Plato · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
EUDICUS: Why so silent, Socrates, after Hippias has given such a display? Why not join in praising something he's said, or else refute it, if some part strikes you as not well said? Especially since the two of us are left here, we who would claim above all others some share in the pursuit of philosophy. SOCRATES: Well, Eudicus, there is indeed something I would gladly learn from Hippias about what he was just saying concerning Homer. I recall hearing your father Apemantus say that the Iliad is a finer poem than the Odyssey—finer by exactly the same measure that Achilles is a better man than Odysseus, since the one poem was made about Odysseus, the other about Achilles. So about that, if it pleases Hippias, I would gladly ask further how he sees the matter of these two men—which he says is the better—especially since he has already given us a display on many and various subjects, including other poets and Homer. EUDICUS: Well, clearly Hippias won't begrudge answering anything you ask him. Isn't that so, Hippias? If Socrates asks you something, will you answer? Or what will you do? HIPPIAS: It would indeed be strange of me, Eudicus, if—when I go up to Olympia for the great gathering of the Greeks every time the Olympic games are held, always making the journey from home in Elis to the sanctuary, and there offer myself to speak on whatever anyone wishes to hear that I've prepared for display, and to answer whatever anyone wants to ask—I should now run from a question of Socrates.
SOCRATES: A blessed condition you're in, Hippias, if at every Olympic festival you go up to the sanctuary so confident in your soul about your wisdom. I'd be amazed if any of the athletes who compete with their bodies approached the contest as fearlessly and trustingly regarding his body as you say you do regarding your mind. HIPPIAS: Naturally I feel this way, Socrates—ever since I began competing at Olympia, I have never yet met anyone better than myself in anything. SOCRATES: A fine thing you say, Hippias, and your reputation is a credit to the wisdom of the city of Elis, and to your parents as well. But tell us now about Achilles and Odysseus—which do you say is the better, and in what respect? When there was a large crowd inside and you were giving your display, I fell behind in following what you said—I hesitated to ask further questions then, because of the great crowd present, and so as not to get in the way of your display by asking. But now, since we are fewer and Eudicus here urges me to ask, tell us and teach us clearly: what were you saying about these two men? How did you distinguish between them? HIPPIAS: Well, Socrates, I'm happy to go through what I mean even more clearly than before, both about these two and about others. I say that Homer made Achilles the best of the men who came to Troy, Nestor the wisest, and Odysseus the most resourceful. SOCRATES: Goodness, Hippias! Would you do me a favor and not laugh at me if I'm slow to grasp what's said and ask again and again? Please try to answer me gently and patiently. HIPPIAS: It would be shameful, Socrates, if I taught these very things to others and charged money for it, yet couldn't show patience and answer you gently when you question me. SOCRATES: Well said. Now, when you said Achilles was made the best, I thought I understood you, and likewise when you said Nestor the wisest. But when you said the poet made Odysseus the most resourceful, that—to tell you the truth—I simply don't understand at all. Tell me, if this will help me understand better: isn't Achilles portrayed by Homer as resourceful?
HIPPIAS: Not at all, Socrates—rather the simplest and most truthful of men. Indeed in the Prayers, when the poet has them conversing with each other, Achilles says to Odysseus: 'Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, resourceful Odysseus, I must speak my mind outright, just as I intend, and just as it shall be accomplished: for hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and says another. But I will speak as I mean to see it done.' In these lines he reveals the character of each man—that Achilles is truthful and simple, while Odysseus is resourceful and false. For he has Achilles say these words to Odysseus. SOCRATES: Now at last, Hippias, I think I'm catching your meaning: you call the resourceful man false, it seems. HIPPIAS: Exactly, Socrates—for Homer has made Odysseus such a man in many places, both in the Iliad and the Odyssey. SOCRATES: So it seems that Homer thought one kind of man is truthful, another false, and that these are not the same man. HIPPIAS: Of course, Socrates—how could it be otherwise? SOCRATES: And do you yourself think this too, Hippias? HIPPIAS: Most certainly—it would be strange if I didn't. SOCRATES: Well then, let's leave Homer aside, since it's impossible to ask him what he had in mind when he wrote those lines. But since you seem to take up his cause, and you agree with what you say Homer means, answer on behalf of both Homer and yourself together. HIPPIAS: I will. Ask whatever you like, in short. SOCRATES: Do you mean that false men are incapable of doing something, like the sick, or capable of doing something? HIPPIAS: Capable, I say—very much so, of many things, including deceiving people. SOCRATES: Then, by your account, they are capable, it seems, and resourceful. Is that right? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: And are they resourceful and deceivers through foolishness and lack of sense, or through cunning and a certain intelligence? HIPPIAS: Through cunning, above all, and intelligence. SOCRATES: So they are intelligent, it seems. HIPPIAS: Yes, by Zeus, exceedingly so. SOCRATES: And being intelligent, do they not know what they're doing, or do they know? HIPPIAS: They know very well indeed—that's precisely why they do wrong. SOCRATES: And knowing what they know, are they ignorant or wise?
