Do you, then, think we should assent to this and agree in the doctrine of our predecessors,
not merely intending to repeat the words of others, with no risk to ourselves, but ready to share with them in the risk and the blame, if any clever man declares that this world is not thus ordered, but is without order?
Yes, of course I do.
Then observe the argument that now comes against us.
Go on.
We see the elements which belong to the natures of all living beings, fire, water, air, and earth—or, as the storm-tossed mariners say, land in sight—
in the constitution of the universe.
Certainly and we are truly storm-tossed in the puzzling cross-currents of this discussion.
Well, here is a point for you to consider in relation to each of these elements as it exists in us.
What is the point?
Each element in us is small and poor and in no way pure at all or endowed with the power which is worthy of its nature. Take one example and apply it to all. Fire, for instance, exists in us and also in the universe.
Of course.
And that which is in us is small, weak, and poor, but that which is in the universe is marvellous in quantity, beauty, and every power which belongs to fire.
What you say is very true.
Well, is the fire of the universe nourished, originated, and ruled by the fire within us, or, on the contrary, does my fire, and yours, and that of all living beings derive nourishment and all that from the universal fire?
That question does not even deserve an answer.
True; and you will, I fancy, say the same of the earth which is in us living creatures and that which is in the universe, and concerning all the other elements about which I asked a moment ago your answer will be the same.
Yes. Who could answer otherwise without being called a lunatic?
Nobody, I fancy. Now follow the next step. When we see that all the aforesaid elements are gathered together into a unit, do we not call them a body?
Of course.
Apply the same line of thought to that which we call the universe. It would likewise be a body, being composed of the same elements.
Quite right.
Does our body derive, obtain, and possess from that body, or that body from ours, nourishment and everything else that we mentioned just now?
That, Socrates, is another question not worth asking.
Well, is this next one worth asking? What will you say to it?
What is it?
Shall we not say that our body has a soul?
Clearly we shall.
Where did it get it, Protarchus, unless the body of the universe had a soul, since that body has the same elements as ours, only in every way superior?
Clearly it could get it from no other source.
No; for we surely do not believe, Protarchus, that of those four elements, the finite, the infinite, the combination,
and the element of cause which exists in all things, this last, which gives to our bodies souls and the art of physical exercise and medical treatment when the body is ill, and which is in general a composing and healing power, is called the sum of all wisdom, and yet, while these same elements exist in the entire heaven and in great parts thereof, and area moreover, fair and pure, there is no means of including among them that nature which is the fairest and most precious of all.
Certainly there would be no sense in that.
Then if that is not the case, it would be better to follow the other line of thought and say, as we have often said, that there is in the universe a plentiful infinite and a sufficient limit, and in addition a by no means feeble cause which orders and arranges years and seasons and months, and may most justly be called wisdom and mind.
Yes, most justly.
Surely reason and mind could never come into being without soul.
No, never.
Then in the nature of Zeus you would say that a kingly soul
and a kingly mind were implanted through the power of the cause, and in other deities other noble qualities from which they derive their favorite epithets.
Certainly.
Now do not imagine, Protarchus, that this is mere idle talk of mine; it confirms the utterances of those who declared of old Anaxagoras and probably some now unknown precursors. that mind always rules the universe.
Yes, certainly.
And to my question it has furnished the reply
that mind belongs to that one of our four classes which was called the cause of all. Now, you see, you have at last my answer.
Yes, and a very sufficient one and yet you answered without my knowing it.
Yes, Protarchus, for sometimes a joke is a restful change from serious talk.
You are right.
We have now, then, my friend, pretty clearly shown to what class mind belongs
and what power it possesses.
Certainly.
And likewise the class of pleasure was made clear some time ago.
Yes, it was.
Let us, then, remember concerning both of them that mind was akin to cause and belonged more or less to that class, and that pleasure was itself infinite and belonged to the class which, in and by itself, has not and never will have either beginning or middle or end.
We will remember that, of course.
Our next task is to see in what and by means of what feeling each of them comes into being whenever they do come into being. We will take pleasure first and discuss these questions in relation to pleasure, as we examined its class first. But we cannot examine pleasure successfully apart from pain.
If that is our proper path, let us follow it.
Do you agree with us about the origin of pleasure?
What do you think it is?
I think pain and pleasure naturally originate in the combined class.
Please, my dear Socrates, remind us which of the aforesaid classes you mean by the combined class.
I will do so, as well as I can, my brilliant friend.
Thank you.
By combined class, then, let us understand that which we said was the third of the four.
The one you mentioned after the infinite and the finite, and in which you put health and also, I believe, harmony?
You are quite right. Now please pay very close attention.
I will. Say on.
I say, then, that when, in us living beings, harmony is broken up, a disruption of nature and a generation of pain also take place at the same moment.
What you say is very likely.
But if harmony is recomposed and returns to its own nature, then I say that pleasure is generated, if I may speak in the fewest and briefest words about matters of the highest import.
I think you are right, Socrates; but let us try to be more explicit.
It is easiest to understand common and obvious examples, is it not?
What examples?
Is hunger a kind of breaking up and a pain?
Yes.
And eating, which is a filling up again, is a pleasure?
Yes.
