing friend, that [having great power] is a good thing after all, in your view, only if doing what seems best to him is also followed by acting beneficially — and that, it seems, is what having great power really is; if not, it's a bad thing, and no power at all. And let's consider this too — don't we agree that sometimes it's better to do the things we were just talking about, killing people and driving them out and confiscating property, but sometimes not?

Polus

Certainly.

Socrates

This much, then, it seems, is agreed by both of us.

Polus

Yes.

Socrates

So when do you say it's better to do these things? Tell me, what boundary do you draw?

Polus

No, you answer that [same] question yourself, Socrates.

Socrates

Well, I say, Polus, if you'd rather hear it from me, that when someone does these things justly, it's better, and when unjustly, worse.

Polus

You're a hard man to refute, Socrates — but couldn't even a child refute you and show that you're not telling the truth?

Socrates

Then I'll be very grateful to the child, and just as grateful to you, if you refute me and free me from talking nonsense. But don't grow tired of doing a friend a favor — go on and refute me.

Polus

Well, Socrates, there's certainly no need for me to refute you with ancient history — recent events, things that happened just yesterday, are enough to refute you and show that many people who do wrong are happy.

Socrates

What events do you mean?

Polus

You do see this Archelaus, son of Perdiccas, ruling Macedonia?

Socrates

If not seeing him, at least I hear about him.

Polus

Does he seem to you happy, or wretched?

Socrates

I don't know, Polus — I've never met the man.

Polus

What? You'd know if you met him, but otherwise, on the spot, you can't tell that he's happy?

Socrates

No, by Zeus, certainly not.

Polus

Clearly then, Socrates, you'll say you don't even know whether the Great King is happy.

Socrates

And I'll be telling the truth — since I don't know how he stands with respect to education and justice.

Polus

What? Does all happiness depend on that?

Socrates

That's what I say, Polus — I say that a fine and good man or woman is happy, and an unjust and wicked one is wretched.

Polus

So by your account, this Archelaus is wretched?

Socrates

Yes, my friend — if he's unjust.

Polus

But how is he not unjust? He had no right at all to the rule he now holds, being born of a woman who was a slave to Alcetas, Perdiccas's brother — by justice he was Alcetas's slave, and if he'd wanted to do what's just, he'd still be serving Alcetas, and he'd be happy by your own account. But as it is, he's become wonderfully wretched, since he's committed the greatest wrongs — first, he summoned this very man, his own master and uncle, as if to give back the rule that Perdiccas had taken from him, made him and his son Alexander, his own cousin and nearly his own age, his guests, got them drunk, threw them into a wagon, led them out by night, cut their throats, and made them both disappear. After doing this wrong, he failed to notice that he'd become the most wretched of men, and felt no regret for it; but a little later, given the chance to become happy by justly raising his brother — Perdiccas's legitimate son, a boy of about seven, to whom the rule belonged by right — and giving him back the throne, he refused, and instead threw him into a well, drowned him, and told the boy's mother Cleopatra that he'd fallen in chasing a goose and died. So now, since he's committed the greatest wrongs of anyone in Macedonia, he's the most wretched of all Macedonians, not the happiest, and there's probably some Athenian — starting with you, — who'd rather become any other Macedonian whatsoever than become Archelaus.

Socrates

And right at the start of our conversation, Polus, I praised you for seeming to me well trained in rhetoric, but for having neglected the art of discussion — and now, is this really any different, the argument by which even a child could refute me, and by which you now think I've been refuted, when I say the wrongdoer isn't happy? Where does that follow, my good man? In fact I don't agree with you on any of this.

Polus

That's because you're not willing to, since it does seem to you the way I say.