HIPPIAS: Wise, certainly, in this very thing—deceiving. SOCRATES: Hold on then; let's remind ourselves what you're saying. You say the false are capable and intelligent and knowledgeable and wise in the very matters in which they are false? HIPPIAS: Yes, I do say that. SOCRATES: And that others are truthful, and false men, and these two are utterly opposite to each other? HIPPIAS: That's what I say. SOCRATES: Come then: among the capable and wise, it seems, are the false, by your account. HIPPIAS: Very much so. SOCRATES: And when you say the false are capable and wise in these very things, do you mean capable of lying if they wish, or incapable in the matters about which they lie? HIPPIAS: Capable, I say. SOCRATES: So, to put it in a word, the false are those who are wise and capable of lying. HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: Then a man incapable of lying, and ignorant, could not be false. HIPPIAS: That's so. SOCRATES: And each man is capable, surely, who does what he wishes when he wishes—I don't mean someone prevented by illness or the like, but as you are capable of writing my name whenever you wish, that's what I mean. Or don't you call someone in that condition capable? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: Now tell me, Hippias—aren't you experienced in calculation and arithmetic? HIPPIAS: Very much so, Socrates. SOCRATES: So if someone asked you what number three times seven hundred is, could you, if you wished, tell the truth about it fastest and best of all? HIPPIAS: Certainly. SOCRATES: Is that because you are most capable and wisest in these matters? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: Are you then only wisest and most capable, or are you also best in these matters—the calculations—in which you are most capable and wisest? HIPPIAS: Best too, surely, Socrates. SOCRATES: Then you would be most capable of telling the truth about these matters, wouldn't you? HIPPIAS: I think so.
SOCRATES: And what about telling falsehoods about these same matters? Answer me, Hippias, nobly and generously as before: if someone asked you how much three times seven hundred is, would you be the one most able to lie and always say the same false thing consistently about it, wishing to lie and never to answer truly—or would the man ignorant of calculation be more able to lie than you, even though you wished to lie? Might not the ignorant man, often wishing to speak falsely, tell the truth by accident, without meaning to, simply from not knowing—while you, the wise one, if you wished to lie, would always lie consistently? HIPPIAS: Yes, that's how it is, as you say. SOCRATES: Is the false man then false about other things, but not about number—incapable of lying about numbers? HIPPIAS: Yes, by Zeus, he could lie about number too. SOCRATES: Then let us grant this too, Hippias: that there is such a thing as a man false about calculation and number? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: Who then would this be? Must he not, if he is to be false, be capable of lying, as you just agreed? For the man incapable of lying, if you remember, was said by you never to become false. HIPPIAS: I do remember, and that was said. SOCRATES: Then didn't you just show yourself to be most capable of lying about calculations? HIPPIAS: Yes, that was said too. SOCRATES: And are you also most capable of telling the truth about calculations? HIPPIAS: Certainly. SOCRATES: So the same man is most capable of both lying and telling the truth about calculations—and this is the good man in these matters, the one skilled in calculation. HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: Then who becomes false about calculation, Hippias, other than the good man? For he is the same man who is capable—and this man is also truthful. HIPPIAS: So it appears. SOCRATES: Do you see, then, that the same man is both false and truthful in these matters, and the truthful man is no better than the false one? For surely it's the very same man, and they are not utterly opposite, as you supposed just now. HIPPIAS: It doesn't appear so, at least in this case. SOCRATES: Shall we then examine it elsewhere too? HIPPIAS: If you wish to go on. SOCRATES: Aren't you also experienced in geometry? HIPPIAS: I am. SOCRATES: Well then—isn't it the same in geometry? Isn't the same man, the geometer, most capable both of lying and of telling the truth about diagrams? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: Is anyone else good at these matters besides him? HIPPIAS: No one else. SOCRATES: Then isn't the good and wise geometer most capable of both? And if anyone at all is false about diagrams, wouldn't it be this good man? For he is capable, while the bad man was incapable of lying—so that the man unable to lie could never become false, as has been agreed. HIPPIAS: That's so.
