CALLICLES: Socrates, I think you’re grandstanding in these speeches, acting like a true crowd pleaser. Here you are, playing to the crowd now that Polus has had the same thing happen to him that he accused Gorgias of letting you do to him. For he said, didn’t he, that when Gorgias was asked by you whether he would teach anyone who came to him wanting [d] to learn oratory but without expertise in what’s just, Gorgias was ashamed and, out of deference to human custom, since people would take it ill if a person refused, said that he’d teach him. And because Gorgias agreed on this point, he said, he was forced to contradict himself, just the thing you like. He ridiculed you at the time, and rightly so, as I think anyhow. And now the very same thing has happened to him. And for this same reason I don’t approve of Polus: he agreed with you that doing what’s unjust is more shameful than suffering it. As a result of this admission he [e] was bound and gagged by you in the discussion, too ashamed to say what he thought. Although you claim to be pursuing the truth, you’re in fact bringing the discussion around to the sort of crowd-pleasing vulgarities that are admirable only by law and not by nature. And these, nature and law, are for the most part opposed to each other, so if a person is ashamed [483] and doesn’t dare to say what he thinks, he’s forced to contradict himself. This is in fact the clever trick you’ve thought of, with which you work mischief in your discussions: if a person makes a statement in terms of law, you slyly question him in terms of nature; if he makes it in terms of nature, you question him in terms of law. That’s just what happened here, on the question of doing what’s unjust versus suffering it. While Polus meant that doing it is more shameful by law, you pursued the argument as though he meant by nature. For by nature all that is worse is also more shameful, like suffering what’s unjust, whereas by law doing it is more shameful. No, no man would put up with suffering what’s unjust; only a [b] slave would do so, one who is better dead than alive, who when he’s treated unjustly and abused can’t protect himself or anyone else he cares about. I believe that the people who institute our laws are the weak and the many. So they institute laws and assign praise and blame with themselves and their own advantage in mind. As a way of frightening the more [c] powerful among men, the ones who are capable of having a greater share, out of getting a greater share than they, they say that getting more than one’s share is “shameful” and “unjust,” and that doing what’s unjust is nothing but trying to get more than one’s share. I think they like getting an equal share, since they are inferior.
These are the reasons why trying to get a greater share than most is said to be unjust and shameful by law and why they call it doing what’s [d] unjust. But I believe that nature itself reveals that it’s a just thing for the better man and the more capable man to have a greater share than the worse man and the less capable man. Nature shows that this is so in many places; both among the other animals and in whole cities and races of men, it shows that this is what justice has been decided to be: that the superior rule the inferior and have a greater share than they. For what sort of justice did Xerxes go by when he campaigned against Greece, or [e] his father when he campaigned against Scythia? Countless other such examples could be mentioned. I believe that these men do these things in accordance with the nature of what’s just—yes, by Zeus, in accordance with the law of nature, and presumably not with the one we institute. We mold the best and the most powerful among us, taking them while they’re still young, like lion cubs, and with charms and incantations we subdue [484] them into slavery, telling them that one is supposed to get no more than his fair share, and that that’s what’s admirable and just. But surely, if a man whose nature is equal to it arises, he will shake off, tear apart, and escape all this, he will trample underfoot our documents, our tricks and charms, and all our laws that violate nature. He, the slave, will rise up [b] and be revealed as our master, and here the justice of nature will shine forth. I think Pindar, too, refers to what I’m saying in that song in which he says that
Law, the king of all,
Of mortals and the immortal gods
—this, he says,
Brings on and renders just what is most violent
With towering hand. I take as proof of this
The deeds of Heracles. For he … unbought …
His words are something like that—I don’t know the song well—he says that Heracles drove off Geryon’s cattle, even though he hadn’t paid for [c] them and Geryon hadn’t given them to him, on the ground that this is what’s just by nature, and that cattle and all the other possessions of those who are worse and inferior belong to the one who’s better and superior.
This is the truth of the matter, as you will acknowledge if you abandon philosophy and move on to more important things. Philosophy is no doubt a delightful thing, Socrates, as long as one is exposed to it in moderation at the appropriate time of life. But if one spends more time with it than he should, it’s a man’s undoing. For even if one is naturally well favored but engages in philosophy far beyond that appropriate time of life, he can’t help but turn out to be inexperienced in everything a man who’s to [d] be admirable and good and well thought of is supposed to be experienced in. Such people turn out to be inexperienced in the laws of their city or in the kind of speech one must use to deal with people on matters of business, whether in public or private, inexperienced also in human pleasures and appetites and, in short, inexperienced in the ways of human beings altogether. So, when they venture into some private or political activity, they become a laughingstock, as I suppose men in politics do [e] when they venture into your pursuits and your kind of speech. What results is Euripides’ saying, where he says that “each man shines” in this and “presses on to this,
allotting the greatest part of the day to this,
where he finds himself at his best.”
