Complete Works (251 page)

That’s how it seems to me, at least.

What about the spirited part? Don’t we say that it is wholly dedicated to the pursuit of control, victory, and high repute?

[b] Certainly.

Then wouldn’t it be appropriate for us to call it victory-loving and honor-loving?

It would be most appropriate.

Now, it is clear to everyone that the part with which we learn is always wholly straining to know where the truth lies and that, of the three parts, it cares least for money and reputation.

By far the least.

Then wouldn’t it be appropriate for us to call it learning-loving and philosophical?

Of course.

And doesn’t this part rule in some people’s souls, while one of the other parts—whichever it happens to be—rules in other people’s? [c]

That’s right.

And isn’t that the reason we say that there are three primary kinds of people: philosophic, victory-loving, and profit-loving?

That’s it precisely.

And also three forms of pleasure, one assigned to each of them?

Certainly.

And do you realize that, if you chose to ask three such people in turn to tell you which of their lives is most pleasant, each would give the highest praise to his own? Won’t a money-maker say that the pleasure of being honored and that of learning are worthless compared to that of making a [d] profit, if he gets no money from them?

He will.

What about an honor-lover? Doesn’t he think that the pleasure of making money is vulgar and that the pleasure of learning—except insofar as it brings him honor—is smoke and nonsense?

He does.

And as for a philosopher, what do you suppose he thinks the other pleasures are worth compared to that of knowing where the truth lies and always being in some such pleasant condition while learning? Won’t he [e] think that they are far behind? And won’t he call them really necessary, since he’d have no need for them if they weren’t necessary for life?

He will: we can be sure of that.

Then, since there’s a dispute between the different forms of pleasure and between the lives themselves, not about which way of living is finer or more shameful or better or worse, but about which is more pleasant and less painful, how are we to know which of them is speaking most truly?
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Don’t ask me.

Look at it this way: How are we to judge things if we want to judge them well? Isn’t it by experience, reason, and argument? Or could anyone have better criteria than these?

How could he?

Consider, then: Which of the three men has most experience of the pleasures we mentioned? Does a profit-lover learn what the truth itself is like or acquire more experience of the pleasure of knowing it than a [b] philosopher does of making a profit?

There’s a big difference between them. A philosopher has of necessity tasted the other pleasures since childhood, but it isn’t necessary for a profit-lover to taste or experience the pleasure of learning the nature of the things that are and how sweet it is. Indeed, even if he were eager to taste it, he couldn’t easily do so.

Then a philosopher is far superior to a profit-lover in his experience of both their pleasures.

[c] He certainly is.

What about an honor-lover? Has he more experience of the pleasure of knowing than a philosopher has of the pleasure of being honored?

No, for honor comes to each of them, provided that he accomplishes his aim. A rich man is honored by many people, so is a courageous one and a wise one, but the pleasure of studying the things that are cannot be tasted by anyone except a philosopher.

[d] Then, as far as experience goes, he is the finest judge of the three.

By far.

And he alone has gained his experience in the company of reason.

Of course.

Moreover, the instrument one must use to judge isn’t the instrument of a profit-lover or an honor-lover but a philosopher.

What instrument is that?

Arguments, for didn’t we say that we must judge by means of them?

Yes.

And argument is a philosopher’s instrument most of all.

Of course.

Now, if wealth and profit were the best means of judging things, the [e] praise and blame of a profit-lover would necessarily be truest.

That’s right.

And if honor, victory, and courage were the best means, wouldn’t it be the praise and blame of an honor-lover?

Clearly.

But since the best means are experience, reason, and argument …

The praise of a wisdom-lover and argument-lover is necessarily truest.

Then, of the three pleasures, the most pleasant is that of the part of the
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soul with which we learn, and the one in whom that part rules has the most pleasant life.

How could it be otherwise? A person with knowledge at least speaks with authority when he praises his own life.

To what life and to what pleasure does the judge give second place?

Clearly, he gives it to those of a warrior and honor-lover, since they’re closer to his own than those of a money-maker.

Then the life and pleasure of a profit-lover come last, it seems.

Of course they do.

These, then, are two proofs in a row, and the just person has defeated the [b] unjust one in both. The third is dedicated in Olympic fashion to Olympian Zeus the Savior. Observe then that, apart from those of a knowledgeable person, the other pleasures are neither entirely true nor pure but are like a shadow-painting, as I think I’ve heard some wise person say. And yet, if this were true, it would be the greatest and most decisive of the overthrows.

It certainly would. But what exactly do you mean?

I’ll find out, if I ask the questions, and you answer. [c]

Ask, then.

Tell me, don’t we say that pain is the opposite of pleasure?

Certainly.

And is there such a thing as feeling neither pleasure nor pain?

There is.

Isn’t it intermediate between these two, a sort of calm of the soul by comparison to them? Or don’t you think of it that way?

I do.

And do you recall what sick people say when they’re ill?

Which saying of theirs do you have in mind?

That nothing gives more pleasure than being healthy, but that they hadn’t realized that it was most pleasant until they fell ill. [d]

I do recall that.

And haven’t you also heard those who are in great pain say that nothing is more pleasant than the cessation of their suffering?

I have.

And there are many similar circumstances, I suppose, in which you find people in pain praising, not enjoyment, but the absence of pain and relief from it as most pleasant.

That may be because at such times a state of calm becomes pleasant enough to content them.

And when someone ceases to feel pleasure, this calm will be painful [e] to him.

Probably so.

Then the calm we described as being intermediate between pleasure and pain will sometimes be both.

So it seems.

Now, is it possible for that which is neither to become both?

Not in my view.