SOCRATES: Now let's look at a third case as well—the astronomer, a field in which you consider yourself even more expert than in the ones before. Isn't that so, Hippias? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: And in astronomy the same holds true? HIPPIAS: It seems likely, Socrates. SOCRATES: So in astronomy too, if anyone can be false, it will be the good astronomer who is false—the one capable of it. The one who's incapable can't be, since he's simply ignorant. HIPPIAS: So it appears. SOCRATES: Then the same person will be both truthful and false in astronomy as well. HIPPIAS: It seems so. SOCRATES: Come now, Hippias, look through the whole range of the sciences without restraint this way, and see if there's any case that stands otherwise. You are, after all, the wisest of all men in the greatest number of arts, as I once heard you boasting yourself, going on at length in the marketplace by the money-tables about your own vast and enviable learning. You said that once you arrived at Olympia wearing everything on your body that was your own handiwork—first the ring, since that's where you began, which you had made yourself, claiming you knew how to engrave rings, and another seal-stone that was your work, and a scraper and an oil-flask that you yourself had crafted. Then the sandals you were wearing, you said you had cut yourself, and the cloak you had woven, and the tunic too. And what struck everyone as strangest of all, the greatest display of your skill, was when you said the belt of your tunic—the kind the expensive Persian ones are—you had woven that yourself. On top of all this, you came with poems—epic verses, tragedies, dithyrambs—and many prose compositions of every sort strung together. And regarding the arts I was just now discussing, you claimed to have arrived there more expert than anyone else, and about rhythms and harmonies and the correctness of letters, and a great many other things besides, as I recall it. And yet I forgot, it seems, your memory-craft, the one in which you think you shine most brightly—and I imagine I've forgotten a great many other things too. But as I was saying, look to your own arts—and they're plenty—and to those of others, and tell me whether you can find, on the basis of what you and I have agreed, any case where the truthful one and the false one are separate, not the same person. Consider this in whatever skill you like, or cunning, or whatever else you enjoy calling it. But you won't find one, my friend—it doesn't exist—so go ahead and tell me.
HIPPIAS: Well, I can't, Socrates, not at the moment anyway. SOCRATES: Nor will you ever be able to, I think. But if what I say is true, remember, Hippias, what follows for us from the argument. HIPPIAS: I don't quite grasp what you mean, Socrates. SOCRATES: Perhaps right now you're not using your memory-craft—clearly you don't think it's needed here—but I'll remind you myself. You know you said Achilles was truthful, and Odysseus false and full of many turns? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: Now do you notice that it's turned out to be the same person who is both false and truthful, so that if Odysseus was false, he also turns out truthful, and if Achilles was truthful, he also turns out false, and the two men aren't different from each other or opposites, but alike? HIPPIAS: Socrates, you're always weaving arguments like this, picking out whatever is most awkward in the discussion and clinging to that one small point, instead of engaging with the whole matter under debate. Take now, for instance—if you like, I can demonstrate to you with plenty of evidence, in a sufficient argument, that Homer made Achilles better than Odysseus and free of falsehood, while the other is deceitful, tells many lies, and is inferior to Achilles. And if you like, you in turn can set argument against argument, showing which of the two is better, and these people here will better be able to judge which of us argues better. SOCRATES: Hippias, I don't dispute that you're wiser than I am. But I've always made it my habit, whenever someone says something, to pay close attention—especially when the speaker seems wise to me—and wanting to learn what he means, I question closely, and examine again, and try to fit the statements together, so that I may learn. But if the speaker seems to me a poor one, I neither question further nor care what he says. And by this you'll recognize whom I consider wise: you'll find me persistent about what such a person says, questioning him, so that I may learn something and be benefited.
