Observe, then, Protarchus, what the doctrine is which you are now to accept from Philebus, and what our doctrine is, against which you are to argue, if you do not agree with it.
Shall we make a brief statement of each of them?
By all means.
Very well: Philebus says that to all living beings enjoyment and pleasure and gaiety and whatever accords with that sort of thing are a good; whereas our contention is that not these, but wisdom and thought and memory and their kindred, right opinion and true reasonings,
are better and more excellent than pleasure for all who are capable of taking part in them, and that for all those now existing or to come who can partake of them they are the most advantageous of all things. Those are pretty nearly the two doctrines we maintain, are they not, Philebus?
Yes, Socrates, exactly.
And do you, Protarchus, accept this doctrine which is now committed to you?
I must accept it; for our handsome Philebus has withdrawn.
And must the truth about these doctrines be attained by every possible means?
Yes, it must.
Then let us further agree to this:
To what?
That each of us will next try to prove clearly that it is a condition and disposition of the soul which can make life happy for all human beings. Is not that what we are going to do?
It is.
Then you will show that it is the condition of pleasure, and I that it is that of wisdom?
True.
What if some other life be found superior to these two?
Then if that life is found to be more akin to pleasure, both of us are defeated, are we not, by the life which has firm possession of this superiority,
but the life of pleasure is victor over the life of wisdom.
Yes.
But if it is more akin to wisdom, then wisdom is victorious and pleasure is vanquished? Do you agree to that? Or what do you say?
Yes, I at least am satisfied with that.
But how about you, Philebus? What do you say?
I think and always shall think that pleasure is the victor. But you, Protarchus, will make your own decision.
Since you entrusted the argument to me, Philebus, you can no longer dictate whether to make the agreement with Socrates or not.
True; and for that reason I wash my hands of it and now call upon the goddess The goddess of Pleasure, Ἡδονή personified. herself to witness that I do so.
And we also will bear witness to these words of yours. But all the same, Socrates, Philebus may agree or do as he likes, let us try to finish our argument in due order.
We must try, and let us begin with the very goddess who Philebus says is spoken of as Aphrodite but is most truly named Pleasure.
Quite right.
My awe, Protarchus, in respect to the names of the gods is always beyond the greatest human fear. And now I call Aphrodite by that name which is agreeable to her; but pleasure I know has various aspects, and since, as I said, we are to begin with her, we must consider and examine what her nature is. For, when you just simply hear her name, she is only one thing, but surely she takes on all sorts of shapes which are even, in a way, unlike each other. For instance, we say that the man
who lives without restraint has pleasure, and that the self-restrained man takes pleasure in his very self-restraint; and again that the fool who is full of foolish opinions and hopes is pleased, and also that the wise man takes pleasure in his very wisdom. And would not any person who said these two kinds of pleasure were like each other be rightly regarded as a fool?
No, Socrates, for though they spring from opposite sources, they are not in themselves opposed to one another;
for how can pleasure help being of all things most like pleasure, that is, like itself?
Yes, my friend, and color is like color in so far as every one of them is a color they will all be the same, yet we all recognize that black is not only different from white, but is its exact opposite. And so, too, figure is like figure; they are all one in kind but the parts of the kind are in some instances absolutely opposed to each other,
and in other cases there is endless variety of difference; and we can find many other examples of such relations. Do not, therefore, rely upon this argument, which makes all the most absolute opposites identical. I am afraid we shall find some pleasures the opposites of other pleasures.
Perhaps; but why will that injure my contention?
Because I shall say that, although they are unlike, you apply to them a different designation. For you say that all pleasant things are good. Now no argument contends
that pleasant things are not pleasant; but whereas most of them are bad and only some are good, as we assert, nevertheless you call them all good, though you confess, if forced to it by argument, that they are unlike. Now what is the identical element which exists in the good and bad pleasures alike and makes you call them all a good?
What do you mean, Socrates? Do you suppose anyone who asserts that the good is pleasure will concede, or will endure to hear you say, that some pleasures are good
and others bad?
But you will concede that they are unlike and in some instances opposed to each other.
Not in so far as they are pleasures.
Here we are again at the same old argument, Protarchus, and we shall presently assert that one pleasure is not different from another, but all pleasures are alike, and the examples just cited do not affect us at all, but we shall behave and talk just like the most worthless
and inexperienced reasoners.
In what way do you mean?
Why, if I have the face to imitate you and to defend myself by saying that the utterly unlike is most completely like that which is most utterly unlike it, I can say the same things you said, and we shall prove ourselves to be excessively inexperienced, and our argument will be shipwrecked and lost. Let us, then, back her out, and perhaps if we start fair again we may come to an agreement.
How? Tell me.
Assume, Protarchus, that I am questioned in turn by you.
What question do I ask?
Whether wisdom and knowledge and intellect and all the things which I said at first were good, when you asked me what is good, will not have the same fate as this argument of yours.