Polemarchus and Thrasymachus had first disputed with Socrates about the idea of justice, testified by stout objections an especial call to the task, stoutly continue to stand to the argument in alternation with Socrates, without its appearing however to be of any particular importance whether Glaucon or Adimantus sustain the conversation.

Now if the author appears by this dress to convey a wish that his readers should in like manner conceive and enjoy the work as one undivided whole in itself, as the arguments themselves are to be supposed delivered without interruption, and again related without a pause, the division, on the other hand, into ten books is an obstacle to the accomplishment of that wish. This division, although Aristotle does not notice it, is certainly of great antiquity, and since from the time of the commentators upon the Stagyrite until now the work is always quoted according to it, this division must be always kept, but it is not so easy to make it probable that it comes from Plato himself. I, at least, cannot prevail upon myself to suppose that if Plato had found it necessary to divide his work, he would have been likely to project a dismemberment of it so perfectly mechanical, and bearing no relation whatever to the subject-matter— one which every reader who would search into the internal connection of the whole must entirely set aside, if he would avoid falling into confusion. For it is only with the end of the first book that the first part also of the work concludes, and in like manner, the conclusion of the whole commences with the beginning of the last book, but beyond this, only the end of the fourth book and of the seventh coincide with an important division in reference to the subject-matter.

All

the remaining books break off in the middle of a discussion in such a manner that not even any phrases in them could be turned to denote conclusion or commencement. Since then, the books pretty much resemble one another in extent, it may easily be the case, that the first important break was adopted as the standard, and as many compartments formed as would come out sufficiently similar in length to this, a proceeding in which, clearly, the transcribers and the libraries must have been all that was had in view.

Accordingly, if we totally reject the notion that this is an original subdivision, or one connected with the internal arrangement of the whole, and go to find the latter according to the indications in the work itself, we must give the composer credit for having attempted by every method to recompense the reader for the want of regular external divisions, and to facilitate as much as possible the apprehension of the connexion. For with exemplary accuracy the point of commencement of every important digression whatever is distinctly marked, and at the end, again, reference is made to the point from which the thread must be taken In like manner, it is generally made very observable where a new section begins, and comprehensive summaries of all that has gone before are so little spared, that it must be extremely easy for every reader with any degree of attention to keep the thread-nay, that it seems almost impossible to fall into any uncertainty as to the real object of the work, and the relation of particular parts to the unity of the whole.

up anew.

Now, the course of the entire work is as follows: In the confidential, introductory dialogue between Socrates and Cephalus upon the subject, especially, of

old age, the latter mentions the legends respecting the infernal world which at this period of life particularly present themselves to the mind, and extols it as the most important advantage of wealth, that the rich man can meet what awaits him with a more confident spirit, as he has been less tempted than the needy one to commit injustice. To this Socrates tacks the question as to the nature of justice, while he immediately rejects as insufficient, by the application of familiar instances, a very current explanation of it, that it is truth in speaking and honesty in restoring. And here Cephalus, who, independently of any thing else, is already too far advanced in years for such dialogues, resigns his place to his son Polemarchus in order to attend to the sacrifice out of doors. And Polemarchus then entrenches himself behind an explanation of justice given by Simonides, which Socrates, however, destroys in like manner by the application of his frequently tried method. Upon this the Chalcedonian Thrasymachus comes forward with the big swagger of a sophist, here and there reminding us of the rough jests in the Euthydemus, and occupies the place of Callicles in the Gorgias of Plato, setting up the proposition that justice is only the ordinance made by the stronger for his own advantage; and hence that it tends to the hurt of the weaker party to be just, while injustice is wisdom, and the unjust life the only one desirable. Socrates defends

himself by the analogy of all the arts of governing powers, which universally provide for what is best for others, and indeed for the weakest, and by no means for themselves. And because the wise do in no case cherish exorbitant notions beyond the due proportion observed among their fellows, and inherent in the thing

Y Y

itself, while the unjust, recognising no proportion whatever, do not follow this rule, injustice, it is argued, can scarcely be called a part of wisdom. To this is at last annexed a proof of the position, that injustice, so far from giving strength, and by that means conducing to advantage, is, on the contrary, since it naturally excites discord, of a weakening tendency; consequently, that a just life is alone a happy one, because, moreover, the soul can perfectly execute its office, comprising the duties of deliberation*, governing, and superintendance, only by means of its own proper perfection, and that is confessedly by justice, and not injustice. Thus the first book does indeed conclude with the victory of Socrates over the sophists, but also with the lamentation of the conquerer himself, that the nature of justice has still not been yet discovered, consequently, that the question started remains where it was, perfectly untouched. And by this conclusion the book is clearly enough marked as an introduction, so that the arguments up to this point can only have any value as preparatory to what is to follow.

And by this conclusion the same also is virtually maintained of all the Socratic dialogues previously given in this translation, as many of them at least as discussed any virtue whatever, inasmuch as they all failed to discover the correct explanation. Thus the Protagoras treated the question of the unity and communicability of virtue, but without defining the idea of virtue itself; thus in the Laches courage is discussed, and in the Charmides, discretion. And since, in the question of justice, the opposition between friend and enemy forms an important element, even the Lysis might occur

* ἐπιμελεῖσθαι καὶ ἄρχειν καὶ βουλεύεσθαι·

to the mind on the present occasion. Hence it is cer tainly not without any object, but rather with one very definitely in view and very judiciously attained, that this first book of the work before us recalls those earlier ethical pieces to the memory of the reader, whether we look to the method of the investigation, or to the general outline of the composition, or to the language and the style. Throughout, indeed, the tone here given is an echo of that in the Protagoras more than in the others, and that dialogue likewise treats the ethical question more generally than any of those works. We are reminded of it by the pomp of the appointments and introduction, by the number of persons all possessing some celebrity, by the preference of the sophist for long speeches furnishing no proof, by the appeal to the lyric poet in ethical matters, in a word, by almost every thing. And if, as is certainly the case, the Thema of Thrasymachus reminds us very definitely of the Gorgias, this does not agree ill with the place which we have assigned to that dialogue, as a transition, that is, from the first main division of the Platonic works to the second. This method of recalling to recollection by resemblance what is gone before is indeed most eminently suitable to a writer not permitted by the form of his works to appeal in the later immediately to the earlier; but still the entire phenomenon is not to be explained from this circumstance alone, as this object might have been more easily reached by particular allusions. On the contrary, if we would completely understand Plato's meaning, we must not overlook the fact that all this resemblance between the work before us and the other ethical dialogues completely vanishes as the work advances. The crowd of persons disperses,