SOCRATES: Indeed, just now, as you were speaking, I noticed something—that in the very lines you quoted, showing Achilles addressing Odysseus as a fraud, it seems odd to me, if you're right, that Odysseus is nowhere shown telling a lie, the man of many turns, while Achilles turns out to be a man of many turns himself, by your own account—at least he lies. For having first spoken those lines, the very ones you just quoted—'Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another'—a little later he says that he would not be persuaded by Odysseus and Agamemnon, nor would he remain in Troy at all, but—'Tomorrow, having offered sacrifice to Zeus and all the gods, once I've loaded my ships well and drawn them down to the sea, you'll see, if you care to and it matters to you, my ships sailing early over the fish-filled Hellespont, and men in them eager at the oars. And if the glorious Earth-Shaker grants a good voyage, on the third day I would reach fertile Phthia.' And even before this, reviling Agamemnon, he said—'Now I'll go to Phthia, since it's far better to go home with my curved ships, and I don't think, dishonored as I am here, that I'll draw out wealth and riches for you.' Having said this, at one point before the whole army, and at another before his own companions, he's nowhere shown preparing or attempting to haul down the ships to sail home, but treats speaking the truth with great nobility of disregard. So from the very start, Hippias, I asked you in genuine puzzlement which of these two men Homer made the better one, thinking both were excellent and that it was hard to judge which was better with respect to falsehood, truth, and other virtue—since in this regard the two are quite similar. HIPPIAS: You're not looking at it rightly, Socrates. The things Achilles lies about, he clearly doesn't lie about through premeditated scheming, but unwillingly, forced by the army's dire situation to stay and help. But what Odysseus lies about, he does willingly and by design. SOCRATES: You're deceiving me, dearest Hippias, and imitating Odysseus yourself!
HIPPIAS: Not at all, Socrates. What do you mean, and in what respect? SOCRATES: That you say Achilles doesn't lie by design—when he was, according to Homer's own portrayal, such a schemer and so calculating on top of his boastfulness, that he shows himself so much shrewder than Odysseus at getting away with his deception easily, that he dared to say contradictory things right in front of Odysseus himself, without Odysseus noticing—at least Odysseus is nowhere shown saying anything to him as if he'd caught him lying. HIPPIAS: What exactly do you mean, Socrates? SOCRATES: Don't you know that later, after telling Odysseus he'd sail off at dawn, he tells Ajax something different—that he won't sail off after all, but says other things? HIPPIAS: Where's that? SOCRATES: In the lines where he says—'I won't take thought for bloody war again until Priam's warlike son, godlike Hector, reaches the huts and ships of the Myrmidons, killing Argives and burning the ships with fire. But around my own hut and dark ship, I think Hector will be held back from the fight, eager as he is.' Now then, Hippias, do you think the son of Thetis, raised by the wisest Chiron, was so forgetful that, having just reviled boastful men with the harshest reproach, he would immediately turn around and tell Odysseus he'd sail away, but tell Ajax he'd stay—not out of scheming, considering Odysseus simple-minded and thinking he could get the better of him precisely through this trickery and lying? HIPPIAS: I don't think so myself, Socrates. Rather, it was out of goodwill that he was persuaded to say something different to Ajax than to Odysseus—whereas whatever Odysseus says truly, he always says with premeditated design, and whatever he lies about, likewise. SOCRATES: Then Odysseus turns out to be better than Achilles, it seems. HIPPIAS: Hardly, I should think, Socrates. SOCRATES: What then? Didn't it just now turn out that those who lie willingly are better than those who lie unwillingly?
HIPPIAS: And how, Socrates, could those who do wrong willingly, scheme willingly, and do evil willingly be better than those who do so unwillingly—for whom there seems to be a great deal of forgiveness, if someone does wrong or lies or does some other evil without knowing it? And surely the laws are much harsher toward those who do evil and lie willingly than toward those who do so unwillingly. SOCRATES: You see, Hippias, that I'm telling the truth when I say I'm persistent in questioning wise men? And I run the risk of having this as my one good quality, while being quite poor in everything else. For I'm mistaken about how things really stand, and I don't know where the truth lies. And sufficient proof of this for me is that whenever I'm in the company of one of you who is well-regarded for wisdom—men to whom all the Greeks bear witness as to your wisdom—I turn out to know nothing. For hardly anything seems to me the same as it seems to you, so to speak. And yet what greater proof of ignorance is there than to be at odds with wise men? But I do have this one wonderful good quality that saves me: I'm not ashamed to learn, but I inquire and ask questions and am deeply grateful to whoever answers, and I've never yet deprived anyone of that gratitude. For I've never once, having learned something, denied it and claimed the learning as my own discovery—rather, I praise the one who taught me as being wise, by pointing out what I learned from him. And so now too, I don't agree with what you say, but I disagree quite strongly. And I know full well that this happens because of me, because I am the kind of person I am—not to say anything grander about myself. For to me, Hippias, it appears just the opposite of what you say: those who harm people and do wrong and lie and deceive and err willingly rather than unwillingly are better than those who do so unwillingly. Sometimes, though, the opposite seems true to me too, and I wander about on these matters, clearly because I don't know. But right now, at this moment, a kind of fit has come over me, and it seems to me that those who err willingly in some respect are better than those who err unwillingly. And I blame our earlier arguments for my present condition, which makes it appear, right now, that the unwilling ones in each of these cases are worse than the willing ones.