Thirst again is a destruction and a pain, but the filling with moisture
of that which was dried up is a pleasure. Then, too, the unnatural dissolution and disintegration we experience through heat are a pain, but the natural restoration and cooling are a pleasure.
Certainly.
And the unnatural hardening of the moisture in an animal through cold is pain; but the natural course of the elements returning to their place and separating is a pleasure. See, in short, if you think it is a reasonable statement that whenever in the class of living beings,
which, as I said before, arises out of the natural union of the infinite and the finite, that union is destroyed, the destruction is pain, and the passage and return of all things to their own nature is pleasure.
Let us accept that; for it seems to me to be true in its general lines.
Then we may assume this as one kind of pain and pleasure arising severally under the conditions I have described?
Let that be assumed.
Now assume within the soul itself the anticipation of these conditions,
the sweet and cheering hope of pleasant things to come, the fearful and woful expectation of painful things to come.
Yes, indeed, this is another kind of pleasure and pain, which belongs to the soul itself, apart from the body, and arises through expectation.
You are right. I think that in these two kinds, both of which are, in my opinion, pure, and not formed by mixture of pain and pleasure, the truth about pleasure will be made manifest,
whether the entire class is to be desired or such desirability is rather to be attributed to some other class among those we have mentioned, whereas pleasure and pain, like heat, cold, and other such things, are sometimes desirable and sometimes undesirable, because they are not good themselves, though some of them sometimes admit on occasion the nature of the good.
You are quite right in saying that we must track our quarry on this trail.
First, then, let us agree on this point: If it is true,
as we said, that destruction is pain and restoration is pleasure, let us consider the case of living beings in which neither destruction nor restoration is going on, and what their state is under such conditions. Fix your mind on my question: Must not every living being under those conditions necessarily be devoid of any feeling of pain or pleasure, great or small?
Yes, necessarily.
Have we, then, a third condition,
besides those of feeling pleasure and pain?
Certainly.
Well then, do your best to bear it in mind; for remembering or forgetting it will make a great difference in our judgement of pleasure. And I should like, if you do not object, to speak briefly about it.
Pray do so.
You know that there is nothing to hinder a man from living the life of wisdom in this manner.
You mean without feeling pleasure or pain?
Yes, for it was said, you know, in our comparison of the lives that he who chose the life of mind and wisdom was to have no feeling of pleasure, great or small.
Yes, surely, that was said.
Such a man, then, would have such a life; and perhaps it is not unreasonable, if that is the most divine of lives.
Certainly it is not likely that gods feel either joy or its opposite.
No, it is very unlikely; for either is unseemly for them. But let us reserve the discussion of that point
for another time, if it is appropriate, and we will give mind credit for it in contending for the second place, if we cannot count it for the first.
Quite right.
Now the other class of pleasure, which we said was an affair of the soul alone, originates entirely in memory.
How is that?
We must, apparently, first take up memory, and perception even before memory, if these matters are to be made clear to us properly.
What do you mean?
Assume that some of the affections of our body are extinguished in the body before they reach the soul, leaving the soul unaffected, and that other affections permeate both body and soul and cause a vibration in both conjointly and in each individually.
Let us assume that.
Shall we be right in saying that the soul forgets those which do not permeate both, and does not forget those which do?
Yes, certainly.
Do not in the least imagine that when I speak of forgetting I mean that forgetfulness arises in this case; for forgetfulness is the departure of memory, and in the case under consideration memory has not yet come into being; now it is absurd to speak of the loss of that which does not exist and has not yet come into being, is it not?
Certainly.
Then just change the terms.
How?
Instead of saying that the soul forgets, when it is unaffected by the vibrations of the body,
apply the term want of perception to that which you are now calling forgetfulness.
I understand.
And the union of soul and body in one common affection and one common motion you may properly call perception.
Very true.
Then do we now understand what we mean by perception?
Certainly.
I think, then, that memory may rightly be defined as the preservation of perception.
Quite rightly.
But do we not say that memory differs from recollection?
Perhaps.
And is this the difference?
What?
When the soul alone by itself, apart from the body, recalls completely any experience it has had in company with the body, we say that it recollects do we not?
Certainly.
And again when the soul has lost the memory of a perception or of something it has learned and then alone by itself regains this,
we call everything of that kind recollection.
You are right.
Now my reason for saying all this is—
What?
That henceforth we may comprehend as completely and clearly as possible the pleasure of the soul, and likewise its desire, apart from the body; for both of these appear to be made plain by what has been said about memory and recollection.
Let us, then, Socrates, discuss the next point.
We must, it seems, consider many things in relation to the origin and general aspect of pleasure;
but now I think our first task is to take up the nature and origin of desire.
Then let us examine that; for we shall not lose anything.
Oh yes, Protarchus, we shall lose a great deal! When we find what we are seeking we shall lose our perplexity about these very questions.
That is a fair counter; but let us try to take up the next point.
Did we not say just now that hunger, thirst,
and the like were desires?
They are, decidedly.
What sort of identity have we in view when we call these, which are so different, by one name?
By Zeus, Socrates, that question may not be easy to answer, yet it must be answered.
Let us, then, begin again at that point with the same examples.
At what point?
We say of a thing on any particular occasion, it’s thirsty, do we not?