Moreover, the coming to be of either the pleasant or the painful in the soul is a sort of motion, isn’t it?

Yes.

And didn’t what is neither painful nor pleasant come to light just now as a calm state, intermediate between them?
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Yes, it did.

Then, how can it be right to think that the absence of pain is pleasure or that the absence of pleasure is pain?

There’s no way it can be.

Then it isn’t right. But when the calm is next to the painful it appears pleasant, and when it is next to the pleasant it appears painful. However, there is nothing sound in these appearances as far as the truth about pleasure is concerned, only some kind of magic.

That’s what the argument suggests, at any rate.

[b] Take a look at the pleasures that don’t come out of pains, so that you won’t suppose in their case also that it is the nature of pleasure to be the cessation of pain or of pain to be the cessation of pleasure.

Where am I to look? What pleasures do you mean?

The pleasures of smell are especially good examples to take note of, for they suddenly become very intense without being preceded by pain, and when they cease they leave no pain behind. But there are plenty of other examples as well.

That’s absolutely true.

Then let no one persuade us that pure pleasure is relief from pain or [c] that pure pain is relief from pleasure.

No, let’s not.

However, most of the so-called pleasures that reach the soul through the body, as well as the most intense ones, are of this form—they are some kind of relief from pain.

Yes, they are.

And aren’t the pleasures and pains of anticipation, which arise from the expectation of future pleasures or pains, also of this form?

They are.

[d] Do you know what kind of thing they are and what they most resemble?

No, what is it?

Do you believe that there is an up, a down, and a middle in nature?

I do.

And do you think that someone who was brought from down below to the middle would have any other belief than that he was moving upward?

And if he stood in the middle and saw where he had come from, would he believe that he was anywhere other than the upper region, since he hasn’t seen the one that is truly upper?

By god, I don’t see how he could think anything else.

And if he was brought back, wouldn’t he suppose that he was being [e] brought down? And wouldn’t he be right?

Of course.

Then wouldn’t all this happen to him because he is inexperienced in what is really and truly up, down, and in the middle?

Clearly.

Is it any surprise, then, if those who are inexperienced in the truth have unsound opinions about lots of other things as well, or that they are so disposed to pleasure, pain, and the intermediate state that, when they descend to the painful, they believe truly and are really in pain, but that,
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when they ascend from the painful to the intermediate state, they firmly believe that they have reached fulfillment and pleasure? They are inexperienced in pleasure and so are deceived when they compare pain to painlessness, just as they would be if they compared black to gray without having experienced white.

No, by god, I wouldn’t be surprised. In fact, I’d be very surprised if it were any other way.

Think of it this way: Aren’t hunger, thirst, and the like some sort of [b] empty states of the body?

They are.

And aren’t ignorance and lack of sense empty states of the soul?

Of course.

And wouldn’t someone who partakes of nourishment or strengthens his understanding be filled?

Certainly.

Does the truer filling up fill you with that which is less or that which is more?

Clearly, it’s with that which is more.

And which kinds partake more of pure being? Kinds of filling up such as filling up with bread or drink or delicacies or food in general? Or the kind of filling up that is with true belief, knowledge, understanding, and, in sum, with all of virtue? Judge it this way: That which is related to what is always the same, immortal, and true, is itself of that kind, and comes [c] to be in something of that kind—this is more, don’t you think, than that which is related to what is never the same and mortal, is itself of that kind, and comes to be in something of that kind?

That which is related to what is always the same is far more.

And does the being of what is always the same participate more in being than in knowledge?

Not at all.

Or more than in truth?

Not that either.

And if less in truth, then less in being also?

Necessarily.

And isn’t it generally true that the kinds of filling up that are concerned with the care of the body share less in truth and being than those concerned [d] with the care of the soul?

Yes, much less.

And don’t you think that the same holds of the body in comparison to the soul?

Certainly.

And isn’t that which is more, and is filled with things that are more, really more filled than that which is less, and is filled with things that are less?

Of course.

Therefore, if being filled with what is appropriate to our nature is pleasure, that which is more filled with things that are more enjoys more really [e] and truly a more true pleasure, while that which partakes of things that are less is less truly and surely filled and partakes of a less trustworthy and less true pleasure.

That’s absolutely inevitable.

Therefore, those who have no experience of reason or virtue, but are
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always occupied with feasts and the like, are brought down and then back up to the middle, as it seems, and wander in this way throughout their lives, never reaching beyond this to what is truly higher up, never looking up at it or being brought up to it, and so they aren’t filled with that which really is and never taste any stable or pure pleasure. Instead, they always look down at the ground like cattle, and, with their heads bent over the dinner table, they feed, fatten, and fornicate. To outdo others in these [b] things, they kick and butt them with iron horns and hooves, killing each other, because their desires are insatiable. For the part that they’re trying to fill is like a vessel full of holes, and neither it nor the things they are trying to fill it with are among the things that are.

Socrates, you’ve exactly described the life of the majority of people, just like an oracle.

Then isn’t it necessary for these people to live with pleasures that are mixed with pains, mere images and shadow-paintings of true pleasures?

And doesn’t the juxtaposition of these pleasures and pains make them [c] appear intense, so that they give rise to mad erotic passions in the foolish, and are fought over in just the way that Stesichorus tells us the phantom of Helen was fought over at Troy by men ignorant of the truth?

Something like that must be what happens.

And what about the spirited part? Mustn’t similar things happen to someone who satisfies it? Doesn’t his love of honor make him envious and his love of victory make him violent, so that he pursues the satisfaction [d] of his anger and of his desires for honors and victories without calculation or understanding?