SOCRATES: So do me this favor — don't begrudge my soul its cure. You'll do me a far greater good by curing my soul of ignorance than if you cured my body of disease. Now if you want to make a long speech, I warn you in advance you won't cure me that way — I won't be able to follow along. But if you're willing to answer me the way you were doing a moment ago, you'll help me a great deal, and I don't think you'll be harmed yourself either. And I'd be right to call on you too, son of Apemantus — you're the one who got me talking with Hippias, and now, if Hippias won't answer me, beg him on my behalf. EUDICUS: But Socrates, I don't think Hippias will need any begging from us — what he said before wasn't like that at all. He said he wouldn't dodge any man's question. Isn't that so, Hippias? Isn't that what you said? HIPPIAS: Yes, it is. But Eudicus, Socrates is always stirring up trouble in arguments — he seems to be up to some kind of mischief. SOCRATES: My excellent Hippias, I don't do this on purpose — if I did, I'd be wise and clever, by your own account — but without meaning to. So forgive me. You yourself say that a man who does mischief unintentionally deserves forgiveness. EUDICUS: And please, Hippias, don't act otherwise — for our sake, and for the sake of what you said before, answer whatever Socrates asks you. HIPPIAS: Well, I'll answer, since you're asking. Go ahead, Socrates, ask whatever you like. SOCRATES: Well then, Hippias, I'm very eager to look into what was just being said — which men are better, those who err on purpose or those who err without meaning to. I think the best way to approach the question is like this. Answer me — do you call someone a good runner? HIPPIAS: I do. SOCRATES: And a bad one? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: And the one who runs well is good, and the one who runs badly is bad? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: And the one who runs slowly runs badly, and the one who runs fast runs well? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: So in running, and in the sport of running, speed is good and slowness is bad? HIPPIAS: Of course — what else would it be? SOCRATES: So which is the better runner — the one who runs slowly on purpose, or the one who does it without meaning to? HIPPIAS: The one on purpose. SOCRATES: And isn't running a kind of doing? HIPPIAS: Yes, a doing. SOCRATES: And if it's a doing, isn't it also a kind of accomplishing something? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: So the one who runs badly accomplishes something bad and shameful in the race? HIPPIAS: Bad — of course. SOCRATES: And the one who runs slowly runs badly? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: So the good runner accomplishes this bad and shameful thing on purpose, while the bad runner does it without meaning to? HIPPIAS: So it seems.
SOCRATES: So in running, the one who does bad things unintentionally is worse than the one who does them on purpose? HIPPIAS: In running, yes. SOCRATES: And what about wrestling? Which is the better wrestler — the one who falls on purpose, or the one who falls without meaning to? HIPPIAS: The one on purpose, it seems. SOCRATES: And in wrestling, is it worse and more shameful to fall, or to throw your opponent? HIPPIAS: To fall. SOCRATES: So in wrestling too, the one who does bad and shameful things on purpose is a better wrestler than the one who does them unintentionally. HIPPIAS: So it seems. SOCRATES: And what about every other use of the body? Doesn't the one whose body is better have the ability to do both things — the strong and the weak, the shameful and the fine? So that when he does something bad with his body, the one with the better body does it on purpose, while the one with the worse body does it unintentionally? HIPPIAS: It seems that strength works the same way too. SOCRATES: And what about grace, Hippias? Doesn't the better body take on shameful and bad postures on purpose, while the worse body does so unintentionally? Or how does it seem to you? HIPPIAS: That's how it is. SOCRATES: And what do you say about the voice? Which voice do you say is better — the one that sings off-key on purpose, or the one that does so unintentionally? HIPPIAS: The one on purpose. SOCRATES: And the one that does it unintentionally is worse? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: Would you rather possess good things or bad things? HIPPIAS: Good things. SOCRATES: So would you rather have feet that limp on purpose, or feet that limp without meaning to? HIPPIAS: On purpose. SOCRATES: And isn't lameness of the feet a kind of badness and ugliness? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: And what about weak eyesight — isn't that a badness of the eyes? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: So which eyes would you rather have, and which would you rather live with — eyes that see dimly and squint on purpose, or eyes that do so without meaning to? HIPPIAS: On purpose. SOCRATES: So you consider it better when your own faculties do bad things on purpose than when they do so unintentionally? HIPPIAS: In cases like these, yes. SOCRATES: And doesn't the same rule hold for everything — ears, nose, mouth, and all the senses — that those which do bad things unintentionally are worthless as being bad, while those which do so on purpose are worth having as being good? HIPPIAS: I think so. SOCRATES: And what about instruments? Which is the better partnership — instruments with which one does bad things on purpose, or without meaning to? Take a rudder, for instance — is it better to steer badly with it on purpose or unintentionally? HIPPIAS: On purpose. SOCRATES: And isn't the same true of a bow, a lyre, pipes, and everything else?