Socrates

My blessed friend, you're trying to refute me the way rhetoricians do, like the men in the law courts who think that's how refutation works. There too, one side thinks it refutes the other whenever it produces many reputable witnesses for what it says, while the side arguing the opposite produces only one witness, or none at all. But this kind of refutation is worth nothing when it comes to the truth — sometimes a man can be falsely accused by many people who seem to be somebody. And right now, on the point you're making, nearly everyone will agree with you and say the same things, Athenians and foreigners alike, if you want to produce witnesses against me that I'm not telling the truth; you can call on, if you like, Nicias son of Niceratus and his brothers with him, whose tripods stand in a row in the Dionysium; or, if you like, Aristocrates son of Scellias, whose fine offering stands at the Pythian temple; or, if you like, the whole house of Pericles, or any other family here you care to choose. But I, being just one man, don't agree with you — you're not compelling me, but you're bringing forward many false witnesses against me and trying to drive me out of my property and out of the truth. But unless I can produce you yourself as a single witness agreeing with what I say, I don't think I've proved anything worth mentioning about the matters our argument concerns; and I don't think you have either, unless I testify for you being just one man alone, and you let all these others go their way. So this is one kind of refutation, as you and many others think it is; but there's another kind too, which I in turn believe in. Let's set them side by side and see whether they differ from each other at all. For in fact the matters we're disputing aren't at all small — they're pretty much the very things it's finest to know and most shameful not to know, since the heart of the matter is knowing or not knowing who is happy and who is not. To begin with the very point our argument is about right now: you think it's possible for a man doing wrong and being unjust to be happy, given that you consider Archelaus unjust yet happy. Should we take it that this is your view?

Polus

Certainly.

Socrates

But I say it's impossible. That's one point we disagree on. Very well then — will the wrongdoer be happy if he actually meets with justice and punishment?

Polus

Not in the least — in that case he'd be the most wretched of all.

Proving Injustice Worse Than Suffering It

Socrates

But if the wrongdoer doesn't pay the penalty, will he be happy, on your account?

Polus

I do.

Socrates

But in my opinion, Polus, the wrongdoer — the unjust man — is wretched in every case, but more wretched if he doesn't pay the penalty and doesn't meet with punishment for his wrongdoing, and less wretched if he does pay the penalty and gets his due from gods and men.

Polus

That's a strange thing to try to say, Socrates.

Socrates

I'll try to make you say the same as I do, my friend; after all, I consider you a friend. Right now, this is what we disagree about — you take a look too. I said earlier that doing wrong is worse than suffering it.

Polus

Certainly.

Socrates

Whereas you say suffering it is.

Polus

Yes.

Socrates

And I said that wrongdoers are wretched, and you refuted me.

Polus

Yes, by Zeus.

Socrates

So you think, Polus.

Polus

And I think truly.

Socrates

Perhaps. And you, in turn, say wrongdoers are happy, if they don't pay the penalty.

Polus

Certainly.

Socrates

But I say they're the most wretched, and those who pay the penalty less so. Do you want to refute this too?

Polus

But that's even harder to refute than the last one, Socrates.

Socrates

Not at all, Polus — impossible, in fact; the truth is never refuted.

Polus

What do you mean? If a man doing wrong is caught plotting to set himself up as tyrant, and once caught is racked and mutilated and has his eyes burned out, and after suffering many other great torments of every kind himself, and watching his own children and wife suffer them too, is finally crucified or coated in pitch and burned — will this man be happier than if he escapes, sets himself up as tyrant, and lives out his life as ruler in the city doing whatever he wants, envied and counted happy by the citizens and by other foreigners too? Is that what you're saying is impossible to refute?

Socrates

You're just trying to scare me again, noble Polus, and that's not refuting — a moment ago you were just calling witnesses. Still, remind me of one small thing. Did you say plotting unjustly to become tyrant?

Polus

I did.

Socrates

Well then, neither of them will ever be happier than the other — neither the one who's gotten hold of the tyranny unjustly nor the one who pays the penalty — since, between two wretched men, neither could be happier — but the one who escapes and becomes tyrant is the more wretched of the two. What's this, Polus? Are you laughing? Is this some other kind of refutation, laughing whenever someone says something, instead of refuting it?

Polus

Don't you think you've been refuted, Socrates, when you say things no human being would agree to? Go ahead, ask any of these men here.

Socrates

Polus, I'm not one of the politicians — last year, when I was chosen by lot to sit on the council, and my tribe held the presidency and I had to put a matter to the vote, I made a fool of myself, because I didn't know how to conduct a vote. So don't tell me now either to put these men here to the vote, but if you have no better refutation than that, hand the argument over to me in my turn, as I was just saying, and try the kind of refutation I think is needed. For when I make a claim, I know how to produce just one witness — the very man I'm arguing with — and I let the majority go hang, and I know how to put it to the vote of just one man, but with the majority I don't even hold a discussion. So see whether you're willing, in your turn, to submit to a refutation by answering what you're asked. For I do think that I myself, and you, and everyone else, believe that doing wrong is worse than suffering it, and not paying the penalty worse than paying it.