And whatever a man’s inferior in, he avoids and rails against, while he [485] praises the other thing, thinking well of himself and supposing that in this way he’s praising himself. I believe, however, that it’s most appropriate to have a share of both. To partake of as much philosophy as your education requires is an admirable thing, and it’s not shameful to practice philosophy while you’re a boy, but when you still do it after you’ve grown older and become a man, the thing gets to be ridiculous, Socrates! My own reaction [b] to men who philosophize is very much like that to men who speak haltingly and play like children. When I see a child, for whom it’s still quite proper to make conversation this way, halting in its speech and playing like a child, I’m delighted. I find it a delightful thing, a sign of good breeding, and appropriate for the child’s age. And when I hear a small child speaking clearly, I think it’s a harsh thing; it hurts my ears. I think it is something fit for a slave. But when one hears a man speaking haltingly or sees him [c] playing like a child, it strikes me as ridiculous and unmanly, deserving of a flogging. Now, I react in the same way to men who engage in philosophy, too. When I see philosophy in a young boy, I approve of it; I think it’s appropriate and consider such a person well-bred, whereas I consider one who doesn’t engage in philosophy ill-bred, one who’ll never count himself deserving of any admirable or noble thing. But when I see an older [d] man still engaging in philosophy and not giving it up, I think such a man by this time needs a flogging. For, as I was just now saying, it’s typical that such a man, even if he’s naturally very well favored, becomes unmanly and avoids the centers of his city and the marketplaces—in which, according to the poet,11 men attain “preeminence”—and, instead, lives the rest [e] of his life in hiding, whispering in a corner with three or four boys, never uttering anything well-bred, important, or apt.
Socrates, I do have a rather warm regard for you. I find myself feeling what Zethus, whose words I recalled just now, felt toward Amphion in Euripides’ play. In fact, the sorts of things he said to his brother come to my mind to say to you. “You’re neglecting the things you should devote yourself to, Socrates, and though your spirit’s nature is so noble, you show yo
urself to the world in the shape of a boy. You couldn’t put a speech [486] together correctly before councils of justice or utter any plausible or persuasive sound. Nor could you make any bold proposal on behalf of anyone else.” And so then, my dear Socrates—please don’t be upset with me, for it’s with good will toward you that I’ll say this—don’t you think it’s shameful to be the way I take you to be, and others who ever press on too far in philosophy? As it is, if someone got hold of you or of anyone else like you and took you off to prison on the charge that you’re doing something unjust when in fact you aren’t, be assured that you wouldn’t have any use for yourself. You’d get dizzy, your mouth would hang open [b] and you wouldn’t know what to say. You’d come up for trial and face some no good wretch of an accuser and be put to death, if death is what he’d want to condemn you to. And yet, Socrates, “how can this be a wise thing, the craft which took a well-favored man and made him worse,” able neither to protect himself nor to rescue himself or anyone else from the gravest dangers, to be robbed of all of his property by his enemies, [c] and to live a life with absolutely no rights in his city? Such a man one could knock on the jaw without paying what’s due for it, to put it rather crudely. Listen to me, my good man, and stop this refuting. “Practice the sweet music of an active life and do it where you’ll get a reputation for being intelligent. Leave these subtleties to others”—whether we should call them just silly or outright nonsense—“which will cause you to live in empty houses,”12 and envy not those men who refute such trivia, but those [d] who have life and renown, and many other good things as well.
SOCRATES: If I actually had a soul made of gold, Callicles, don’t you think I’d be pleased to find one of those stones on which they test gold? And if this stone to which I intended to take my soul were the best stone and it agreed that my soul had been well cared for, don’t you think I could know well at that point that I’m in good shape and need no further test?
[e] CALLICLES: What’s the point of your question, Socrates?
SOCRATES: I’ll tell you. I believe that by running into you, I’ve run into just such a piece of luck.
CALLICLES: Why do you say that?