HIPPIAS: You're right. SOCRATES: And what about the soul of a horse — is it better to possess one that rides badly on purpose, or one that does so unintentionally? HIPPIAS: On purpose. SOCRATES: So that soul is the better one. HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: So with the better soul of a horse, one would do the bad works proper to that soul on purpose, while with the worse soul one would do them unintentionally? HIPPIAS: Certainly. SOCRATES: And doesn't the same hold for a dog's soul, and for all the other animals? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: Well then — is it better to possess the soul of an archer that misses the target on purpose, or one that misses without meaning to? HIPPIAS: The one on purpose. SOCRATES: And isn't that soul also better at archery? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: So the soul that errs unintentionally is worse than the one that errs on purpose. HIPPIAS: In archery, yes. SOCRATES: And what about medicine? Isn't the soul that does harm to bodies on purpose more skilled in medicine? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: So that soul is better at that art than the unskilled one. HIPPIAS: Better. SOCRATES: And what about the more skilled lyre-player and pipe-player, and all the rest that fall under the arts and sciences — doesn't the better one do bad and shameful things on purpose and err deliberately, while the worse one does so unintentionally? HIPPIAS: So it appears. SOCRATES: But surely, when it comes to slaves' souls, we'd rather own the ones that err and do wrong on purpose than the ones that do so unintentionally, since they're better at it. HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: And what about our own souls — wouldn't we want to possess the best one we could? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: So won't it be better if it does wrong and errs on purpose, rather than unintentionally? HIPPIAS: That would be a strange thing indeed, Socrates, if those who do wrong on purpose turn out to be better than those who do wrong unintentionally. SOCRATES: And yet that's exactly what appears to follow from what we've said. HIPPIAS: Not to me, it doesn't. SOCRATES: But I thought it did appear that way to you too, Hippias. Answer me again — isn't justice either some kind of power, or knowledge, or both? Isn't it necessary that justice be at least one of these? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: So if justice is a power of the soul, then the more powerful soul is more just — since, as it turned out, my good man, the more powerful soul is the better one. HIPPIAS: Yes, it did turn out that way. SOCRATES: And if it's knowledge — isn't the wiser soul more just, and the more ignorant one more unjust? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: And if it's both — doesn't the soul that has both knowledge and power become more just, while the more ignorant one becomes more unjust? Isn't that how it must be? HIPPIAS: So it appears.
SOCRATES: So this soul — the more powerful and wiser one — turned out to be the better one, and more able to do both things, the fine and the shameful, in every kind of undertaking? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: So whenever it does shameful things, it does them on purpose, by virtue of its power and skill — and these, it turns out, belong to justice, either both of them or one of the two. HIPPIAS: So it seems. SOCRATES: And doing wrong is doing bad things, while not doing wrong is doing fine things. HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: So won't the more powerful and better soul, whenever it does wrong, do wrong on purpose, while the worse soul does wrong unintentionally? HIPPIAS: So it appears. SOCRATES: And isn't a good man one who has a good soul, and a bad man one who has a bad soul? HIPPIAS: Yes. SOCRATES: So it belongs to a good man to do wrong on purpose, and to a bad man to do wrong unintentionally — since the good man has a good soul. HIPPIAS: Well, he certainly does have one. SOCRATES: So the man who errs on purpose and does shameful and unjust things — if there really is such a man, Hippias — could be none other than the good man. HIPPIAS: I can't agree with you on that, Socrates. SOCRATES: Nor can I agree with myself, Hippias — but that's how it necessarily appears to us, at least right now, from the argument. As I said before, on these matters I wander all over the place and never think the same thing twice. And it's no wonder that I wander, nor any other ordinary person — but if you wise men are going to wander too, that's a terrible thing for us, if not even coming to you can put an end to our wandering.