Polus

But I don't think that — not about myself, and not about anyone else. Would you actually choose to suffer wrong rather than do it?

Socrates

So would you, and so would everyone else.

Polus

Far from it — neither I nor you nor anyone else would.

Socrates

Then won't you answer?

Polus

Certainly; in fact I'm eager to hear what you'll say.

Socrates

So tell me, so you'll know, just as if I were asking you from the beginning — which do you think is worse, Polus, doing wrong or suffering it?

Polus

Suffering it, in my view.

Socrates

And what about this? Which is more shameful, doing wrong or suffering it? Answer.

Polus

Doing wrong.

Socrates

Then it's also worse, if it's more shameful.

Polus

Not in the least.

Socrates

I see; apparently you don't think fine and good are the same thing, or bad and shameful.

Polus

No, I don't.

Socrates

And what about this? Do you call all fine things fine — bodies, colors, shapes, sounds, and practices — every time, without looking to anything? Take fine bodies first — don't you call them fine either in view of their use, whatever each is useful for, or in view of some pleasure, if they make the people looking at them enjoy the sight? Can you name anything about physical beauty outside these two?

Polus

I can't.

Socrates

Then don't you call everything else fine the same way too — shapes and colors — either because of some pleasure, or because of benefit, or both?

Polus

I do.

Socrates

And sounds too, and everything in music, the same way?

Polus

Yes.

Socrates

And surely fine things in the realm of laws and practices are no exception either — they're fine by being beneficial or pleasant or both.

Polus

No, they aren't.

Socrates

Then the beauty of studies is the same way too?

Polus

Certainly; and you're defining it well now, Socrates, defining the fine by pleasure and good.

Socrates

Then the shameful is the opposite — by pain and bad?

Polus

It must be.

Socrates

So whenever, of two fine things, one is finer than the other, it's finer by exceeding in one of these two, or in both — either in pleasure or in benefit or in both.

Polus

Certainly.

Socrates

And when, of two shameful things, one is more shameful than the other, it will be more shameful by exceeding in pain or in bad — or isn't that necessary?

Polus

Yes.

Socrates

Come now, what did we just say about doing wrong and suffering it? Didn't you say that suffering wrong is worse, and doing wrong more shameful?

Polus

I did.

Socrates

So if doing wrong is more shameful than suffering it, then it must either be more painful — more shameful by exceeding in pain — or in bad, or in both? Isn't that necessary too?

Polus

How could it not be?

Socrates

First, then, let's consider whether doing wrong exceeds suffering it in pain, and whether wrongdoers feel more pain than those who are wronged.

Polus

Not at all, Socrates, not that.

Socrates

Then it doesn't exceed it in pain.

Polus

No, it doesn't.

Socrates

Then if not in pain, it can't exceed in both any longer.

Polus

It doesn't appear so.

Socrates

So it's left with the other.

Polus

Yes.

Socrates

In bad.

Polus

So it seems.

Socrates

Then, exceeding in bad, doing wrong would be worse than suffering it.

Polus

Clearly so.

Socrates

Now wasn't it agreed by most people, and by you, earlier on, that doing wrong is more shameful than suffering it?

Polus

Yes.

Socrates

But now it's turned out to be worse.

Polus

So it seems.

Socrates

So would you actually choose the worse and more shameful thing over the lesser? Don't hesitate to answer, Polus; you won't be harmed at all; just answer bravely, submitting to the argument the way you'd submit to a doctor, and either say yes or no to what I ask.

Polus

No, I wouldn't choose it, Socrates.

Socrates

Would anyone else?

Polus

Not, I think, on this argument.

Socrates

So I was telling the truth, that neither I, nor you, nor anyone else on earth would choose to do wrong rather than suffer it; because it happens to be worse.

Polus

So it appears.

Socrates

So you see, Polus, when one refutation is set beside the other, they're nothing alike — everyone else agrees with you except me, but you alone are enough for me, agreeing and testifying by yourself, and I put it to the vote of you alone and let the rest go hang. Let's leave that as settled between us, then; and next let's consider the second point we disputed — whether the wrongdoer's paying the penalty is the greatest of evils, as you thought, or whether not paying it is greater, as I, in turn, thought.

Let's look at it this way; do you call paying the penalty and being justly corrected for doing wrong the same thing?

Polus

I do.