SOCRATES: I know well that if you concur with what my soul believes, [487] then that is the very truth. I realize that a person who is going to put a soul to an adequate test to see whether it lives rightly or not must have three qualities, all of which you have: knowledge, good will, and frankness. I run into many people who aren’t able to test me because they’re not wise like you. Others are wise, but they’re not willing to tell me the truth, because they don’t care for me the way you do. As for these two visitors, Gorgias and Polus, they’re both wise and fond of me, but rather more [b] lacking in frankness, and more ashamed than they should be. No wonder! They’ve come to such a depth of shame that, because they are ashamed, each of them dares to contradict himself, face to face with many people, and on topics of the greatest importance. You have all these qualities, which the others don’t. You’re well-enough educated, as many of the Athenians would attest, and you have good will toward me. What’s my [c] proof of this? I’ll tell you. I know, Callicles, that there are four of you who’ve become partners in wisdom, you, Teisander of Aphidnae, Andron the son of Androtion, and Nausicydes of Cholarges. Once I overheard you deliberating on how far one should cultivate wisdom, and I know that some such opinion as this was winning out among you: you called on each other not to enthusiastically pursue philosophizing to the point of [d] pedantry but to be careful not to become wiser than necessary and so inadvertently bring yourselves to ruin. So, now that I hear you giving me the same advice you gave your closest companions, I have sufficient proof that you really do have good will toward me. And as to my claim that you’re able to speak frankly without being ashamed, you yourself say so and the speech you gave a moment ago bears you out. It’s clear, then, that this is how these matters stand at the moment. If there’s any point in our [e] discussions on which you agree with me, then that point will have been adequately put to the test by you and me, and it will not be necessary to put it to any further test, for you’d never have conceded the point through lack of wisdom or excess of shame, and you wouldn’t do so by lying to me, either. You are my friend, as you yourself say, too. So, our mutual agreement will really lay hold of truth in the end. Most admirable of all, Callicles, is the examination of those issues about which you took me to task, that of what a man is supposed to be like, and of what he’s supposed to devote himself to and how far, when he’s older and when he’s young. [488] For my part, if I engage in anything that’s improper in my own life, please know well that I do not make this mistake intentionally but out of my ignorance. So don’t leave off lecturing me the way you began, but show me clearly what it is I’m to devote myself to, and in what way I might come by it; if you catch me agreeing with you now but at a later time not doing the very things I’ve agreed upon, then take me for a very stupid fellow and don’t bother ever afterward with lecturing me, on the ground [b] that I’m a worthless fellow.
Please restate your position for me from the beginning. What is it that you and Pindar hold to be true of what’s just by nature? That the superior should take by force what belongs to the inferior, that the better should rule the worse and the more worthy have a greater share than the less worthy? You’re not saying anything else, are you? I do remember correctly?
CALLICLES: Yes, that’s what I was saying then, and I still say so now, too.
SOCRATES: Is it the same man you call both “better” and “superior”? I [c] wasn’t able then, either, to figure out what you meant. Is it the stronger ones you call superior, and should those who are weaker take orders from the one who’s stronger? That’s what I think you were trying to show then also, when you said that large cities attack small ones according to what’s just by nature, because they’re superior and stronger, assuming that superior, stronger and better are the same. Or is it possible for one to be better [d] and also inferior and weaker, or greater but more wretched? Or do “better” and “superior” have the same definition? Please define this for me clearly. Are superior, better and stronger the same or are they different?
CALLICLES: Very well, I’m telling you clearly that they’re the same.
SOCRATES: Now aren’t the many superior by nature to the one? They’re the ones who in fact impose the laws upon the one, as you were saying yourself a moment ago.
CALLICLES: Of course.
SOCRATES: So the rules of the many are the rules of the superior.
CALLICLES: Yes, they are.
[e] SOCRATES: Aren’t they the rules of the better? For by your reasoning, I take it, the superior are the better.
CALLICLES: Yes.
SOCRATES: And aren’t the rules of these people admirable by nature, seeing that they’re the superior ones?
CALLICLES: That’s my view.
SOCRATES: Now, isn’t it a rule of the many that it’s just to have an equal share and that doing what’s unjust is more shameful than suffering it, as [489] you yourself were saying just now? Is this so or not? Be careful that you in your turn don’t get caught being ashamed now. Do the many observe or do they not observe the rule that it’s just to have an equal and not a greater share, and that doing what’s unjust is more shameful than suffering it? Don’t grudge me your answer to this, Callicles, so that if you agree with me I may have my confirmation from you, seeing that it’s the agreement of a man competent to pass judgment.
CALLICLES: All right, the many do have that rule.
[b] SOCRATES: It’s not only by law, then, that doing what’s unjust is more shameful than suffering it, or just to have an equal share, but it’s so by nature, too. So it looks as though you weren’t saying what’s true earlier and weren’t right to accuse me when you said that nature and law were opposed to each other and that I, well aware of this, am making mischief in my statements, taking any statement someone makes meant in terms of nature, in terms of law, and any statement mea
nt in terms of law, in terms of nature.
CALLICLES: This man will not stop talking nonsense! Tell me, Socrates, aren’t you ashamed, at your age, of trying to catch people’s words and of [c] making hay out of someone’s tripping on a phrase? Do you take me to mean by people being superior anything else than their being better? Haven’t I been telling you all along that by “better” and “superior” I mean the same thing? Or do you suppose that I’m saying that if a rubbish heap of slaves and motley men, worthless except perhaps in physical strength, gets together and makes any statements, then these are the rules?
SOCRATES: Fair enough, wisest Callicles. Is this what you’re saying?
CALLICLES: It certainly is.
SOCRATES: Well, my marvelous friend, I guessed some time ago that it’s [d] some such thing you mean by “superior,” and I’m questioning you because I’m intent upon knowing clearly what you mean. I don’t really suppose that you think two are better than one or that your slaves are better than you just because they’re stronger than you. Tell me once more from the beginning, what do you mean by the better, seeing that it’s not the stronger? And, my wonderful man, go easier on me in your teaching, so that I won’t quit your school.
Complete Works Page 128
